Christians and Public Life in Colonial South India, 1863-1937

CHRISTIANS AND PUBLIC LIFE IN COLONIAL SOUTH INDIA, 1863–1937

This book tells the story of how Catholic and Protestant Indians have attempted to find their place within the evolving Indian nation. Ironically, British rule in India did not privilege Christians, but pushed them to the margins of a predominantly Hindu society. Drawing upon wide-ranging sources, the book first explains how the Indian judiciary’s “official knowledge” isolated Christians from Indian notions of family, caste and nation. It then describes how different varieties and classes of Christians adopted, resisted and reshaped both imperial and nationalist perceptions of their identity. Within a climate of rising communal tension in India, this study finds immediate relevance. Chandra Mallampalli is Assistant Professor of History at Westmont College. His main areas of interest include religious nationalism, secularism, postcolonialism and the history of Christian missions in modern South Asia.

CHRISTIANS AND PUBLIC LIFE IN COLONIAL SOUTH INDIA, 1863–1937 Contending with marginality

Chandra Mallampalli

First published 2004 by RoutledgeCurzon 11 New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by RoutledgeCurzon 29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001 RoutledgeCurzon is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group

This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2004. © 2004 Chandra Mallampalli All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested

ISBN 0-203-39087-3 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 0-203-66939-8 (Adobe eReader Format) ISBN 0–415–32321–5 (Print Edition)

To my parents

CONTENTS

1

Preface List of abbreviations

x xi

Introduction

1

The “Conversion Debate” and Colonial History 4 The Madras Presidency and its Christian Elite 6 Contending with Marginality 9 Christians and the Public Sphere 12 Re-conceiving Difference in Indian History 17 Part I

Legal Constructions of Religious Identity 2

Rights of Converts within British and Princely India, 1870–1895

19

21

Mysore 25 Travancore 30 Conclusion 36 3

Inheritance Law and the “Native Christian” Community, 1863–1917

Abraham v. Abraham (1863) The Succession Act 50 4

38

41

Marital Law and Constructions of Hindu and Christian Identity, 1870–1920

The Solemnization of “Mixed Marriages” 62 Marriage as Public Profession of Faith 67

vii

59

CONTENTS

Exclusion from the “Sacral Order of Hinduism” Conversion, Divorce and “Desertion” 75 Responses to Laws of Christian Marriage 80 Notions of Exclusion in Law and Politics 83

71

Part II

85

Conceiving a Political Community 5

The Spiritual v. the Political: Global Religion and Indian Politics, 1917–1933 87

Catholics and the State 88 Gandhi and the Pope 96 The Protestant Ecumene and Indian Politics The Mission of Fellowship 101 Conclusion 107 6

98

The Protestant Disavowal of Christian Communalism, 1910–1933

108

The Mobilization of Bias 111 A Growing Self-Consciousness 113 The Communal Award of 1932 121 7

133

The Indigenization of Catholic Action, 1921–1937

“Catholic Action” and Communal Politics 135 Communal Politics and the Round Table Conference Post-Round Table Developments 150

144

Part III

Caste and Communal Identity

157

8

159

Religion, Caste and Political Rhetoric, 1925–1937

Gandhi and Conversion 160 Ambedkar: Conversion as Autonomy 163 Integration v. Autonomy in South India 165 9

At the Margins of Marginality: Dalit Christians, 1917–1937

Caste Disputes among Catholics 172 Caste Disputes within Protestant Contexts Conclusion 192

viii

182

170

CONTENTS

195

10 Conclusion

203 277 296

Notes Bibliography Index

ix

PREFACE

This study brings together two threads of personal interest: an interest in the history of Christian movements in India, and an interest in public expressions of religion in the modern world. Existing scholarship has raised important questions about conversion, relationships of Christians (both Catholic and non-Catholic) to indigenous institutions and belief systems, and the precise nature of the missionary encounter with local culture. Secular scholarship is supplemented by a vast amount of theological literature dealing with similar kinds of questions. A prevailing concern in such work is the extent to which expressions of Christianity have become genuinely “Indian,” in spite of relationships they may have had with foreign missionary societies. This study addresses similar dialectics between Christianity and different notions of “Indian-ness.” Its main point of departure, however, lies in its attempt to move these dialectics away from the realm of “traditional culture” and into the realm of modern institutions that comprised an evolving “public sphere” in South India. Methods and priorities of cultural anthropologists, theologians or Church historians give way to a different set of lenses, geared toward workings of law, politics, and print media. How different streams and offshoots of Christianity within the Madras Presidency came under the umbrella of a single “Indian Christian community” is a question that pervades this study. Some scholars have linked this question to the Church Union Movement in South India, an ecumenical project having little to do with secular institutions or communal politics. When questions relating to the Indian Christian community are confined to affairs of ecclesiastical bodies, other sites of identity formation are overlooked. Court cases dealing with the validity of marriage, succession, or rights of converts provide fascinating accounts of how Christians became marginalized from evolving notions of Hindu society. Legal concepts such as “severance,” “desertion,” or “degradation” become powerful metaphors for struggles of Christians within a nation, increasingly defined as “Hindu.” The relationship between legal and political processes of severance, however, is more than metaphoric. The difficulty of defining a Christian community in terms of any single body of personal law accounts for the same difficulty of constituting Christians as a separate, x

PREFACE

political entity. The study of such processes has raised critical questions concerning sources and methods of research. In what sense, for instance, may court cases function as sources of historical data? For our purposes, the primary function of court cases has not been to reconstruct past events involving Christian disputes over marriage or inheritance; instead, they have been used to illustrate how a growing body of “official knowledge” had defined the status of Christians within larger and more elastic notions of Hindu society. Court cases reveal a pattern of regulation and control, which often violated the actual consciousness or self-understandings of Christian families. The brevity of the case summaries provided in the Indian Law Reports was often disappointing. More details about the actors involved, their caste or social status, church affiliation, and occupation would have fleshed out the narratives contained in Chapters 2–4; but again, the case reports have been used, not to reconstruct events, but to explain patterns of regulation and official perceptions of what constitutes a Christian or a Hindu. Another challenge sprang from the difficulty of identifying the main subjects of this study. Which Christians are we talking about – Roman Catholics, Syrians, Baptists, Presbyterians, Lutherans, caste or non-caste, etc.? Delimitations had to be imposed. Of particular interest were legal and political responses to problems of dislocation created by conversion, and whether British rule either facilitated or impeded conversion to the Christian religion and its public mainstreaming. In light of such interests, Christians residing within British-ruled Tamil and Telugu districts, belonging to traditions which actively propagated their faith, took center stage. These included both Roman Catholic and Protestant Evangelical Christians from various caste backgrounds. As a study dealing primarily with Christian engagement of public institutions, this inevitably became a study of elites; that is, English-educated Catholic and Protestant professionals and clergy who claimed to represent the interests of larger constituencies. In order to show the highly contested nature of such elite constructions of the “Christian community,” significant attention is given in Part III to low-caste and Dalit assertion, within both Catholic and Protestant contexts. A final challenge encountered in the production of this study was the uncertainty as to whether such disparate source materials – law reports, Legislative Assembly proceedings, Catholic and Protestant newspapers, and conference reports – could be synthesized to form a coherent account of how Christians contended with marginality. Would the product be similar to a stitched doll, whose limbs all too easily break apart? It is hoped that insights gained by grappling with diverse sources of data have outweighed any sense of discontinuity or fragmentation. Every effort has been made to allow the data to generate the overall structure of the study and not to impose a premeditated structure upon the data. Chapters have created divisions between legal and political topics and between Catholic and Protestant public activity. This was so, not only because the chapters draw from different sources, but also because they address different kinds of processes and different points of view held by actors in history. xi

PREFACE

Since I began my research in the fall of 1997, I have received assistance from a number of foundations and individuals who deserve my sincerest thanks. The Research Enablement Program of the Pew Charitable Trusts provided funding for overseas research in India and the United Kingdom. The Harvey Fellows Program provided invaluable financial support during the writing stage of this project. I have greatly benefited from serving as Project Assistant to Professor Robert Frykenberg, who headed the Pew-sponsored project, “History of Christianity in South India Since 1500: Transcultural Interactions within Hindu–Muslim Environments.” Participation in the Cambridge-based North Atlantic Missiology and Currents in World Christianity Projects, along with the Yale–Edinburgh research forum on the history of the modern missionary movement, has also enriched my research. I am indebted to a number of people who facilitated my research in India. Professors V. Ramakrishna and Lalitha of Hyderabad University assisted me in gaining access and finding my way through the Andhra Pradesh State Archives, as did their son and my friend and colleague, Rajagopal. While in Bangalore, Dr. Daniel Chetti, of the South Asia Theological Research Institute, and his wife Sarah provided invaluable academic support and personal encouragement. Special words of thanks are also owed to Dr. Francis Thonnepara, who kindly arranged my stay at Dharmaram College in Bangalore. While in Madras, the staff of the Tamil Nadu State Archives assisted me in finding important public documents. Dr. Roger Hedlund and his wife June provided a constant source of encouragement and hospitality during my visits to Mylapore. While in New Delhi, Dr. John Chattanad, Principal of Vidhya Jyoti Theological College (Jesuit), was extremely helpful and kind in giving me access to the College archives. I owe the staff and faculty at Vidhya Jyoti a special word of thanks for their hospitality and assistance with my research in their archives. While in England, Brian Stanley at Cambridge University and Rosemary Seton, Archivist at the School of Oriental and African Studies in London, provided vital academic support. Conversations at Cambridge with Rosalind O’Hanlon, Susan Bayly and Joya Chatterji were both inspiring and instructive. Special thanks are owed to Ms. Marie Doughty, for providing the hospitality of her home as I conducted my research at the British library. Among those who guided my research at Wisconsin, Robert Frykenberg deserves my deepest thanks. His patience, accessibility, academic and moral support and sense of humor have, at every stage of my training at Wisconsin, provided a source of encouragement and motivation to press on. My thanks are also owed to Velchuru Narayana Rao, for the insights and encouragement he has provided in our fruitful conversations about Telugu Christians, and to Marc Galanter for providing me with materials dealing with Christian marital law. I must also thank Martha Smalley, Curator of the Day Missions Library at Yale Divinity School, for providing valuable microfiche materials through interlibrary loan. A special word of thanks is owed to James Richardson and Laura D. Jenkins, former colleagues at the University of Wisconsin, and Derek Peterson xii

PREFACE

of the College of New Jersey, for their careful reading and critique of earlier drafts. Many dear friends in the United States, India, and the United Kingdom have stood by me through different phases of my research and writing and deserve my deepest thanks. I must also acknowledge my parents, who have always supported my academic interests. Chandra Mallampalli 2004

xiii

ABBREVIATIONS

ABCFM AICIC CISRS CL CLS CMS EX GRD HF IESHR IMC/CBMS, SOAS

ILR IR IRM ISR LMS MIA NCC NCCR NL NMI OIOC TNA YMI

American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions All India Conference of Indian Christians Christian Institute for the Study of Religion and Society Catholic Leader Christian Literature Society for India Church Missionary Society The Examiner The Guardian Harvest Field Indian Economic and Social History Review Joint Archives of the International Missionary Council and Conference of British Missionary Societies, School of Oriental and African Studies, London Indian Law Reports Indian Review International Review of Missions Indian Social Reformer London Missionary Society Moore’s Indian Appeals National Christian Council of India, Burma, and Ceylon National Christian Council Review New Leader National Missionary Intelligencer Oriental and India Office Collection, British Library, London Tamil Nadu Archives Young Men of India

xiv

1 INTRODUCTION

In recent years, India’s Christian minority has come under violent attack by organizations pushing for an officially Hindu nation. In addition to raising questions about nationalism, these attacks have sparked debates over the ethics and politics of religious conversion. What is lacking in today’s conversion debate, however, is a sense of how India’s colonial past has formed the identity categories and viewpoints that all sides take for granted. Conversion, of course, involves a change of religious allegiance. But how did courts of law ever come to distinguish a “Native Christian community” from the rest of “Hindu society?” As simple a matter as this may seem, it often required painstaking interpretation of beliefs, customs and laws of various communities. Furthermore, how did different varieties and classes of Christians adopt, resist or reshape both imperial and nationalist perceptions of their identity? Such questions point to a rich but largely ignored history of Indian Christian engagement with public life, a history that weighs heavily upon current debates over conversion and religious boundaries. This book tells the story of how Catholics and Protestants of the Madras Presidency (the southernmost territory under British administration) have struggled to locate themselves, since the late nineteenth century, within the Indian nation in the making. It is a story about inclusion and exclusion from “Indian-ness,” as this notion has evolved in relation to “Hindu-ness.” The book’s three parts correspond to three elements that have shaped Indian Christian identity – imperial policies, elite responses and Dalit (formerly “untouchable”) responses. Part I describes how the Madras judiciary classified Christians as culturally “non-Hindu,” in spite of their highly indigenous cultural practices. Part II outlines the distinct political strategies adopted by Catholic and Protestant elites to find a more central place within the evolving Indian nation, especially as that nation assumed a more Hindu or Sanskritic cultural complexion. And Part III describes the ways in which converts from low-caste and Dalit backgrounds contested both elite and imperial perspectives. An issue often raised by scholars of Christianity in Africa, South Asia and other non-Western societies is whether being or becoming Christian displaces converts from local institutions and marginalizes them from national culture. 1

INTRODUCTION

This study describes a condition of marginality faced by South Indian Catholics and Protestants, but argues that this condition was far from inevitable. By the 1870’s, imperial courts had come to define the Native Christian community according to European cultural standards and in opposition to the customs of indigenous caste society.1 By classifying Indian Christians in this manner, British rulers did not elevate them to a position of privilege, but pushed them to the margins of a predominantly Hindu society. Officials of the British Raj came to believe that “Christian” laws of inheritance and marriage had to govern a “Christian community” just as Hindu and Muslim laws governed Hindu and Muslim communities.2 The problem, however, was that the Christian religion taught no personal law. And large numbers of Indian Christians continued to marry and inherit property according to local caste customs. As such, Hindu law, as Julian Saldanha has observed, could have governed them.3 How, then, did Christians come to be viewed as an entirely separate community? Debates concerning the place of Christians within British India were dominated by a single image, that of the beleaguered convert who, on account of his or her apostasy from Hinduism, was seen as degraded (patita), cut off from family and caste and denied inheritance and other familial rights. What could courts do to ameliorate so-called “civil disabilities” of converts? In addressing this question, missionaries, judges and politicians all contributed to an official knowledge about conversion and about the Indian Christian community. Through the eyes of the law, Christian identity came to be defined as antithetical to caste identity.4 “Native Christians”, along with their European co-religionists, belonged to an abstract Christian community whose laws were modeled upon English common law. This official knowledge therefore functioned as a “severance package” from Hindu society. It isolated Christians from categories of belonging that made one Indian. Evicted from the little society (jati) of caste, Christians would eventually find themselves estranged from the big society (mahajati) of the nation. The task of defining an Indian Christian community politically was as difficult as defining one legally. Did such a community actually exist, or did Indian Christians consist of many communities, splintered along lines of caste, language, region and church tradition? During an era of rising national consciousness, Christian pandits debated whether it was to their advantage to have separate voting electorates (whereby Christians would elect their own representatives to legislative assemblies) and identify themselves as an All-India political community, as Muslims and Hindus had done. By 1930, it was the conviction of Protestant leaders such as V.S. Azariah, K.T. Paul, V. Chakkarai and S.K. Datta that Christians would best integrate themselves into national life if they did not attempt to constitute themselves as a separate political entity. Such leaders felt that extending the policy of separate electorates to Christians would further alienate them from the national mainstream and amount to a form of “compulsory segregation.” V.S. Azariah, Bishop of the Dornakal Diocese of South India, expressed this view passionately: 2

INTRODUCTION

We are not a static community; growth is our religious characteristic. All races, all tongues and all castes are included in our group; our status is not to be a caste among the many Hindu castes.… [For] Indian Christians to be treated as a separate communal group is contrary to our best interests, is a blot on our religion, and belies our place in the Indian nation.5 This opposition to any form of Christian communalism, coupled with a desire to “Indianize” Christianity, eventually became the dominant position of the Indian Protestant elite (the subject of Chapter 6). By contrast, Roman Catholic spokespersons such as A.T. Pannirselvam stridently advocated communal electorates in order to secure “Catholic interests.” Not to participate as Catholics in the enterprise of group politics, argued Pannirselvam, was to be marginal to the public sphere. Refuting opponents of the policy of separate electorates, Pannirselvam “expressed his surprise that while all other communities were fighting, under various guises, for their political supremacy, there should be Catholics who were eager to commit the community to an act of political suicide.”6 To some Catholics, communal identities constituted the very fabric of Indian society. Not to participate in the competitive enterprise of group politics was to be marginal to public life. Hence, as Protestant elites desired increasingly to blend with national culture, Catholics stressed the need to retain strong communal boundaries and the value of engaging the political system for the sake of their cultural preservation. Instead of regarding Indian Protestant and Catholic perspectives as reflective of their religious traditions, they are best seen as distinct strategies for contending with marginality. In fact, I argue in Part II that, by becoming more nationalistic, Protestants actually grew more marginal to public life. And Catholics, by stressing communal boundaries, blended to a greater extent with the political culture of the Madras Presidency, a culture shaped by a wide range of groups competing for their own interests. Differences between Indian Catholics and Protestants on the “communal question” suggest that lines of commonality and difference were actively negotiated by religious actors and were not imposed from the top down. Even when Catholics, Muslims and others asserted communal boundaries, they did so critically and for their own reasons, not as those who had naively accepted the idiom of British rule. As Protestant and Catholic elites challenged imperial constructions of Christian identity, low-caste and Dalit Christians faced far more severe experiences of exclusion. Not only, as John Webster has shown, has their experience of caste discrimination persisted in their lives as Christians, but their status as Christians also has precluded them from receiving state assistance.7 To this day, the Government of India offers assistance in the form of educational and employment quotas to “Scheduled Castes” (SCs), but denies such assistance to those Dalits who have converted to Christianity. Having left Hinduism, they no 3

INTRODUCTION

longer qualify for assistance aimed at rectifying the historical abuses of Hinduism.8 Some scholars have traced such discrimination toward Dalit Christians to the Presidential Order of 1950, or perhaps farther back to the introduction of communal electorates under British rule.9 While these claims are technically correct, it is important to locate such discrimination within a larger history, associated with the civil disabilities of Christian converts. The Christian convert’s loss of civil rights within the Hindu family has, in a sense, been reenacted in the Dalit Christian’s forfeiture of assistance from the modern Indian nation-state. Ironically, through a shared history of exclusion from Hindu society, converts from Dalit backgrounds have inherited the disabilities of converts from elite or propertied classes; but not without a fight. During the 1920’s and 1930’s, Dalits protested caste discrimination within both Protestant and Catholic institutions. In this connection, I observe in Chapters 8 and 9 that, where elites placed a strong emphasis upon communal boundaries, as in the case of Catholics, Dalits tried to integrate themselves within the existing structures of the Church. But where elites de-emphasized communal boundaries, as with Protestants, Dalits displayed stronger tendencies toward the pursuit of an autonomous Dalit identity. By observing the interplay between imperial, elite and Dalit discourses about Christian identity, it is hoped that readers will become acquainted with the unique challenges faced by those Indians who shared the religion of their imperial rulers. At the same time, these chapters show that Christians were deeply embedded in the unfolding drama of the Indian nation. Like any other group in India, Christians were forced to negotiate their relationship to imperial policies, to an emerging national culture and to a growing awareness of caste oppression.

The Conversion Debate and Colonial History Recent events show how religious conversion continues to spark debates that find precedents in colonial history. As India approached the turn of the millennium, a new form of communal violence cast a shadow over her achievement of fifty years of independence as a secular nation. A network of organizations pushing for the establishment of an officially Hindu Nation diverted their hostility away from Muslims, their usual targets, and launched a campaign of violence against India’s Christian minority. Christian missionaries, they claimed, were using foreign funds to induce the ignorant poor to leave the Hindu fold and convert to Christianity, a “foreign religion.” As such tirades against Christians intensified, attacks against church congregations and clergy became more and more extreme. During the late 1990’s, Indian news media and human rights groups drew attention to churches being destroyed, nuns assaulted or raped, priests hacked to death, and social relief organizations solemnly warned not to engage in “conversions.”10 Such events 4

INTRODUCTION

occurred in places such as Gujarat, Bihar, Orissa and Madhya Pradesh amidst allegations of indifference or complicity by state officials. In December 1998, a spate of attacks against tribal Christians in the Dangs District of the north-western state of Gujarat drew the attention of major political parties and national forums. Sonia Gandhi, President of the Congress (I), upon visiting the Dangs District, described the “extreme fear and tension” felt by Christian minorities. Spokespersons for the United Christian Forum for Human Rights declared the attacks to be part of a “systematic and orchestrated” agenda of the pro-Hindu, Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP)-led Government.11 Christian leaders and Congress Party officials demanded the dismissal of the BJP Ministry in Gujarat and a ban on the activities of two militant Hindu organizations, the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP) and the Bajrang Dal. Rather than granting their pleas, Prime Minister Atal Behari Vajpayee called for a “national debate on conversions.” His statement inflamed church leaders because it appeared to absolve perpetrators of communal violence of responsibility, while placing so-called agents of conversion on trial. Vajpayee claimed that he was following the advice of two local Gandhian leaders, who charged that religious conversion by missionaries was the root cause of the conflict in the Dangs District. The Prime Minister reminded reporters that even Mahatma Gandhi had once suggested a ban on religious conversion. He framed his proposed “debate on conversion” as something consistent with the outlook of the Mahatma.12 Notwithstanding the sectarian overtones of the Prime Minister’s statement, a debate on religious conversion certainly provides an occasion to trace historically the centrality of religion, including minority religions, to the Indian polity. Is conversion a politically neutral or “private” event, or is it, as Gauri Viswanathan argues, one of the most disruptive events in the life of a nation?13 Viswanathan has shown how conversion within colonial India functioned as a critical enterprise, in which converts challenged the public identities (e.g., Hindu and Muslim) that were recognized by the state. My attempt in this book is to show how state responses to conversion solidified perceptions of the Christian community as “non-Hindu” and “non-Indian.” In the name of cultural nationalism, communally motivated groups continue to invoke such perceptions to question the Indian-ness of Christians. One might ask how a small minority numbering hardly three per cent of the Indian population could be anything other than marginal. Throughout much of the colonial period, it was the instability of Indian Christian identity – the difficulty of constituting a single, “real” community around being Christian – that made them marginal, not their minority status per se.14 Colonial officials found it difficult to constitute Christians in terms of any single body of civil law as they had so constituted Hindu and Muslim communities. To address this instability, the Government ultimately applied English law to Christians of British India, in spite of the fact that Indian Christians vastly 5

INTRODUCTION

outnumbered European Christians. In 1931, Christians who were Indian by race (also known as “Christians of pure Hindoo blood”) comprised 95.1 per cent of the total number of Christians in British India, Anglo-Indians 2.2 per cent, and Europeans 2.7 per cent.15 Many Indian Christians continued to marry and inherit property according to the customs of their caste. Yet, by grouping them with Europeans in terms of their civil laws, the Government treated Christians essentially as an exogenous community.

The Madras Presidency and its Christian Elite Contemporary disputes over conversion, the national commitment of Christians, and civil rights of converts are structurally identical to debates that occurred during the late colonial period. Only by viewing these issues historically do we learn how they have assumed their present form. The Madras Presidency possessed the highest numbers and varieties of Christians within British India. It therefore provides an excellent context for examining how a Christian communal identity had evolved under British rule. The Madras Presidency (officially called the Presidency of Fort St. George) occupied almost the entire southern portion of the Indian peninsula. It included twenty-two districts, which were sub-divided into smaller taluks (units of revenue collection). Excluded from its territory were the princely-ruled states of Travancore, Cochin, Pudukottai, Banganapalle and Sandur. Its geography included hill country, forests, flatlands and vast stretches of irrigated land created by the Kistna, Godavari and Cauvery rivers. In 1931, roughly 1.8 million Christians resided within the Madras Presidency. They were the third largest community behind Muslims, who numbered 3.3 million, and Hindus who numbered 41.3 million.16 How masses of Christians, splintered by language, caste, region and church tradition, came to be conceived of as an Indian Christian community, and how that community came to be situated at the margins of a notional Hindu society or nation, form the substance of this book. A brief overview of the principle elements of Indian Christianity allows us to appreciate the magnitude of this project. Indian Christianity consists of three principle branches: Syrian (or Thomas) Christian, Roman Catholic and Protestant. Each branch contains many subdivisions and carries a unique history of interaction with local culture within Presidency districts. As mentioned above, Christians belonging to the oldest Church of India, the Thomas Christians were mostly concentrated within the princely state of Travancore (what is now Kerala). Significant numbers of Thomas Christians also resided within the Malabar district of the Madras Presidency. They traced their origins to the Apostle Thomas, who allegedly came to India and converted a number of Brahmins along the Coromandel Coast near Mylapore.17 Many of these Christians eventually migrated to Malabar. They professed high-caste (Brahmin) status and shared many of the 6

INTRODUCTION

ritual and social practices of high-caste Hindus. Over the centuries, they have avoided efforts to propagate their religion for fear of compromising their high social status. The history of the Thomas Christians encompasses complex interactions with local customs, Hindu rajas, Portuguese rulers of the sixteenth century, Roman Catholic clerics, and East India Company officials. Scholars such as A.M. Mundadan, Stephen Neill, Susan Bayly and Susan Visvanathan have addressed these aspects of their history extensively. During the early sixteenth century, both the Portuguese crown and the papacy extended official patronage to Portuguese missionaries within the coastal regions of Malabar and Goa. Ultimately, this padroado, as it was called, became embroiled in doctrinal schisms and jurisdictional controversies, not only with Thomas Christians already residing within Malabar, but also with other Roman Catholic and Protestant missions. In 1622, Pope Gregory XV established the Sacred Congregation for the Propagation of the Faith (or Propaganda Fide). The purpose of the Propaganda Fide was to conceive “the whole missionary work of the Church of Rome as a unity, to bring it under a measure of control, and to establish a central point of reference.”18 For centuries after the establishment of Propaganda Fide, South Indian Roman Catholic clerics and congregations entered heated disputes over whether they should fall under the governance of the padroado or the Propaganda Fide. In 1540, the first Jesuit missionaries arrived in India. Francis Xavier oversaw what might be viewed as the first “mass movement” of conversion in South India.19 More than 15,000 low-caste fisherman, Mukkuvas and Paravas, converted to Catholicism and were drawn, as groups, under the authority of the Portuguese crown. Missionary efforts of the Jesuit Robert de Nobili differed from those of Xavier in that de Nobili targeted the upper castes and attempted to keep his missionary efforts outside the dominion of the crown. De Nobili identified himself in dress and lifestyle with various ascetic and ritual practices of Brahmin priests of Madurai. Some of these practices drew the contempt of his superiors. After de Nobili’s death, the Madurai mission adopted his models for missionary work and established mission stations in Ramnad, Padukottai, Mysore, Trichinopoly and Tanjore, as well as in areas within Arcot district.20 When John de Britto (d. 1693) arrived in Ramnad, he adopted de Nobili’s strategy of dressing like a sannyasi, but included in his missionary labors the warrior elite castes of the Maravas and Agamudaiyans of Tinnevelly. Catholic cult traditions in the south devoted to De Britto were associated with healing and the mystical powers of his blood.21 Protestant missions made their initial inroads into South Indian society through the work of the Danish Tranquebar mission. The mission’s founders, Bartholomaus Ziegenbalg and Heinrich Plutschau, established schools and a printing press, through which they disseminated their German pietistic understanding of the gospel.22 Many of the converts within the Tranquebar mission came from a highly literate and elite caste known as the Vellalars. The Vellalars 7

INTRODUCTION

were landholders, who often collaborated with priestly Brahmins to exert their social dominance over many Tamil-speaking localities. Vellalar Protestants in Tanjore, Trichinopoly and Tinnevelly articulated a unique understanding of Protestant Christianity, which was fully anchored in classical traditions of Tamil culture. In so doing, Vellalars, according to Dennis Hudson, “participated through language, family, caste, and custom one way or another in the larger society signified by the temples, mosques, and palaces around them.”23 A wide range of Protestant missions conducted work among low-ranking communities. While these missions are far too numerous to describe here, their influence upon low-caste and Dalit groups within Tamil and Telugu districts is noteworthy. From the middle of the nineteenth century, the London Mission Society (LMS) conducted its work within the so-called “Tamil Field” of South India. This region covered an area of roughly 120 miles and included Salem, Attur, Coimbatore, Erode and other Tamil districts. Under the influence of the LMS, large numbers of persons from Dalit castes, such as the so-called conch shell and green bangle pariahs and Chuklas of Erode, and from Criminal tribes such as the Kuruvars of Salem, became Christian.24 Under the auspices of the Church Mission Society (CMS) and the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel (SPG), Dalit groups such as the Chakkiliyans, Pallans and Shanars of Tinnevelly and Tanjore also converted. Converts within Telugu districts also came predominantly from Dalit castes. Within the Krishna Godavari delta these included Malas, who worked the land, and Madigas, who were leather workers. In addition to Roman Catholic missions, the Church Mission Society (CMS), American Baptists, Lutherans and Anglicans, all witnessed mass movements of conversion among the Teluguspeaking Malas and Madigas. Against the wishes of church leadership, many of these Dalit converts retained many of their “pre-Christian” practices. They continued to “eat, drink, and socialize together and even to intermarry” with non-Christian members of their community.25 This brief sketch of Christians of the Madras Presidency shows how they actually consisted of many “communities,” comprised (with the exception of the Thomas Christians) mostly of persons from low-caste or Dalit backgrounds. In spite of the predominance of low-ranking groups, it was the emerging Christian elite that actually imagined a more collective, Indian Christian community into existence. But how are we to define this elite and what are we to make of its representative claims? By “Christian elite” I am referring to high-caste, English-educated Catholics and Protestants, mostly men, who came to occupy prominent positions within church-related institutions and public life. Throughout the late colonial period, understandings of what it meant to be an Indian Christian were predicated largely upon the ideas and struggles of elites. The elite-centeredness of Christian identity was evident within three arenas: law, politics and print media. Within the realm of law, measures taken by the British Raj to secure the civil rights of Christian converts were geared primarily toward converts from proper8

INTRODUCTION

tied classes. These converts tended to come from the so-called “twice-born” castes.26 The official knowledge and vocabulary about Christian conversion and its consequences revolved around loaded terms such as “desertion,” “severance,” “degradation,” and “outcast.” Such terms, as we shall see in Chapters 3 and 4, grafted English common law meanings into the world of the Brahminical family and its orthodox practices. These highly emotive terms anticipated the marginal status that Christians would occupy within the Indian nation. Second, as a result of their education in English, some Christian elites found employment as lawyers, scholars and government officials. In such capacities they not only served a common public, but also represented “Catholic” or “Christian” interests within newly established institutions of self-government. Two prominent Catholics, L.D. Swamikannu Pillai and M. Ruthnaswamy, on the one hand, were among the first Presidents of the Madras Presidency Legislative Council. A.T. Pannirselvam, a Catholic member of the Tanjore District Board, was a leading figure in the Justice Party before he championed Catholic interests at the Round Table Conference in London. Indian Protestants, on the other hand, sometimes acquired elite status by rising within the ranks of ecumenical bodies such as the Indian YMCA or the International Missionary Council. V.S. Azariah, K.T. Paul and P.D. Devanandan are among the Protestant leaders who were involved with the YMCA and voiced their opinions on Christian nationalism. Third, Christian elites used their secular education and often their theological training abroad to link spiritual understandings of the Church to political notions of an All-India Christian community. They voiced their interpretations of Indian Christian identity through newspapers. Yet, even as newspapers played an increasingly significant role in disseminating the ideas of elites, the literacy rate among Christians actually declined during the 1920’s and 1930’s. This was due to the large influx of converts from so-called depressed classes.27 The ideas of elites were therefore inaccessible to large numbers of persons whom they claimed to represent. As much as they belonged to the most privileged sections of society, Christian elites expressed anxieties over their minority status and their sense of marginality from public life.

Contending with Marginality Marginal groups are those that are in some sense barred or inhibited from entering mainstream political processes and dialogue. As a result of being excluded, these groups are often deprived of resources provided by the state or other social institutions. They may also be vulnerable to vilification, discrimination or violence by members of the “majority.” Racial, religious or ethnic minorities, immigrant communities and indigenous peoples in any given context may fit the description of a marginal community. In their efforts to improve their status, such groups often generate a sense of solidarity through the power of the spoken or written word. They create what Susan Herbst calls a 9

INTRODUCTION

“parallel public space,” alternative media for voicing opinions and raising the consciousness of shared interests.28 During the early twentieth century, Catholic and Protestant elites established printing presses, newspapers and tract societies. Print media, as Karl Deutche and Benedict Anderson have described, nurtured the growing selfconsciousness of community, in this case, of an Indian Christian community.29 In the face of rising Hindu nationalism, the emerging Catholic and Protestant print culture of South India invested the idea of an Indian Christian community with different religious and ideological meanings. By means of their press, an emerging professional class of Christian politicians, scholars, journalists and lawyers situated themselves in relation to regional events, to the national Independence movement, and to developments within the wider Christian world. As attuned as Christian print media were to current affairs, they also displayed symptoms of the community’s isolation from the Indian public mainstream. By analyzing Christian media during the early twentieth century, one can discern a common and recurrent theme of marginality from the Indian nation in the making. The very effort to acquire a public voice and engender a more socially and politically relevant church suggests that Christians required a remedy for their own aloofness and alienation from public life. This isolation is ironic, considering the important role that both Catholic and Protestant missionaries had played in creating a public sphere. As much as this “missionary religion” was eventually relegated to the margins of society, it had contributed significantly, through the establishment of printing presses and vernacular translations of the Bible and other works, to the emergence of cultural pride and nationalism in many parts of the subcontinent.30 Contributions of Carey to a Bengal Renaissance, David and C.P. Brown to a Telugu consciousness, and Beschi, De Nobili, Schwartz and Caldwell to a Tamil consciousness illustrate how Christians had actively participated in the formation of sub-national or regional identities.31 A critical question that needs to be addressed is how and why, in India, Christians came to be excluded from the very imaginings of cultural identity to which missionary labor had contributed. The answer may lie in the categories of religious identity that were instituted under British rule. Some have argued that colonial demarcations of religious boundaries have fundamentally altered self-understandings of groups and have given birth to new forms of communal rivalry. Critics of Orientalism – that body of knowledge about “the Orient” which ultimately served the interests of colonial domination – are among those who make this claim. As Bernard Cohn and Arjun Appadurai have shown, scholar administrators of the British Raj portrayed Indian society as deeply divided along lines of caste and religion. By classifying or “objectifying” Indians in census reports, gazetteers, codified laws, electoral policies and employment quotas, the British Raj institutionalized these differences and made them more rigid and salient than ever before.32 Such 10

INTRODUCTION

classifications provided incentives for Indians to organize themselves along lines of caste and religion in order to maximize their share of state resources and political influence. This critique is significant not merely because of what it says about the relationship between knowledge and power. It also speaks to Orientalism’s distorted picture of Indian society. Scholars such as Dipesh Chakrabarty, T.N. Madan and Talal Asad have highlighted how Orientalism was predicated upon a false binary between a “secular” Europe en route to modernity and a “sacred East” that was steeped in its ancient religious traditions. By portraying Indians as hopelessly divided along lines of caste and religion, this binary, they argue, served to legitimate British rule. One might ask, however, whether the chief flaw of this picture might not lie in what it excludes from India.33 Through the eyes of colonial administrators, India was Hindu, Muslim, Sikh and Buddhist, but not Christian. Scholar administrators from the days of Warren Hastings onward imagined an India that was predominantly Sankritic or “Hindoo,” but that was also significantly “Muhammedan.” As Orientalists translated shastric literature, which formed the corpus of “Hindu law,” and as they codified Muslim law, they reified the two dominant communities of India. Sikhs, Jains and Buddhists were merely derivatives of the more dominant Hindu community. Indian Christians, however, occupied a vague and indeterminate space within the Orientalist imagination. They were embedded in the history of the West, not the Orient; and they represented that portion of the West’s history that had to be surpassed in the name of “enlightenment” and “toleration.” These sensibilities profoundly affected the way British administrators devised and implemented laws relating to Indian Christians. India, of course, had its own Oriental church, the Syrian Christians, whose presence in India predates the arrival of both Islam and Roman Catholicism to the subcontinent. The Syrian Christians were mostly concentrated in the princely state of Travancore, which never became part of British India. But even within Travancore, the Syrian Christians during the 1840’s came under the influence of the reformist impulses of the Church Mission Society (CMS), working in collaboration with Colonel Thomas Munro, the British Resident in Travancore.34 CMS missionaries wanted to rid Syrian liturgy, hymnody and sermons of all superstition and make them more Protestant in style and content. Hence, as much as the British recognized the ancient tradition of the Syrian Christians, they tried to reform them with the aim of making them less Hindu, less Oriental and more Anglican in their outlook. Indian Christians may therefore be viewed as having stood at the crossroads of Orientalism. For the most part, they were neither Orientalists (that is, actively involved in the production of knowledge about the “Orient”) nor regarded as the objects of Orientalism.35 While Hindu, Muslim and Sikh communities were considered, in however essentialist terms, to be part of the very fabric or “constitution” of India, Christians were not.36 Different perceptions of who was a Hindu led to different applications of the policy of religious 11

INTRODUCTION

neutrality and varying degrees of State obligation toward various classes of British subjects. Henry Maine, Law Member of the Governor General’s Council, took note of such disparities while addressing the so-called “civil disabilities” of Christian converts. Responding to objections to a law that would validate the remarriage of Christian converts, Maine noted: It is not only that we forget that they are a native race, with many of the characteristics of all native races, but we actually show them less consideration than other native races … Contingencies on which not a thought would have been bestowed if another native race had been in question, have to be carefully weighed and taken into account; the very mole hills of Hindu prejudice are exaggerated into mountains, and difficulties which in every day Indian life crumble away at a touch, are assumed to be of stupendous importance. I know, of course, that we do this because the converts are of our own faith, and because we are tender of our character for impartiality. But I do not know that we are entitled to be unjust even for the sake of seeming to be impartial.37 Maine’s efforts to consolidate and standardize laws that governed the marital practices of Christians were geared toward rectifying their unstable legal status, relative to the more officially recognized Hindu and Muslim communities. In their efforts to standardize civil laws applicable to Christians, lawmakers eventually brought them under the governance of English legal norms. This occurred with the passing of the Indian Succession Act of 1865 and the Indian Christian Marriage Act of 1872. By means of these acts, Christians had acquired some semblance of a legal identity. But now that identity had come to be conceived uniformly as “non-Hindu.”

Christians and the Public Sphere Throughout the 1930’s, tensions between inclusion and exclusion from national culture, political visibility v. invisibility, and nationalism v. communalism were recurrent themes of Indian Christian public discourse. Muslim and Sikh minorities had to choose between these alternatives as well. The question of whether to bracket group identity for the sake of common or national interests, or to assert group identity for the sake of private interests, is not unique to colonial India, but is fundamental to the very idea of a “public sphere.” According to Jurgen Habermas, the public sphere is an arena between the state and society in which people generate public opinion.38 Persons of any social status, race or religion are invited to participate in a “rational–critical” debate about common concerns. The pursuit of truth and effective public policy inspires participants to set aside private interests as well as any markers of privilege or status. The public sphere, therefore, establishes itself as being radi12

INTRODUCTION

cally inclusive in principle, however imperfectly its ideal may be realized within a given context.39 Critics of HabermasÕ conception of the modern, liberal public sphere have argued that it inadequately accounts for the persistence of identity consciousness (e.g., race, ethnicity, gender and religion) in public life. Identity consciousness often derives from inequalities of wealth, influence or status between groups. To bracket group identities in public discourse without eliminating these inequalities would amount to a form of denial and would only hinder, not help, democratization. Accordingly, Nancy Fraser has argued that the proliferation of a “multiplicity of mutually contestatory publics” is preferable to purely rational deliberations of a single public.40 This vision of competing publics as opposed to a single, identity-less public resembles the political culture of the Madras Presidency during the early decades of the twentieth century. Imperial policies played an important role in creating a climate of competition. The Government of Madras devised quotas in education and employment in order to safeguard non-Brahmins and religious minorities from domination by members of upper castes, who often spoke for the Hindu majority. The Government’s policy of communal representation (or separate electorates) assigned varying numbers of seats to each religious group within the Legislative Assembly. By determining the representation of religious groups according to their numerical strength within a given district, the Government endowed them with a constitutional identity. While drawing under-represented sections of society into the political process, official policies also gave rise to new forms of group consciousness and group competition. The political culture of the Madras Presidency generated a “kaleidoscope” of identities.41 Numerous alliances were constantly being formed and broken across a wide range of groups. These included: (a) caste organizations such as Komatis, Chettiars, Kayasths or Naidus, and the nonBrahmin South Indian Liberation Federation; (b) religious organizations such as the Madras Presidency chapters of the Muslim League, Hindu Mahasabha, All-India Catholic League or Conference of Indian Christians; and (c) political forums such as the Madras Mahajana Sabha and parties such as the Congress or the Justice Party. Persons claiming to represent caste or religious constituencies acted as brokers of group interests. Based on what they knew about quotas and proportionate representation, elites learned to manipulate communal identities in order to maximize access to state resources.42 In addition to political activity that revolved around state policies was the public consciousness generated by different arteries of print media. By means of their press, representatives of religious communities not only voiced their political views, but they also generated communal consciousness through the idiom of Hindu, Islamic or Christian traditions. The interplay between how the Government had defined religious communities through the electoral system and how religious groups had defined themselves in their own religious terms lies at the heart of debates concerning religion and the public sphere in colonial 13

INTRODUCTION

India.43 How or whether the Muslim umma, Sikh panth or Christian ecclesia could retain their uniquely religious character within the spaces created for them by the electoral system were questions debated within each community. According to David Gilmartin, religious communities, as conceived by the British Raj, were divested of distinctly religious or ideological content. Religious identity was defined less by belief or ritual than by “common heritage or common descent.”44 In this respect, religious communities, according to the logic of the state, resembled ethnic groups. It was only when they became “too religious” and pushed the limits assigned to them by the state that those religious communities became problematic. The Indian Muslim community of Punjab, for instance, was officially recognized by the Government and was assigned a certain number of seats within the Legislative Assembly. The Government prohibited Muslims, however, from making extensive appeals to Islam during election campaigns. “Though the British recognized Muslim identities in many administrative contexts,” Gilmartin observes, “they had nevertheless sought to dissociate the state in the late nineteenth century from any appeal to religious symbolism or religious ideology.”45 Some have argued that the particularistic categories that were established by the imperial Government deprived religious communities of their “subjectivity.” Gauri Viswanathan makes this argument in her study of Christian conversion. Conversion challenged the fixed, religious categories established by the state. When Hindus converted to the Christian religion, they left an officially recognized Hindu community and entered an ambiguous legal terrain in which their civil rights were called into question.46 Viswanathan stresses the fact that official efforts to secure the civil rights of Christian converts – specifically the Caste Disabilities Removal Act (XXI) of 1850 – did so by recasting converts as Hindus. This policy amounted to a “perverse denial of their adopted religious identity.”47 The precise character of their “adopted religious identity,” however, remains unclear. If conversion, as she claims, functioned more as a protest of colonial categories than as a means of being assimilated into European culture, in what sense ought Christians to be regarded as having embraced an entirely different community? Viswanathan’s analysis elides a very rich debate among Christians themselves as to whether a change in belief necessarily entails a change in community.48 T.R.A. Thumbu Chetty, an Indian Christian Judge of the Mysore High Court, disputed the notion that “Hindoo Christians,” as he called them, should be regarded as a separate community with separate laws on account of a “mere change of religion” (italics added).49 His words portray religious change simply as another form of “opinion making,” not as an event that resulted in a new group affiliation. Other Protestant notables during the 1920’s and 1930’s similarly opposed the idea that Christians constituted a separate community. During the era of Indian nationalism, Protestant elites portrayed the Christian community as something that should never have come into being. They saw themselves as a community in exile from Hindu society and attributed this state of exile equally to the intolerance of foreign missionaries and Hindu 14

INTRODUCTION

families. To re-integrate themselves, Protestant notables such as K.T. Paul, S.K. George and V. Chakkarai rejected political remedies such as a Communal Award (or separate electorates) for Christians and advocated a stronger identification with national culture. By assuming this stance, Indian Protestant leaders opted for a public ideal in which identities were bracketed for the sake of the “common good.” Their views resonated with Indian nationalist leaders, who condemned communalism as a violation of Indian unity. Catholic elites, by contrast, conceived their community as having been passed down through generations through the structures and sacraments of the Roman Catholic Church. They understood their ancient tradition to be embroiled in an ideological battle with modernism and all of its derivatives – Socialism, Communism, Naziism, and of course Protestantism. Ideological fault lines on the international scene served to enhance the rhetoric of Catholic distinctiveness locally. South Indian Catholics engaged the electoral system as another “demand group” pressing for Catholic interests.50 Like their Protestant counterparts, Indian Catholics grew more and more estranged from national culture. Yet the adoption of a communal identity was fully consistent with their spiritual outlook. As their determination to fight for Catholic interests increased, so did their adaptation to the political culture of the Madras Presidency. That culture was marked by shifting alliances and competing group interests, rooted in pre-modern forms of political practice.51 The decision made by South Indian Catholic elites to collaborate with Protestants – whom their press had vilified for their compromises with modernism – illustrates their adaptation to traditional arts of interest-based alliance building (this is discussed in Chapter 7). Ideological boundary lines that precluded alliances with “outsiders” became more and more blurred among lower classes. Quite often, elite consciousness of communal difference and orthodox commitment contradicted the day-to-day religious practices of rural peasants or villagers. In such instances, are we to believe that elite consciousness is invented or derived and peasant consciousness is authentic? Or that communal boundaries are inherently colonial and syncretism is inherently Indian? These options present a false “either–or,” which I discuss in the following section. Throughout this study, I have rejected these alternatives, preferring instead to view both elite and non-elite perspectives as unique responses to different historical circumstances. Recent studies of Sikh and Muslim identity provide insights that have informed my approach to Christians. During the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries one can note, for instance, the ruptures that existed between the ashraf of Calcutta (urban, elite Muslims, often of foreign origin) and rural Bengali converts, or between orthodox pretensions of Khalsa Sikhs of the Punjab and non-Khalsa Sikhs.52 In some instances, the imposition of orthodoxy aroused resistance by lower classes and ultimately led to their rejection of the tradition as a whole. Harjot Oberoi describes conflicts that arose when, during the late nineteenth century, the Singh Sabha attempted to purge the Sikh tradition of its diversity: 15

INTRODUCTION

A new cultural elite aggressively usurped the right to represent others within this singular tradition. Its ethnocentric logic subsumed other identities and dissolved alternative ideals – such as asceticism – under monolithic, codified and closed culture … Those who deviated or refused to mould themselves according to the standards of this new “great tradition” were gradually displaced and consigned to the margins of Sikh religious culture. After considerable resistance, these marginalized groups finally turned their backs on Sikh tradition and went their own way.53 According to Oberoi, the modern construction of an orthodox, sectarian Sikh identity had more to do with the quest for power and control by elites than it did with any timeless precepts of the Sikh religion. “Difference” itself, according to Oberoi, was both modern and contrived. Writing about Indian Muslims, Ayesha Jalal notes the limitations of elite constructions of the Muslim community: It is extraordinary, but revealing, that a decidedly elitist discourse has come to be seen as not only representative of the sentiments of all Indian Muslims but also their “communal consciousness.” Open to wide and conflicting interpretations along sectarian, class and ideological lines, the normative discourse of Islam was never the only guide to Muslim perceptions of identity or, for that matter, the practice of their politics.54 Both Jalal and Oberoi critique the exaggerated claims of elites to represent all Muslims or all Sikhs. But while Oberoi stresses the modern and largely arbitrary construction of a bounded Sikh identity, Jalal suggests something different. Indian Muslims, while encompassing a plurality of viewpoints, also gave voice to a universal “Muslim identity” on an All-India scale. Jalal’s recognition of the creative interplay between the multiple voices of Indian Islam and its imagined universal community resembles the picture of Christians I wish to present in this book. Tensions between a universal community and a multiplicity of local expressions also characterize Christians in India, especially with regard to the issue of caste. Beyond the task of becoming reconciled to Indian nationalism, church leaders constantly had to negotiate their relationship to smaller units of social identity, which anchored Christians in local traditions. To transcend caste in the name of a universal religious identity was to uproot oneself from local traditions and become “less Indian.” To adhere to one’s jati (or birth group) and its hereditary life patterns was to remain established in a longstanding local community. In this respect, adherence to caste rooted Christians in an indigenous social landscape and made them “more Indian.” This theme is taken up in Chapters 8 and 9 by exploring the impact of nationalism, Temple Entry campaigns and Self Respect ideology upon the attitudes of Dalit Christians. 16

INTRODUCTION

Re-conceiving Difference in Indian History As we have noted, existing literature on Indian Christianity suffers from a false “either–or:” It stresses either (a) the radical difference between Christians and other indigenous traditions, anchored in a history of polemical confrontation, or (b) a relationship marked by commonality, breathable boundaries and syncretism (the blending of symbols and rituals from multiple traditions). It is important to observe, however, that neither of these points of emphasis precisely captures the outlook of Indian Christians during the early twentieth century. That is to say, as Catholic and Protestant elites imagined the Indian Christian community, they neither reverted to the divisive polemics of the early nineteenth century nor called for a recovery of syncretism. They articulated various notions of Indian Christian identity, but did so as persons who were critically engaged with their own past and with evolving structures of the Indian polity. Scholars such as Kenneth Jones, Rosalind O’Hanlon, Richard Young and Avril Powell have described how, during the nineteenth century, Evangelical missionaries and Hindu and Muslim reformers were engaged in a battle for “public legitimacy.”55 Their work depicts the radical difference that existed between the Christian religion and other Indian traditions. By contrast, Susan Bayly, David Mosse, Dennis Hudson and Henriette Bugge have stressed the “shared landscape” to which many religious groups, including Christians, belonged.56 Bayly highlights syncretism as a defining feature of both Muslim and Christian forms of worship in South India. By employing the concept of syncretism, Bayly makes a case for the “Indian-ness” of both Islam and Christianity. Previous works, therefore, contribute either to the sense that Christians were so different that they did not belong to India, or that they blended to the point of abandoning any sense of difference or orthodoxy. What is lacking is an appreciation of how Indians asserted difference critically, or how they were active agents in the construction of religious boundaries. By extending the stories of Christians into the modern spaces created by law, politics and print media, this book presents an alternative picture. As Indian Catholic and Protestant elites defined their political posture during the early twentieth century, they engaged in reflective processes that neither reverted to the polarizing rhetoric of the nineteenth century, nor called for a recovery of a pre-colonial religious amalgam. What we see instead are Indians, charting out a course for their political and social advancement through the use of legal and political institutions and print media. Both Protestant and Catholic strategies involved self-conscious and creative processes by which competing notions of a “Christian community” were imagined into being. This story of Christians “finding their place in India” may disappoint some radical critics, who would prefer to free history writing of its addiction to the grand narrative of the nation-state.57 Yet, at a time such as now, when Christians are falling victim to the forces of Hindutva (Hindu nationalism), to ignore this

17

INTRODUCTION

larger history of exclusion would be costly. In the name of a radical critique of the nation, such an omission would amount to a form of denial and would only serve to legitimate the dominant forces – both imperial and nationalistic – that have pushed Christians and other minorities to the margins of India in the first place.58 It has become fashionable to regard the entanglement of Indians in modern institutions as having deprived them of real “subjectivity.” Law reports, assembly debates and news media offer a distorted picture of the views of Indians. Such sources deal with Indians only when they have been lifted “off the ground,” or lured into a less-than-Indian representative sphere.59 Exiled from the intimate domain of “home” (the domain of family, culture and religion), immersed in the imported culture of statecraft, the subaltern is unable truly to “speak.”60 From this perspective, records of legal and political activity offer at best a dim reflection of the real selves of Indians, which were veiled by the oppressive aura of colonial agency. The problem with such perspectives is that they make it next to impossible to find an Indian subject within the public sphere. Even as they contested colonial categories, Hindus, Muslims, Christians and Sikhs utilized spaces created for them by the Raj to advance their own agendas. From the mere fact of their having done so, it does not follow that they uncritically adopted colonial categories of identity. As they encountered modern influences, religious reformers and spokespersons reinterpreted their traditions to adjust to a changing world. This interpretive activity, even when it has rendered so-called bounded identities, can be viewed as part of an ongoing critical enterprise, and not simply as an invention or imposition of the modern.61 When voices of a religious tradition are summarily relegated to pages of colonial history on account of their assertions of difference, their own public discourse is ignored and the very project of retrieving the voices of colonial subjects is undermined.62 This danger is particularly acute in the case of Indian Christians, who shared the religion of their imperial rulers and, hence, are consigned all the more easily to the gallows of colonial history. As Christians continue to be subject to a brutal campaign of violence and the conversion debate revisits Indian public discourse, this book draws attention to the broader history of their engagement with Indian public life. Modern institutions certainly provided new forums for conceiving and solidifying religious boundaries. But rigorous historical methods are required to account for this process. Historical approaches allow us to understand how public institutions, over time, have provided religious groups with new means of defining their boundaries and pursuing their interests. The plurality of experience encountered in history allows us to avoid, on the one hand, the excesses of Samuel Huntington, who would have us conceive the world or individual nations in terms of timeless “clashing civilizations.”63 At the same time, historical approaches allow us to appreciate, along with scholars such as Jose Casanova, the creative manner in which religions have “gone public” within the modern world.64

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Part I

LEGAL CONSTRUCTIONS OF RELIGIOUS IDENTITY

2 RIGHTS OF CONVERTS WITHIN BRITISH AND PRINCEL Y INDIA, 1870–1895

Ideologies of the British Raj in India, as Thomas Metcalf has shown, sustained tensions between the universal claims of political liberalism and essentialist notions of societal difference.1 On the one hand, late Victorian scholar administrators such as Henry Maine envisioned India’s gradual entry into a universal history of civilization and progress. Commitments to the rule of law, free trade, individual rights and private property rights were gateways into that history. On the other hand, the salience of caste hierarchies, the “village community,” despotism and religion impeded Indian progress. Such features not only distinguished Indian from European society, but also distinguished British from princely-ruled India. The British, therefore, legitimated their rule, according to Metcalf, by playing two roles. They were “at once agents of ‘progress,’ charged with setting India on the road to modernity, and at the same time custodians of an enduring India formed forever in antiquity.”2 The precise location of Christian conversion within this two-fold aspect of imperial ideology is the subject of this chapter. I will argue that, by the end of the nineteenth century, protecting the civil rights of Christian converts clearly did not fall in line with any progressive, liberal or civilizing mission of the Raj. On the contrary, conversion consistently triggered the Raj’s conservative or “custodial” impulses, its desire to “protect Hinduism.” By the end of the nineteenth century the Government clearly did not view the rights of converts in the same light as other types of liberal reform, which may have warranted state intervention. While missionaries attempted to appropriate British liberal values to the cause of converts, princes and British officials were far more concerned about protecting Hindu institutions from the potentially disruptive effects of conversion. This dynamic becomes particularly evident when examining official attitudes toward the introduction of the Caste Disabilities Removal Act (XXI of 1850), also known as the Lex Loci Act, into the princely-ruled states of Mysore and Travancore.3 During the latter half of the nineteenth century, numerous missionary societies campaigned to eliminate the so-called civil disabilities of Christian converts within the princely-ruled states of Mysore and Travancore. Their petitions cited instances where converts, labeled “degraded” or “outcast,” had been deserted 21

LEGAL CONSTRUCTIONS OF RELIGIOUS IDENTITY

by spouse and family and denied rights to inheritance on account of their change of religion.4 Such accounts emphasized the divisions that had been created between converts and their families along religious lines. Missionaries hoped that laws passed within British India to protect converts would also be introduced into the princely states. To their dismay, they not only encountered resistance from princely authorities to such proposals, but also from the Government of Madras.5 A desire to privilege Hindu institutions and their religious underpinnings had taken priority over any commitment to individual rights or freedom of conscience.6 Under the officially sanctioned Hindu Law, converts underwent a “civil death,” whereby they forfeited rights to inherit property within the Hindu joint family.7 Apostasy from Hinduism “[functions] as a complete severance of the offender from the Hindu community and destroys all legal rights which he may possess under Hindu law.”8 According to Mitakshara law, the school of Hindu inheritance law that governed the greatest number of Hindu families in British India, rights to succession were based primarily upon competency to perform funeral rites, which were deemed necessary for the salvation of the deceased. As “outcasts,” Christian converts were disqualified from performing such rights.9 Converts to Islam were also disqualified. But while Muslim converts were recognized as having embraced Islamic law, Christian converts entered a far more ambiguous and uncharted legal terrain. Official policies toward the rights of individual converts were based upon the principle of reciprocity (inheritance in exchange for ritual performance).10 It should be noted, however, that colonial administrators based such notions of reciprocity on interpretations of Hindu texts far more than on any real conflicts between converts and their unconverted families. In actuality, it was never clear whether Hindu families prohibited Christian converts from performing funeral rites on account of their “degraded status,” or whether converts themselves abstained from funeral rites because of new sensibilities derived from their adopted religion.11 Regardless of what tended to occur in real life, what emerges in courts of law and in official correspondence is a clear tension between the rights-based discourse of British liberalism, to which missionaries constantly appealed, and the discourse of ritual obligation, rooted in Hindu textual law. Disenfranchised under Hindu law, converts had to appeal to separate legal principles to improve their status. Within British India, official efforts to ameliorate the disabilities of converts were tied to the Lex Loci or Caste Disabilities Removal Act of 1850. Essentially, the Lex Loci protected the civil rights of persons who might otherwise have been penalized under Hindu Law for their “apostasy.” Debates over the enforcement of the Lex Loci revealed competing ideological interests of preserving Hinduism on the one hand, while protecting the rights of persons who had renounced Hinduism on the other. By the turn of the century, this tension became especially pronounced with respect to converts’ rights within the more “enlightened” and progressive princely states of Mysore and Travancore. 22

RIGHTS OF CONVERTS

Even within British India, responses of the Government to grievances of converts revealed its conservative tendencies more than any commitment to progressive values such as freedom of conscience. Such conservative tendencies become particularly evident when the disabilities of converts are compared to other types of social reform being advocated within Indian society. During the late nineteenth century, educated classes of Indians called for far-reaching reforms to Hindu institutions. These included campaigns against child marriage (also known as the Age of Consent controversy), along with prohibitions against widow remarriage, nautch girls (or dancing girls), hook swinging, and other superstitious and arcane traditions.12 Within this climate of reform, it was clear that government officials did not view the rights of converts in the same light as other social causes that may have warranted state intervention. Freedom to change one’s religion with impunity, in their minds, was categorically distinct from the broader agenda of progress and enlightenment typically associated with British rule. Any agenda to transform Indian society had to be framed in terms of the “reform of Hinduism” if it was to acquire any legitimacy at all. Committed to a policy of religious neutrality, the Government could justify its intervention in cultural or religious affairs only through the initiative of and with support from elite sections of the Hindu public.13 Protective legislation for converts simply lacked such support. Furthermore, conversion was thought to destabilize families and castes and to arouse nationalist sentiments, thereby threatening the stability of imperial rule.14 Government officials were far more inclined to privilege Hindu institutions and their religious foundations than to address the grievances of those who had embraced the Christian religion.15 The Government’s most notable measure to mitigate adverse consequences of conversion was the Lex Loci Act.16 The purpose of the Lex Loci was to secure the civil rights of persons who had either renounced or had been excluded from their religion or had for some other reason “lost caste:” So much of any law or usage now in force within the territories subject to the Government of the East India Company as inflicts on any person forfeiture of rights or property, or may be held in any way to impair or affect any right of inheritance, by reason of his or her renouncing, or having been excluded from, the communion of any religion, or being deprived of caste, shall cease to be enforced as law in the courts of the East India Company, and in the courts established by the Royal Charter within the said territories.17 Under the above provision, converts to the Christian religion were ensured that they would not be deprived of property, guardianship of children, conjugal rights or other familial rights on account of their change in religion. The Act required courts to treat converts, for all practical purposes, as if they were still “Hindu.”18 23

LEGAL CONSTRUCTIONS OF RELIGIOUS IDENTITY

The Lex Loci Act polarized public opinion along religious lines. In the eyes of many missionaries, the Lex Loci had eliminated a major disincentive for conversion, especially among propertied classes. It had come to represent “His Majesty’s Christian Government’s” commitment to freedom of conscience and religion.19 The Hindu gentry of Madras, however, opposed the Act, regarding it as evidence of the Government’s “Christianizing agenda” and its hostility toward their most cherished social and religious institutions.20 During the years following the Mutiny of 1857, the British Raj grew increasingly sensitive to the religious customs and sensibilities of Indians, and committed itself to observing the principle of religious neutrality.21 Gradually, the Government’s attitude toward the Lex Loci became more and more responsive to the growing strength of Hindu public opinion. By the 1890’s, some officials came to regard the Lex Loci Act as a “dead letter” – an embarrassing relic of past capitulation to a Christian agenda, ill-suited to the social and political currents of the day.22 Though the Lex Loci existed on paper within British India, there were few instances where relief was actually sought in court under its provisions. Furthermore, the distinctly Christian concerns that contributed to the enactment of the Lex Loci Act in 1850 under Company rule gave way, under Crown rule, to the separate and often opposing concerns of an assertive Hindu public.23 Rising nationalist sentiments among middle-class Indians made the Government even more reluctant to initiate reforms that impinged upon long-established local traditions. What remained a live issue, however, was whether or not the Government of Madras would apply pressure upon the neighboring princely states of Mysore and Travancore to adopt protective legislation for Christian converts.24 As controversy surrounding the enforcement of the Lex Loci became less prominent within British-ruled districts of South India, it became more prominent in connection with the status of converts within neighboring princely states. The issue was re-framed: would commitments that had led to the enforcement of the Lex Loci within British India inspire so-called “Hindu states” to adopt similar measures on behalf of converts? Representatives of the LMS and the CMS wanted the Indian princes to adopt the Act of 1850 in order to secure religious freedom among the “higher and more respectable classes of the population.”25 Their petitions and the debates they elicited reveal, at least in rhetoric, contrasting ideological priorities between “British India” and “Princely India.” Missionaries and other advocates of the Act of 1850 tended to associate British India with liberal and reformist ideals, which, in their minds, included the right to change one’s beliefs without penalty. The same advocates ascribed to Princely India the traditional, authoritarian tendencies of a “Hindu Raj.” The so-called “Hindu states” of South India (Mysore, Travancore and Cochin) were characterized by distinctive features which illustrate the close relationship between religious institutions and political authority. These included: (a) authority centered in a king, who extended patronage and protection to various communi24

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ties in exchange for loyalty; (b) ritual or symbolic resources, which legitimated kingly authority (examples of such resources included temples and maths – centers of religious instruction – pilgrimage sites, and the practice of supporting the livelihood of Brahman priests; and (c) the observance of indigenous or “Hindu” laws of inheritance, specific to communities residing within the princely territories.26 The princely states tended to be ranked along a continuum of relative “enlightenment.” States that had earned the reputation of being advanced or enlightened were those that incorporated the administrative norms of British India. More backward states remained entrenched in traditional hierarchies and practices.Mysore and Travancore were reputed to be the most enlightened of Hindu states. Their reputation made heads of missionary societies all the more hopeful that they would eventually adopt the Lex Loci Act of 1850 (or some variant thereof) in order to protect the “civil rights” of converts. Such hopes were met, not only with resistance from the princes, but also with the unwillingness of British officials to exert their indirect influence over the princes to promote laws deemed to be pro-Christian.

Mysore As one of the most “enlightened” and “progressive” of the princely states, Mysore’s government was divided into distinct agencies, which administered the eight divisions or Districts under its control. These agencies consisted of the Maharaja, or the Head of State; a Diwan or Prime Minister who, assisted by two Counselors, carried out the administration in the Maharaja’s name; and a Chief Court, composed of a bench of three judges and headed by a Chief Judge.27 The Government of India had directly governed Mysore from 1831 to 1881. But in 1867 Her Majesty’s Government in London announced that the administration of the state would be returned to its own dynastic royal family as soon as its young prince reached majority. The Governor-General referred to the Rendition (the return) as “an experiment” marking a “new departure in the policy of the Imperial Government towards the Native States of India.”28 Debates concerning the rights of converts within Mysore revolved around the dichotomy between its status as a British-administered state prior to 1881 and its status as a Hindu state thereafter. Through the eyes of many missionaries, the hope of obtaining relief for converts only had a chance of being realized under a British administration. They therefore regarded the period prior to the Rendition of 1881 as a crucial window of opportunity. The debate in Mysore over the disabilities of converts was triggered by a case concerning divorce and remarriage. Huchi, a Hindu girl attending an LMS-run school, was forced into marrying another Hindu, a young man, just prior to her formal conversion to Christianity. In spite of having suffered cruel treatment on account of her conversion, the Mysore Chief Court ruled that her conversion was not sufficient grounds for dissolving her marriage and thus depriving her spouse of his conjugal rights.29 25

LEGAL CONSTRUCTIONS OF RELIGIOUS IDENTITY

In making her case, Huchi’s attorney insisted that those acts of British India applicable to converts, including Act XXI of 1850 and the Native Converts Remarriage Act of 1866, should be extended to Mysore.30 By the turn of the century, largely through the controversy stirred by Huchi’s case, the Government of Mysore had accumulated a “voluminous record of opinions, European and Indian, pertaining to the question of whether or not to introduce and enforce Act XXI of 1850 within Mysore.”31 The Bangalore Missionary Conference was among the parties that had pressed for its introduction. Similar petitions had been made in 1873 and 1874 by the Madras Missionary Conference and by T.R.A. Thumbu Chetty, a member of the Mysore Judicial Commission.32 The Bangalore Missionary Conference urged the Government to introduce both pieces of legislation in Mysore, prior to the Rendition of the province to princely rule. In making their request the Conference had assumed that, while Mysore was still under the rule of a Commissioner, it would be more inclined to introduce protective legislation for converts than under a princely-ruled state. Under “native rule,” such matters as a convert’s conjugal or property rights would most likely be resolved according to indigenous customs.33 Timing, according to their logic, was therefore of the essence. The Conference seemed to have either ignored or been unaware of the fact that, on four previous occasions, the Government of India had successively declined to introduce such legislation. Its principal reasons for refusing were that the instances of hardship “were too isolated to justify legislation” and that it was “not consistent with the policy of the British Government as trustees of the minor Maharaja to introduce a law conflicting with the principles of Hindu law and religion.”34 Anticipation of the Rendition of the province to princely rule had no effect upon the Government’s outlook. Sir James Gordon, the Commissioner, upon being asked by the Diwan of Mysore to state his opinion on the rights of converts, stressed the importance of keeping intact the religious foundations of Hindu society. Gordon clearly was aware of the issue of timing in considering the introduction of the legislation. But his response again emphasized the impropriety of introducing such changes under the trusteeship of a British Commissioner. In the name of non-interference, he discouraged any policy that would violate the connection between the right of inheritance and the power to offer religious sacrifice: Are we justified, while administering this Province on behalf of the Maharaja of Mysore, in introducing a law which materially affects the principle upon which the Hindu law of inheritance is based? … I doubt whether, while we are administering the Province in the name of the Maharaja, and on the eve of restoring it to his direct administration, we should be acting within the scope of our profession in introducing a law which strikes at the connection existing between the Hindu law of inheritance and the Hindu religion.35 26

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The missionaries and the Commissioner, therefore, held opposing assumptions about the ideological priorities of a British-administered province. While the missionaries appealed to liberal principles to ensure the rights of converts, Gordon pointed to a “different and opposite set of considerations” that guided the Government’s decisions concerning the subjects of princely states for over a century.36 Concerning the latter, the Government wished to preserve what it considered central to “the Hindu religion.”37 After the Rendition of Mysore, the issue of the rights of converts was again raised, this time in the context of a child custody case, Dasapa v. Chikama (1894). A male convert filed this suit in the district of Tumkur to recover possession of his two children. Their mother had seized them (one an infant, the other a two-year-old) shortly after the father’s conversion. The father claimed that the mother and children had been converted along with him. The lower court rejected this claim, and so did the Mysore Chief Court.38 The Chief Court held that the father lost his rights to the custody of the children purely because of the change of his personal religion. If the Act of 1850 had been introduced into Mysore, he would have been able to obtain relief. But with no such relief for converts available in Mysore, the case was decided according to a strict interpretation of apostasy under Hindu law.39 As an apostate, the father forfeited his rights to guardianship. Judge P.N. Krishna Murti’s decision insisted that “privileges and duties, rights and liabilities are always reciprocal.” By this he meant that no law (such as Lex Loci) should simultaneously allow converts to retain their familial “rights” while permitting them to abandon their “duties,” as both are defined by Hindu law.40 According to Krishna Murti, their Lordships of the Privy Council in Abraham v. Abraham failed to maintain this principle of reciprocity.41 Under the influence of the Act of 1850, they decided to protect the property rights of converts while “releasing them from the trammels of Hindu law.”42 In Mysore, however, the Act of 1850 had not been introduced. Converts in Mysore, the Court ruled, could not expect to avoid the consequences of community and family obligations under Hindu law when that very law formed the basis of their property rights. Whether or not laws pertaining to guardianship operated differently within British India or within England had nothing to do with their operation within Mysore.43 Though Dasapa dealt only with child custody and not with other forms of real property, the Court adopted from Abraham (and other cases) the notion that conversion would result in the complete severance of every existing tie and would result in the convert becoming an outcast. Had the plaintiff in Dasapa not been rendered outcast through his conversion, he would have maintained the right to custody of his children against the claim of his wife. This possible outcome and conclusion would assume, of course, that there were no other disqualifying factors relating to his character as a parent.44 The Court’s decision against the father in Dasapa stressed the notion of “severance” to such a degree that it overrode any prima facie commitment of a 27

LEGAL CONSTRUCTIONS OF RELIGIOUS IDENTITY

father’s rights under law, not only to child custody but also to determining the religion of the children.45 The Court treated conversion as something just as disqualifying and disruptive as immoral conduct, crime or abandonment. Commenting on the Dasapa decision one year later, the Diwan of Mysore described the “injury” caused to the children on account of the father’s apostasy: Guardianship of the apostate father has the effect of inflicting upon children irreparable injury of excluding them from caste, with the many disadvantages attaching to such an excluded position. The children when they grow up may be able to change their religion, but, when once out of caste by association with a convert father, they forever remain outside it, and no State can have the right by its legislation to bring about so undesirable a result.46 The Diwan’s description of the “undesirable” effects of conversion recognized the prejudices and disabilities faced by converts and their children without offering them a way to challenge those disabilities. The Diwan’s disapproval of the introduction of the Lex Loci Act of 1850 into Mysore was also based upon an historical argument. He believed that currents of public opinion in England had become far more liberal by 1895 than they were when the Act of 1850 was originally passed. By this he meant that the new climate betrayed “deeper solicitude for the welfare of the child” and “greater regard for the wishes of the mother.”47 This reading of the times by the Diwan, however, appears to have been somewhat disingenuous. His dominant concern throughout his letter seems to have been, not so much for the welfare of the mother, but for the integrity of the Hindu family. In his view, it was the husband’s apostasy alone that disqualified him from enjoying the benefits of the patriarchal social order, which the Diwan sought to preserve. The Diwan’s reading of the times in which these events were occurring was strongly opposed by T.R.A. Thumbu Chetty. Chetty was the highest-ranking judge on the Mysore Judicial Commission. As such, he represented the dissenting opinion in the Dasapa case. Also a Madrassi, his family had converted to Roman Catholicism several generations earlier. His own Christian background led him to sympathize with converts in Mysore.48 At the same time, his past experience as a government servant in the Madras Presidency and as a Judge in the Mysore Judicial Commission enabled him to grasp the internal logic by which both governments had long operated, both before and after the Rendition.49 His Christian background, coupled with his experience in various official capacities, informed his opinion in Dasapa, and his advocacy for the rights of converts in general. The primary difference between the opinions of Thumbu Chetty and those of his opponents (e.g. the Diwan of Mysore, Sir James Gordon and Judge P.N. Krishna Murti) related to his rejection of the dichotomy between “British” and “Princely” India, and to his sense that the “movement of history” ought actually 28

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to protect, not penalize, a person’s decision to change his or her religion. Although his views did not prevail within Mysore, they illustrate how arguments based on readings of history or of the social climate had been used either to support or to reject the introduction of protective legislation for converts. Furthermore, Thumbu Chetty’s views offer a rare Indian Christian perspective from someone who stood among the highest ranks of the Indian judiciary. Thumbu Chetty found no differences between British India and Princely India that would warrant any unfair treatment of converts in Mysore. Even in the absence of protective legislation in Mysore, he argued, there was under “the enlightened rule of His Highness the Maharaja” just as much a commitment to freedom of religion and toleration as in British India. In supporting this claim, Thumbu Chetty alluded to a recent case in which the Maharaja had granted Christian converts the right to draw water from a well controlled by caste Hindus. In this connection, mere change of religion had not been allowed to deprive “a citizen of the civil rights or social status he possessed prior to his changing his religion.”50 The same logic, he felt, should have been (but was not) applied to the father in the Dasapa case. Against the “historical” argument put forth by the Diwan, Thumbu Chetty contended that the historical climate of the day actually favored the protection of a convert’s rights. Mere change of religion and the adoption of “non-Hindu” ideas, even the non-observance of religious ceremonies or usages, should not be allowed to deprive a man of his rights of guardianship. In an age of reform, he charged, such ceremonies and usages “are more honored in their breach than in their observance.”51 Over the past century, both judge-made law and statutory law had altered the original precepts of Hindu law concerning such practices as adoption, slavery and sati. The civil disabilities of converts, in Thumbu Chetty’s view, stood in a long line of arcane social practices. These had long obstructed the path to progress and civilization.52 Within a social climate calling for radical reforms to Hindu institutions, the law ought not to be used to solidify orthodoxy by inhibiting the desire of some to change their religious views. If the law could sanction disabilities imposed upon Christian converts, it could also be used to punish others who strayed from Hindu orthodoxy, including numerous varieties of Hindu reformers. The disparate treatment of Christians from other violators of Hindu orthodoxy begged the question of what might actually constitute “the Hindu religion”, or of what might be deemed apostasy: To dissent from the original tenets or precepts of the Hindu religion and to become a Brahmo, Theosophist, Deist or even a Sceptic or Atheist is not now regarded as entailing forfeiture of caste or rather of civil rights or liberties.… Does the term “apostate” or the ridiculous penalty prescribed for becoming an “apostate from the Hindu religion,” apply only to a Christian, so as to disentitle him to his natural rights?53 29

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Notwithstanding their deep conviction and logical force, Thumbu Chetty’s arguments were unable to overcome the logic that differentiated the reform of Hinduism from conversion from it. Both princely and British rulers concluded that social reforms and religious conversion were not closely enough related to warrant the same official backing. Furthermore, Thumbu Chetty’s arguments did not describe the actual extent of the disabilities faced by converts. Did the consciousness of such “disability” derive from widespread experiences or from a few isolated and much publicized cases such as those of Dasapa or Huchi?54 The following section describes how the Madras Government tackled such questions in connection to the rights of converts in Travancore.

Travancore Like Mysore, Travancore was reputed to be among the most enlightened of the Princely states. Typically, policymakers measured the degree of “enlightenment” in any given princely state by its willingness to incorporate modern forms of political administration, public works, education, technological innovation and social reform. According to such criteria, British-ruled territories were deemed to be the most enlightened, while princely domains (ruled indirectly) were riddled with stagnancy, decay or corruption.55 Several important factors contributed to Travancore’s reputation as a more progressive and enlightened state. Located at the south-western coast of India, the state had long been the site of significant overseas commercial activity. Commercialization of the economy exposed the peoples of the region to wider networks of trade along the Indian Ocean. Trade networks contributed to the prosperity of a variety of local groups, including the Izhavas, Nambudri Brahmins and the Syrian Christians.56 During the latter half of the nineteenth century, social and political institutions within Travancore were undergoing significant changes. T. Madava Rao, the renowned Madras-trained Maratha Brahman administrator appointed to the office of the Diwan of Travancore in 1858, initiated far-reaching reforms.57 These included the expansion of medical and educational institutions, development of a public-works department, construction of roads and improvement of the judicial system.58 Toward the turn of the century, the Government of Travancore found itself having to respond to the rising assertiveness of restive communal groups, including low-caste groups (Izhavas, Pulayas and Parayas), Syrian Christians and Muslims. In response to the new communal climate, and in line with Mysore, the State established a legislative council in which these groups could press for their various interests.59 In apparent contrast to Travancore’s reputation as an enlightened or model state was its identity as a Hindu State. In his study of the relationship between missionaries and the State of Travancore, Koji Kawashima has described how the State’s commitment to “Hindu State ideology” actually worked in harmony with the modernization of the administration.60 As a Hindu State, Travancore 30

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maintained its allegiance to the Deity, Sri Padmanabha, whose reign was exercised through the office of the Maharaja of Travancore. State-supported rituals to Sri Padmanabha and the management of uttupuras (institutions in which Brahmins were fed at state expense) were among various features that constituted Travancore’s Hindu kingdom.61 None of these explicitly religious functions, however, inhibited administrative reforms. In the decades following the Mutiny of 1857, most princely states received more support and sympathy from the Raj. As a result of the Mutiny, the Raj became more committed to a policy of religious neutrality or non-interference. At times, this hands-off policy stood in tension with a commitment to modernize society. At the same time, the policy of neutrality functioned as a political strategy to ensure the loyalty of the princes and to pre-empt nationalist mobilization against the Raj.62 Another aspect of Travancore’s Hindu State ideology was its maintenance of indigenous systems of inheritance. The two dominant systems of inheritance practiced in the state were the marumakkattayam system of matrilineal inheritance and the makkattayam system of patrilineal inheritance. In both systems, the family was regarded as a corporation. This, as such, permitted no partition or division of property between members. Each family member, however, retained a right to maintenance within the tarwad or “household.” In either system, religious conversion posed a problem, not only because of the indivisibility of the property, but also because of the inconvenience that unconverted family members would potentially suffer if a convert were to seek maintenance within the house.63 Toward the turn of the twentieth century, a number of mission societies, including the LMS and the CMS, petitioned the Maharaja of Travancore to adopt the Lex Loci Act of 1850. Their purpose was to secure for converts from the “higher and more respectable classes” their rights of inheritance. Copies of their petitions were also forwarded to the Political Department of the Government of Madras. Roman Catholic missionaries appear to have been far less involved in campaigns for the rights of converts.64 In spite of their awareness of “Hindu sovereignty” in Travancore, missionaries appealed to the progressive and liberal inclinations of the State’s rulers and made frequent comparisons to the policies of British India, especially regarding the latter’s concern for the rights of converts. The petition of the LMS to the Maharaja of Travancore serves to show how such comparisons were drawn: Thus, while entire liberty of conscience is professedly the law of Travancore, a severe deprivation has been inflicted for many years past on all converts from Malayali or Murumakattayam castes in the loss of all their rights of inheritance and maintenance from the common property of the family, and this in glaring contrast to the law of British India.65

31

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The strategy, however, of using “British India” as the standard by which to judge the policies of Travancore proved to be unsuccessful and may have backfired. Upon reviewing the memorials from Protestant missionaries, a committee composed of five officers of the State decided that “it [would be] highly inexpedient to grant the prayer of the memorialists, which would involve a serious infraction of the rights of the unconverted members of a Hindu family.” The committee’s report listed seventeen reasons why the extension of the Act would result in a serious disruption of Hindu society.66 It concluded by pointing out that Act XXI was passed during the rule of the East India Company. At that time “there were no Legislative Councils with native elements in them, and there was not the same scope for balancing conflicting rights and interests as at present.”67 By this, the report had suggested that drafters of the Act had failed to take Hindu public opinion into consideration, due to the absence of Indian representation.68 What was most revealing about reactions to the petitions of missionaries were not arguments from the Hindu side, but those from J.D. Rees, the Resident in Travancore and Cochin, regarding the effect of the Act within districts under British rule. According to Rees, the Act amounted to little more than a “dead letter” in the Malabar District. This was due to the high numbers of converts from lower, unpropertied classes who had nothing to lose by conversion and, hence, nothing to gain from the Act.69 In describing the Act in these terms Rees painted quite a different picture from that of the Diwan of Travancore. The Diwan and his committee had stressed the disruption to Hindu society that was likely to occur if the Act were extended to Travancore. These opposing claims concerning the potential impact of Act XXI of 1850 prompted the Government of Madras to launch an official inquiry. The Government requested judges and collectors in six districts of the Madras Presidency to submit reports outlining the effects produced by the introduction of the Act.70 An analysis of reports from two of these Districts, Malabar and Tinnevelly, allows us to gauge the distance between rhetoric and reality concerning the real impact of the Act. According to one memorandum from Malabar (1895), converts to Christianity had obtained relief from the Act in twenty-six cases. This was a small figure considering the fact that, by 1895, the Act had been in existence for forty-four years. Several reasons were cited to show why full advantage of the Act had not been taken: (1) the Act was not well-known; (2) Christian and Muslim converts most often came from families that possessed little or no property; (3) Christian converts were generally dissuaded from going to court to settle their disputes; (4) many converts lacked the means to finance a suit, or were unwilling to enter into disputes with their relatives; and finally, (5) a significant percentage of the Malabar population followed the Marumakkattayam law, under which family property would have remained inalienable. Under such conditions, an individual member who might become 32

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a Christian or a Muslim could only claim a right to maintenance in the family house, or a right to succeed to management when he became the senior member or head of the family. The memorandum also referred to a few instances in which other kinds of outcasts besides Christian converts had obtained relief under the Act of 1850.71 Reports from three taluks within the South Canara District stated that few or no instances had occurred since the Act had come into force in which the aid of that Act was invoked. In Kasaragod, two cases were not pressed to a final conclusion, “the parties having arranged their differences amicably out of Court.”72 The District Judge of Kasaragod attributed the paucity of cases to the development of more “peaceful methods of spreading the gospel” and the increased effectiveness of missionaries in raising the living standards of converts. As a result of their raised status, converts did not need to seek relief under the Act of 1850.73 At the same time, the District Judge’s report emphasized the entrenched character of Hindu institutions in Malabar. These, over the centuries, gradually came under “Aryan” influence: Though Malabar Hindus have had no religion of their own in ancient times, and religion does not enter into many of their institutions, yet by contact and association with the Rajput princes of the North and of their indispensable Brahman counsellors they have for many centuries imitated the religion and usages of the Aryan Hindus, and hence they too regard the apostate as civilly dead and burn him in effigy and perform his funeral oblations.74 Under the “Aryanized” system of inheritance in Malabar, converts were rendered “civilly dead” and unfit to claim the same rights as the other members of a tarwad (the Nayar joint family). Members normally reserved the right to be consulted in the permanent disposal of property, to contest decisions by the karnavan (the head member of the tarwad) regarding alienations, to oversee the performance of family rites and ceremonies, and to succeed to the position of karnavan when one’s turn came. Because of the religious quality ascribed to these roles, a convert could not claim a share in them without disrupting the entire tarwad: If the law enacted by Lord Dalhousie’s government (Act XXI of 1850) were strictly enforced, Malabar society would [have been] simply convulsed. And yet, I do not believe that the Act was made with the intention of being broken and kept aside as a dead letter. [Regarding apostates] Fortunately too few cases have arisen to render appeal to the Act necessary. When they do arise, courts will be put to the necessity of evading the strict application of the Act by some legal fiction or equitable devise.75 33

LEGAL CONSTRUCTIONS OF RELIGIOUS IDENTITY

The District Judge’s report revealed the paradox of maintaining on the one hand that the Act was a “dead letter” in Malabar, while, on the other hand, asserting that Malabarian society would be “convulsed” if the Act were actually enforced or did what it was designed to do. The conclusion that seems to emerge from his argument is that social conditions within Malabar actually required that the Act remain a “dead letter.” The Act addressed missionary concerns about religious freedom, but in fact did little to alleviate the disabilities of converts. In fact, the Act actually concealed the Government’s cautious policy of conserving and protecting the strength of the undivided Hindu family and of the social order. Observations from Malabar concerning the impact of the Act of 1850 were echoed in similar reports that had been submitted from Tinnevelly. The report of T. Sadasiva Iyer, the District Judge at Tinnevelly, sheds light on the unique sensibilities that an Indian judge could bring to the issue of Christian conversion. Sadasiva Iyer’s career wove together a commitment to Hindu devotional tradition, social reform and public service. Under various influences within the Hindu community, he developed a deep and abiding devotion to Lord Krishna, a major personal deity within the Hindu Vaishnavite tradition. For several years he delivered messages on the Bhagavadgita and the Bhagavata to audiences in Mylapore (a district in present day Chennai). He also became a close friend of the Englishwoman Annie Besant and joined Besant’s Theosophical Society, an organization that combined the spiritual traditions of East and West and championed various types of social reform. Sadasiva Iyer’s views on social reform were published extensively in the Hindu newspaper of Madras, and in the journal he edited, Hindu Reformer and Politician.76 He was an advocate of widow remarriage and inter-caste marriage. In one case he even rejected the notion that a blind member of an undivided Hindu family could be disqualified from inheritance under Hindu law.77 His progressive reading of Hindu legal texts, however, did not engender sympathy for Christian converts. In a manner typical of many Hindu reformers, Sadasiva Iyer highlighted the material motives for Christian conversion and downplayed any “disabilities” faced by converts. According to his report, the Act was not only a dead letter in Malabar, but also in districts where he had worked as a judge. During his seven years of service as a judge in the Trichinopoly, Madura and Tinnevelly Districts, he had not come across a single instance in which a Christian convert had sought relief in his Court through the Act of 1850.78 Sadasiva Iyer’s report cited the mixed motives that often lay behind conversions and how material aid offered by missionaries had obviated relief through the Act of 1850: Most of the converts to Christianity come from the lower castes who have very little property at their conversion, and most of whom are not actuated solely by conviction, but are influenced in part by the prospects of help from missionary funds in pending criminal litigation or in the difficulties of preserving soul and body at a time of distress.79 34

RIGHTS OF CONVERTS

The report also emphasized the corporate nature of conversions to Christianity and of subsequent “reconversion” to Hinduism. Because religious change so often involved groups and not individuals, converts rarely found themselves in disputes with family or caste members. Furthermore, it was the Christian converts, in Sadasiva Iyer’s view, who were more inclined to “desert” or dissociate themselves from their unconverted relatives due to their comparatively higher “intelligence, education and worldly wealth.” Such benefits enjoyed by Christian converts, according to Sadasiva Iyer, made claims to alleged “disabilities” highly dubious: I do not believe that there is any genuine feeling among Native Christians as a class for the amendment of Act XXI of 1850, or any hardship felt by them, and it is probable that the agitation is due to the idea of some missionaries (of whom I have no wish to speak in terms other than of the deepest respect) that conversions are sometimes thwarted by the fear [of converts] about losing their rights in family properties, etc. As far as my experience goes, such an idea is groundless.80 As with the report from Kasaragod, Sadasiva Iyer cast doubt on the missionaries’ arguments for disability. His emphasis, by contrast, on the comparative upward mobility of converts obviated further action on their behalf. Reports from two other districts, however, described the impact of the Act of 1850 in much more positive terms. According to V.K. Desikachariar, the District Judge of Tuticorn, the amount of litigation involving the Act of 1850 was no index of its effectiveness in securing the rights of converts. In fact, the paucity of litigation actually served to demonstrate how the Act was “silently working the reformation it had been intended by the legislature to effect.”81 While conversions from the wealthier classes were rare, they usually resulted in out-of-court settlements of the convert’s claims, made with unconverted members of the extended family. “The necessity to resort to the courts”, argued Desikachariar, “will arise only when the law is doubtful, but not otherwise.”82 The Act’s clear provisions, which tended to insure the “religious freedom” of converts, served as a deterrent. If, in spite of the Act’s guarantee of religious freedom, not many instances of religious conversion could be cited, this would be due to other factors irrelevant to the enquiry. The other favorable appraisal of the Act came from a report by S. Gopala Chari, the Subordinate Judge of Tinnevelly. Included in his report were opinions of two prominent members of the “Native Christian” community. One of the Christians, S. Srinivasagam Pillai, stated that the Act has not been a dead letter in Tinnevelly, but served to influence out-of-court settlements on behalf of converts. “Both converts to Christianity and their Hindu relations”, he claimed, “have been well aware of its provisions, and as a result in many cases converts or their heirs have obtained their shares in family property without 35

LEGAL CONSTRUCTIONS OF RELIGIOUS IDENTITY

having recourse to litigation.”83 Similarly, A.S. Appasamy Pillai, the other Christian, declared that the Act benefited the Christian community of Tinnevelly: The provisions of the Act are so generally known to the community here that when a Hindu becomes a convert to Christianity, his parents and relations give him his share in the family property as a matter of course. There have been very few cases in which a convert had to recover his share through court.… The dread of losing the patrimony may have the effect of deterring one from embracing another religion, although one’s heart and convictions may incline him towards it. The Act of XXI of 1850, therefore … has proved a success in this district.84 The statements of Appasamy Pillai and Srinivasagam Pillai both reflected the effectiveness of the Act in safeguarding converts from prejudicial treatment with respect to their rights of inheritance. Yet none of the favorable appraisals of the Act actually documented the out-of-court settlements involving Christians or demonstrated that it was the Act’s influence that prompted these settlements. What both the advocates and critics of the Act accepted was the fact that there were relatively few instances in British-ruled districts in which converts had actually invoked the Act of 1850 in court in order to secure their rights. This fact alone seems to throw doubt upon the claims that the Act inevitably tended to disrupt Hindu society by emboldening family members to abandon their religion, then claim their property rights in court. Even with the “disruption” argument eliminated, the question as to whether the Act was in fact a dead letter or whether it exerted its influence out of court remains unanswered.

Conclusion By the turn of the twentieth century, the attitude of the Government of Madras toward the religious policies of princely states had come to reflect the underlying logic of its own policies. Rather than upholding the Lex Loci (as missionaries had done) as an example of its commitment to liberal ideals, officials downplayed its impact within British-ruled districts. Some, like J.D. Rees, dismissed the Act as a “dead letter,” or as an outdated piece of legislation. Others went so far as to argue that, if a draft of the Act had been proposed for the first time in the 1890’s, it would have had no hope of being passed because of the prevailing strength of Hindu public opinion.85 Such was the Government’s response to missionary appeals to its liberal character. Arguments for and against the introduction of Act XXI of 1850 into Mysore and Travancore, driven as they were by opposing agendas, shared assumptions concerning the divisive impact of religious conversion. Petitions on behalf of converts by the LMS, CMS, Basel Mission and other societies, reinforced images of exclusion, severance, exile, desertion and disenfranchisement. Such 36

RIGHTS OF CONVERTS

terms came to define the relationship of converts to their unconverted family members. As the Bangalore Missionary Conference had stated: Under present circumstances, if a Hindu of blameless character and conduct change his faith to become Christian, he ipso facto loses all right to inheritance to the family property. Moreover, his wife and young children may be taken from him, and he cannot recover their guardianship by law. Nor is this all: when a Hindu husband becomes a Christian, although he continue willing to live with his wife, and support her, and care for her, and have no desire to relinquish her conjugal society, yet his wife may be taken from him, and he can neither establish any claim to conjugal rights nor obtain a divorce.86 In their view, Christian converts had become marginal to Hindu society, not because of their own separatist tendencies, but because of mistreatment and intolerance by unconverted family members. This view, as we shall see in Chapter 6, was an argument put forth by Protestant elites during the early twentieth century. In one key respect, officials of the Madras Government along with Indian princes were largely in agreement with missionaries. Conversion, in everyone’s view, did in fact divide the family along religious lines and precluded converts from enjoying familial rights. But while Christians argued that inheritance and other familial rights could be separated from religious practice, state officials argued that any such separation by means of legislation would undermine the basic functions of Hindu families, which formed the very bedrock of Indian society. Hence, no act should be allowed to sever “the coincidence of the right of inheritance with the power to offer religious sacrifice.”87 If Christian converts could not be accommodated within the Hindu joint family, where did they belong and how would their inheritance practices be defined? Within British India, a far more vexing problem for the courts was how to determine the law of succession for already-established Christian communities. In contrast to the Act of 1850, which addressed the natural rights of individual converts under Hindu law, the Succession Act (X) of 1865 was to have the effect of removing the “Christian community” from the domain of Hindu law.

37

3 INHERITANCE LAW AND THE “NATIVE CHRISTIAN” COMMUNITY, 1863–1917

The inheritance of family property in South India often triggered disputes that resulted in extensive litigation. At stake were not merely the passing of ancestral property, but also the passing of social and religious identity. Within British India, disputes over inheritance were complicated by the fact that there was no universal law of inheritance, no lex loci, but many laws, defined by the unique customs of various communities. Where would Christians fall within this arena of legal and cultural pluralism? This chapter describes how the Madras judiciary had originally recognized the diverse and highly indigenous cultural practices of “Native Christians,” but later grouped them together with Europeans under a single law of inheritance, the Indian Succession Act (X of 1865). By enforcing the Succession Act, the judiciary isolated many Christian families from their caste customs and further reified them as a “foreign” community. Before addressing the legal status of Christians, some background to the textual sources of Hindu law is necessary. The Hindu law of inheritance was derived from ancient Sanskrit smrti literature, which included the Code of Manu along with legal texts known as the dharmashastras and their commentaries (vyawasthas). Two major schools have interpreted the law of inheritance: the Bengal school, based on Jimutavahana’s commentary, the Dayabhaga, and the Benares school, based on Vijnaneshvara’s Mitakshara. Of the two, the Mitakshara is believed to carry a wider influence throughout India, forming the basis of multiple schools of Hindu law, including the Dravada school of South India. What is assumed in both the Mitakshara and the Dayabhaga is that male members of Hindu families are by nature “undivided” with respect to property. “All legitimate sons, living in a state of union with their father at the time of his death, succeed equally to his property, real or personal, ancestral and acquired.”1 The wife of the deceased is entitled to maintenance, but not to an equal share in his property. A major difference between the two schools relates to how property rights are actually secured or released. While the Benares school (Mitakshara) teaches that undivided males acquire their property rights at birth, the Bengal school (Dayabhaga) teaches that the owner must be deceased or disabled in order for other males to claim ownership.2 38

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Although the different schools of Hindu law are believed to reflect regional variations of custom and usage, the extent to which older textual traditions approximate the actual practices of living communities remains a highly contested issue. As legal scholar, J. Duncan M. Derrett has aptly stated: The Smrti is of no use if it is just wrapped up in some kind of book or something to be worshipped. It has to do its job. It has to pass from mouth to mouth from generation to generation, and so the Smrti naturally comes to be modified in form if the meaning and contents can’t be modified in some other way.3 As much as Hindu law may be viewed as a living, interpretive tradition that constantly adapts to changing circumstances, some have questioned whether ancient texts can have any relevance at all to societies far removed from their original contexts. Could classical Sanskritic legal norms originating in Bengal or Benares, after all, apply to South Indian cultural traditions? Scholar administrator James Henry Nelson believed Sankritic norms were ill suited to South Indian society. He argued that Madras judges had enforced Hindu law without grasping either the Sanskrit sources of that law (since they often had no knowledge of Sanskrit) or the basic workings of South Indian communities.4 According to Nelson, who had conducted much of the ethnographic research for the Government’s official manual for South India’s Madura District, what passed in the Madras courts for “Hindu law” did not at all approximate or suggest the existence of a common Hindu community in South India, even if that community were to be understood as the aggregate of smaller communities.5 On the contrary, the enforcement of Hindu law militated against the day-to-day customs and usages of South Indian families.6 This posed a dilemma, not only for some of the families who were included within the Hindu community recognized by the courts, but also for Christian families, who were excluded from that community . Ill suited as it may have been to the South Indian context, this notion of a Hindu community functioned as a radically inclusive principle, which brought huge numbers of distinct caste groups within its pale. In applying textual Hindu law to South Indian families, the Madras judiciary was compelled to leave room for local customs that stood at variance with that law, though perhaps not to the extent that Nelson had hoped. When a group’s customs and usages were recognized as being Hindu, the courts would either apply Hindu textual law to settle its disputes or would apply norms that were specific to that group.7 When, however, a group was deemed to be “non-Hindu,” its unique customs and usages would be far less likely to receive “judicial recognition.”8 Located beyond the pale of Hindu society, Christian communities of the Madras Presidency came to be subject to a summary application of the Indian Succession Act, irrespective of their actual practices. The Indian Succession Act (X) of 1865 set forth a law of succession for Indian Christians modeled upon English standards of linear, testamentary 39

LEGAL CONSTRUCTIONS OF RELIGIOUS IDENTITY

inheritance.9 The drafters of the Act had assumed that Indian Christians, as persons who shared the religion of the English, would also share their laws of inheritance. According to Sir Henry Maine, Law Member of the GovernorGeneral’s Council, provisions of the Succession Act were modeled upon English law. As such, they were particularly geared toward Europeans residing in India: The most important class which it is proposed to bring under the new Law consists of those who roughly, though not strictly, may be styled “Europeans.” … The first thing for them (Europeans) to notice is that this Chapter of the Code is based, and the entire Code is to be based, on English Law.… the parts of the English Law selected for application are exactly those in which the English system approximates most closely to the general Jurisprudence of the civilized western world.10 Though the Act did not expressly designate “Native Christians” as its focus, it effectively grouped them together with Europeans by exempting Hindus, Muslims, Buddhists and eventually Sikhs from its provisions.11 By grouping Europeans and Indian Christians together in this manner, the drafters of the Act had conflated religion with nationality, thus illustrating what Gauri Viswanathan refers to as “conversion as assimilation.”12 Prior to the passing of the Indian Succession Act, the courts had a very difficult time deciding which law of inheritance to apply to so-called “Native Christians.” This is because of the multiple customs observed by them. In its landmark decision in Abraham v. Abraham (1863), the Privy Council took note of the pluralistic character of the Christian population: The class known in India as “Native Christians,” using that term in its wide and extended sense as embracing all natives converted to Christianity, has subordinate divisions forming again distinct classes, of which some adhere to the Hindu customs and usages as to property; others retain those customs and usages in a modified form; and others again have wholly abandoned those customs and usages, and adopted different rules and laws as to their property.13 The 1863 decision in Abraham v. Abraham recommended that the law of succession for any given Christian family be determined by the actual practices of that family, and not by any fixed, imported notion of “Christian law.”14 This policy, however, was soon to be replaced by regulations contained in the Indian Succession Act. A more detailed discussion of Abraham v. Abraham, followed by a discussion of cases involving the Succession Act, will illustrate the difficult task faced by the judiciary of locating Christians in relation to Hindu society. 40

T H E “ N AT I V E C H R I S T I A N ” C O M M U N I T Y

Abraham v. Abraham The idea of placing the Christians of British India under English law suited those Christians who emulated Western customs and distanced themselves from the cultural practices of local caste communities.15 One such class of Christians was the Anglo-Indian community, also referred to as “East Indians.” AngloIndians were of mixed heritage, Indian and European. As imitators of English manners and customs, they were far more inclined to adopt English laws of marriage and inheritance. In contrast to Anglo-Indians, Christians of “pure Hindoo blood” continued to retain their caste customs and allegiances. Many Roman Catholic and lowcaste Protestant families fell into this category. By which laws were they to be governed? The case of Abraham v. Abraham challenges the notion that Indian Christians can be presumed, on the basis of their religion, to have adopted European cultural norms. The case involves a “pure blooded” Indian Protestant, Mathew Abraham, who was baptized during infancy a Roman Catholic, but who later converted to Protestantism. Mathew owned and administered a distillery that supplied liquor to European troops (under what was known as the “Abkarry contract”) stationed in the Bellary District of the Madras Presidency.16 His wife, Charlotte Abraham, belonged to the Protestant Anglo-Indian community in Bellary. As offspring of Indian and European parentage (or, in Charlotte’s case, Portuguese and British parentage), Anglo-Indians were known for their tendency to imitate the customs and habits of Europeans, and to distance themselves from everything Indian. When Mathew Abraham died without a will in 1842, his brother Francis obtained permission from the Commissary General to carry on the business of the Abkarry contract and manage its profits. In 1854, Charlotte and her two sons (the plaintiffs) sued for possession of her late husband’s business and estate. She argued that, because her husband was a Christian, and because he, by marrying her, had assimilated himself into the culture of the Anglo-Indians, she and her two sons were entitled to his property under English law. Under Hindu law, ancestral property of a deceased husband was shared laterally by surviving male members of the undivided household. Had the Court determined that Mathew and Francis Abraham had lived and conducted their business as an undivided Hindu family, Francis would be entitled to Mathew’s estate, while Charlotte would merely be entitled to maintenance. The courts therefore devoted a great deal of attention to the exact nature of the relationship between the Abraham brothers. Did they function like equal members of an undivided household, or was Francis more like hired help or a servant of his older brother?17 Tried initially in the Civil Court in Bellary, Abraham v. Abraham is one of the few cases involving Indian Christians that went all the way to the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council in London.18 Based on the initial wave of

41

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evidence that was submitted, the Bellary Civil Judge ruled on June 1, 1858, that the general state of native Christians was to remain “divided” and that the “undivided” state was the exception.19 In keeping with this generalization, Judge Irvine ruled that the European customs and manners of the Abraham brothers indicated that they were in fact divided with respect to their rule of property. Francis acted as the agent of his older brother, not as a Hindu undivided brother. The Judge ordered that accounts be taken of the capital used and the profits obtained by both the shop business run by the Abrahams and the distillery, before and after the death of Mathew Abraham. Francis was to pay Charlotte one half of the value of the capital and profits of the shop business, and was to pay Charlotte the full value of the capital and profits of the distillery.20 Francis appealed, and the Appeals Court (the Sudder Adawlat) presented the evidence to Brahmin pandits, hired by the Court to interpret Hindu law. The pandits were presented with an hypothetical situation, which was intended to be analogous to the relationship between the Abraham brothers. The hypothesis depicted two brothers who lived together and were governed by Hindu law, but who owned no ancestral property. Over time, the elder acquired some property and admitted the younger to participate in the administration of his business. After the death of the elder, the younger assumed responsibility for the work of the business.21 In consultation with the pandits, the Appeals Court concluded that Mathew and Francis functioned as undivided brothers. The pandits advised that the property be divided into two shares, one for Francis and the other for the two sons of Mathew. Furthermore, … the evidence as to the usages in law of Christian converts from Hindooism was universal; that the Hindoo law as to rights in property, was the rule observed by the class in question, from generation to generation. The Court [also] ruled that the [specific] acts of the family were in accordance with Hindoo law …22 The Appeals Court concluded that birth and blood must decide the law governing Native Christians. Even the assumption of European dress and habits would not, in their view, overturn the determining force of birth. Upon appeal by Charlotte, the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council overturned the decision of the Appeals Court and concluded that English law applied to the Abrahams, based upon the evidence. In the opinion of Lord Kingsdown, converts to the Christian religion are liberated from “the trammels of Hindu law,” meaning that Hindu law ceases to have an obligatory force upon the convert. Conversion, however, “does not of necessity involve any change of the rights or relations of the convert in matters with which Christianity has no concern, such as his rights and interests in, and his powers over property.”23 Converts may renounce the old law, just as they renounced the old religion, or they may continue to abide by the old law, in spite of having 42

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renounced the religion. “Though race and blood are independent of volition, usage is not.”24 The Privy Council ultimately ruled in Charlotte’s favor, essentially reinstating the decision of the Bellary District Court. In order to reach the conclusion that English law properly applied to the Abrahams, the courts engaged in an exhaustive analysis of the customs and practices of various classes of Indian Christian families and of the Abraham family in particular. In fact, what is remarkable about Abraham v. Abraham is not so much the verdict, but the process it envisioned for deciding which law to apply to indigenous Christian families. Hundreds of depositions were taken from persons representing different segments of South Indian society. Among the witnesses were: Native Roman Catholics, Native Protestants, Roman Catholic missionaries, Protestant missionaries, Native Protestant clergymen, Native Protestant teachers or catechists, Protestant clergymen, Roman Catholic priests, East Indians, Brahmins, Portuguese, Ceylon native Christians, Sheristadars or Registrars, Tamil Christians (of which class the family of Mathew Abraham was), Native Christians, who have actually divided their property according to the Hindoo Law, Native Christians who still enjoy their property in an undivided family according to Hindoo law.25 Such persons were asked to give their perspectives about the cultural characteristics and habits of “Native Christians” and Anglo-Indians, with the larger objective of determining whether Hindu law or English law applied to the Abraham family. If studied critically, these depositions, however molded and mediated they may be by norms and procedures of the Indian judiciary, may serve as a repository of local knowledge about Indian Christians. The goal of Charlotte’s attorney was to show that Mathew Abraham, by marrying Charlotte, had entered the Anglo-Indian community and had become assimilated into their customs, including the English law of inheritance. Clearly, Charlotte’s attorney solicited depositions only from those persons who would be inclined to associate all Christians with European culture and with the English law of inheritance. Hence the vast majority of the depositions were from Protestants and, of those Protestants, nearly all were either European or Anglo-Indian.26 The rigorous line of questioning contained in each deposition was geared toward stressing the radical distance that Anglo-Indians had maintained from anything “Hindoo.” The following excerpt of a deposition taken from B.F. Amarante, a Roman Catholic priest, illustrates the strong identification of East Indians with English culture: Q1

How long have you been engaged in duties that have given you opportunities of observing the distinctions that exist between the various classes of Christians in this country, and the customs and usages to which they respectively conform in their secular affairs? 43

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A

12 yrs.

Q2

To what class of the community do persons answering to the following description and their children belong, whatever their birth, blood or parentage, viz., Christians who wear the English dress, completely and at all times in their houses as well as out of doors; 2ndly, who speak the English language as their mother tongue that is, to their wives and children; 3rdly, who take their father’s name (if convenient) or some other name as a surname which they hand down to their children and descendants after the manner of Europeans; 4thly, who take the English titles of Mr. Esq., etc; 5thly, who marry European and East Indian wives; 6, who are members of the English Protestant Church, and attend only the English services performed for Europeans; 7, who live in Bungalows built and furnished in all respects, and in all parts like those occupied by Europeans; 8, who give their children English names at Baptism, and bring them up as East Indians in every respect; 9, who receive Europeans and persons of European habits and dress as guests in their houses, but no others; 10, who associate exclusively with Europeans and East Indians and conform to their habits, manners, customs and usages in all the details of daily life, moral and physical, public, private, domestic, secret, social and religious, and so far as can be judged from their conduct entertain the feelings, ideas, tastes, desires and prejudices of East Indians in all matters; 11, who studiously avoid all social and familiar intercourse with those specially designated “Natives”, that is persons who wear the Native dress except upon such terms as Europeans and East Indians meet them, especially their own even nearest blood relations of this description of whom they are ashamed and whom they never allow to enter their houses, or even meet or correspond with on terms of equality and whom they regard and treat as strangers under all circumstances?

A

To the community of East Indians.

Q3

By what designation are they called by themselves and others?

A

East Indians.

Q4

Are they ever called “Natives” or “Hindoos” or “Native Christians” by themselves or others, whatever their birth, blood or parentage, or are they ever included under each, or any or every or all of these designations; or do they form a class totally apart from all persons that fall under every one of them? 44

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A

I think they are not called by that name; but they belong to a different class.

Q5

Would they be pleased or offended by that designation?

A

I think they are offended by that designation.

Q6

Do they conform to Hindoo law or the customs and usages of Hindoos, as such, in any matter or under any circumstances whatsoever?

A

I think no.

Q7

Are they, or are they not members of a class whose strongest desire is to assimilate themselves to European manners, customs and usages in all matters without exception, and to avoid even the semblance of similarity to Natives in any matter whatsoever?

A

I think yes.

Q8

Is this feeling weaker or stronger in persons answering to the description given in No. 2 of these interrogatories, who happen to be the children of parents of pure Native blood and are thus interlopers as it were, in a class composed principally of persons of mixed European and Native blood?

A

I think the feeling is stronger.

Q9

Do even Natives consider such persons, as belonging to their own body, or do they regard them as belonging to a totally distinct community from themselves?

A

To belong to a distinct community.

Q10

Are or are not assumption of the European dress and marriage with wives of European extraction sure signs in the persons supposed in the 8th Interrogatory that they have embraced European Law and European usages (as contradistinguished from those of Natives) in all matters without exception, whatever may have been their origin and antecedents, and that they thenceforward look to European law, for their civil status and the measure of their rights?

A

I think they look to European Law for their civil status. 45

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Q11

For you own knowledge of the feelings, ideas and prejudices that prevail in this country, do you believe that any female in it of European descent, (esp. if she be one of close proximity to the pure European blood) would marry a man who called himself a Native or Hindoo or kept up a single custom or usage of any kind whatever that is specially characteristic of Natives as distinguished from Europeans and persons of their manners and customs?

A

I think no.

Q12

Have you ever known or heard of a single instance in which persons in the situation supposed in Nos. 2, 8, and 10 of these Interrogatories, have conformed to Hindoo law or the customs and usages of Hindoos, as such in any matter whatever?

A

I have not heard.

Q13

Is such a thing probable or do you think it possible?

A

I think no.

Q14

Are there many persons at Madras in the situation described in Nos. 2, 8, and 10 of these interrogatories?

A

I know only two or three persons.

Q15

Are they generally persons who, before they assume the European dress, have any property or position or family or name to keep up, or are they of the poorest, the humblest and the very lowest description who have nothing whatever to risk or lose, and who hope by so complete a change and severance from the order of things under which they were born, to better their condition and to rise in the world?

A

They were poor before they assumed the European dress.

Q16

Would any native whether Christian or Heathen make such a change if he had any property or status in society to maintain?

A

I think property has nothing to do with it.

Q17

Do people who … convert from one system to another of a totally opposite nature usually keep up the most marked and characteristic feature of the old system that they have abandoned, in the 46

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most important affairs of life, and conform to the new one only in minor points, or does their zeal as converts generally induce them to cast off every vestige of the former and to adhere rigidly to the latter, in all things? A

I think they will adhere in all things to the new system of life.27

The testimony of Amarante lent credence to the plaintiff’s claim that cultural, not racial, criteria primarily defined membership in the Anglo-Indian community. Upon marrying into that community, persons of “pure Hindoo blood” such as Mathew Abraham hardly remained anchored in “Hindoo customs.” On the contrary, they were all the more eager to embrace English customs in order to upgrade their status (see Questions 7–10 above). Upon cross-examination, Francis’s attorney challenged such clear and simple cultural criteria for determining a family’s law of inheritance. In contrast to Charlotte’s attorney, who emphasized Mathew’s break from his past, Francis’s attorney emphasized the tendency of “Hindoos of pure blood” to retain their customs, even after converting to the Christian religion. Cross-examination of Amarante placed stronger emphasis on race as the determining factor behind one’s law of inheritance. At the same time, it downplayed the relevance of “religion:” Q28

Does the mere assumption of the European dress and manners make a Native Christian subject to English law? If so, be so good as to state whether there is any law, regulations or precedent to support such an assertion?

A

I think that European dress and manners may subject a Native Christian to the European law, but I know not if there is any law.

Q29

Can you mention any instances that have come within your own personal knowledge of Native Christians in the situation described in the preceding Interrogatory No. 28 having acquired, inherited and divided property according to English law?

A

I never saw such a case.

Q30

Is there any law that draws a distinction between Native Christians who assume the Native dress and those who do not, making the former subject to English and the latter to Hindoo law?

A

I know not such a law. 47

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Q31

What law would be applicable to a person of the following description viz., a Christian of pure native blood, who for 30 years wears the native dress and lives in every respect like a native, and subsequently, for the remaining 25 years of his life, changes his costume, marries an illegitimate East Indian female and in social and domestic matters conforms to manners and customs which are agreeable to her tastes and feelings?

A

My conviction is that the person of this description must be subject to the European law.

Q32

State your reasons for the opinion expressed by you in answer to the preceding 24th question.

A

Because such a person who enjoys the privileges must also suffer the damages, if there are.

Q33

If a man changes his dress and adopts the manners and customs of another nation for the purposes of bettering his condition and rising in the world, would he be deprived of the benefit of the law to which he is entitled by birth, blood and descent, and if so state your reasons?

A

I think that he can be permitted to enjoy the benefit of the law, if he can, without the prejudice or objection of the other party.

Q34

According to what law would a dispute about property between an East Indian described in the 21st Interrogatory and his East Indian relatives who dress and live like Europeans be decided?

A

I know not to answer for this question.

Q35

Do Hindoos on their conversion to Christianity abandon all the customs and usages of their ancestors?

A

I think no if they live like Indian Natives.

Q36

If they do not, specify what customs and usages they abandon and what they do not.

A

They do not abandon any custom or usage.

Q37

Is it not a fact that whatever other customs Natives, who have embraced Christianity might forsake, they still adhere to Hindoo usages in all matters relating to the acquisition, inheritance and division of property? 48

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A

I think so.

Q38

Is the Hindoo law of inheritance and division repugnant to the principles of the Christian religion?

A

Perhaps may be.

Q39

Does the practice according to Hindoo law of inheritance and division bear any peculiar feature characteristic of Hindooism?

A

I know not.

Q40

When a Native Christian assumes the European dress and manners, does and can any (outward) change take place at the same time calculated to show that he has also forsaken the Hindoo law of inheritance and embraced that of England; and if so state the nature of the change required?

A

I think that there is a proof that such a person selected a better manner of living and submitted to the eases and difficulties of the system.

Q41

Do not the members of an undivided Hindu family live in separate houses with separate establishments and even at different countries subsisting on their joint property?

A

Hindoo Native families live sometimes in this manner.

Q43

Is it not possible for two brothers of pure native blood who have embraced Christianity, and in social and domestic matters adopted the customs and usages of Europeans, to transact business and acquire property together and live on their joint acquisitions like their ancestors; and is this not a sure sign that they still adhere to the Hindoo law of Inheritance?

A

If they agree, can adopt the measures of their ancestors for settling the domestic matters.

Q44

Are you aware of any Native Christians who wear the native dress, dressing their children like Europeans, giving them an English education, and bringing them up like East Indians? If so, be pleased to state what law is applicable to the parents and what law to the children.

A

I think the Hindoo law is applicable, for the head of the family is under the Hindoo law. 49

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Q45

Have you not known or heard of natives of this country having married European wives and adopted their manners and customs in all social and domestic matters, but who still wear the Native dress and adhere to their own religion and laws in other matters, or is not such a thing possible?

A

I know not.

Q46

In a case like the above, to what law would the children be liable?

A

I know not.28

The underlying strategy behind this cross-examination was to challenge the presumption that religious or cultural change necessarily entailed a change in one’s law of inheritance. Depositions were taken from groups who would portray Indian Christians as rooted in caste customs and undivided with respect to property. Witnesses therefore consisted primarily of Indian Roman Catholics and Indian Protestants who belonged to the same caste and retained their caste customs.29 By exposing the witness’s inability to identify any legal basis for this presumption of cultural change, the defense had actually exploited the ambiguity of the law on this point. In so doing, the defense had made it seem as if “race” had been the factor that determined one’s law of inheritance. The Privy Council attempted to formulate a law of inheritance for Christians that could accommodate change, without presuming that a change in religion always entailed a change in customs. The Abraham decision advanced a view of the law as a living and adaptive enterprise, not a timeless standard, indifferent to social realities.30 The decision acknowledged that new inclinations, feelings and obligations might accompany the conversion of an individual or a group. At the same time, it respected the fact that some usages (such as laws of property), while “indifferent in themselves” to religion, might still be retained. “Though race and blood are independent of volition,” Lord Kingsdown observed, “usage is not.”31 Yet, in spite of its progressive attitude toward cultural change and its attentiveness to the cultural diversity of Indian Christians, the Abraham decision did not become a precedent for subsequent decisions of the Madras judiciary.

The Succession Act The Madras judiciary often cited Abraham, but were unwilling, in the final analysis, to tolerate the ambiguity created by Abraham’s open-ended approach to laws of succession. The judiciary found in the Indian Succession Act of 1865 a means to further reify a “Christian community” so that it was further removed from the inner workings of Hindu society. 50

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The Succession Act attempted to convert “coparcenary” rights into individual rights. Coparcenary rights to property were those that were shared, most often by male members of “undivided” families.32 The defining principle of undivided families was not that they resided within a single household (as in the case of joint families), but that male members retained an equal share in family property, even if they lived in separate houses.33 Under the Succession Act, a deceased person’s property could no longer be divided laterally between surviving male members of the undivided family, but had to be inherited linearly by spouse and children.34 The English standards of the Act sometimes created conflicts for members of Indian Christian families, who still claimed to function as undivided families with respect to their law of inheritance. A series of judgements of the Madras High Court shows how the judiciary had abandoned the reasoning of the Abraham decision in favor of the Succession Act’s more rigid (and European) law of inheritance. This shift in judicial policy promoted the idea that “Native Christians,” in spite of being racially Indian and rooted in caste traditions, were more aligned with Europeans in terms of their law of inheritance. It was not merely by grouping them with Europeans, however, that the Succession Act marginalized Christians from Hindu society. By treating them as a homogeneous group, the judiciary denied to Christians what would eventually become a defining characteristic of Hinduism, unity in diversity.35 As the legal definition of “the Christian community” became increasingly narrow, the legal definition of a “Hindu” became increasingly elastic. Because the judiciary recognized the existence of caste differences within Hinduism, it was willing to leave room for local customs that stood at variance with Hindu textual law. The same room for local customs, however, was not extended to Christians. The case of Ponnusami Nadan v. Dorasami Ayyan (1880) involved a “transitional” Christian family; that is, a family that claimed to have followed the Hindu law of inheritance when the Indian Succession Act was first passed, and desired to remain under Hindu law thereafter. Ponnusamidan belonged to a family of Roman Catholics. He sued to recover his alleged one-third share of ancestral property from his brother, his nephews and others to whom portions of the property had been alienated upon his father’s death. R. Vasudeva Rao, the District Judge of Negapatnam, dismissed his suit, holding that, because the family was Roman Catholic, the Indian Succession Act governed them. On appeal, Ponnusamidan argued that, though he and his family were Roman Catholic, they had followed the Hindu law of inheritance up until the time when the Indian Succession Act had come into force. “It was questionable,” his counsel argued, “whether it was the intention of the Indian Succession Act to compel them to abandon those rules and to adopt the very different rules contained in the Act.” The High Court ruled that the Indian Succession Act would undoubtedly govern succession in “Native Christian families,” but called for a further inquiry into the facts. If Ponnusamidan had been born before the Succession Act had come into force (January of 1866) and if the family had been 51

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following the Hindu law of inheritance at that time, he would, in the opinion of the High Court, be entitled, as he had claimed, to his share in the family’s ancestral property: If any portion of the property was ancestral as between the plaintiff and his father, and if the family continued to observe the Hindu Law of Succession until the Indian Succession Act altered their rule of succession, the plaintiff may at his birth have acquired an interest in such ancestral property, of which the subsequent enactment of the Succession Act would not in our opinion deprive him.36 In taking this position, the High Court appeared to have struck a note which resonated with the reasoning in Abraham v. Abraham. But such appearances are misleading. At issue in Abraham were the actual cultural practices of the Abraham family at the time of Mathew’s death. As such, the Appeals Court had admitted huge amounts of evidence to determine the social location and law applicable to the Abrahams. With regard to Ponnusamidan’s claims, however, the issue before the High Court had less to do with actual family practices than it did with determining when, exactly, the workings of Hindu law should cease and when the workings of the Succession Act should begin. Regarding transitional Christian families, the Court had indeed attempted to strike a balance that honored obligations owed to both laws of inheritance.37 The grounds for such balance, however, were quite different from those applied in the Abraham decision. Committed as they had been to fairness, Judges Kindersley and Muttusami Iyer clearly had reoriented the High Court away from Abraham’s concern for how Christians actually live toward a more rigid separation of Hindu and Christian communities, based on the presumption of cultural difference. In the case of Sinammal v. Administrator General of Madras (1883), two women who claimed to have been lawfully wedded to Arthur Kristnama each laid claim to his estate as his widow. The case is unique in that it raises the question of who could inherit the property of a “degraded person” (that is, a convert), and not the question of the “degraded” person’s right to inherit within the Hindu family. The case also raises fundamental questions about the unbreakable character of a Hindu marriage. A Hindu marriage consisted of two ceremonies: betrothal and consummation. The betrothal made the marriage a legally valid one and could often occur many years before the actual consummation of the marriage.38 In this case, Sinammal, the plaintiff, married Kristnama at the age of eight (in 1849 or 1850) according to the rites of the Brahmin community to which they both belonged. The marriage, however, was never consummated.39 Shortly after the ceremony had taken place, Kristnama converted to Christianity. By his conversion he had lost caste, and Sinammal refused to live with him. On January 26, 1857, Sinammal signed a release (a farikhut) by which she had 52

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declared that she had no intention of living with Kristnama and had renounced all claims against him. In January 1858, Kristnama married Mangalam. She was a member of the East Indian Presbyterian Church and lived according to the rites of that Church. As a Christian, Kristnama had held various appointments and had been working as Deputy Collector at Tanjore until his death in 1882. Upon his death, he left property worth 40,000 rupees. This amount had remained in the possession of the Administrator General of Madras, the first defendant in the case. At issue were essentially three questions. (1) Did Sinammal cease to be lawfully wedded to Kristnama upon his conversion, and therefore forfeit her rights to his estate? (2) Was Mangalam lawfully wedded to Kristnama and entitled to his estate? (3) What right does Kristnama’s surviving father (Anandachari) have to his estate under the Indian Succession Act? To the first question, regarding Sinammal’s status, the court devoted considerable attention. According to the facts presented by Judge Kernan, Sinammal refused to live with Kristnama after his conversion, even against his own wishes. Kristnama went so far as to appeal to the Magistrate of Chittur District in order to oblige her to comply. But Sinammal had declared, in writing to the Magistrate, that she would not live with him because he had become a Christian and was therefore an “outcast.”40 Apparently “her friends, aunt, mother and brother-in-law assisted her in her refusal.”41 These facts, along with the farikhut signed by her in 1857, had provided sufficient evidence for the court to establish that Sinammal had in fact deserted Kristnama because of his conversion. However, Judge Kernan added that “desertion does not mean divorce or dissolution,” and hence, Sinammal remained lawfully wedded to Kristnama. The Court proceeded to inquire into whether either Sinammal’s desertion of Kristnama or Kristnama’s state of caste-degradation had effectively disqualified Sinammal from succeeding to his estate.42 It ultimately concluded that, although Sinammal’s desertion of Kristnama did not dissolve their marriage, Kristnama’s death as a “degraded” person did dissolve the marriage. Had Kristnama “atoned” for his degradation by reconverting to Hinduism, Sinammal would have retained her right to succeed.43 However, because Kristnama had died in a “degraded” state, Sinammal was incapacitated as a widow “from performing the funeral obsequies and offering periodic oblations of food and libations of water to the manes … of her deceased consort.”44 The court’s decision reinforced the connection between the right to inherit under Hindu law and the power to perform funeral rites.45 Omitted from consideration, however, was Sinammal’s capacity to inherit under the Succession Act of 1865. Since the court had decided that Sinammal, the plaintiff, was unable to succeed to Kristnama’s estate, it dismissed the case. It did so even without resolving the question of the validity of Mangalam’s marriage (Kristnama’s second wife, a Christian) and of Kristnama’s father’s claims. In 1886, however, the case was retried. This time, the Administrator General of Madras sought directions from the High Court as to how to administer Arthur Kristnama’s 53

LEGAL CONSTRUCTIONS OF RELIGIOUS IDENTITY

estate.46 In response, the High Court declared Kristnama’s marriage to his first wife, Sinammal, to be a valid one, but declared nevertheless that she was unable to succeed because of the deed of release that she had signed in 1857, by which she had renounced all claims against him.47 With Mangalam deceased by the time this suit was tried, the Court went on to declare that her marriage to Kristnama was invalid, because Kristama’s first marriage had never been dissolved.48 Had Mangalam’s marriage been declared a valid one, her executor rightfully would have laid claim to Kristnama’s estate. Even without a legal marriage, Judge Parker conceded Mangalam’s superior moral position: That for 25 years she believed herself to be a wife and her marriage a valid marriage, there is no reason to doubt, that had she been living she would, though not a wife – have had far stronger moral claims upon Kristnama for provision of support than the Hindu relatives, who discarded and outcasted him during his life, though they are now willing to benefit by his death.49 The law, however, did not recognize Mangalam’s moral claims as Kristnama’s wife, and for reasons not at all addressed by the court, the Native Convert’s Marriage Dissolution Act of 1866 remained a dead letter. With Sinammal disqualified on account of the farikhut, the court finally awarded the whole of Kristnama’s estate to his father, Anandachari. Judge Parker stated the rationale as follows: I do not think there is anything in the argument that Hindus are incapable of inheriting the property of a Christian under the Indian Succession Act. It does not follow that because Kristnama may have been incapable of inheriting to his father under Hindu law that his father is incapable of inheriting to him under the Succession Act, for in one case the inheritance follows in the line of the funeral oblation, while in the other it is governed by blood relationship.50 As succinctly as Judge Parker rendered the key difference between the two laws of inheritance, his comments overlooked the larger implications of this application of the law. The case of Arthur Kristnama presented the High Court with three options as to who might succeed to a deceased Christian’s estate: a former Hindu wife, a subsequent Christian wife, or a Hindu father. By eliminating both wives from consideration and finally awarding the estate to the father, the High Court had effectively privileged Brahminical familial norms, while paying mere lip service to the Succession Act. Though Kristnama had died a Christian long after the Succession Act had come into effect, the discussion of who might succeed to his property had been conducted entirely in terms of the idiom of Hindu law. Both 54

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cases, Sinammal (1883) and Anandachari (1886), addressed the question of Kristnama’s state of degradation under Hindu law, as if the real issue was whether or not he could inherit his unconverted family’s property. In the final analysis, Judge Parker recognized the non-reciprocal character of the two laws of inheritance, but decided to do nothing about it. A Hindu could inherit a Christian’s property, even after branding him an outcast. But a Christian could not inherit Hindu joint property without appealing to special laws (such as the Lex Loci Act of 1850) for relief.51 Perhaps one reason why the unconverted father in Administrator General v. Anandachari (1886) had been able to lay such a compelling claim to Kristnama’s property is that Kristnama had died an individual convert who lacked a larger, Christian family who could make counter-claims to his property. The Court would more readily have placed a Christian family under a separate law of succession than a single Christian convert who was designated an outcast. While the law had served to sanction perceptions of the individual convert as “degraded,” it also sanctioned a process by which descendants of converts could be reconstituted into a legally recognized “Christian community.” The decision in Tellis v. Saldanha (1886) illustrates at least part of this process. The plaintiff in Tellis v. Saldanha, Jose Tellis, sued to recover ancestral property that he claimed to share in coparcenership with his brother Augustine, who died in 1872. Both were “Native Roman Catholic Christians” who, according to the Court, shared ancestral property as undivided brothers when, in 1866, the Indian Succession Act came into force.52 The defendants, Augustine’s wife and daughter, contended that they were entitled to his estate under the Indian Succession Act. The Madras High Court upheld the decision of the District Court of Mangalore, namely, that succession to Augustine’s property had to be governed by the Indian Succession Act. What is interesting about this case is that both the plaintiff and the defendants based their claims on Ponnusami Nadan v. Dorasami Ayyan. There the court had ruled that the Indian Succession Act could not deprive a Christian of a “vested” right to ancestral property if, (a) the Christian was born before the Succession Act came into force (1866), and (b) his family lived according to the Hindu law of succession up to that date.53 Jose Tellis claimed that, because he and his brother had lived in coparcenership up to the passing of the Succession Act, he should become the sole owner of the ancestral property (to the exclusion of Augustine’s wife and daughter). The court therefore had to explain why it had supported a Christian’s appeal to Hindu law in Ponnusami Nadan (1880) while having rejected the same appeal in the case of Jose Tellis. Their explanation was less than clear or satisfactory. The Judges of the High Court, Collins and Parker, decided Tellis v. Saldanha by identifying which aspects of Hindu law, if any, the Court would apply to Christian families. In Ponnusami Nadan (1880) the plaintiff had acquired a vested right at birth in his family’s ancestral property. This vested right entitled him to sue for a partition of his share. “But it does not follow from this,” 55

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Collins and Parker remarked, “that until a partition was made all the rules of Hindu law would remain applicable after the passing of the Succession Act.”54 The court, for instance, would not have allowed that the managing member of Ponnusamidan’s family could bind the shares of the other members. Neither could the court have prohibited any member from giving his share to a total stranger. But Hindu law, strictly applied, would have done so. What the court did permit in Ponnusamidan’s case was a way of applying the Succession Act without depriving a family member of any vested interest in ancestral property that he or she might have had under Hindu law. In the case of the Tellis brothers, the court ruled that Augustine Tellis had possessed a vested interest before the Indian Succession Act came into force (1866). That interest had continued to vest in him until he died, intestate, in 1872, at which point the Hindu rules of “survivorship” had ceased and the Succession Act had taken effect. The court explained the transition from one law to the other as follows: The right of survivorship pre-supposes that the rule of Hindu law is the rule of decision at the date of the coparcener’s death, but the effect of the Succession Act was to convert vested coparcenary rights into individual rights and to subject such rights in cases of intestacy to the rules of succession provided by that Act.55 The court’s answer in response to Jose Tellis’s claim to his brother’s property was that, because he and his brother were both Christians, Augustine’s share in the ancestral lands passed on to his wife and daughter according to the tenets of the Succession Act. These cases illustrate the difficulty of applying a single law of inheritance to various circumstances within a multi-faceted “Native Christian” population, such as that which lived in the Madras Presidency. Lawyers and judges, both within and outside the Madras Presidency, gradually grew impatient with what might be called a “Madras style” of dealing with disputes concerning both marriage and succession among Indian Christians.56 In key respects, this impatience belonged to a more pervasive critique of the judiciary’s understanding of South Indian society. James Nelson’s criticism of the High Court’s misapplication of Sanskritic legal norms is a case in point.57 Madras decisions came to be associated with rigidity and a lack of attention to the social realities of Christians. T.R.A. Thumbu Chetty, a Judge on the Mysore High Court, advocated that Native Christians of the Madras Presidency be exempt from the Succession Act, as Christians of Mysore had been.58 English tenets of the Succession Act, he argued, were wholly inapplicable to most Christians of Southern India, who followed Hindu laws and customs: … but for the exemption so justly allowed by the British Government [in Mysore], the application of the English Law of Succession, as contained in Act X of 1865, to Native Christians, would have inflicted great hard56

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ship and injustice and placed them under a great grievance. I fail to see any reason or justice in compelling a Christian Hindu to adopt the English Law relating to property, or rights of inheritance or succession, when he wishes to adhere to, or observe, the same usage or law which governed his civil rights before he renounced the Hindu religion.59 Thumbu Chetty often had used the phrase “Hindu Christians” (or “Christian Hindus”) to emphasize how rooted Christians had been in indigenous customs and practices.60 Judges in other parts of British India shared his sense of indignation regarding the enforcement of the Succession Act in Madras. In Dagree v. Pacotti San Jao (1895) the Bombay High Court addressed the question of whether Christians belonging to the Koli caste (of fisherman) in Bombay could be allowed to submit evidence proving that they are “Hindus” and therefore exempt from the provisions of the Succession Act.61 It held that Koli Christians could not submit such evidence and were not exempt from the Succession Act. The plaintiff in Dagree v. Pacotti San Jao (1895) sued to recover property that he claimed was the lawful inheritance of his deceased wife, Dumu (who died in 1891), according to the Indian Succession Act.62 Among items of the property he sought was a two-thirds portion of a house and certain moveable property left by Dumu’s father (Dama Budia) after his death in 1890. The defendant, Dagree, was the wife of Dama Budia and Dumu’s stepmother. She claimed to have a life interest in the property according to the custom of the Koli Christians, to which both she and the plaintiff belonged. The issue once again before the court was whether to apply the standards of Hindu law or the provisions of the Succession Act to determine who was the rightful owner of the property in question. The District Court ruled in favor of the plaintiff, basing its opinion on two decisions of the Madras High Court discussed above, Ponnusami Nadan v. Dorasami Ayyan (1880) and Tellis v. Saldanha (1886). Dagree, the defendant, appealed on the grounds that: (1) the court ought to have allowed her to submit evidence proving that actual customs of the Koli Christians were more in line with the Hindu law of succession; and (2) the court should not have applied the Indian Succession Act to Koli Christians.63 The Bombay High Court, however, rejected Dagree’s appeal and dismissed the case. What made the case interesting, however, was the claim, put forth by Dagree’s counsel, that the Succession Act as applied by the Madras High Court had been used to penalize persons unfairly on the basis of “mere opinion” (i.e., of their religious beliefs). Dissenting from the ruling and speaking on behalf of Dagree, Macpherson (the Acting Advocate General) and H.C. Kirkpatrick argued that the decisions of the Madras High Court had been wrongly decided and were not applicable in this case. “The effect [of those decisions],” they contended, “was to make the Indian Succession Act a penal law,” something which could not have been 57

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the intent of the legislature.64 By this they meant that Madras had applied the Succession Act in such a way that it penalized certain classes of Christians for following their own unique customs. Such rulings, they argued, violated the Government’s commitment to religious neutrality: To substitute the English law of inheritance, as prescribed by that Act, for the Hindu law, would result in breaking up the social system of the Hindus. To enforce such a change by legislation as a consequence of adopting a particular form of religious faith, is to inflict a penalty upon a mere opinion, and amounts to religious persecution. The legislature could not have intended this. Macpherson and Kirkpatrick’s objections to the “Madras interpretation” of the Succession Act pushed the courts to consider whether the official policy of neutrality toward indigenous religion included indigenous Christianity, or whether it would continue to define and judge Indian Christians according to English legal standards. The defense in Dagree, interestingly, designated the Koli fisherman as “Hindus” who, by virtue of “a mere opinion” should not cease to be regarded as such. In the defense’s view, the Christianity of the Koli was a religious superstructure resting upon a solid, Hindu social base. By designating the Koli as “Hindu,” the defense had interpreted the term sociologically and racially, and not theologically. The Madras Courts, they argued, had misconstrued Section 331 of the Succession Act by interpreting the categories “Mahomedan,” “Buddhist” and also “Hindu” theologically rather than as “mere communities that have adopted the names of their founders.”65 Hindus and Muslims were exempt from the Act “not because they profess certain religious opinions, but because they have a law of succession of their own.”66 The Christian faith, however, teaches no law of succession, “and may be professed under any system of law and without any change in law.”67 Unlike the other religious communities, therefore, the “Christian community” could be viewed as a mere theological construct, constituted by “opinions” that would be detachable from any given social system.

58

4 MARITAL LAW AND CONSTRUCTIONS OF HINDU AND CHRISTIAN IDENTITY, 1870–1920 Court cases dealing with the validity of a “Christian marriage,” as with cases involving inheritance, illustrate the role of the Indian judiciary in defining religious boundaries. Efforts to define a valid “Christian marriage” were complicated by the fact that Christians participated in multiple sets of social relationships, crossing lines of caste, vocation and church affiliation. Village Christians often married members of their own caste, who were not necessarily Christian. How would courts assess the validity of such “mixed marriages,” involving only one Christian partner?1 The Madras High Court’s decisions in such cases further isolated Christians from the customs and usages of “Hindu caste society.” By constructing a Christian community around a single law of marriage for Christians within all of British India, the courts bifurcated “Hindu” and “Christian” identities. The system of law administered by the British in India recognized both universal and religion-specific rights and obligations. As their Lordships of the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council had observed: In India … all, or almost all, the great religious communities of the world exist side by side under the impartial rule of the British Government, while Brahman, Buddhist, Christian, Muhammedan, Parsi, Sikh are one nation, enjoying equal political rights, and having perfect equality before the tribunals, they co-exist as separate and very distinct communities, having distinct laws affecting every relation of life … and the difference of religion pervades and governs all domestic usages and social relations.2 With regard to topics to which personal law had applied – namely, succession and marriage – there was no universal lex loci, or law of the land, in India.3 An individual was entitled – indeed, expected – to marry or inherit property according to the personal law of his or her own religious community. But what if someone, for whatever reason, could not easily be located within any particular system of personal law? By the 1860’s, lawmakers had grown increasingly aware of persons who, legally speaking, had “fallen between the cracks.” Such persons did not fit 59

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neatly into any single religious category recognized by the courts. Westerneducated Muslims and Hindus, for instance, often had assumed a secular outlook, which made them less inclined to follow family rites and personal laws.4 Some members of the reformist Brahmo Samaj had departed from Hindu orthodoxy to such an extent that they refused to marry according to Hindu rites.5 In an effort to provide such persons with a valid civil form of marriage, the Indian Legislative Council passed in 1872 the Native Marriage Act (III).6 Supporters of this Act, such as Henry Maine (law member of the Viceroy’s Council, who had originally drafted the Bill) and Richard Temple (member of the Legislative Council), hailed the Act as a victory for freedom of conscience. Opponents feared that it would encourage young educated Indians to secede from their respective religious traditions.7 Concerns for those who did not “fit in,” which inspired the Native Marriage Act (III) of 1872, also guided efforts to formulate a law of Christian marriage. Indian Christians shared with Brahmos and other deviants from orthodox tradition a condition of perpetual marginality from Hindu society. The courts were unable to define a Christian community (as they had a Hindu and a Muhammedan community) in terms of any single body of personal law that could be derived from the Christian religion.8 While some Christians married according to distinctive rites of their caste, others married according to standards set by Dissenting, Anglican or Roman Catholic traditions. In light of such vast differences among Christians, legislators found the task of defining a valid Christian marriage (and legitimate offspring from such marriages) an extremely complicated one. The Indian Legislative Council enacted several versions of a Christian marriage law, each suffering from various defects.9 Finally, in 1872, the Indian Christian Marriage Act (XV) was passed. This Act consolidated the key principles of earlier marriage laws, including monogamy, a minimal age for marriage and the elimination of so-called clandestine or “irregular” forms of marriage. It was precisely in this attempt to regulate the form and solemnization of the marriage ceremony, however, that drafters of the Indian Christian Marriage Act introduced distinctively Anglican norms for marriage. These norms further isolated Indian Christians from customs of their original caste communities.10 Roman Catholics were explicitly exempted from the scope of the Indian Christian Marriage Act. However, in those instances where a Roman Catholic would marry a Protestant Indian, or where it was uncertain whether someone was a Catholic or a Protestant, even Catholics could sometimes fall within the orbit of the Act’s applicability. This is why Catholic elites, during the 1930’s, had called for a stronger separation of Catholics from the enforcement of the Act and a greater recognition of Catholic Canon Law.11 Prominent Protestant clergy promoted the Indian Christian Marriage Act in order to help eliminate so-called “irregular marriages.” Robert Caldwell, the Anglican Bishop of Madras, advocated stricter measures to control marital practices among low-caste Christians from villages: 60

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The irregular illegal marriages that sometimes take place among Native Christians, especially amongst converts of the lower classes in the rural districts, bear so little resemblance to the marriages solemnized in churches that the performance of them might naturally be regarded by a Magistrate as not amounting to a solemnization of marriage in the meaning of the Act, and therefore as not punishable. Suppose the only marriage ceremony is the recitation of the Lord’s Prayer by a relative and the tying of the symbol of marriage round the bride’s neck by the bridegroom; can this marriage be said to be solemnized? And if so, who solemnizes it? The relative or the bridegroom himself? Yet such, and such alone, are the solemnizations of marriage without authority that take place amongst the Native Christians in the rural districts in Southern India.12 Similar fears that parishioners would intermarry with “the heathen” prompted legal reform. Often the sheer absence of sufficient numbers of available Christian men compelled Christian fathers to opt for a mixed marriage for their daughters.13 Other non-Anglican clergy in India opposed the Christian Marriage Act for inhibiting the remarriage of converts who had been deserted by unconverted spouses.14 Their petitions often drew attention to local practices and the local consciousness of low-caste Christians within rural settings. Efforts to regulate Indian Christian marriages by means of a single Anglican law often violated the actual consciousness of Christian converts from villages. Such Christians, often having converted in groups, retained many features of their caste community. In this respect, the English or Anglican character of the Christian Marriage Act of 1872 had functioned similarly to the Indian Succession Act (X) of 1865, explored in Chapter 3. The Madras High Court’s application of the Indian Christian Marriage Act, as we shall see, had the effect of separating a “Christian community” from the domain of “Hindu caste society” recognized by the courts.15 By extricating Christians from the “little societies” of caste, the judiciary furthered the marginalization of Christians from larger constructions of Hindu society. A set of related cases involving at least one Christian marital partner reveals a pattern of regulation whereby the courts regarded Christian identity and Hindu identity as mutually exclusive. The cases discussed in the following three sections illustrate how legal debates surrounding the solemnization and dissolution of a “Christian marriage” contributed to the bifurcation of Christian and Hindu identities. The following section shows how the Madras judiciary, while constructing a Christian community around marriage, falsely ascribed the Anglican notion of a “clandestine marriage” to Christians marrying according to local caste rites. The next section explains how, in judging the validity of inter-religious marriages, the courts came to regard the marriage ceremony itself as a site for the public profession of religious faith. The final section of the three addresses 61

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the interplay between categories of religious identity and notions of monogamy and desertion derived from divorce cases.

The Solemnization of “Mixed Marriages” Churches that were established among rural converts from lower castes tended to foster a dual identity – that is, a “Christian” and a “caste” identity.16 This dual identity became particularly salient with regard to the marital practices of converted groups. The Nadars of Tinnevelly, for instance, retained their caste solidarity well after conversion to Christianity and continued to intermarry with Hindu Nadars. Because marital preferences so strongly signified the identity of a particular caste, they often revealed the pre-eminence of caste identity over the imagined Christian identity. According to Hardgrave, “the Christian Nadar would give his daughter in marriage to a Hindu Nadar – but never to a Christian of another caste.”17 For so-called “caste churches” such as the Nadar Christians, marrying outside of one’s caste was far more offensive than marrying a non-Christian. Such privileging of caste over religion by Christians themselves stood at odds with the judiciary’s tendency to regulate marriage according to religion. The enforcement of the Indian Christian Marriage Act of 1872 (hereafter, the “Christian Marriage Act”) was often encumbered by the multiple identities of Indian Christians. In their own words, the framers of the Act sought to “consolidate and amend the law relating to the solemnization in India of the marriages of persons professing the Christian religion.”18 What exactly it meant to “profess the Christian religion” became a far more difficult question to resolve in the Indian courts than in the English common law setting where the Act had originated. In the Indian courts, the question arose as to whether a person marrying under non-Christian rites can still be said to “profess” the Christian religion. Judges, in their efforts to determine who is a Christian under the terms of the Christian Marriage Act, moved beyond so-called secular or objective parameters of fact and law and assumed the role of cleric or anthropologist. If the person was found to profess Christianity at the time of marriage, the ceremony was required to conform to the standards of the Christian Marriage Act. Cases falling within the scope of the Indian Christian Marriage Act often turned on the question of who had possessed the authority to solemnize a marriage in which one or both parties were Christian. Section 5 of the Act stipulates that such marriages must be solemnized either (a) by ordained Christian ministers, (b) in the presence of a Christian Marriage Registrar, or (c) by a Christian Marriage Registrar (Variar, 1971: No. 146). This restriction precluded a Hindu priest from performing a marriage according to Hindu rites between persons either of whom was a Christian. But how were the courts to respond to instances (as with the Tinnevelly Nadars) in which Christians wanted to marry according to the rites of their 62

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particular caste? The enforcement of the Indian Christian Marriage Act worked against this tendency of Christian converts, especially those coming from lower social strata, to participate in more than one set of social relationships. Several cases near the turn of the century concerning the solemnization of mixed (Hindu–Christian) marriages reveal how courts had imposed a higher degree of uniformity upon Christian practices within British India. In Queen Empress v. Yohan (1892), three persons were accused of violating Section 68 of the Christian Marriage Act.19 A Hindu had performed a Hindu marriage between a “Native Christian” and a Hindu woman. The woman’s Hindu uncle had given her in marriage to the Christian. The Sessions Judge dropped the charges on the grounds that the Christian Marriage Act contemplated “marriages in the Christian form alone” and did not apply to “marriages in Hindu form, solemnized by a Hindu” even when one of the parties was in fact a Christian.20 The Madras High Court (Appellate Division) overturned this decision. It did so on the basis of an 1871 judgement of the Madras High Court.21 Rather than limiting the application of the Christian Marriage Act only to “Christian marriages,” the High Court in Queen Empress v. Yohan extended its application to any “marriages involving Christians.” In other words, the point of difference between the Sessions Court ruling and that of the Madras High Court was that the latter based its decision on the religious identity of the participants rather than on the form of ceremony. This interpretation obligated all “Native” Christians to be married according to the terms defined by the Christian Marriage Act.22 In Queen Empress v. Paul (1896), the Madras Judiciary went one step further by defining what it means to “solemnize” a marriage under Section 68 of the Christian Marriage Act. In this case, Simeon, an Indian Christian, had been wedded to a Hindu woman in the presence of Paul, an Indian Christian elder of the American Reformed Church of North Arcot, and Bakkaiyan, who was a Hindu priest. Paul and Bakkaiyan were convicted for the unauthorized solemnization of Simeon’s marriage. Simeon was also convicted for having abetted them.23 Here again, the Sessions Judge acquitted all three of the accused, basing his decision on a very narrow reading of Section 68; and again, the Madras High Court had set aside this decision.. Simeon’s defense was that he had “ceased to profess the Christian religion” prior to the date of the marriage. He also denied that Paul and Bakkaiyan had solemnized his marriage. Simeon’s testimony was challenged by the deposition of an American missionary, L.R. Scudder. Scudder claimed that Simeon (also known as Vilvanathan) had been attending his Church and that, up to the day prior to his wedding, he had “been attending the weekly worship and had taken part in the Lord’s Supper.” Scudder supported his statements with references to church attendance records along with observations of the church catechist and other church members.24 The issue of Simeon’s religious practice or profession, however, seems to have had little bearing on the ruling. Rather, the issue was whether Paul and Bakkaiyan could have been said to have “solemnized” 63

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Simeon’s marriage in the sense contemplated by Section 68 of the Christian Marriage Act. According to the Sessions Judge, the processes of solemnization entailed the performance of religious rites by someone either possessing or claiming the needed ecclesiastical authority by which to do so.25 Since Paul and Bakkaiyan had performed no “religious rites”, and since they neither claimed nor possessed such authority, they could not be said to have solemnized the marriage and could not be found guilty under Section 68 of the Act. The marriage, on the other hand, had been solemnized between the parties themselves in the manner envisioned by Sections 61 and 62 of the Act. The High Court rejected the notion that the meaning of “solemnization” turned on the presence or absence of religious rites or of ecclesiastical authority. Such a reading could not explain why Part V of the Act used language which described “civil” marriages that were solemnized by, or in the presence of, a Marriage Registrar without any such “religious” elements.26 The High Court held that the meaning of “solemnize” was equivalent to “conduct, celebrate or perform.”27 Hence any unauthorized person who in any way took part in performing the marriage was to be held liable and subject to conviction under Section 68. On these grounds, the court found the decision to acquit Simeon by the Sessions Court had been incorrect and ordered a retrial of all of the accused parties. Both Queen Empress v. Yohan and Queen Empress v. Paul had established firmer ecclesiastical parameters within which an Indian Christian would have to be married. In both cases, Indian Christian men who had married Hindu women had been found guilty of violating the Christian Marriage Act. The real point of objection was the presence of “Hindu” officiators and forms in “Christian” marriage ceremonies. In essence, the court ruled that any unauthorized person involved in “conducting, celebrating or performing” a marriage involving a Christian could be held liable under the Christian Marriage Act and could face imprisonment for up to ten years. Such conduct was deemed to be a criminal offense.28 By opting for such an interpretation of the provisions of the Act (one that extended to non-Christian priests and ceremonies), the courts contributed to a process of separating a “Christian community” from institutions of caste and family to which converts had previously belonged. This position by the courts eventually came under fire from Non-Anglican (non-conformist) clergy. Such clergy not only resented having to obtain special licenses in order to perform “Christian” marriages, but also were more sensitized to the multiple identities of Christians from low-caste or tribal origins. In two subsequent cases that followed, the courts anticipated potential opposition from Hindus and Muslims, fearing that persons from these communities might regard such an application of the Christian Marriage Act as a violation of the state’s declared policy of religious neutrality. In Kolandaivelu v. Rev. Dequidt (1917), the Madras High Court upheld the above decisions concerning the scope of the Christian Marriage Act. It did so, 64

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however, only after rejecting cogent arguments put forth by High Court Judges J. Napier and T. Sadasiva Iyer calling for a higher degree of toleration toward the marital customs of Hindus and Muslims.29 This case was significant because it brought to light two competing issues in regard to the law of Christian marriage which, up until then, had not been stated explicitly in any of the previous opinions. The first issue, represented in the dissenting opinions of Napier and Sadasiva Iyer, concerned whether or not the Christian Marriage Act could be applied to inter-religious marriages without violating the principle of neutrality. Why was it, after all, that an Anglican priest could perform a marriage involving a Hindu partner, while a Hindu or a Muslim priest could not do the same involving a Christian partner without becoming liable under the Christian Marriage Act? The second issue had to do with eliminating what were known in England as “clandestine marriages,” or marriages performed outside the purview of official ecclesiastical authority. According to the facts of this case, a Native priest of the Valluvas (who were characterized as “untouchables” or “pariahs”) performed a marriage ceremony between a Valluva and a Christian girl aged eleven from the same community. Following the decision of Queen Empress v. Yohan, the Sessions Judge convicted the priest under Section 68 of having solemnized the marriage in the absence of a Marriage Registrar. In his referral to the High Court, however, Napier argued that in the Indian Christian Marriage Act, as in the English Marriage Acts from which it had been derived, no one had ever “contemplated marriages in [any] form other than those suitable for Christians.”30 Napier disputed whether the Christian Marriage Act could possibly have been intended to function in such a way as to declare null and void all marriages between a Hindu and a Christian performed according to caste custom: I very much doubt whether the legislature intended to interfere in this manner with Hindus among whom marriages are regulated by caste custom … In my opinion, the question raised is of serious importance in view of the large number of Christians among the lower castes …31 Convinced by Napier’s arguments, Sadasiva Iyer regarded the earlier decisions as a gross violation of religious neutrality. He also insisted that “solemnization,” the word upon which so many of the convictions under the Christian Marriage Act had been based, indicated “the performance of marriages according to rules, rites, ceremonies and customs of a Christian church.” By applying Section 68 to marriages performed in other religious contexts, the courts, according to Sadasiva Iyer, had imposed an unfair burden upon ministers of other faiths. A Muslim cleric who performed a marriage between a Muslim male and a Christian female became liable under the Act of 1872 for up to ten years of imprisonment. But a Christian minister or a Marriage Registrar who performed a Christian ceremony between the same couple was subject to no penalty.32 How would the Madras High Court 65

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respond to such pleas for religious neutrality under such contradictory circumstances? The High Court, therefore, upheld the decision of the Sessions Court (which followed Yohan). It based its decision on its contention that the Christian Marriage Act was to apply only to marriages of all Christians in India, including cases in which only one partner was Christian. What was particularly interesting about the rationale for this judgement was its orientation of precedents – not to the social and religious “constitution” of South Indian society, but to the marital laws of England. A “solemnized” marriage in England was one “effected in a solemn and regular manner, as opposed to an irregular and clandestine marriage.” By the end of the sixteenth century the English courts had codified certain criteria of eligibility for a “regular” marriage.33 Among these were: (1) that marriages should either be preceded and publicized by banns (public announcements of the intent to marry), or that prospective partners should obtain a license to dispense with the calling of banns; and (2) that priests should conduct marriages, preferably in the presence of a congregation, and at specially designated times of the day.34 Examples of “clandestinity,” by contrast, included: (1) marriages without a priest or a church. In such cases, partners might make vows to each other in the presence of friends or unofficial observers; (2) marriages performed by a priest or ministers, but outside of a proper church building or congregation (English Catholics and Dissenters who preferred to marry before their own priests or ministers opted for such ceremonies. These took place within their own buildings or within their own homes in order to avoid public scrutiny); (3) marriages performed by “Lawless Churches”. These were marriages performed by churches claiming exemption from episcopal authority – people in “dissention” or “non-conformist” or “chapel” congregations. Ministers of such churches could, under law, claim the right to issue their own marriage licenses. By the latter half of the nineteenth century Parliament had passed laws allowing “conscientious objectors” such as Friends (Quakers), Baptists and Orthodox Greeks to conduct marriages according to their own customs. In 1872, the same year as the passing of the Indian Christian Marriage Act, Quakers were granted the right to perform marriages according to their own customs, even when neither partner was Quaker.35 Similar laws were passed to legitimize Baptist and Greek Orthodox marriages.36 This movement in England toward increasing toleration of non-Anglican marital practices coincided in India with a far-reaching enforcement of the Indian Christian Marriage Act (XV) of 1872. The problem with the Christian Marriage Act’s enforcement in India was that it collided with the principle of religious neutrality. By reproducing in India the Parliamentary distinction between “clandestine” and “regular” marriages, the courts had effectively imputed the notion of “clandestinity” onto any “Hindu” or “Muhammedan” ceremony involving a Christian partner.37 Courts were slow to recognize, 66

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however, that “clandestinity” might not carry the same meaning in India as it did in England. Unlike Roman Catholics and Dissenters in England who strove to acquire greater degrees of enfranchisement relative to the Anglican establishment, Hindu and Muslim “communities” in India were seen by the judiciary as already constituting the two major and official spheres of “private” or “personal” law. Repeatedly, the courts had to decide whether they could privilege an imported notion of what constituted a Christian marriage over and against the marital institutions and practices of indigenous communities in India. In 1918, it was to be the Allahabad High Court, not the Madras High Court, which would finally reject this broad, inconsistent and intrusive interpretation of the Christian Marriage Act.

Marriage as Public Profession of Faith The decision of the Allahabad High Court in Maha Ram v. Emperor (1918) departed from all of the earlier precedents established by decisions of the Madras High Court.38 Maha Ram, a member of the bhangi (scavenger and sweeper) caste, had been baptized as an infant and had grown up attending a Christian school. Bachhan and Mangli, also Christians, had also served as the bhangi priests (mans). They had solemnized a marriage between Maha Ram and a bhangi girl. The Sessions Court convicted Bachhan and Mangli, under Section 68 of the Christian Marriage Act, of performing an unauthorized solemnization of “a Christian’s marriage.” The Court also convicted Maha Ram for abetting them. The High Court set aside all charges against Maha Ram, Bachhan and Mangli. They did so on the grounds that (a) Maha Ram did not profess Christianity at the time of his marriage, and (b) Section 68 of the Christian Marriage Act had been meant for application to Christian marriages only. The facts of this case follow the basic pattern of Madras precedents. The case drew far more attention, however, to actual religious beliefs at the time of marriage. The High Court’s decision to disqualify charges against Maha Ram was based on the distinction between being a “Christian” and being a “Native Christian.”39 According to Section 3 of the Christian Marriage Act, the term “Christians” referred to “persons professing the Christian religion,” while the term “Native Christians” included “the Christian descendants of natives of India converted to Christianity as well as such converts.”40 In his opinion, J. Knox pointed out that the distinction made by the Act was deliberate, not arbitrary, and that this had previously been demonstrated by the fact that Sections 23, 37 and other sections of the Christian Marriage Act employed the phrase “Native Christians” while Section 68 employed only the broader term “Christians.”41 This crucial distinction, according to Knox, made it all the more necessary for the Court to determine “who [was] a person who professes the Christian religion.”42 To reach the conclusion that Maha Ram was not a professing Christian at the time of his marriage, the High Court Judge (Knox) had to work against the 67

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grain of much evidence. Six different sources had suggested that Maha Ram was, at least socially and culturally speaking, a Christian. Attorneys for the Crown (R.K. Sorabji and A.E. Ryves) argued that Maha Ram’s enjoyment of the advantages of a Christian school “estopped” him from asserting that he was not a Christian.43 Knox’s rebuttal, however, rested on a distinction between objective or cultural manifestations of Christian identity and inner, confessional criteria – a distinction that would seem much more fitting if it had been made by an eighteenth-century English revivalist than from a magistrate of the law in India. Clearly, Knox privileged “confessional” over “cultural” criteria: I am not prepared to hold that a person is a person professing the Christian religion within the meaning of Act No. XV of 1872 simply because he is baptized as an infant when he has no possibility of saying to the world what is the faith to which he belongs nor do I attach any particular value to the fact that he attends a Christian school. The learned Counsel for the Crown wished me to hold that a person who took the advantages supplied by a Christian school was estopped by his conduct from professing that he was not a Christian. The dressing as a Christian seems also to me very far from being conclusive on this point especially in a class of persons who belong to the bhangi class.44 Knox also refuted a deposition stating that Maha Ram had signed his name “Mahbub Masih” in one or more letters that he had written while attending school at Fatehgarh; in so doing, he had by this action designated himself as being a Christian. The Crown, argued Knox, had not produced any such letters. Even if they had been produced, there was nothing to show that “such letters so written were at all of a public nature” (italics added). Far more compelling evidence of Maha Ram’s confessional position, argued Knox, was his participation in a bhangi marriage in which a Devi ka puja (worship of a female goddess) had been performed. Maha Ram’s choice of this particular marriage ceremony, one that indulged in such “idolatry,” even against the wishes of his father, had constituted a public profession that he was not a Christian.45 In sum, the Maha Ram decision indicated a shift in legal opinion and precedent. Courts had come to regard the marriage ceremony as a site for the public profession of religious identity. This well-argued decision made it much more difficult to prosecute non-Christian clerics within the United Provinces for violations of Act XV of 1872.46 Yet the Maha Ram decision, its cogent arguments notwithstanding, did not become binding in the Madras Presidency. Precedents of the Yohan, Paul and Kolandaivelu decisions continued to guide rulings relating to the enforcement of the Christian Marriage Act.47 In its efforts to fit all Indian Christians, irrespective of their local caste customs, within the parameters of the Act of 1872, the Madras judiciary clearly continued to be guided by ecclesiastical norms coming from Britain. By way of these decisions, they sought to standardize 68

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“Christian marriages” in India. With respect to marriages taking place under “Hindu law,” however, the courts were far more willing to take into account the local customs of various castes, even if and when these departed from the Brahminical norms set forth in the Dharmasastra. By what criteria, however, were the courts to decide whether a mixed marriage involving a Hindu and a Christian partner could be classified either as a “Christian marriage,” falling within the scope of the Christian Marriage Act, or as a “Hindu marriage,” performed according to Hindu law or local custom? It seems that, in Kolandaivelu, the courts had already decided this issue in favor of a far-reaching or intrusive interpretation of the Christian Marriage Act. This interpretation held Hindu priests liable for solemnizing marriages involving a Christian partner. Yet the Kolandaivelu decision did not apply to a context in which it had become accepted, within customary “caste” usage, for Hindu men to marry Christian women, and in which such women, upon marriage, accepted the religion of their husbands. In such instances, as was the case in Maha Ram, the event of marriage itself constituted a public profession by a woman of a new allegiance to “Hinduism.” The Madras Civil Appeals Court addressed such a scenario in Muthusami Mudaliar v. Masilamani Mudaliar (1909). The plaintiff in this case, Muthusami Mudaliar, claimed to be the “reversioner” of Avudanayagam Mudaliar.48 He belonged to the Kaikolar caste and lived in Tinnevelly. The Kaikolar people were defined by some Brahmans to be a “low-caste” (Sudras) weaving community who practiced a local variety of goddess (amman) worship.49 Muthusami Mudaliar sued to recover possession of property from Masilamani, Ayudanayagam’s alleged widow. He claimed that, at the time of her marriage and until Ayudanayagam’s death, Masilamani had remained a Catholic Christian. The plaintiff argued that, because the marriage had been invalid under the Christian Marriage Act, Masilamani was not entitled to Ayudanayagam’s property. The court decided that the marriage was valid. It was valid because: (a) marriages between Kaikolar men and Christian women are recognized as valid by the custom and caste practices of the Kaikolars; and (b) marriages between castes who do not belong to the twice-born castes are permitted under Hindu law.50 Judge Sankaran Nair, who was known for his progressive interpretations of Hindu law, held that if “the religious and legal consciousness of a community recognize[d] the validity of a certain marriage, it follow[ed] that it [could] not be discarded on account of its repugnance to that system of law.”51 The bulk of the argument in the Mudaliar case, therefore, was devoted to determining, by means of numerous witnesses on both sides, whether or not there had been, in fact, a recognized caste practice of Kaikolar men marrying Christian women according to local Saiva rites.52 According to the District Munsif’s findings, the weight of the evidence demonstrated “the prevalence of the practice of Hindus marrying Christian girls according to Hindu rites and such girls after their marriage following the Hindu religion.”53 The depositions of five other persons 69

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further confirmed the prevalence of the practice of intermarriage among Kaikolars of different religious backgrounds or convictions. The Mudaliar decision reinforced patriarchal caste norms. It validated the structural legitimacy of inter-religious marriage among Kaikolars. The corporate and systematic process whereby Christian women found new legal and religious identities within the identities of their Hindu husbands legitimated the practice of intermarriage in the eyes of the judiciary. The fact that such marriages among Kaikolars were not isolated cases but that they actually constituted long and well-established usage dissuaded the court from interfering with the practice, either under the Christian Marriage Act or under Hindu law. Had Masilamani not belonged to a larger class of Catholic women who had frequently and customarily married Hindu men, or had she retained her Catholicism after marriage, the outcome would have been quite different. Her fate might well have anticipated that of the Christian Valluva girl (age 11) in the Kolandaivelu case (1917) where marriage to a Hindu Valluva boy under Hindu rites had rendered both the priest and the father liable to imprisonment under the Christian Marriage Act. For Masilamani and other Kaikolar Christian women, marriage to Hindu men constituted “conversion from Christianity.”54 Upon marriage, as Judge Sankaran-Nair observed, Masilamani removed the cross from her neck, had her forehead smeared with ashes, and allowed a Brahman priest to tie the tali around her neck. Such factors proved, in the eyes of the law, that Masilamani’s Roman Catholicism had vanished upon her marriage to Muthusami, as had also the Christian identity of other women who married Kaikolar men according to local, non-Christian or Saiva rites. Only by treating such women as “converts” to Hinduism could the court place them outside the reach of the Christian Marriage Act and within the scope of legitimate “Hindu” marriages.55 In order to demonstrate that Masilamani had become identified by the state as another “Hindu” upon her marriage to Muthusami, Judge Sankaran Nair pointed to other “objective manifestations” of her change in religion. He cited familial and ritual practices to prove Masilamani’s “Hindu-ness” in the eyes of the law: They were living with his parents as members of one family. She lived as a Saivite Hindu like her husband. They were not treated as outcastes or put out of caste. The members of the Kaikolar community including the plaintiff associated with them as Hindus and members of their community. The plaintiff and the other members of the caste took meals cooked by the first defendant [Masilamani]. They were also worshiping at temples. They had a boy who was treated as a Hindu. When Avudanayagam died, his funeral ceremonies were performed by the plaintiff’s own son …56 His description emphasized the community’s perception of Masilamani’s religious identity. It was less concerned with the task of accessing Masilamani’s 70

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private or personal confessions of religious faith.57 The court’s preference for ascriptive over confessional evidence of Masilamani’s “change in faith” serves to demonstrate its interest in privileging caste usage over individual choice. Conversion by way of marriage, however, was not the same as a convictional or doctrinal conversion. In the court’s view, the event of “conversion” consisted of the termination of a Catholic identity by way of initiation into the patriarchal norms, familial practices and rituals of a locally reified “Hindu community.”

Exclusion from the “Sacral Order of Hinduism” In its detailed description of the relationship between Hindu law, caste custom and religion, the famous judgement of the Mudaliar case highlights the judiciary’s role in constructing a Hindu “religion” and of doing so in terms of a confederation of smaller caste entities. During the late years of the Raj, the courts had embraced what Marc Galanter refers to as a sacral view of caste. This view treated a caste, not as an isolated or independent entity (the sectarian view), but as a component of “an over-arching sacral order of Hindu society.”58 Such a framework recognized the fluidity of caste identities while reifying a single Hindu religion or Hinduism to which this plethora of smaller identities belonged. This legal invention resulted in the application of a different legal standard to those falling within – as distinct from those falling outside – the purview of “Hindu society.” With respect to its enforcement of marital law, the judiciary took more liberty to regulate Christian practices than it did to regulate practices,which were Hindu. Once the judiciary located a marriage within the sacral order of “Hinduism,” it simply did not want to impose a rigid interpretation of Hindu law on local caste communities. Such communities often performed inter-caste or inter-religious marriages and did so “privately,” according to their own customs.59 The different standards that the courts applied to Hindu and Christian marriages had also been reflected in the prevailing stereotypes of each religious category. The judiciary attributed an essentially pluralistic character to Hinduism which warranted noninterference, while associating Christian practice with a more fixed or monolithic character, which more easily lent itself to State control.60 As a general rule, the courts tried to avoid involvement in the internal matters of communities. They did, however, address caste issues when, as in the case of Mudaliar, circumstances gave rise to matters of a “civil nature” such as property rights or rights to a civic or public office. Hence, when a caste issue was subordinate to a civil issue, courts would decide the former in order to adjudicate the latter.61 Well into the twentieth century, the Madras judiciary continued to pass judgements on the relative varna rank and status of different castes.62 The judiciary recognized caste distinctions, not only in cases related to the exclusionary practices of religious establishments, but also in cases dealing with marriage between different castes.63 The assessment of such factors was intimately tied to the religious characteristics of individual castes, as well as to 71

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the question of how caste identities fit into the larger construct of an emerging single and monolithic “Hindu community.’64 The judiciary was persistently vexed by the question of how, whether or when to involve itself with this vast and variegated domain of castes. The sacral view of caste in the Mudaliar case and in other rulings enabled the courts to count a huge proportion of the population as “Hindu” (which often meant little more than “not Muhammedan” or “not Christian”). Yet, no single body of Hindu texts governed the myriads of local customs and usages within a given district. If the courts determined that a certain practice was essential to the identity of a particular caste, regardless of whether this caste was “Hindu,” they preferred not to intervene. If, on the other hand, the courts found that a given practice, however rooted in caste, constituted “criminal” activity, they would seek to prohibit the practice within the substantive framework of the state’s own codification of Hindu law. In his study of the criminalization of temple deva-dasis or “dancing girls,” Kunal Parker describes the preoccupation of Anglo-Indian legal writings with the question of whether such women constituted distinct “castes” (in which case, the courts would not intervene).65 Whether by recognizing all temple dancing girls as coming from a single caste or by applying Hindu law to criminalize their activities, the results of judicial action gradually led to the construction of an overarching “Hindu community” within which such assessments could be made. As Parker explains: Because all legal spaces without explicit textual authority became unstable, the Hindu law extended itself aggressively to cover groups that had been viewed as governed by normative structures distinct from those of the Hindu law. A Hindu community emerged through the extension of Hindu legal norms to such groups.66 By scrutinizing the practices of particular castes through the lens of Hindu law, the judiciary was able to navigate in and out of the internal affairs of castes without inciting religious feelings. The courts required such flexibility even more in South India, where the multitude of castes, the weaker hold of “Aryan influence,” and mounting resistance to “Brahminical culture” had made a strict application of Hindu law far more difficult.67 This disjunction, however, between Brahminical norms of Hindu law and the distinctive culture of South Indian peoples became the basis for a trenchant critique of Madras High Court rulings. Scholar administrators such as James Henry Nelson, who presided over the Court of Small Causes in the Madura District, stressed the cultural difference between the Tamil people of his district and the “Hindus,” who were “judicially recognized” by the Madras High Court.68 In making the case for such difference, however, Nelson stressed the lower moral standards of Tamils: [T]he Tamils of the Madras Province, as a body, do not possess, and never have possessed, a body of positive laws; that though the greater 72

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number of them may have adopted in part the Brahminical form of religious worship, they have not adopted in part the Sanskrit law that is a branch of the Hindu religion; and that so far from being Hindu in faith, thought and morals, the Tamils, as a body, believe, think and act in modes entirely opposed to and incompatible with real, modern Hinduism. For polyandry, polygamy, various forms of incest, divorce, second marriages of widows and married women, the eating of flesh, the drinking of alcoholic drinks, devil-worship and other practices that unquestionably are widely prevalent amongst the Tamils, cannot now be indulged in by Hindus without instant loss of caste. And therefore it would seem to follow that the Tamils of Southern India, as a body, whatever religious faith individual Tamils may choose to profess, whether it be that of the Brahmans, or Buddhism, or Jainism, or Christianity, or belief in local devils, cannot be held to be Hindus, and as Hindus to be subject to the recognized Hindu law.69 Nelson, in keeping with earlier representatives of the Madras School of Orientalism, went so far as to question whether such a thing as “Hindu law” even exists; or whether it was the invention of Sanskrit scholars who had “neither time nor opportunity to acquaint themselves with the actual history and circumstances of the aggregate of countries called India.”70 In spite of such bold criticisms, judges continued to find the notions of “Hinduism” or “Hindu community” to be useful in settling civil disputes and in deciding when to impose restrictions upon local customs. The construction of a unified Hindu community enabled the judiciary to choose between two essentially conservative options: non-intervention, or intervention based on the internal logic of Sanskritic patriarchal norms.71 Legal commentary during the late nineteenth century often criticized European jurists, not only for their ignorance of South India, but also for their essentially conservative decisions and opinions, and for the lack of sufficient Indian “public spirit” to undertake reforms.72 Advocating a more strong-handed imposition of objective legal norms upon the “conquered race,” John D. Mayne, a barristerat-law in Madras in 1864, had written: Till lately the Indian legislature consisted, at first of three knots, and afterwards of a single knot, of Europeans, all from their antecedents highly conservative, and from their responsibility nervously anxious not to do anything which might alarm Native prejudice … The Natives, however, are not a people to get up a strong cry about anything, and certainly will not exert themselves in favour of a reform. Besides, legislation aims at sweeping measures and general uniformity. But improvements in law are ever most salutary when they are most gradual, and the differences of race and usage in India render uniform legislation almost impossible.73 73

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Mayne’s description of the judiciary’s dilemma highlights such factors as viewed from “above” (judicial conservatism) as well as from “below” (lack of public spirit). Both hampered processes of change.74 Pressed between fears of evoking opposition and difficulties inherent in governing a diverse and segmented society, the Government, even while trying to attack the most contentious practices of the day, was compelled to work within the largely patriarchal norms of indigenous society. Official campaigns to eliminate sati, female infanticide or prohibitions against widow remarriage, for instance, had based such efforts on passages from the Sastras or Puranas. They had cited these texts in order to legitimate action against such practices without unsettling the Hindu patriarchal structures that supported them.75 By invoking Hindu texts in this manner, the Government had been able to boast of having “silently promoted the cause of female emancipation and progress” while, at the same time, escaping the scrutiny of caste leaders who might oppose State intervention in their hallowed customs and religious affairs.76 Such “silent” gains over social evils affecting women, however, had kept intact the patriarchal structure of various castes. The Madras judiciary’s construction of distinct, religion-based categories made it all the more difficult to extend legal recognition to “inculturated” varieties of Christian practice, such as what was often conducted by South Indian Syrian or Thomas Christians, by Roman Catholics, or by “mass converts” to Protestantism.77 Such Christians were often “Hindu” in terms of caste and familial bonds, but “Christian” in terms of belief and church affiliation. The Christian Nadars of Tinnevelly, for instance, functioned as a caste and often intermarried with Hindus; yet their marriages were not entirely secure either under Hindu law or the Christian Marriage Act.78 In Michael Pillai v. Barthe (1917), the Madras High Court ruled that “the recognition by Courts of Hindu castes as distinct corporations with exclusive legal rights for certain purposes ought not to be extended to Christian communities, as it would lead to complications of a far reaching character.”79 Judge Sadasiva Iyer posed the problem this way: Supposing a Nadar Christian male marries a Vellala female and children are born and baptised into the Roman Catholic faith, or suppose an excommunicated Brahmin female gives birth to illegitimate children by unknown fathers and they become Roman Catholic converts and settle in this parish, to what caste are they to belong and in what wing of the church are they to be made to sit?80 Such cases illustrate how the Madras judiciary’s enforcement of marital law had impeded natural patterns of Christian inculturation into local caste relationships. Judicial decisions bifurcated Hindu and Christian identities either (a) by confining “a Christian’s marriage” to the terms of the Christian Marriage Act (e.g., Paul, Yohan and Kolandaivelu), or (b) by treating a Christian woman’s 74

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marriage under Hindu rites as “conversion to Hinduism” (Mudaliar), thus reinforcing Hindu patriarchal norms in the process. By locating a Christian marriage “outside caste” and a Hindu marriage “inside caste,” the courts were unable to fully or properly recognize the multiple identities held by the vast majority of South India’s Christians.

Conversion, Divorce and “Desertion” While the enforcement of the Christian Marriage Act of 1872 raised complex issues related to caste and religious identity, the enforcement of the Indian Divorce Act of 1869 (hereafter, the “Divorce Act”) dealt more directly with the problems posed by conversion to Christianity. The Divorce Act defined the terms by which either partner of a Christian marriage could petition for a divorce. According to Part III of the Act, a husband could petition the District Court or the High Court for a divorce on the grounds of his wife’s adultery. A wife could petition for divorce on the ground that her husband had: … exchanged his profession of Christianity for the profession of some other religion, and gone through a form of marriage with another woman; or has been guilty of incestuous adultery, or of bigamy with adultery; or of marriage with another woman with adultery; or of rape, sodomy, or bestiality, or of adultery coupled with such cruelty as without adultery would have entitled her to a divorce a mensa at thoro; or of adultery coupled with desertion, without reasonable excuse for two years or upwards.81 The notion that adultery provided the only grounds for the dissolution of a Christian marriage came from Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount.82 At the same time, the Act revealed its Hindu patriarchal bias by making conversion of the man, not the woman, grounds for a petition of divorce (when coupled with adultery). Implied in this double standard was the notion that a wife’s change of religion was legally less consequential.83 Another common problem faced by the courts concerned converts to Christianity who wanted to dissolve marriages performed under Hindu rites prior to their conversion.84 In cases where both parties were Christians, the male could seek to dissolve the marriage under the Divorce Act on account of his wife’s adultery. The courts, however, were unwilling to grant the divorce: the Divorce Act of 1869, they held, could only dissolve marriages contracted as “Christian marriages.” In a pair of decisions during the last decade of the nineteenth century, the Madras High Court came to define a Christian marriage in terms of monogamy – that is, in terms of an exclusive, life-long bond between one man and one woman.85 In Perianayakam v. Pottukanni (1891), two “pariahs” were married according to the rites of their caste. According to Perianayakam, his wife 75

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Pottukanni had committed adultery with a man named Murthi Naik, had borne a child through him, and had lived with him under his protection until the time of the suit.86 After the onset of this adulterous relationship, Perianayakam had become a Roman Catholic and had practiced the rites of that religion for roughly one year. He had then sued under the Divorce Act for a divorce from Pottukanni on account of her adultery, and for damages suffered as a result of the actions of Naik. The issue faced by the Madras High Court was whether Perianayakam’s conversion to Christianity gave the Court jurisdiction to dissolve a marriage performed under “pariah rites” before he became a Christian. The Court held that the Divorce Act applied only to “Christian marriages” and refused to hear the appeal.87 In addressing the dissolubility of Perianayakam’s marriage, Judge Muttusami Ayyar distinguished between Muslim, Hindu and Christian marriages. He compared their respective doctrines and laws on monogamy and their varying sacramental elements. According to Ayyar, a Muslim marriage dissolves upon apostasy, or upon conversion to another faith.88 Hence, in the case of a Muslim convert wishing to dissolve his marriage on account of his wife’s adultery, the court did not need to invoke the Divorce Act: there would be “no matrimonial injury whereon to found the suit, nor any marriage in existence by the dissolution of which the Court could give relief.”89 In contrast to the Muslim view of marriage, the Hindu view, according to Ayyar, shared with Christian marriage a greater “respect for sacrament.” [The Hindu idea of marriage] has in it a sacramental and religious element, and cannot be dissolved for any cause whatever according to the best authorities, and certainly not at the mere will of the husband, as can a Muhammedan marriage. Still it permits polygamy, and therein differs vitally and essentially from the Christian marriage.90 For reasons not explicitly stated, the court applied the laws of Hindu marriage even to “pariahs” who, owing to their ritual pollution, had always been excluded from the pale of the four varnas. By extending Hindu law into the realm of pariah marriages, the courts made yet another contribution to the ever-expanding boundaries of the Hindu community.91 Furthermore, by ascribing a sacramental as well as a polygamous character to every marriage occurring within the “sacral order of Hinduism,” the courts precluded converts from obtaining release from their Hindu marriages under the Act of 1869, regardless of circumstances. Three years after the decision in Perianayakam, the Madras High Court, in Thapita Peter v. Thapita Lakshmi (1893) further expounded on its definition of a Christian marriage in relation to monogamy.92 Peter sued his wife Lakshmi for adultery and petitioned that his marriage be dissolved (under the Divorce Act). The two had been married as Hindus in 1879. One year later, Lakshmi had left Peter and had “lived in adultery” with Lunkapalli Gauth (the second defen76

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dant). In 1882, Peter had become a Christian; and in 1890, Lakshmi and Gauth had also become Christians. The court held that Peter and Lakshmi could not cite their conversion to Christianity as grounds which would qualify them for a divorce under the Divorce Act. According to judges C.J. Collins and Muttusamy Ayyar, the relief available under the Divorce Act (IV of 1869) could be applied only to “Christian” or “monogamous” marriages; and since Peter and Lakshmi had been married as Hindus, they could not qualify. While a Hindu marriage was also monogamous, it was monogamous only for the woman. The Hindu man could not be held to the same standard. Ayyar’s judgement merely reinforced the already unequal, or patriarchal, character of Hindu marriage: [A Hindu] marriage is in its nature not monogamous, and is not the voluntary union for life of one man with one woman to the exclusion of all others. It is true that as regards the Hindu wife, her union with her husband is a voluntary union for life with one man to the exclusion of all others; but the Hindu husband may marry several wives at one and the same time, or may marry two or more wives during the lifetime of the first wife.93 According to Ayyar, the court’s use of the expression “Christian marriage,” or marriage “within Christendom,” actually referred to a more universal notion of monogamous marriage.94 This more generic understanding of Christian marriage made it possible, at least in theory, to apply the Divorce Act even to a non-Christian marriage if that marriage contemplated a monogamous bond between a man and a woman.95 The court maintained, however, that Hindu marriages did not fall within the scope of the Divorce Act. A Hindu man could marry repeatedly, and do so during the lifetime of his first wife.96 In contrast to the Indian Divorce Act (IV) of 1869, which applied to marriages where both parties were defined as Christian at the time of the suit, the Native Converts Marriage Dissolution Act of 1866 (hereafter, the “Marriage Dissolution Act”) applied to converts whose spouses had deserted them on account of their change of religion. Since classical Hindu law did not allow for the annulment of marriage under any circumstances, converts became guilty of bigamy if they married a Christian during the lifetime of their Hindu spouse – even if that spouse had deserted them. The Native Converts Marriage Dissolution Act was designed to allow a convert to dissolve a marriage when the unconverted spouse no longer wished to remain in the marriage. Courts became aware that the Marriage Dissolution Act could motivate spouses to convert to Christianity for the very purpose of dissolving their marriage. Until revisions of the statutory laws in 1947–49, however, Hindus had no way of dissolving marriages.97 Yet courts frequently applied the Act of 1866 to cases in which an unconverted spouse no longer wished to remain with the convert. 77

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The Marriage Dissolution Act belongs to a category of legislation which aimed to protect converts from the social disadvantages they suffered due to their decision to leave the religion of their birth or family. During the early nineteenth century, upper caste converts to Christianity had often been bound by marriages performed during infancy, or prior to conversion. Upon conversion, such converts often faced the hostility of parents, spouses and in-laws. Declared “outcastes,” they would then be forced to part with property, wife and dowry.98 It was in response to such disabilities that the legislature passed the Native Converts Disabilities Removal Act of 1850, also referred to as the Lex Loci Act of 1850 (see Chapter 1). From then until the late nineteenth century the Lex Loci Act became a focal point for missionary advocacy for “converts’ rights.” When missionaries intervened on behalf of converts, their actions often reinforced the Hindu stereotypes of their role as “family splitters”, and of converts as those who abandoned their families “to go and live with Europeans.”99 Yet, in the opinion of Gauri Vishwanathan, debates triggered by the application of civil law to Christian converts raised issues far more complex than what such stereotypes might suggest. In her view, it would be too simple to view conversion merely as a matter of “assimilation into the culture of the ruling race.” Rather, “conversion” amounted to a “permanent dislocation and exile from a sense of community at large.”100 Debates concerning the rights of converts under Hindu law often begged the question of exactly who was deserting whom as a consequence of conversion. John Hay, a Bible translator of the London Mission Society stationed at Vizagapatnam, explained the “missionary point of view” by relating the story of Shanmukharam. A Hindu convert engaged in a legal battle to retain custody of his children, Shanmukharam had been treated as an outcaste by his wife and by his parents (who resided with him). Eating and sleeping in a room sectioned off from the rest of the family, he had willingly remained in this living arrangement for three months and had not obliged either his wife or his parents to change their attitudes, beliefs or habits. He had agreed to suffer such treatment in order to avoid being separated from his children. This arrangement had been interrupted, however, when Shanmukharam’s wife had then secretly left the house with the children. This event had prompted Shanmukharam to initiate a legal battle for the retrieval of his rights to his children. The battle had taken him through the district courts of Vizagapatnam and Nellore, and finally to the High Court in Madras. At the District Court of Vizagapatnam, where Shanmukharam petitioned for the return of his children, he based his claim on the general rights of guardianship possessed by any father “who was not proved to be unfit for his position.” He also invoked the Lex Loci Act of 1850. The District Court of Vizagapatnam ruled in Shanmukharam’s favor and ordered that the children be handed over to his custody, by also appointing him their legal guardian. Upon the wife’s appeal, the Madras High Court reversed the decision and awarded her the custody of 78

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the children until they reached the age of seven. The decision, in Hay’s mind, raised the critical question of what constituted or defined “desertion” with respect to this convert’s relationship to his family. In disputes concerning a convert’s status within a Hindu family, Hay argued that “the deserter is the defaulter.”101 By this, Hay meant to say that one party in a marriage (or in a family) who abandons the other ought to be the one who forfeits family rights and entitlements. If the mother had converted to Christianity and had remained with her husband and children, and if the husband had then deserted her, the mother would have custody over the children.102 Hence it was not conversion per se, but the decision of one spouse to “desert” the other on the basis of religious difference, that should constitute, according to Hay, an act of “desertion.” Throughout his narrative, Hay attempted to show that missionaries, contrary to Hindu stereotypes, were not in the business of uprooting converts from their families. On the contrary, missionaries had actively encouraged them to remain within their families and to fulfill their family obligations. According to Hay, his Mission had given to Shanmukharam specific instructions: Do not allow it any longer to be alleged that the first step in embracing Christianity is to leave one’s family, and go to live with Europeans. If they will drive you out, let the deed be theirs. Let it be distinctly understood that you have a right to remain, and that you wish to remain in your own house; and only if they will not remain with you, rather than inconvenience them, you will, for their sakes, not your own, leave the house.103 This plea, however, seems to have carried insufficient weight in the ruling of the Madras High Court. According to Hay, the High Court’s decision “judicially deprived a husband of his parental authority, his right to care for and educate his own children.”104 The decision, in his view, not only violated sections of ancient Sastras concerning a wife’s duty of devotion to her husband, but it also violated the Lex Loci Act of 1850. This Act, in Hay’s view, had been designed to protect a convert’s full enjoyment of parental, paternal and property rights. That Hindu customary or classical Sastric norms could often work against a convert’s rights (as in cases of succession), or that the Lex Loci typically could be applied to property and not “parental” rights, did not hinder Hay from trying to gain the best of both worlds in order to make his case.105 By appealing to such distinct legal frameworks to construct a case for Shanmukharam’s parental rights, Hay exposed a contradiction between conservative Hindu norms of substantive law and the liberal ends (in this case, freedom of conscience) that the Lex Loci was designed to protect. Citing passages from the Manava Dharma Sastra, the Mahabarata, the Bhagavata and the Ramayana, Hay argued that it was Shanmukharam’s wife who had 79

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violated Hindu norms and obligations concerning a married Hindu woman by abandoning her prescribed (and promised) duty of performing ritual devotion to her husband.106 Yet, in the end, Hay discovered that Hindu patriarchal norms could not serve the interests of someone no longer deemed to belong within the “Hindu community,” even if and when that person was male. In what might seem like a decision in favor of a woman’s rights, the court decision actually served to do the opposite. It ruled in favor of a Hindu community’s power to exercise control over its own women, over and against the interests of a husband or of any individual. It ruled against anyone who was deemed to have opted out of any community through conversion. Hay’s frequent reference to the wife’s “evil advisors” who consistently encouraged her to separate herself and the children from her husband (Shanmukharam) support this reading of the decision.107 The evil advisors were family members whom the courts recognized to be the legitimate voices of the Hindu community. These voices might even have over-ridden the wife’s own desire to remain with her husband. According to Hay’s account, of her own accord she had returned to Shanmukharam on three separate occasions. As in the decision in Mudaliar, this was not a case of a woman expressing her individual conscience, but a woman located within the iron framework of a patriarchal community – a framework solidified by legal decisions.108

Responses to Laws of Christian Marriage This chapter has attempted to show how judicial decisions concerning the validity of marriage and divorce sometimes defined religious boundaries in ways that did not correspond to the actual self-consciousness or self-understandings of groups. This disjunction seems to have become most evident in the judiciary’s disparate treatment of Christian and Hindu marital practice. While court decisions brought the Christian community under a single law of marriage, such decisions were more apt to appreciate the diversity of customs within emerging notions of Hindu society. By the late nineteenth century, courts, partly as a result of Indianization, had gained enough access to the realities of Indian society to appreciate both the fluidity and the hybridity of both caste and religion. This awareness can be seen in Sankaran Nair’s judgement in the Mudaliar decision: This process of [entry] into the Hindu hierarchy through castes is common both in Northern and Southern India. If their claim is refused then they form a new sect.… Contact with Buddhism, Mahomedanism and Christianity has evolved various sects which have discarded many characteristics of popular orthodox Hinduism and assimilated many ideas and [practice] rites which are popularly supposed to appertain to the other religious systems. Conversions to and from orthodox Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, and in rare 80

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instances to and from Christianity and Mahomedanism, have not always or even generally been accompanied with changes in the laws of marriage and inheritance. These facts make it impossible to apply the rules of present orthodox Hinduism to such sects when any usage inconsistent with such rules is proved …109 In the eyes of the High Court, “Hindu society” encompassed a multitude of smaller caste identities whose customs often departed from the norms of Hindu law. The High Court’s appreciation of the fluid and dynamic character of social distinctions – both communal and individual – while crossing the terrain of “castes,” halted at the doorstep of Christendom. The Native Converts Marriage Dissolution Act of 1866, the Indian Divorce Act of 1869 and the Indian Christian Marriage Act of 1872 presupposed a more homogenous Indian Christian community modeled upon the Anglican Establishment, for which the laws had been originally formulated.110 The Anglican criterion of a “marriage within Christendom,” however, along with the campaign against “clandestine marriages,” found no simple analogue in the Indian context. In India, marital practices varied according to both caste and religious institutions. Ever since the passing of these Acts, courts have found no way to accommodate the various caste usages of Christians as much as has been done with Hindus. An account of the precise impact of court decisions upon the consciousness of Indian Christians at large stands beyond the scope of this study. Yet, by examining various petitions and proposals by and on behalf of Indian Christians regarding marital law, signs of this impact can be seen. Like John Hay’s tract on the plight of Shanmukharam, petitions can identify points of friction between legal decisions and the indwelt realities of communities to which they apply. Like “small slices of social tissue,” petitions offer insights into the public consciousness of Christians, a window into their assessment of how well the courts truly grasped problems relating to their place within Indian society.111 Proposals for amendments to the Christian Marriage Act from the All-India Conference of Indian Christians (AICIC) and the National Christian Council of India (NCCI) reveal grievances of Christians concerning their law of marriage. The responses of Indian Christians to the enforcement of the Christian Marriage Act reflected a concern for the plight of low-caste and tribal converts. That such problems weighed heavily on the consciousness of the emerging “Indian Christian community” is reflected in reports of the AICIC. These reports persistently addressed problems relating to Christian marital law. Yet, despite all efforts, they were ineffective at bringing about concrete changes. At the first conference held in Calcutta (1914), B.N. Athavale, the AICIC’s legal analyst, leveled criticisms at the decisions of various High Courts. He pointed out judicial inattentiveness to caste usages, which actually served to sanction divorce: 81

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You will please note that the High Courts of Bombay and Madras have proceeded on the assumption that a Hindu marriage is indissoluble. They have not considered the customary usages of the castes from among whom the converts were drawn. For it is well known that in India divorce is prevalent among by far the majority of Hindus. The converts in the Madras and Bombay cases were of low castes and could have easily broken their matrimonial ties according to the usages of their castes prior to conversion, with the sanction of the Panch of the castes.112 Athavale’s comments drew attention to double standards. Courts recognized caste usages within the parameters of Hindu society but paid scant heed to the same usages when invoked by converts to the Christian religion. This double standard also served to raise key questions concerning the application of the Lex Loci Act of 1850. If the Act was designed to insure the non-forfeiture of rights due to loss of caste, how could it be that converts to Christianity forfeited their right to a divorce according to the customs of caste?113 Furthermore, why was it that such converts could be denied one advantage (if a divorce could be seen as such) that would have been accessible, within limits, to partners joined by “Christian marriage”? In 1929, aware of the need to tailor the laws of Christian marriage to the particular ethos of Indian churches, the National Christian Council of India (NCCI) proposed three key amendments to the Indian Christian Marriage Act of 1872. First, it proposed that the Act distinguish between persons of nonIndian domicile and persons of Indian domicile, in order to prevent the courts from applying the marital standards of English law to persons in India. Second, it sought to accommodate the variety of Indian Christian marital practices by giving various separate and individual Christian bodies more autonomy and more freedom from State control – more power to prescribe their own standards for what constituted valid marriage.114 Third, it proposed an amendment to permit Christians to marry non-Christians without being held to account under the Act of 1872. In such cases, a marriage could be validly solemnized according to the rites of the community to which the non-Christian partner belonged, and would have the status of a marriage in that community. Proposals of the NCCI as well as those of the AICIC reveal the crucial generational aspect of various emerging forms of Indian Christian identity. They represent the birth pains of a complex and diverse Christian community attempting to negotiate relationships between various Christians and their own indigenous cultural practices, all the while defining itself according to shared norms of a newly-adopted religious faith.115 Every debate concerning the legal aspects of Christian marriage, whether staged in the courtrooms or within the meetings of congregations or mission societies, reveals this dialectical tension – between the “old” and the “new,” between original family or caste identity and the newly-adopted or imagined Christian identity. Having explored how tensions 82

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were manifest in the legal debates and decisions, this study can now turn to how such tensions were actually played out within the domain of politics.

Notions of Exclusion in Law and Politics The formation of Christian identity in domains of politics carried both contrasts and similarities to the legal debates of the previous chapters. Unlike the legal domain, which dealt primarily with civil disputes within the little society of family or caste (jati), the political domain addressed the very idea of a monolithic and collective Christian community and how that community would interface with larger conceptions of “Hindu society” or “Hindu nation.”116 At the same time, the political domain shared many categories of identity and concepts developed by the courts. Designations such as “Native Christians,” we shall see, became sites of both contestation and consciousness, while legal concepts such as “severance” foreshadowed the Christian community’s eviction from the big society (maha jati ) of the nation. The cases discussed in these chapters illustrate how the courts functioned as a laboratory in which social ramifications of religious conversion were interpreted and addressed. One aim of this laboratory was to classify the disabilities suffered by converts to Christianity, which sprang from their status as outcasts under Hindu law. Litigation often pivoted upon the meaning of such terms as “severance,” “desertion” and “degradation” (patita), all of which were used to describe the separation of the apostate convert from his or her Hindu family and caste.117 Cases involving the remarriage of converts raised the question of who was the actual “deserter,” the convert, or his unconverted spouse?118 This is a crucial question, because upon it rested the precise relationship envisioned by the courts between religion and civil entitlement. If converts, as some contended, actively deserted their families for a life with the missionaries, they could not have expected to retain their familial rights (including property and guardianship). But if the Hindu spouse or family abandoned the convert because of what sympathetic jurists had referred to as a “mere change of opinion,” the issue of entitlement was far more ambiguous.119 Even then, the Courts did not necessarily side with converts. Decisions in such cases depended on how strongly the courts would link or de-link civil entitlement from the practice of the Hindu religion.120 The other aim of the laboratory was to constitute in law a Christian community according to its own unique standards of marriage and inheritance. In contrast to the individual convert, the Christian community was not “degraded” in the eyes of the law, but carried its own integrity and principle of survival. Still, the attempt to legally constitute a single Christian community continually vexed the courts, due to the lack of any single body of personal law with which Christians could be associated; and this is what distinguished Christians from Muslims: 83

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The adoption of Mahomedanism necessarily involves such a change, because Mahomet taught not merely a system of religion, but also a system of law, and to become a Mahomedan implies the acceptance of both. But the Founder of Christianity taught no law, and the Christian faith may be accepted and professed under any system of law and without any change of law.121 As the above opinion indicates, Christian communities within the Madras Presidency betrayed varying degrees of adherence to their caste practices and varying degrees of assimilation into English ways of life. Catholic missions often created distinct domains that were functionally Hindu, while symbolically Christian.122 Protestant churches could either consist of Western-educated elites from urban centers, Anglo-Indians who imitated European manners and customs, or converted families and caste groups who continued to adhere to local caste practices. Neither textual law nor the social composition of churches, then, made it easy for the judiciary to constitute a coherent Christian community. Whenever the courts understood “Native Christians” one way, they encountered other Christians who understood themselves in entirely different cultural terms.123 The multi-vocality of the Christian population surfaced in cases relating to marital practices as well as in cases relating to systems of inheritance. The disparity between official identity categories and community consciousness was not only evident in the courts, but also in the realm of politics.

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5 THE SPIRITUAL V. THE POLITICAL Global Religion and Indian Politics, 1917–1933

Relations between Indian Catholics and Protestants and the wider Christian world have long contributed to perceptions of Christians in India as an “alien” or an “anti-national” presence on Indian soil. The Catholic connection to Rome and the Protestant connection to ecclesiastical structures based in Europe or North America not only affected their status under the imperial Government, but also pushed them to the margins of “the Indian nation” as this was conceived by Gandhi and other nationalist leaders.1 Within the climate of Indian nationalism, an allegiance to the Pope or to the Anglican establishment, or membership in the YMCA, suggested an alternative national identity that stood at odds with a genuinely “Indian” one – a perception that Indian Catholic and Protestant elites took great pains to refute.2 Nationalist rhetoric, however, continually exaggerated the actual extent to which “pan-Christian” networks shaped the attitudes and commitments held among Indian Christians. The Christian identity extolled by these networks, as multifaceted as it was, often stood at odds with the actual consciousness of Christians within Indian society. Into the twentieth century, that consciousness continued to be shaped by a variety of local factors, including caste status and political interests. When ecumenical networks prescribed normative or universal standards for Christian behavior, these standards were either interpreted or discarded to suit the imperatives of local conditions.3 How much control, after all, could the Vatican or Protestant church bodies exert over distant and separate constituencies within South India? If the Imperial Government – with an army and the different wings of a vast bureaucracy at its disposal – strained as much as it did to govern the huge districts of the Madras Presidency, how effective could the Vatican or a far-off Protestant missionary board be?4 The answer to this question may lie beyond the impressionistic mapping of the global terrain provided by nationalist rhetoric. It may suggest that we examine more closely specific points of tension between the political inclinations of Indian Christians and the limits imposed upon them by “Pan-Christian” affiliations. The degree to which South Indian Christians were shaped by their ecumenical contacts varied, of course, according to social class and profession. Typically, 87

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urban and educated elites were more active in ecumenical bodies, while rural folk from lower caste or untouchable backgrounds remained rooted in local circumstances.5 This dichotomy of perspectives becomes especially evident in the case of the Indian YMCA, virtually all of whose members consisted of Western-educated, urban youth.6 A number of key Indian figures, including V.S. Azariah, K.T. Paul, and P.D. Devanandan, served as officers of the Indian YMCA. Their involvement with the YMCA led them to integrate their concern for Indian conditions with their participation in a worldwide Protestant ecumene.7 For Catholics, the degree of orientation to the wider Catholic world also varied widely – ranging from bishops to the various classes present among the laity. During the early twentieth century, Catholic bishops in South India, recruited primarily from France and Italy, tended to be more attentive to the priorities of Rome than they were to South India’s socio-political climate.8 The laity in different localities was comprised of a mixture of educated, urban professionals, shoreline fishing communities and village laborers from lower castes. Lay professionals (lawyers, MLAs, scholars), respected as leaders within the Catholic Church, often helped to interpret the teachings of the hierarchy for other sections of the laity.9 During the early twentieth century, as constitutional reforms and nationalist agitations drew increasing numbers of Indians into political processes, some Indian Catholic and Protestant elites followed these trends and grew more politically conscious and assertive. Their political expressions occasionally sparked controversies within the church bodies to which they belonged. These controversies over “matters political” are particularly helpful for identifying, more precisely than any formal creed or doctrine, the boundaries prescribed by religious authority – boundaries that differentiated “spiritual” from the “political” (or “material”) domains of Christian involvement.10 Conflicts involving the political expression of Indian Christians revealed points of tension between the Pan-Christian identity, espoused either by the Vatican or by Protestant ecumenical bodies, and the “Indian” national identity appropriated by the laity. While the first section of this chapter examines such tensions among Catholics, the second section examines the same tensions among Protestants.

Catholics and the State Catholic responses to the Indian political climate during the early twentieth century revealed tensions between the interests of local Catholic institutions, structures of the State, and the demands of the Vatican. The resolution to these tensions had formed an agenda of “Catholic Action.” The Apostolate of Catholic Action provided the laity with a distinctively Catholic basis for social and political involvement, under the authority of the bishops. It promoted Catholic involvement in public affairs, while safeguarding Catholics from the potentially polluting influences of secular party politics and from heretical alliances with Protestants. 88

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Catholic publications in India during the early twentieth century show how both international and local factors contributed to the formation of a distinct Indian Catholic consciousness. The authority of the Vatican, along with constitutional reforms within India, together played a role in determining the status and objectives of Catholics within South Indian society. This section describes the global or international component of Indian Catholic identity. It stresses the role of the Vatican and of a global “Catholic minority consciousness” in defining Catholic political commitments in South India. What is presented here sets the stage for Chapter 7, which explores the process by which Catholic politics in South India became “indigenized.” During the years just before and after the turn of the twentieth century, Catholics of the Madras Presidency were marked by a growing self-consciousness and a new sense of public commitment. This new consciousness expressed itself through an evolving Catholic Press and through the formation of numerous societies formed to articulate and defend Catholic interests amid signs of a rising Hindu nationalism. In 1889 the Catholic Association of South India (also known as the Catholic Indian Association – C.I.A.) was established. Its purpose was to bring the grievances of the Catholic community to the attention of the Government. These grievances included matters relating to religious education, the employment of Catholics in Government services, the question of communal electorates, and the right to observe various Catholic holidays.11 Also in 1889, a newspaper published in Madras, the Catholic Leader, began to present a distinctly Catholic voice on matters of public concern. From 1889 to 1937, this newspaper increasingly became the principle organ of Catholic public opinion within the Madras Presidency.12 In 1919 the Catholic Truth Society established a branch in Trichinopoly. Its purpose was to define religious and moral positions on various issues and to “assist Catholics in counteracting prejudices against religion.” The Catholic Truth Propagation League (1930) added its voice, and established numerous libraries and reading rooms so as to promote a more literate and publicly conscious Catholic laity.13 As Catholics came to terms with their status as members of a minority community, both within India and within other national contexts, they sought out new ways to exercise their influence. Increasingly, the involvement of the laity in matters political drew them into conflict with the hierarchy over the parameters of legitimate Catholic Action. In 1917 mounting enthusiasm for political involvement led a group of Catholic laypersons to cross the boundaries of legitimate Catholic activity and enter the realm of secular, or political, activity. On March 24, a mass meeting of more than five hundred Catholic Christians from Madras gathered at Pachayappa’s Hall in order to protest against measures taken by Catholic bishops to prohibit inter-confessional alliances.14 Apparently a group of them had responded favorably to an invitation by the All-India Conference of Indian Christians (AICIC) to help finance an “All-India Christian Organ” that would address common public or political concerns of Christians.15 89

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Reacting to such cooperation, a delegation of Catholic bishops had convened in Bangalore and passed a series of resolutions prohibiting Indian Catholics from joining associations in collaboration with non-Catholics. Their resolutions resulted in a heated controversy. At one level this revealed Catholic animosity toward Protestant ideas.16 At another level, the event highlighted the insistence of bishops that social and political activity could only be allowed to occur under the firm grip of ecclesiastical authority. The resolutions of the bishops aroused “stormy proceedings” among the Catholic laity at Pachayappa’s Hall. One issue of contention was the matter of proper representation. Did bishops, and only bishops, truly speak for all Indian Catholics? If not, who did?17 The latter question arose in a dispute over the identity of the organizers. As the Chairman began reading letters both of sympathy and protest to the actions of the bishops, a man by the name of U. Kannappa interrupted him and insisted on knowing the names of those who had convened the meeting. The Chairman stated that it was unnecessary to disclose these names and that Kannappa’s insistence was “out of order.”18 At that point, T. Arumainatham, a High Court vakil, defended the legitimacy of the question. He charged that the ruling of the Chair was of a “strange character” not followed in other meetings he had attended. According to a report in The Hindu, the ensuing dispute over the legality of the meeting became so unruly that it required police intervention.19 The evolving rules of order at this meeting, coupled with the anonymity of the organizers, illustrate the new terrain in which ordinary Indian Catholics had found themselves in protesting against the actions of the bishops. Several speakers at the assembly openly attacked the Catholic bishops for what they perceived as a double standard. Anglo-Indian Catholics were permitted to participate with Anglo-Indian Protestants in separate bodies, such as the Anglo-Indian Association and the Friend in Need Society of Madras. Indian Catholics, however, were prohibited from collaborating with Protestants at any level. One speaker, V.A. Anthoniswamy Pillai, attributed the stand of the bishops to their ignorance, as Europeans, of the immediate needs of Indian Catholics: While I do not propose to deny that the European clergy and the Bishops among them have made heavy sacrifices in leaving home and country, it is a matter for very serious doubt if they so earnestly devote themselves to acquiring such a thorough knowledge of the social and temporal needs of the Indian Catholics as will render them to be their leaders on the platform of public and social life.20 Another speaker, K.M. Swami Mudaliar of Royapuram, stated that it was “beyond comprehension” how the Bishop of Mylapore could be the Vice President of the Anglo-Indian Association, whose President was a Protestant, while at the same time Indian Catholics were expected to reject all forms of 90

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such collaboration. “Is the faith of Indian Catholics,” he asked, “weaker than that of Anglo-Indian Catholics?”21 The chairman of the meeting declared that “the Bishops of Southern India and the Catholic laity are now at variance with each other in matters temporal relating to Indian Catholics.”22 He claimed that the Catholic Indian Association ought to be left free to chart out its own development, “unfettered by the power of the Bishops.” At the same time, he pointed out that “the candid expression of a difference of opinion [with the Bishops] does not mean a revolt against [their] constituted spiritual authority.”23 Another speaker declared that the Bishops, by condemning “the secular union of Catholics with Indians of other religions, especially with Indian Christians,” had exceeded their powers. Their decision, in his view, amounted to a “slander” on the faith of Indian Catholics.24 Related to the scope of the Bishop’s authority was the question of how the Bishops were reporting these events to the Vatican. With a clear reference to racial bias among the foreign clergy, it had also been observed that “the real state of things was never correctly reported to Rome by these continental missionaries.”25 Two months later, a widely publicized mass meeting held in Tanjore similarly challenged the resolutions passed by the bishops. A.T. Pannirselvam, a barrister who later was to represent Catholics at the Round Table Conference (1932), presided over this meeting. The speakers addressed more directly the actual principles that were at stake regarding Catholic involvement in public affairs. The resolutions of the bishops, many contended, had reduced the Catholic Indian Association “to a mere name.” They complained that the Association could not act independently of the bishops on behalf of the social and political elevation of Catholics.26 A stream of letters and telegrams to local newspapers protested about the inability of laypersons to pursue their social and political interests. These letters urged Indian Catholics to engage in “persistent agitation of their righteous cause.”27 The chairman of the Tanjore meeting clearly distinguished “religious” from “political” spheres of involvement: While [agitators for political involvement] yielded implicit obedience to their priests and prelates in the domain of their religious ordinances, they claimed full liberty to act, according to the requirements of their community, in the several concerns of their social and political improvement.28 The bishops had apparently tried to console the aggrieved lay leaders by offering to appoint Catholic delegates to meet with Protestants regarding the issues in question, but such “vicarious” forms of representation did not satisfy those who insisted that the hierarchy should have no say in how Catholics might choose to engage in local politics. One of the speakers at the Tanjore meeting, D. Kolandai, drafted a resolution that called for cooperation between Indian Catholics and other sections of 91

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the Indian community. In order to raise their political status, Kolandai also urged Catholics to support the nationalist campaign for Home Rule. Such pleas for a definite stand of solidarity with Indian nationalist aspirations prompted Indian Catholic leaders (but not necessarily the clergy) to stipulate the precise relationship between papal authority and the authority of any given political system under which Catholics had to thrive. One public figure who played an active role in outlining the relationship between the Catholic hierarchy and local politics was L.D. Swamikannu Pillai.29 During his tenure as Chairman of the Board of Examiners at Madras University, he had translated the book, Le Catholique D’Action, into English.30 Prior to this he had worked as a clerk in the Madras Legislative Council. After working for over thirty-two years in a variety of key Government posts, including Deputy Collector and Magistrate at Kurnool, he had been elected President of the Madras Legislative Council.31 His vast experience in Government service, coupled with his strong Catholic convictions, had enabled him to play an active role in defending the position of the Catholic bishops at the mass meetings in Madras and Tanjore. Swamikannu Pillai, having attended the Tanjore mass meeting, produced a pamphlet that portrayed the laity at Tanjore and Madras as acting in defiance of religious authority. The pamphlet also cited instances from other national contexts in which the Pope had been obliged to confront lay Catholics over “insubordination” in matters pertaining to secular activities. In such instances, lay Catholics had either allied themselves with Protestants toward some common social or political ends, or had used local Catholic newspapers to criticize positions of the hierarchy on various issues. Swamikannu Pillai clearly sympathized with the hierarchy. The ultimate aim of his pamphlet was to urge participants at these mass meetings to “retract what they [had] said or done wrong by participating in protest meetings … and show that they are loyal sons of the Church.”32 One of the cases in point cited by Swamikannu Pillai was Pope Pius X’s indictment of the Sillon of France. The Sillon were an association of lay Catholics who had formed a political party which espoused democratic principles.33 When the Pope had begun to perceive that their activities had become more “political” than “Catholic,” he had ordered them to place their organization under the authority of the bishops.34 In his pronouncement concerning the Sillon, the Pope had stressed that Catholicism left nations free to choose their own forms of government and did not ally itself with any particular political party: What we desire to affirm once more [is] that it is an error and a danger to bind Catholicism in principle to a form of government … Now this is the case with the Sillon which by the fact of its compromising the Church on behalf of a special form of government, divides Catholics, withdraws young men, and even priests and seminarists from action 92

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which is purely Catholic, and expends in sheer waste the vigor of a part of the nation.35 In addition to his reference to controversy concerning the Sillon of France, Swamikannu Pillai cited letters from Pope Pius X condemning “interconfessional associations” in Germany. He cited other papal letters that reinforced the authority of the Bishops in all areas of life, including politics.36 Clearly Swamikannu Pillai grouped the participants in the mass meetings at Madras and Tanjore with lay Catholics in other countries that had engaged in social and political action, without the sanction of the Bishops.37 These tensions between the Vatican and lay associations pertained to more than questions of religious authority. They arose from historical processes by which Catholics – both the hierarchy and laity – were coming to terms with their status as minorities within various newly-established secular nationstates.38 In India, Catholic minority consciousness was certainly conditioned by local factors, but such consciousness was also shaped by the experiences of Catholics within nineteenth-century Protestant England and other parts of the world.39 Throughout the nineteenth century, Catholics in England had searched for a way to nurture their identity within a society that was being shaped increasingly by secular values, parliamentary democracy and industrialization.40 Though they had become an officially recognized and tolerated religion in 1829, English Catholics remained isolated from the national mainstream. This isolation stemmed from both the low social status occupied by many of them and their exclusion from the Anglican Establishment.41 As non-Anglicans with ties to Rome, Catholics were under a unique burden to prove that they were loyal subjects of the Queen. This burden of proof had become a recurrent theme of Catholic writings of the late nineteenth century.42 Catholic newspapers and pamphlets stressed that the high moral standards and social services maintained by Roman Catholics made them an asset to any government. The duty of Catholics in every political context was to nurture a “mutual, good, and friendly understanding between the Spiritual and Civil Power.”43 As much as they tried to prove their loyalty to the Crown, Catholics in England also made it a point to differentiate themselves from Protestants in the manner in which they expressed such loyalty. Rather than dissolving their identity by entering secular, political processes, they sought out a distinctively Catholic principle that would provide the basis for social and political involvement: The idea that to do service in England must not be English, but Christian; not national, but supernatural; not only secular, but Divine also. Whatever is not derived from a source quite above the degraded anti-Catholic tone of the English political world will never have the slightest practical value for defending the rights of the Catholic Church.44 93

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As in England, a common “Catholic minority discourse” emerged from a variety of national contexts, where the imperatives of local conditions had to be reconciled to an allegiance to Rome. During the decades between the First and Second World Wars, the Catholic press in India clearly reflected the efforts of Catholics to locate themselves within an evolving international order organized by nation-states and competing ideologies. In many respects, Catholic media in India were just as oriented to battles being waged in Europe as they were to Indian public affairs. These battles were conceived along ideological lines. The columns of the New Leader of Madras were replete with warnings concerning the “anti-God” forces of Capitalism, Communism, Freemasonry and Nazism.45 Quite often, these ideologies were portrayed as false cures to social injustices, including the gap between the rich and the poor. “It is this injustice,” the New Leader argued, “which has given Communism its appeal. And it is the slowness of Christians to listen to the Pope’s teaching that has made the advance of Communism, despite its soulless tyranny, possible.”46 Within the marketplace of competing ideologies, the Catholic response was not to choose one ideology over another. Instead, Catholics sought out their own terms of political engagement, as defined by the Pope and mediated through the Catholic hierarchy in every national context. This quest for a political ethic which would transcend categories derived either from Protestantism, secular nationality or ideology, became a dominant theme of Indian Catholic public discourse during the 1920’s and 1930’s. As constitutional reforms in India drew more and more Indians into local political processes, and grouped Indians according to caste and religion, Indian Catholics became ever more conscious of their status as a minority religion. Their “minority-complex” betrayed anxieties about the preservation of Catholic identity within Indian society: We Catholics are no doubt a minority: perhaps an overemphasis on the fewness of our numbers has created in us the minority-complex; the feeling of weakness, the inability to stand by ourselves, the hankering after a privileged position.47 This consciousness was rooted in the raw facts of the relatively small numbers of Catholics in South India and their consequent “weakness” within Provincial Councils – realities known to Indian Protestants as well.48 The minority complex of Indian Catholics, however, stemmed also from the “alien” status assigned to their dioceses by the Imperial Government. Ever since the days of the East India Company, Catholics had maintained a low-profile, peaceful and cooperative relationship with the Raj. The Company had welcomed Roman Catholic missionaries into its territories long before 1813, when it had first formally admitted British Protestant missionaries. It had paid stipends to Roman Catholics for serving as chaplains to regiments with 94

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Roman Catholic soldiers.49 Occasionally it had also loaned money to Catholic orders to sustain their operations when subsidies from Rome were insufficient. In some instances, these gestures of goodwill had rewarded the “good character” of certain Catholic clerics and the social services they had provided. In other instances, they had functioned as acts of political expedience.50 With regard to the sale and ownership of property, the Government regarded Roman Catholic dioceses not as integral to State-ruled lands, but as “alien bodies.” As such, the law prohibited Catholic clergy from purchasing Government property for the expansion of their dioceses.51 Since the Government of India regarded Catholic properties as being “vested in the Pope,” it had restricted the sale of land to Catholic institutions. As numbers of Catholics in South India had increased and the need for land had become more urgent, Catholics had taken greater objection to the status of their dioceses as “alien.”52 In 1930, a expert in canon law, writing for the Catholic Leader of Madras, protested a Government Order that designated Catholic Church properties as alien bodies. The reciprocal duties of bishops and their diocesans, he argued, were “purely spiritual and intangible” in nature and were unrelated to questions of nationality.53 Each diocese consisted of an episcopal office held by a bishop, a territory, and the ways and means of maintaining the bishop and the institutions that he oversaw. The tangible elements of every diocese – the territory and the properties – made the diocese a part of “British India” and precluded the notion of it being alien. “The Bishop, his priests, the diocesans, considered as physical persons, owe allegiance to that country whose subjects they happen to be.”54 Clearly the Government had misconceived the true nature of the Catholic Church in India: Indeed, the Catholic Church must not be conceived as a Company or a Bank incorporated in the Vatican City, and having branches (called dioceses) in various parts of the world, so that just as the Bank of San Francisco is an alien company and the branches that Bank has in Bombay and Calcutta are alien companies, so also the diocese of, say, Mylapore is an alien body because the Pope is an alien. The nationality of the diocesans has nothing to do with the nationality of the legal person called ‘diocese.’55 The canon lawyer’s diatribe reveals the extent to which Indian Catholics still had to contend with the sense of being “aliens” under the British Crown. Still, within British ruled districts, Catholic orders and dioceses enjoyed a significant degree of religious autonomy and freedom. They were free to propagate their religion among the general population. They were also free to maintain the distinctive culture of their dioceses by establishing schools, maintaining property, constructing churches and conducting public ceremonies and processions.56 Because their marital practices were governed by canon law, they 95

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were even exempted from the provisions of the Indian Christian Marriage Act of 1872.57 But would such freedoms be maintained if Indian nationalists became “masters of their own home”? As Indian nationalism assumed increasingly “Hindu” religious overtones, Indian Catholics, like Protestants, feared that their status under swaraj (“Home Rule”) might be a very precarious one. The growing momentum of Indian nationalism raised legitimate concerns among some Catholics that the freedoms they had long enjoyed under a British-ruled India would be curtailed. In a speech delivered at the Catholic Congress at Bangalore (1933), M. Ruthnaswamy, a renowned scholar and attorney in Madras, questioned whether anti-Christian biases would prevent Catholics from being regarded as true citizens in a free India: Christianity, by its history, its services to the State and to society has earned the right of citizenship in India. Only a false nationalism can [prevent] Christianity and Christians [from being] part of the people and the country. The Nationalism that is going to prevail in this country will be neither Hindu nor Muslim but Indian.58 While expressing concerns over the status of Christians in a free India, public figures such as Ruthnaswamy reiterated the Church’s official posture of neutrality toward political parties and interests. What the Church set forth were principles of conduct, not a case for one political agenda over another.59 This explains, at least in part, why an Anglo-Indian Catholic lawyer such as Joseph Baptista of Bombay could become such an ardent advocate for Home Rule, and yet oppose “unconstitutional” methods of agitation. This also explains why and how other Catholics had remained highly critical of the nationalist movement.60

Gandhi and the Pope Catholics who remained critical of the nationalist movement objected to the “Hinduization” of nationalism and the marginal status assigned to Christians within the Hindu nation. Gandhi’s criticisms of Christian missions as “foreign” and “denationalizing” helped further to define India as a Hindu nation. The process of Hinduization created anxieties for religious minorities, however tolerant and inclusive Gandhi had envisioned such a nation to be.61 While Gandhi’s attitudes toward missions affected Catholics as much as they did Protestants, Catholics remained more consistently critical of the Mahatma than did the Protestant leadership. Resistance both to Hinduism and to Protestantism shaped Catholic attitudes toward Gandhi. If it was not Gandhi’s Hindu veneer, it was the liberal Protestant veneration of Gandhi to which Catholic writers took objection.62 When Gandhi made his famous pronouncement in 1931 that he would try to stop Christian missions in India if they did not confine themselves to social services, the Catholic Leader of Madras claimed that he had revealed his true colors: 96

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One would expect Mr. Gandhi, who has so often expressed such unstinting admiration for the ethical standards of Christianity and who quotes from the Gospels, to be free from such prejudices. His recent declaration disillusions, however, any optimistic feeling one might have entertained regarding his attitude towards the work of Christian Missions in India.63 The Examiner of Bombay (April 4, 1931) was even more severe in its attack on Gandhi. Not only did Gandhi’s pronouncement reveal his true, saffron (Hindu) colors, but it also overturned the notion advanced by liberal Protestants that “Christian influence” could operate outside of the Church: [Gandhi’s pronouncement] should at least destroy once and for all the illusion – for which Protestants are chiefly responsible, but into which some Catholics have also been betrayed by their political sympathies – the illusion that Mr. Gandhi is really a Christian in all essentials, a Christian minus merely a label … [Indian Catholics] must not let their political sympathies for a great leader betray them into mistaking his adoption of Christian phrases for a Christian mentality and outlook.64 The editor of the Examiner was known for his anti-Gandhi sentiments.65 Still, his words expressed the prevailing emphasis in early-twentieth-century Catholic thought on the need for a distinctively Catholic basis for public opinion and political engagement. Clearly he was aware of the rising popularity of the Mahatma and feared that Indian Catholics might dilute their religious identity in their support of Gandhi’s campaign for Swaraj. Catholic media were therefore torn between multiple sets of allegiances: between Church and nation, between local interests and the Vatican’s priorities, and between the charismatic authority of Gandhi and that of the Pope himself. Media coverage of Gandhi’s visit to Rome in December of 1931 varied according to the bias of any given newspaper. The Glasgow Herald claimed that Gandhi’s main reason for visiting Rome was to meet with Pope Pius XI.66 Two or three days prior to his arrival in Rome, Gandhi had applied through British diplomatic channels to see the Pope. Prior to this formal appeal, he had used personal contacts in Rome to gain an audience. All of Gandhi’s efforts, however, were unsuccessful. The Pope’s reply was that he had to observe Sunday as a day of silence and therefore could not receive Gandhi (whose one day visit fell on a Sunday). The Herald added that the Pope, in expressing himself privately, stated, “Gandhi might be ‘multo bravo’ as an individual, but that he didn’t see any particular reason why he should see him at the present juncture.”67 The Herald described the pontiff’s reply as a “rebuff;” and claimed that Gandhi’s eagerness to see him stemmed from his desire to “enlist, by an appeal to the Papal throne,” the Indian Bishops in the pursuit of Swaraj. If he could 97

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influence the Indian Catholics, Gandhi would have been one step closer to unifying the minorities and enlisting them in his anti-colonial movement. The Herald’s reasoning, however, was somewhat dubious. Prior to his visit to Rome, Gandhi, at the Round Table Conference in London, had offended the Catholic delegate, Pannirselvam, by his reference to “ridiculously small minorities” claiming special protections (i.e., separate electorates). Gandhi’s responsiveness to the demands of the Sikhs and indifference to the interests of the larger Indian Christian minority also had upset Pannirselvam.68 Seen in this light, Gandhi’s desire to meet the Pope hardly displayed a need on his part to enlist Catholic support for his political campaign. His visit, however, may have served as a conciliatory gesture after what had transpired at the Round Table Conference.69 The Examiner’s rendition of Gandhi’s visit to Rome drew more attention to the charismatic authority of the Pope and the status of the Catholic Church as an “international moral power.” According to the Examiner, in spite of his disapproval of separate electorates for Indian Catholics, Gandhi conceded by his visit to Rome the moral authority of the Catholic Church both within and outside of India: In India, because Mr. Gandhi would hardly have troubled himself to see the Pope if he thought that His Holiness had no moral power in this country; and outside, because, if he thought that the Pope had no more influence abroad than he has in India, he would not have shown more consideration towards His Holiness than he has towards the Indian Catholic community.70 Gandhi may have visited Rome for reasons far removed from political developments within India. The fact that Indian Catholics were linking his visit to the Vatican to their situation at home shows how the Vatican, as well as local politics, had played a role in shaping their consciousness as an Indian minority community. While this chapter has examined the Vatican’s role in setting parameters for legitimate “Catholic Action,” Chapter 7 will describe the extent to which Catholic political involvement was domesticated by the political climate within the Madras Presidency.

The Protestant Ecumene and Indian Politics The response of Protestant missionaries and ecumenical figures to political developments in India contained elements of support, cautionary restraint and suppression. In order to appreciate the highly nuanced character of Protestant opinion, it is helpful to distinguish attitudes toward political nationalism from attitudes toward the “Indianization” of Christian organizations, such as the Indian YMCA or the National Council of Churches of India (NCCI). Quite often, support for greater Indian representation and control over missionary 98

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institutions did not coincide with support for Indian nationalist campaigns. This was especially the case when leaders such as Gandhi had employed “radical” strategies such as non-cooperation or had assumed a more “Hindu” or Brahminical complexion.71 On the other hand, a significant section of the Protestant missionary complex, even prior to the turn of the twentieth century, had come to sympathize quite profoundly with Indian nationalist aspirations. They had viewed the religious component of Indian nationalism as a “fulfillment” of missionary labor. So-called “fulfillment theory” had originally developed as a response to disappointment among Evangelicals over the paucity of conversions among Indians, especially those who had been educated in missionary schools. In their view, an “anti-Christian renaissance” of Hindu thought among educated Indians had posed a threat to the spread of the gospel.72 The response of fulfillment theorists was to view this “renaissance” as a natural progression of Indian thought toward its ultimate fulfillment in Christian belief. William Miller, principle of Madras Christian College, had once argued that anti-Christian sentiments among educated Indians were signs of a genuine spiritual awakening among them. This awakening and the reactions it elicited from the uneducated orthodox Hindus was in fact the “explosion” within Hinduism to which Alexander Duff had referred during the early nineteenth century.73 Far from being a cause for alarm, Hindu revival and antagonism toward the gospel were necessary steps in India’s “movement Christward.”74 Miller is one among several fulfillment theorists who, in essence, validated the flourishing of Hindu nationalist sentiments by locating them within a Christian theological framework. Other fulfillment theorists included G.M. Cobb and F.W. Kellet of the Wesleyan Methodist Missionary Society, and T.E. Slater and J.N. Farquhar of the London Missionary Society.75 These educational missionaries had often found themselves having to respond to Evangelical charges that they were diluting the gospel and ignoring the masses by working with the educated classes. By portraying Hindu nationalism as a movement toward Christian ends, they had advocated a more irenic posture toward Hinduism.76 In contrast to the Evangelicals, who measured the success of missions primarily in terms of conversions, fulfillment theorists celebrated Hindu revival in so far as it signified the creation of another religion in “the image of Christianity.”77 For the most part, fulfillment theory reflected the theological viewpoints of educational missionaries who were “in the field” more so than it did the viewpoints of executive officers of ecumenical organizations. During the 1920’s and 1930’s, heads of the YMCA and the International Missionary Council (IMC) clashed with members who grew increasingly vocal in their support of Indian nationalism. At issue in these disputes was how the “Pan-Christian” solidarity professed by these organizations would be affected by the political relationship between India and Britain. As they espoused a universal “Christian identity,” the higher ranks of Protestant ecumenical bodies sometimes acted to suppress 99

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political expression by Indian Protestants. In spite of the pervasive awareness of the need to increase Indian representation within these organizations, the overt expression of nationalist sentiments by Indian Christians sometimes strained the spirit of Christian ecumenism. Events occurring within the ranks of the Indian YMCA and the IMC (the forerunner to the NCCI) serve to illustrate such tensions. The YMCA had begun its work in India in 1875, when A.N. Somerville, a minister of the Free Church of Scotland, had started a chapter in Bombay. Upon its arrival, the YMCA had not been well received by the local population. This had been due to its Christian orientation, its Western leadership, and the services it provided only to the European and Anglo-Indian communities. Toward the turn of the century, however, the YMCA had begun to extend its services to youth from many religious backgrounds. These youth had tended to come from educated, urban, middle-class families. In 1890, the Madras YMCA had been founded and its membership opened to all Indians irrespective of caste or creed. By this time, a total of thirty-five YMCAs were operating throughout India, with the Madras branch being by far the most Indianized, in terms of both its membership and its staffing. Eventually, the YMCA had established a National Council, which oversaw the nearly forty member associations throughout India.78 In addition to contributing to the physical, spiritual and educational development of youth, the YMCA with its extensive network throughout India had become a training center for Indian Christian leadership. Among the eminent Indian Christians who passed through its ranks were Samuel Satthianadhan, a professor of logic and moral philosophy at Presidency College, Madras. In 1891, Satthianadhan was elected President of the YMCA’s newly-formed National Council. Among other hugely influential leaders who worked for the YMCA was V.S. Azariah, who became the first Indian Secretary and helped establish the National Missionary Council (which changed its name to the National Christian Council in 1921). K.T. Paul, a Presbyterian, became Secretary after Azariah. Paul established vital links with missionaries toward the formation of Cooperative Credit Societies for the uplift of the rural poor.79 Paul, in 1931, was also the Christian delegate to the Joint Committee of the Houses of Parliament, the agency assigned to address electoral reforms for religious communities. S.K. Datta succeeded Paul as General Secretary and eventually became President of the Indian YMCA. Datta served as the Protestant representative at the Second Round Table Conference in London. The YMCA produced two official publications, the monthly, Young Men of India, begun in 1891, and The Inquirer, which had begun in 1899.80 Issues addressed in both monthlies ranged from public affairs to those pertaining more directly to Biblical teachings and Christian services. Of the two, Young Men of India was more widely known, and remained active throughout the most turbulent decades of the nationalist movement.81 During those decades, 100

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the YMCA’s Indian leadership expressed their solidarity with the nationalist movement in numerous articles, which appeared in Young Men of India. In their support for the nationalist cause, some of these articles warned readers of the “denationalizing” influence of missions.82 The increasingly political content of Young Men of India eventually forced the YMCA to redefine its relationship to political affairs. In 1920, the YMCA’s National Convention passed Resolution III. This resolution struck a balance between involvement and indifference to political affairs in India. Essentially, the Resolution advocated a Christian ideal of citizenship. This ideal distanced itself from the cultural nationalism of the Hindu extremists while promoting greater involvement of Indian Christians in the life of the nation. Christian values, from this perspective, were to be extended into the realms of commerce, industry and politics, so as to promote “justice and fair play in both public and private life.”83 At the same time, the ideal rejected any involvement with “party politics.”84 Resolution III, however, did not satisfy those who wanted to put an end to the airing of “political” sentiments through the YMCA’s official organs. Eventually, the publication of politically sensitive articles sparked a conflict between the Indian YMCA’s National Council and its Simla branch, which provided services to the Indian Army. In 1927, the Board of Directors of the Simla YMCA received complaints from Sir William Vincent, the Commanderin-Chief of the Indian Army, about several politically sensitive articles published in Young Men of India and also in Indus, the YMCA’s student publication. The Simla branch responded by placing an ultimatum before the YMCA’s National Council; namely, that if the National Council did not stop publishing “political propaganda,” the Simla Association would sever its connection to the Indian National Council of the YMCA and seek affiliation with the English National Council.85 This action elicited the intervention of William Paton, who was himself a supporter of Indian independence and had worked tirelessly for the “de-colonization” of the Church in India. Under the direction of W.E. Greaves, the Chairman of the YMCA’s National Executive Committee, Paton went to Simla to interview Vincent. At that time, Vincent asked the Indian YMCA to modify Resolution III in order to prevent further references to political issues in its press. Although the National Council, under Greaves’s leadership, maintained its original position as outlined in Resolution III, it ended up appointing a Censor Committee to scrutinize any articles that were likely to be misunderstood by military officials and other officers of the Raj. In spite of these steps, the Simla YMCA decided to disaffiliate itself from the YMCA’s Indian National Council and approached the English National Council for affiliation.86

The Mission of Fellowship Such tensions within the ranks of the YMCA over “political” issues coincided with a rising tide of racial tension within missionary societies and their Christian 101

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institutions. Ever since the World Missionary Conference at Edinburgh in 1910, ecumenical organizations in India had called for a re-assignment of “the mission of the Church” from missionary societies to the churches of India.87 This “devolution” of power into the hands of Indians had been designed to give them greater control over the finances and administration of Christian institutions. Many of these issues were addressed in a privately distributed pamphlet entitled “The Problem of Race Relationship.”88 The pamphlet, co-signed by fifteen non-Indian church leaders, was distributed primarily among foreign missionaries in order to inform them of the probable causes and remedies to racial tensions. It drew attention to a younger generation of educated, Indian Christians “possessed by a deep and growing national consciousness, with the inevitable craving for self-expression, self-determination, and responsible self-government in state and church.”89 In response to such aspirations, the authors advocated the principle of “missionary euthanasia” extolled by such figures as Henry Venn and D.J. Fleming.90 This principle called for the transfer of administrative and financial responsibility into Indian hands; a phasing out of “missions” and a recognition of the Indian Church as a growing and more enduring institution. The authors of the pamphlet attributed the effectiveness of the Tinnevelly, Madura and Arcot Missions to the manner in which Indians had long ago been entrusted with key responsibilities. The fact that fifteen non-Indian Protestant notables signed a pamphlet dealing with race relations shows that notions of “devolution” or “indigenization” had become part of the ideology of the Christian ecumene, and were not simply the outcry of Indian Christian elites.91 This recognition of racial tension within church structures, however, must not be confused with a particular stand toward political affairs beyond the walls of the Church. We have seen how the YMCA became increasingly Indian in terms of its staffing and membership, and produced many eminent Indian Christian leaders. Yet, the YMCA’s higher ranks tried to curtail political expression through its official publications. In a similar fashion, the NCCI championed the principle of devolution within its own ranks, while remaining ambivalent, if not opposed to the expression of political sentiments.92 Events associated with the Mission of Fellowship of 1931 illustrate both aspects of the NCCI’s position. In 1932 the International Missionary Council invited a delegation of Indian Church leaders to Britain to speak to a variety of Christian audiences about their experience of the Christian religion. The idea for this “Mission of Fellowship” originated at the World Missionary Conference at Jerusalem (1928). Delegates to the Jerusalem conference stressed the need to improve relations between the older, more established churches and the younger churches of Africa and Asia.93 Responding to this mandate, an Executive Committee was formed, headed by William Paton. Paton and the other members envisioned the Mission as a meeting between representatives of the younger Indian churches and the older churches of Britain. 102

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Among the Indian delegates were Ma Nyein, Headmistress of the American Baptist Mission High School in Burma, A.M. Varki, Principle of Union Christian College in Travancore, Augustine Ralla Ram, General Secretary of the Student Christian Association of India, Burma and Ceylon, and J.S.C. Bannerji, who had just been appointed the Assistant Bishop to the Bishop of Lahore.94 The organizers were deeply disturbed when V.S. Azariah, the Bishop of Dornakal, turned down their invitation, but were persuaded to accept Bishop Bannerji in his place.95 J.Z. Hodge tried to console those who were upset by Azariah’s absence by mentioning that “Bannerji is of Brahman lineage and essentially Indian,” and by other suggestions that Bannerji was the “best interpreter of the mind of the Indian Church.”96 But these consolations seemed like a case of sour grapes, considering the notoriety that the South Indian Azariah had acquired for his ecumenical activities and his status as the first Indian Bishop of the Anglican Church. According to the Executive Committee, the Mission’s primary objective was to revitalize the older churches in England by exposing them to the fresh vision of the younger churches. The Committee stated from the outset “that these Indians were coming to share with Christians in this country their understanding of the Gospel, and that their visit had a definite spiritual and evangelistic aim.”97 Later the Committee spoke more directly about the possible political ramifications of the Mission: It is not necessary to say that the Mission has no kind of political purpose or bearing … it is probable that one of the effects of the visit may be the promotion of a kindlier and more friendly feeling between Indians and Britishers in general. We may hope for that as a secondary effect, but the essence of the thing is not even that. It is that there may be a sharing of the treasure of Christ, a deepening of the spiritual life, perhaps even an evangelistic work.98 By framing the purpose of the Mission in such benign, “spiritual” terms, the organizers thought that they could prevent delegates from addressing the “political” issues of the Round Table Conference, whose Third Session was to convene on November 15, 1932.99 This hope of displacing political issues with a spiritual agenda was eventually shattered by events that were to follow. During the course of the Mission’s visit to England, the word reached members of the Executive Committee that one of the delegates, Augustine Ralla Ram, was engaged in “political” activities. Ralla Ram had distributed a “political Manifesto” during his visits to various churches, was privately meeting with Christians throughout England to discuss political issues, and was raising funds for an organization that would “bring his views before the Christian bodies of Great Britain.”100 Ralla Ram had even arranged visits with the Duke of York and the Prime Minister to discuss his Manifesto.101 News of Ralla Ram’s campaign struck Paton and his fellow committee members Kenneth 103

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Maclennan and Edwin E. Aubrey as a serious breach of the original understanding regarding the spiritual purpose of the Mission. The Manifesto stressed the need for the immediate acquisition of dominion status for India, and demanded the release of all political prisoners. While shunning the militant methods of the extremists, the Manifesto supported the notion that Home Rule ultimately had to be “taken” by Indians and could not be “granted” by the British Parliament. It envisioned the drafting of a Constitution only after the acquisition of Dominion status for India.102 The significance of Ralla Ram’s Manifesto, however, lies not so much in its substantive content as in the volatile reactions it elicited from the organizers of the Mission of Fellowship. The first person to inform the Executive Committee of Ralla Ram’s activities was H.J. Flowers, the minister of a Baptist congregation in Swansea that had hosted Ralla Ram. Flowers, however, was entirely unaware that political activities violated the spiritual aims of the Mission and would evoke the consternation of the Executive Committee. His letter to Aubrey conveyed his support and that of his congregation for Ralla Ram’s Manifesto, and announced that they were “sending a copy of this Manifesto to as many Ministers and Clergy as [they] can.” Flowers’s circular urged his fellow clergy to bring the issues raised in the Manifesto before their congregations. He also pleaded that they contact their respective Members of Parliament so that the matter might be brought to the attention of the Prime Minister.103 In his reply to Flowers, Aubrey expressed that he was “seriously troubled” by Flowers’s letter. Ralla Ram’s activities had breached the “definite understanding” that was given by the Indian delegation that they “would not enter into political questions, which are the subject of discussion and controversy.”104 Aubrey nevertheless conceded that political questions would inevitably be discussed in “private conversations” with delegates, in light of the “deep cleavages” that were forming in India over the issue of Dominion status and the Indian Constitution.105 His letter was restrained in its tone, causing as little embarrassment as possible to Flowers. In subsequent correspondence, Flowers pledged to undo whatever damage he had caused to the Mission through his naive complicity. From this point on Aubrey, Paton and Maclennan assumed the role of public relations officers, attempting to redeem the spiritual integrity of the Mission of Fellowship. In confronting Ralla Ram, however, they inevitably offered their own viewpoints about the political climate in India. Their own sense of the gravity of the situation is evident, not only in their letters to Ralla Ram, but also in their “strictly confidential” letters to each other. Paton in particular feared that the entire Mission would be “tainted with a definitely political bias.”106 Paton knew Ralla Ram personally, and had made a train journey with him from Bangor during the course of the Mission. Paton charged that Ralla Ram had implicated not only the Mission, but also the NCCI, in the political views he was broadcasting throughout England.107 In Paton’s view, Ralla Ram’s 104

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private opinion could no longer be separated from the public position of the Mission of Fellowship because of the manner in which he had disseminated his views. Paton chided Ralla Ram for his inexperience in practical affairs. But what upset Paton the most was his sense that Ralla Ram had premeditated the whole scheme without making any mention of it during their journey from Bangor. Paton told Ralla Ram that his Manifesto was both crude and ignorant of the actual processes affecting political change. As such, it would have no effect on members of Parliament or the Prime Minister: The whole question of the bearing of religious considerations upon governmental action is a much more complicated philosophical question than you have perhaps thought it to be. Personally I hold that the Christian should always try to work in every possible way for the achievement of a social and political order in harmony with Christian principles. But I am equally certain that the State has its own divinely given sphere, and that the maintenance of the tasks to which the State is committed is a moral obligation for the governor and the official which he must in duty bound discharge. It is therefore quite fruitless to use phrases about Great Britain loving India as if they bore upon the immediate task of the leaders of the two countries in such a way as to affect technical action.108 By stressing the mechanical functions of the State over the affective or ‘nonrational’ aspect of nationalist sentiments, Paton dismissed Ralla Ram’s Manifesto as naive and ineffective. Paton could not, however, escape the fact that Ralla Ram had already made a huge impact on Flowers and the Swansea congregation and was en route to establishing contact with William Temple, the Archbishop of York, Prime Minister Ramsay MacDonald, Lord Irwin, and even the King.109 The circular that Flowers was distributing on Ralla Ram’s behalf had also reached the headquarters of one of the largest Free Churches in England. These developments prompted Maclennan’s cosmetic intervention on behalf of the Mission’s spiritual image. A letter from Maclennan to Ralla Ram beginning with the words “I am going to rely on you for some more help” indicates that Maclennan had enlisted the zealous student leader in a campaign of counter-propaganda. He requested Ralla Ram “to put [him] in a position to say” two things: First, that Ralla Ram never intended that Flowers would circulate his Manifesto, or that an organization should be promoted to further its aims.110 Second, that Ralla Ram recognized that he had placed his colleagues and the Mission’s organizers in a difficult position by taking an active part in political propaganda while in England. Maclennan went so far as to draft a telegram himself and ask for Ralla Ram’s signature.111 This Ralla Ram refused to give. What Ralla Ram offered instead was a letter which encompassed Maclennan’s two points, along with an expression of his own sentiments concerning the 105

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political relationship between “his country” and Britain. Ralla Ram contended that Flowers and the Swansea congregation had acted on their own initiative with respect to their circular and the creation of an organization that would propagate Ralla Ram’s ideas. At the same time, he stressed the inseparability of the spiritual from the political in order to justify his activities in England: I am a member of a Fellowship which was mooted on the distinct understanding that it was not to be of a political nature. It is difficult to know what it exactly means … As an Ambassador in behalf of India I have only suggested ways by which true abiding and spiritual fellowship could be started between Britain and India. Let it not be forgotten that while I am trying to be a Christian, I am at the same time a lover of my country. I cannot be a colorless, insipid Christian who can shut his eyes to the spiritual implication of a situation which involves 1/5 of mankind in India.112 Ralla Ram also stated that, in view of the Round Table Conference, he had drafted his Manifesto without “polishing it up by making it a document for state purposes.” The final section of his letter explains that he had sent a copy of his “statement” to Swansea only after leaving, and that they had acted upon it “entirely in their own responsibility.”113 This account of the Mission of Fellowship of 1932 illustrates how Protestant ecumenism, in its efforts to promote a Pan-Christian identity, suppressed political expression by Indian Christians. An alternative reading of the Mission might attribute the repressive actions of its organizers to Ralla Ram’s “crudeness” in the way he expressed himself. If Bannerji or Varki had spoken openly about the politics of the Round Table Conference, Paton and Maclennan may not have been so disquieted. While this reading has some purchase, it does not overturn the fact that the Mission of Fellowship, scheduled at the same time and place as the Third Session of the Round Table Conference, was nevertheless designed to avoid any talk of politics. The IMC leaders who organized the Mission, as committed as they were to “devolution” within the Church, still believed that Christian identity required no direct engagement with secular national consciousness. The participation of Protestant Indians in ecumenical organizations such as the YMCA or the NCCI had a dual effect. On the one hand, their participation promoted their advancement within these structures and transformed them into “representatives” of Christian interests within Indian society. On the other hand, their participation in Pan-Christian networks can be said to have isolated them from the public mainstream. First, by becoming answerable to the issues of the Protestant ecumene, they grew less attentive to local realities and local politics. This silence regarding the local is evident throughout the principle organs of the Christian print media. Second, the separation of spiritual from political domains inclined Protestant elites toward an apolitical interpretation of the Indian Christian community. 106

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Such an interpretation dissuaded them from wielding influence within local councils on behalf of their own community. Azariah, Datta, Chakkarai and other limelight figures feared that such “loaves and fishes” politics would compromise the spiritual character of the Church and would enhance perceptions of Christians as anti-national. Were they correct? Chapter 6’s discussion of Protestant responses to the Communal Award of 1932 shows how the disavowal of Christian communalism, rather than having the mainstreaming effect that many had envisioned, rendered the Christian community and Christian interests a political non-issue.

Conclusion Catholic internationalism and Protestant ecumenism had both played an important role in shaping political consciousness among Christian elites in India. That role, however, is all too prone to overstatement and misunderstanding.114 The responses of Catholic bishops to the political aspirations of Indian Catholics are best seen as isolated episodes of intervention which sought to contain political aspirations within the parameters of religious authority. Initially, the Catholic bishops had strongly objected to Indian Catholics forming political alliances with Protestants. Such objections, voiced in their resolutions of 1917, as we shall see, would eventually give way to local imperatives to fight for “Catholic interests.” Within just over a decade, South Indian Catholics had come to regard Indian Protestants as useful allies in the pursuit of political influence.115 Similar patterns of accommodation can also be seen in the Catholic media. As much as Catholic newspapers had established ideological fault lines between Catholics and their “enemies,” these divisions ultimately served to enhance Catholic identity. By enhancing communal boundaries, the Catholic media further equipped Indian Catholics to enter the competitive arena of South Indian group politics. Protestant ecumenical networks appear to have functioned differently from the Catholic networks. While Catholic networks facilitated a process of accommodation to local politics, Protestant ecumenism appears to have been oriented less toward local and more toward national and international categories of involvement. Objections among the higher ranks of the YMCA to the overtly political sentiments of Indians eventually subsided. What followed was a softer or “less toxic” idiom of civic duty and patriotism, championed by prominent leaders such as K.T. Paul and scattered throughout the pages of Young Men of India. Protestant ideals of civic duty, voluntarism and national commitment inspired prominent Christian leaders to support moderate political strategies for acquiring Indian Independence. Such ideals, however, did not effectively equip Indian Protestants to think politically as Christians; that is, to think about how to maximize their influence as a minority community within the evolving political culture of South India.

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6 THE PROTESTANT DISAVOWAL OF CHRISTIAN COMMUNALISM, 1910–1933

Much of the literature dealing with Indian Christians during the early twentieth century has attempted to measure Christian commitment to Indian nationalist campaigns and ideology.1 Commitment to nationalism has become the chief index by which to measure the “Indian-ness” of Christians or their integration into the public mainstream.2 By orienting itself so strongly toward All-India or continental Indian nationalism, however, such literature has overlooked the significance of regional politics, particularly those of the Madras Presidency, which contained the vast majority of India’s Christians. An alternative way to measure Indian-ness would be to consider the extent to which Christians had accommodated themselves to a regional, political culture. During the 1920’s and 1930’s, two dominant features defined South Indian political culture: group competition and non-Brahminism.3 Group competition sprang from the rising identity consciousness of the period. The establishment of quotas for education and employment based upon caste and religious identity, and the policy of separate electorates, catalyzed new forms of identity politics.4 Persons claiming to represent one constituency or another acted as brokers for respective group interests.5 In order to maximize access to a common pool of resources, alliances were forged and broken within and across a plethora of linguistic, caste and religious identities.6 By entering the arena of group politics, groups competed against each other, but nevertheless integrated themselves into a shared political culture.7 The other important feature of South Indian political culture, nonBrahminism, drew its inspiration from Dravidian ideology. This ideology posited a distinct linguistic and racial identity for South Indians. Non-Brahmin agitators pitted Dravidian culture, which most often championed the Tamil language, against Hindu, Aryan or Sanskritic cultures from the North. Champions of Dravidianism and non-Brahminism drew upon the cultural and linguistic resources provided by missionaries such as Robert Caldwell (1819–1891) and G.U. Pope (1820–1907). As they celebrated the achievements of South Indian history and culture, Tamil writers such as P. Sundaram Pillai (1855–1897), J.M. Nallaswami Pillai (1864–1920) and Subramania Bharati (1882–1921) also contributed to a regional Tamil renaissance. According to Charles Ryerson, 108

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Indian nationalism and Tamil regionalism flourished simultaneously.8 During the 1920’s and 1930’s, the Self Respect League and the Justice Party also advanced the cultural, ideological and political aspects of the non-Brahmin agenda.9 Integration into public life within the Madras Presidency required engagement with either or both features of its political culture. For the most part, South Indian Catholic elites distanced themselves from Dravidianism and nonBrahmin agitation. Yet, as we shall see in Chapter 7, by opting for the Communal Award of 1932 and asserting themselves as Catholics within provincial councils and district boards, they clearly entered the arena of group competition.10 What we see in the Protestant print media, by contrast, is an aloofness from both group politics and Dravidianism. Their identification with Sanskritic culture, rejection of separate electorates for Christians and nearly exclusive orientation to All-India politics served, ironically, to further alienate themselves from public life. Indeed, the orientation of some Protestant leaders (e.g., K.T. Paul, V. Chakkarai, P.D. Devanandan and S. Jesudasen) to nationalist politics and Sanskritic culture may actually be viewed as manifestations of displacement and marginality. In order to appreciate this irony, it is necessary to regard regional politics as a springboard into Indian nationality, rather than as a competitor. In his book, Origins of Nationality in South Asia (1998), Chris Bayly draws attention to the role of regional “patriotisms” in providing shape and vitality for All-India nationalist campaigns.11 According to Bayly, notions of political morality, good government and other regional symbolic resources within pre-colonial India energized resistance against indigenous rulers and even provided resources for political mobilization against British rule.12 Modern understandings of nationality often thrived on cultural myths and icons specific to a region: Nationalist program[s] could also be powerfully supported and in some cases [molded] by the active sentiment of regional patriotism and by the routines of the political comment and ideas of ethical government which underlay them.13 Seen from this angle, nationalist leaders could not afford to ignore the interests and aspirations of regional politicians and the communities they claimed to represent. Neither could they impose an alien “national culture” upon regional or local communities; doing so would arouse internal opposition to the unitary Indian identity espoused by nationalist leaders. This perspective conceives a far more compatible, if not contingent, relationship between modern Indian nationalism and the many regional cultures and polities that comprised the subcontinent, long before the advent of British rule.14 Such insights help us to appreciate the sense in which the cultural and linguistic elements of Bengali, Telugu, Marathi and Tamil polities provided the bricks and mortar for a larger commitment to “India.” The linguistic dimension of such regional loyalties is particularly significant, because it provided a vehicle 109

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for sectarian integration.15 Proponents of many religious traditions – be they Vaishnavite, Shaivite, Muslim or Christian – and many “castes,” by celebrating a common language, could participate in a shared, Telugu or Tamil consciousness. Yet, it was precisely with respect to the integrative potency of language that Indian Protestant elites of the Madras Presidency experienced a most striking form of displacement. Major organs of Indian Protestant public opinion were published in English, in order to serve a readership consisting of both urban, English-educated Indians and members of ecumenical Christian bodies or foreign mission societies.16 By opting for English as the chief medium for articulating “Indian Christianity,” however, Protestant elites forfeited for themselves and their communities the integrative potency of mother-tongue allegiance. This is not to suggest that there were no local Protestant groups that organized themselves politically to pursue their distinctive interests. Robert Hardgrave’s discussion of the Nadar Mahajana Sangam clearly offers an example of such a group.17 What this chapter presents for consideration, however, is the aloofness from regional political culture that is evident in Indian Protestant newspapers. Formerly, Protestant missions had contributed – through the establishment of printing presses, publishing houses and vernacular translation projects of various kinds – to the emergence of a vibrant regional consciousness.18 The contributions of David and C.P. Brown to Telugu consciousness and C.F. Schwartz, Robert Caldwell and G.U. Pope to Tamil consciousness illustrate how missionaries actively participated in the formation of sub-national or regional identities.19 Other Protestant missionaries were outspoken defenders of the non-Brahmin movement in Madras.20 A critical issue that needs to be addressed is how and why, in South India, Indian Protestant elites had come to be excluded from the very imaginings of cultural identity to which missionary labor had contributed. Key features of the Indian Protestant print media during the 1920’s and 1930’s – most notably, its adoption of English as its chief medium – provide insights as to why “Christian consciousness” had come to be displaced from “regional consciousness.”21 Beyond the fact of its use of English, Indian Protestant print culture provided a forum for church leaders to express their political views. Many such leaders, cognizant as they were of the interests and concerns of Indian Christians, rejected the policy of separate electorates as a means of securing those interests.22 According to that policy, Christian constituencies would elect their own “Christian” representatives to a fixed number of seats within the Legislative Council. Protestant notables such as K.T. Paul, V.S. Azariah, V. Chakkarai and S. Jesudasan disavowed separate electorates for Indian Christians, fearing that the policy would corrupt the essentially “spiritual” nature of the Church and further isolate Christians from the national mainstream. Attacking separate electorates with such labels as “compulsory segregation” or “political purdah,” many advocated non-sectarian ideals of civic duty and voluntarism as an alternative.23 By articulating their national commitment in terms of such lofty ideals, however, Protestant leaders entered a political vacuum. As they 110

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sacrificed distinctively Christian interests upon the altar of national commitment, some came to doubt whether an Indian Christian community should exist at all as a political entity.24 Vengal Chakkarai, a Madras lawyer and journalist, stated this position most boldly: In the first place, there is no such entity as the Christian community nor do we desire to have one. The definition of a community is that it has common social usages and interests that require to be protected against the inroads of other hostile communities. In what sense can it be said that Indian Christians form such a homogenous community?25 Throughout the 1930’s, the resistance or refusal of Protestant elites to conceive a “Christian community” in political terms became a fundamental theme of their nationalist position. By rejecting the policy of separate electorates for Christians, some Protestant leaders such as K.T. Paul and S.K. George hoped to counter the biases exerted against them by Hindu nationalists. Such biases were grounded in stereotypes of the Christian religion as anti-national or colonial. In their efforts to overturn such biases, some identified themselves more strongly with national culture, interpreted along Hindu or Sanskritic lines.26 The Protestant political project of rejecting “Christian communalism”, therefore, went hand-in-hand with the cultural project of blending with national culture. Both projects, however, had served to further isolate Christians from the political culture of the Madras Presidency. The following sections describe the socio-political factors that made the task of constituting an Indian Christian Community a highly problematic one for Protestants. The emergence of a distinctive body of Indian Protestant public opinion is outlined in three phases: (1) the mobilization of anti-Christian bias; (2) the emerging self-consciousness of the Indian Christian community in Madras; and (3) the politics surrounding the Communal Award.

The Mobilization of Bias A survey of the principle Christian newspapers of the early twentieth century reveals two dominant concerns among Indian Christians: the desire to Indianize Christianity, and the call to a greater degree of Indian patriotism. While the two concerns belong to the distinct domains of church and nation, both are responses to a prevailing bias which branded Christianity a “colonial religion.” This bias, whether propagated at the All-India level or more locally, was primarily the handiwork of proponents of a more Sanskritic, “Hindu” nationalism. Much less did it derive from the anti-Brahminical, “Dravidian” movement of the Madras Presidency.27 Madras-based Christian thinkers such as V. Chakkarai, P. Chenchiah, K.T. Paul and S. Jesudasen paid far more attention to the All-India Sanskritic nationalism than they did to the Dravidian consciousness of their immediate surroundings. As 111

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a result of their preoccupation with the former, they alienated themselves from the cultural politics of the Presidency.28 A vast portion of their public discourse, as we shall see in the following section, betrayed their identification with Sanskritic culture and their efforts to overcome biases directed against them. This section explores the origins of such biases. At the continental level, anti-Christian biases derived from two main sources: the Swadeshi Movement during the first decade of the twentieth century, and the towering influence of Mohandas K. Gandhi thereafter. The Swadeshi Movement accelerated the “Hindu-ization” of nationalist activity by promoting ideals of economic and cultural self-reliance (atma-sakti).29 In their push for cultural “self-reliance,” Swadeshi advocates reclaimed and reasserted features of traditional Hindu society that were previously attacked by missionaries and Indian reformers.30 Inspired by such ideals, key leaders of the Indian National Congress abandoned their initial commitment to moderate, constitutional methods of political action and adopted more extreme methods, which advocated civil disobedience and Hindu revivalism.31 While the Swadeshi Movement had its origins in Bengal, its spirit of nationalism worked its way into the consciousness of South Indians through Bipan Chandra Pal’s visit to Madras in 1906 and the propagation of Hindu nationalist ideals by the Theosophical Society, Arya Samaj, and other revivalist organizations.32 The “Hindu” cultural component of Swadeshi had the effect of alienating those Christians who were otherwise supportive of nationalist ideals.33 The Swadeshi Movement’s scheme of “cultural self-reliance” assigned to Christians at best a marginal place in its vision of the Hindu nation. In one sense, the status of Christians became even more marginal than that of Muslims. Unlike Muslims, who stood at the center of the politics surrounding the Partition of Bengal, Christians brought little to bear on the politics of the day. This was the case not only in Bengal, but also in Madras where the numbers of Christians were significantly higher. While both Muslims and Christians were inevitably alienated by Hindu-ized politics, the inclusion of Muslims was nevertheless an essential aspect of the nationalist ideal during this period, at least at the level of rhetoric. The same cannot be said for Christians. The Swadeshi ideology of self-reliance, when extended from the economic to the cultural domain, reified Christianity as never before as a “foreign religion.”34 While Christians themselves were infrequent targets of Swadeshi rhetoric, some complained that loud and deliberate chanting of the slogan “Bande Mataram” interrupted their open-air meetings.35 Gandhi sustained the Swadeshi agenda through his campaign of non-cooperation with the imperial Government and through his advocacy of economic self-reliance for villages. He also promoted Swadeshi by insisting that “Indian religions” were best suited for India’s spiritual and national development. His own Hindu nationalism made him an ardent critic of Christian conversion, especially among so-called “untouchables.”36 Conversion to Christianity “denationalized” Indians by causing them to despise their own gods and identify 112

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more strongly with Western culture.37 Moreover, conversion among the Dalits, in Gandhi’s view, was the result of material “inducements” by foreign missionaries, not of genuine “spiritual hunger.”38 Such criticisms by the Mahatma contributed to a sense of alienation among Protestant elites. But how would they respond to this sense of alienation? Would they try to blend with the national spirit by supporting Gandhi and deemphasizing Christian distinctiveness? Or would they form a distinct political community like the Muslims and try to protect their rights in a Hindu-dominated society? A 1912 petition that was submitted to the Government of Madras by the Madras Indian Ministers Conference provides a good starting point for understanding the evolution of Protestant public consciousness.

A Growing Self-Consciousness In 1912, just prior to the publication of the decennial census reports, members of the Madras Indian Ministers’ Conference petitioned the Government of Madras to replace the phrase “Native Christians” with the phrase “Indian Christians” in all Government papers and statistics. Since the mid-nineteenth century, the Indian judiciary used the phrase Native Christians to refer to Christians of “pure Hindoo blood” (see Chapters 2 and 3). The following reasons given by the petitioners show how certain changes in public consciousness had rendered the term “Native” both disparaging and contemptible: 1

The phrase objected to has no definite meaning. Everybody is a Native Christian in his own country and how so vague a designation can be applied to Hindus who have embraced the Christian faith cannot be explained. In any case it has no reference to India, and denotes no particular nationality.

2

The term Native has come to signify something uncivilized, inferior and contemptible. By constant usage it has become synonymous with what is vulgar and unpleasant, especially in the mouths of uneducated Europeans or Eurasians.

3

The whole Anglo-Indian Press has discarded the term and invariably uses the word “Indian”; also all Foreign Missionaries have dropped it in their reports and statistics.

4

We ourselves have abandoned the use of this objectionable phrase. Our associations, clubs, funds, conferences are all “Indian” and not “Native.”39

Though they did not say so explicitly, the Ministers’ Conference seemed guided by the sense that Christians were under a unique burden to prove that they were Indian. In their view, by attaching the adjective “Native” to Christians 113

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alone (i.e., there were no “Native Hindus,” and far fewer references to “Native Sikhs” or “Native Muhammedans”), the Government assumed that the Christian religion per se was not part of the basic fabric of Indian society. As stated above, petitioners wished to be recognized not as “Natives” but as “Hindus who have embraced the Christian faith.”40 The petition, then, represents one challenge by Christians to the identity categories created by the Raj. Both the tone and the content of the petition signified a growing selfconsciousness among Protestant elites, who represented a “Christian community” within the framework of a larger “India.” The petition is best understood in the context of the rising identity consciousness, which sprang from the Morely–Minto reforms of 1909. In an effort to extend greater powers of self-government to the provinces of British India, these reforms began the policy of creating separate electorates for different religious communities. By endowing religious groups with new political significance, the policy of separate electorates prompted Hindus, Muslims and Christians to carefully consider how to maximize their influence within local elected councils. The Ministers Conference claimed to represent ten different denominations of the Protestant Church in South India, and claimed also that Catholics shared the same objections to the use of the term “Native”. They described the proposed reform as “one of the first boons [to be] conferred on our community by [His] Excellency.”41 In response to the petition, the Government stated that it was too late to make any change in the Presidency Census report, but that it was “pleased to direct that in the future the expression ‘Indian Christians’ shall be used instead of ‘Native Christians’ in all official correspondence and returns.”42 In the hope of demonstrating their sympathies with nationalist goals and sentiments, Protestant leaders tried to shed their foreign cultural complexion and adopt a more Hindu or “Sanskritic” one.43 Toward this end, three indigenizing projects were begun: the National Church, the Christo Samaj, and the Christian Ashram Movement. Pulney Andy, a retired medical practitioner in Madras, first conceived the National Church. The “National Church” that he envisioned was to be free from the denominational divisions of Western church structures. He launched his National Church in September 1886 and started a weekly paper, Easter Star, to propagate its ideals.44 During his tours of South India, the evangelist Sadhu Sundar Singh stressed the need to locate Indian Christianity, not in alien church practices, but within the framework of India’s classical religious traditions. Sundar Singh’s influence, along with that of Vengal Chakkarai, the editor of the Christian Patriot, led to the formation of the Christo Samaj in 1916.45 The Christo Samaj sought to counter the anti-Christian propaganda of the Arya Samaj and the growing influence of the Brahmo Samaj in the South by propagating a more Sanskritized version of Christianity.46 During the 1920’s the Christo Samaj was joined by the Christian Ashram movement, which was backed by members of the “Rethinking Christianity” 114

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group in Madras. The Ashram movement emulated Gandhi’s appropriation of the ashram (literally, a place of rest or a spiritual community) in his nationalist campaign.47 Only by understanding Christ in Hindu terms could Christianity emerge from the womb of India as a “powerful and creative” national project.48 This vision was articulated, not only through organizations such as the Christo Samaj, but also through the evolving print media of Madras. After the turn of the twentieth century, numerous English-medium newspapers, printed in Madras, gave educated Indian Protestants the chance formulate “progressive Christian opinion” on various issues affecting the church and the general public.49 By means of this evolving Christian print media, Vengal Chakkarai, P. Chenchiah, Eddie Asirvatham, V.S. Azariah, S. Jesudasan, K.T. Paul and other prominent Indian Protestants generated a public discourse of a very high order. Contrary to what Benedict Anderson’s work might suggest, however, this print culture was only one factor that crystallized an Indian Christian community.50 Conference networks, church structures, ecumenical organizations and congregations themselves played an equally significant role in reifying a Christian community.51 Hence any discussion of the role of “imagination” through print capitalism should not overlook the significance of other institutions in setting the parameters of Indian Christian identity. In some instances, the progressive viewpoints articulated through newspapers transgressed boundaries prescribed by church structures (see Chapter 5). In other instances, elite voices of the Christian media clearly did not represent the outlook of low-caste or Dalit Christians from the villages.52 Such ruptures show that the Indianized Christianity projected through print culture could often conceal the foreign-dominated church structures in which Indian Christianity had its being, and could also elide the multi-vocality of the Christian population. This multi-vocality inclined Christians, not toward the monolithic community envisioned by elites, but toward fragmentation along lines of caste, language and denomination. A brief survey of some of the major Christian newspapers of the early twentieth century illustrates both their prominence and their limitations in representing viewpoints of the Indian Christian population. The initial impetus for an All-India Christian newspaper arose in 1914 during the first meeting of the All-India Conference of Indian Christians (AICIC). The delegates of this conference observed that, while other communities had acquired a collective voice in society and had organized themselves for concerted action, Christians had remained aloof and isolated from public affairs.53 S.E. Rangunathan, the delegate from Madras, urged Christians to broaden the scope of their concerns from what had been an almost exclusive focus on devotional or theological matters to public affairs affecting all communities.54 The All-India Christian newspaper envisioned should achieve greater solidarity with members of other faiths in pursuit of common concerns, express loyalty to the Government while making known the grievances of Christians, and offer constructive critiques of the Indian Church and missionary policy in India.55 115

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In the years following the AICIC meeting in 1914, Vengal Chakkarai started the Christian Patriot and served as its editor for nearly fifteen years. As the title suggests, the aim of the paper was to kindle among Christians a greater commitment to national life and to the task of “Indianizing” Christianity. The paper was met with considerable hostility from churches in Madras for its progressive views and, in 1930, it was discontinued. The same year, the weekly journal, the Guardian, relocated from Calcutta to Madras and became the principle organ for the Christian community, addressing a wide range of issues. During the 1920’s the Guardian became the mouthpiece for the “Rethinking Christianity Group” in Madras, who advocated a stronger commitment to interfaith dialogue and cooperation.56 The weekly, the Harvest Field, run by the Wesleyan Methodist Mission Society, also aired the views of the Rethinking Group as well as publishing other controversial articles dealing with missionary policy and Indian nationalism.57 In addition to these weekly newspapers was the organ of the National Christian Council of India (NCCI), the NCCI Review, and the YMCA of India’s Young Men of India. Both of these journals were replete with articles concerning the Church in India, Biblical teaching, social services and commitment to civic ideals.58 One goal of this evolving Christian print culture was to draw Indian Christians into the mainstream of public life. In actuality, though, this print culture served its own distinct “public” and produced a body of opinion that only furthered the isolation of Christians from the dominant movements of the Madras Presidency. A major cause of this isolation had to do with its limited readership. Most of the English-medium Christian newspapers served the small numbers of English-speaking Indian Christians, along with heads of foreign mission societies, theological institutions and church denominations.59 Because of its English base, the Christian media never tapped the cultural energy of the Tamil and Telugu linguistic nationalisms that caught fire in the city of Madras and surrounding districts of the Presidency during the early decades of the twentieth century.60 Ironically, by articulating their Indianized Christianity in English, they failed to exploit the linguistic groundwork laid by “foreign” missionaries such as Bartholomaeus Ziegenbalg, Robert Beschi, David and C.P. Brown, Robert Caldwell and George Pope for the emergence of both Telugu and Tamil nationalism.61 Indian Protestant notions of what it meant to Indianize Christianity were centered upon forms of worship, control over church administration, and theological issues. Far less did they advocate a Christian vernacular tradition as a means to Indianization. In this respect, Protestant elites even departed from the groundwork laid by prominent Indian Christians of the previous century. The Tamil-speaking Vedanayakam Pillai (1774–1864), later given the title “Sastri” (scholar), and the Telugu-speaking Purushottam Chaudhari (1803–1880) had prolifically articulated their Christian faith in their respective languages. Vedanayakam Sastri had received numerous honors from Tamil congregations at Tanjore for enacting Christian teachings through the medium 116

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of both folk and classical traditions.62 His most famous work, the Bethlehem Kuravanci (fortune teller), communicated Christian teachings by means of a literary genre, which portrays a gypsy’s longing for her king. The Bethlehem Kuravanci was so well and widely received that King Serfoji II, the Hindu King of Thanjavur, patronized it.63 Purushottam Chaudhari was less famous than Vedanayakam Sastri, though he was remembered as the first poet of the Telugu Church. He was converted through contacts with members of the London Mission Society (LMS) in Vizagapatnam. During his years of association with both the LMS and the Baptist Mission, he engaged in both preaching and literary work.64 By the end of his life he had authored nearly one hundred and twenty Telugu hymns and seven Telugu Christian tracts.65 Such commitment to vernacular traditions was far removed from the Christian nationalism that emerged during the following century. In spite of the profound impact that such projects of translation had made upon popular Christian devotion, they were not emphasized or celebrated by the Christian print culture during the early decades of the twentieth century. By distancing themselves from mother-tongue expressions of regional nationalism, the Protestant elites forfeited for their communities the integrative potency of these movements.66 A closer look at the mainstreaming effect of “language devotion” makes it easier to see why Christian concerns, as expressed in the English print media, remained marginal to the dominant cultural currents of the Presidency. In her study of the various ideologies that were structured around devotion to the Tamil language, or tamilparru, Sumathi Ramaswamy distinguishes four distinct regimes of imagination, two of which are of immediate interest: the religious and the Indianist regimes. Within the religious regime, Neo-Shaivism sought to counter Orientalist constructions of India as Aryan, Sanskritic, Brahminical and “Hindu.” That Orientalist construction had rendered the “non-Brahmin” Tamils “ritually denigrated, socially demoted, and symbolically cast out, as ‘Dravidians’ and ‘Shudras.’ ”67 According to Ramaswamyy, this battle with Aryan ideology was necessary if Tamils were to spare themselves the fate of inheriting an inferior and marginal position in the new India. In order to establish the purity of its own center, Neo-Shaivism divinized Tamil by linking Tamil to the divine Shiva. The result was a symbiotic nexus between language and deity, with “each lending power and authority to the other.”68 This regime of divinized language understandably excluded the Christian Tamils, who did not worship Shiva.69 In contrast to Neo-Shaivism, which made an enemy out of Sanskrit, Indianism was structured along the lines of continental Indian nationalism, which sought to unify the different components of India in a common assault against the English-speaking colonial.70 It extolled Hindi as the national language and Sanskrit as a classical language, while affirming the place of Tamil and other regional languages within the larger whole. The Tamil country produced a significant number of exponents of Indianism, including non-Brahmins such as V. Chidambaram Pillai, V. Ramalinga Pillai and 117

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M.P. Sivagnanam, and Brahmins such as C. Rajagopalachari, V.V. Subramania Iyar and Subramania Bharati. These leaders tried to accommodate tamilparru within a broader devotion to India – a strategy that left the hegemony of Sanskrit and Hindi unchallenged.71 Often, Indianist rhetoric invoked the image of a Mother giving milk to its young: [In the] Indianist imagination, while Tamilttay’s womb and milk unites all Tamil speakers as Tamilians, the womb and milk of Bharata Mata transfigures them into Indians, and ties them with other Indians in webs of sibling solidarity. It is through sharing Bharata Mata’s womb and milk that Tamilians, the children of Tamilttay, symbolically become part of the Indian body politic.72 From the Indianist perspective, then, tamilparru was a gateway into continental Indian nationalism, not a basis for exclusion. Ramaswamy’s Indianist paradigm suggests that Protestant elites, by failing to enter nationhood through the gateway of linguistic nationalism, could not partake of the “milk” of Mother India or of Mother Tamil.73 In their quest to become more “national,” Chakkarai, Paul, Chenchiah and other “Rethinkers” of Christianity in India advocated, through the English press, a stronger identification with Sanskritic culture and an affirmation of India’s Hindu past.74 This project of trying to appear more Hindu remained a largely cosmetic one, since it lacked a vernacular base upon which to nurture a truly translated religion.75 In spite of the homage they paid to national culture and national issues, educated Indian Protestants remained enclosed within the scope of their own concerns, which were defined by church structures, ecumenical networks and church-related activities.76 Protestants opted for English-medium newspapers for several reasons. One of those reasons was that the English medium suited the moderate political posture to which they were committed. Moderates advocated political involvement and the pursuit of Swarajya (Home Rule) through peaceful, constitutional means. The use of English, even when expressing nationalistic sentiments, conveyed loyalty and accountability to the British Raj, which routinely monitored Indian newspapers for potentially seditious content.77 The Raj had come to associate the vernacular press with sedition, secrecy and defiance, especially since the years of the swadeshi movement (1903–08). During this period, extremist politics had controlled the nationalist agenda, particularly in Bengali, Marathi and Punjabi regions.78 In order to monitor the content of local vernacular newspapers, the Government employed Indians from a variety of linguistic backgrounds to translate politically sensitive articles from an assortment of publications.79 Those who published seditious material were either warned or fined, while some publishing outfits were banned outright.80 Rarely were Christian publishers subject to fines or other kinds of official intervention.81 118

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Another reason why Protestants opted for English-medium newspapers was that they wanted to create an All-India Christian voice which transcended regional, linguistic, caste and denominational differences. Toward this end, delegates of the first AICIC meeting in Calcutta simply assumed that the Christian organ envisioned would have to be published in English.82 The fact that Indian Protestants had relatively higher access to the English-medium education provided by missionary schools also made English a preferred basis for community solidarity. In the process of crafting this All-India Christian identity, the Protestant intelligentsia attempted to transcend the potentially divisive particularities of Indians. Not only had they forfeited the use of vernacular languages as inroads into “the Nation,” they also glossed over the issue of caste, which had become a hugely political issue within South Indian society. Scholars such as Washbrook, Irschick, Barnett and Baker all describe the saliency of caste politics in the Presidency during the early twentieth century. Caste politics were catalyzed by the enactment of the Communal Rule in 1921, which established caste- and religion-based quotas for education and Government employment.83 A perusal of the major organs of the Christian media, however, will turn up few or no references to caste associations, non-Brahminism, Dravidianism or educational quotas.84 Caste politics were antithetical to the unified Christian community being imagined by the Christian media. As such, caste among Protestant leadership largely remained a taboo issue. When Protestants did address caste directly, they framed the issue in terms of rural reconstruction or how to uplift members of the so-called “depressed classes”.85 Instances in which writers addressed the actual prejudices within the Church or invoked specific caste designations (e.g., Brahmin/non-Brahmin, Adi-Dravida, Reddis, Iyers, Komatis, Chettiars etc.) were far fewer than the saliency of these identities would have warranted. A notable exception to this rule of silence was Bishop Azariah of Dornakal, a Nadar whose work among low-caste converts required him to address caste issues within his diocese at some length.86 Azariah struggled to identify the breaks and the continuities between the new Christian religion and the original socio-religious matrix to which converts belonged. His ideas on caste and politics will be explored in greater depth in a later chapter. Another exception to the rule of silence regarding caste was Vengal Chakkarai. Chakkarai was from the Chettiar community (the Vaisya caste), which consisted of many successful bankers and moneylenders. Early in his career, Chakkarai was involved in non-Brahmin agitation. In 1920, he attended a conference in which Brahmins and non-Brahmins were asked to present arguments to Lord Meston regarding the number of seats that ought to be reserved for non-Brahmins in the Legislative Council. During that meeting, another non-Brahmin had protested against Chakkarai’s presence on the grounds that, as a Christian, Chakkarai already received communal representation.87 The incident may illustrate a larger pattern of how Christians were excluded from the non-Brahmin agenda, due to perceptions of privileges they already enjoyed 119

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within the Church. Chakkarai, it appears, carried his awareness of caste realities into his critical assessments of the Indian Church. As editor of the Christian Patriot, Chakkarai often took it upon himself to expose the irrational subconscious of the Christian community. In his view, caste consciousness was even stronger within the Church than it was among Hindus. “The spirit of caste,” he wrote, “will die among Hindus and the body remain, whereas among us the body is dead but the spirit remains.”88 From his participation at the Bangalore Christian Conferences in their early years, Chakkarai noted the curious combination of silence toward the subject of caste and pride that Christians continued to derive from their caste. Describing the intangible caste spirit, he remarked: This sneaking fondness [for caste,] the inner recesses to which it goes and from which it operates require the analysis of the psycho-analysts … Its pathology has not yet been diagnosed by the missionary and reformer whose remedies are like sword thrusts at the ghost of Hamlet. There is no vulnerable body, but a spirit that lures, lightens, and laughs at you.89 With the exception of outspoken individuals such as Azariah and Chakkarai, most Protestant leaders bracketed caste identities in their efforts to develop an All-India Christian identity. By way of the Christian print media, this pursuit of an Indian Christian identity coalesced with the construction of a Pan-Christian identity shared with churches in Europe and North America. Print media had helped to nurture a Pan-Christian identity among Indian Christians just as it had promoted Pan-Islamism among Urdu-speaking Indian Muslims.90 This Pan-Christian network provides the third reason why English became the chief medium for the Christian press. Indian Protestant leaders remained in constant dialogue with the larger English-speaking ecclesiastical world. V. Chakkarai, P. Chenchiah, E. Asirvatham and others stressed the need to “Indianize Christianity,” not only for the sake of English-speaking Indian Christian readers, but also for church bodies comprising the larger Protestant ecumene to which they belonged. Articles from the Guardian, Harvest Field, Young Men of India and other publications reflected the dominant issues of this ecumene, which, as we have seen, often were far removed from the major political currents of the Presidency. What one tends to find in these publications are news reports dealing with political issues at the continental level. Such reports are followed by articles relating to changes in missionary ideology, Biblical criticism, inter-faith relations and, into the 1930’s, speculations about religious freedom and the status of Christianity under Home Rule.91 Implied in the Indian Protestant outlook that had emanated from its press was a separation between spiritual and political domains. This separation had inclined Protestant elites toward an apolitical interpretation of the Indian Christian community. Such an interpretation dissuaded them from wielding 120

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influence within local councils on behalf of their own community. Paul, Azariah, Datta, Chakkarai and other limelight figures feared that such “loaves and fishes” politics would compromise the spiritual character of the Church and would enhance perceptions of Christians as anti-national. Were they correct? The following discussion of the Communal Award of 1932 shows how the disavowal of “Christian communalism,” rather than having the mainstreaming effect that many had envisioned, rendered the Christian community and Christian interests a political non-issue.

The Communal Award of 1932 Prior to the advent of local self-government, Christians of all denominations had pursued their interests through legal action and direct petitions to the Government. Missionaries and Mission executives had framed the grievances of Native Christians in terms of civil disabilities (tied to marriage, inheritance or access to public facilities) associated with conversion.92 Communally configured or “separate” electorates had created an entirely new mode of defining and representing Christian interests. According to this policy, members of a minority community could elect their own representatives to seats reserved for them within provincial councils.93 In contrast to earlier, “issue-based” representation of petitions and legal action, separate electorates construed representation according to numbers, or the size of a constituency. For the first time, Christians could pursue their interests through political mobilization, based on their strength in numbers within any given electorate. While conversion previously had been a basis for civil disability, conversion, within the scheme of separate electorates, had come to be endowed with new political significance.94 Why this mode of action did not appeal to Indian Protestant notables has to do, ostensibly, with their interest in taking the high moral ground with respect to national politics. V.S. Azariah, the Anglican Bishop at Dornakal, opposed the policy of separate electorates partly as a strategy for de-politicizing the issue of conversion.95 By rejecting the principle of separate electorates, others had also hoped to alter perceptions of Christians as being anti-national.96 Before describing Indian Protestant attitudes toward so-called “communal politics,” a distinction needs to be drawn between the policy of separate electorates and the broader principle of proportionate representation. The policy of separate electorates, as mentioned above, allowed Christians, Muslims, Sikhs and other minorities to elect their own representatives to reserved seats within legislative assemblies. Proportionate representation was a broader principle by which quotas were extended to minorities for government employment and education. Toward the turn of the twentieth century, non-Brahmins had grown resentful of the predominance of Brahmins in government services. In 1912, Brahmins had comprised only 3.2 per cent of the total male population of the Madras Presidency, but had occupied fifty-five per cent of all selected 121

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government appointments.97 Mounting opposition to their over-representation in government posts prompted the Government to institute a system of proportionate representation. Several measures adopted by the Madras Government had attempted to rectify the imbalance of power between Brahmins and politically incensed nonBrahmins. In March of 1920, the so-called Meston Award had disappointed non-Brahmins by granting them a far lower number of seats in the Madras Legislative Assembly than they had expected to receive based on their numerical strength. Meston argued that non-Brahmins had proved that they could advance their causes through conventional political processes, and therefore did not require anything beyond a “reasonable minimum” number of seats in the Assembly.98 However, as the Justice Party had gained more and more political clout, it was able to force the Government to introduce a deliberate scheme for increasing non-Brahmin representation in public services. The “First and Second Communal G.O.s,” as they were called, set forth a rotational system of proportionate representation within government services. The scheme held the heads of each department accountable for implementing its scheme for fair recruitment and promotion of persons within six distinct categories: (1) Brahmins; (2) non-Brahmin Hindus; (3) Indian Christians; (4) Muslims; (5) Europeans and Anglo-Indians; (6) others.99 By the end of 1921, Christians had held ten per cent of the total number of new appointments, Muslims fifteen, Brahmins twenty-two, and non-Brahmins forty-eight per cent. Members of each of these communities had expressed concerns over fairness in the distribution of employment and educational opportunities.100 Christians were no exception. K.T. Paul, who had opposed the principle of separate electorates for Christians, had been a strong advocate for the creation of a Minorities Bureau which, among other things, would ensure fairness in the distribution of employment and educational opportunities for minorities.101 According to Paul: Appointments, promotions, distribution of subsidies and grants-inaids, – impartiality in regard to these cannot be guaranteed by the provision of seats in the legislature.… As in Madras, conventions as to proportional allotment of posts to the various communities might be created by rules laid down by the legislature, and revised periodically by it. This power of revision will act as an indirect check on any abuses in the matter of promotions.102 Clearly, Paul’s nationalism had been tempered by a keen awareness of the plight of minorities and their need for safeguards and protections from Government, even with regard to such mundane matters as employment and educational subsidies. Other Christians had appealed directly to the Government to increase the proportion of Indian Christians in public services. The Government, however, refrained from granting their request, arguing that by increasing 122

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Christian representation the proportion of other communities would be reduced, which in turn would provoke protests from those communities.103 In contrast to the principle of proportionate representation within government services, which appears to have received considerable support from Madras Presidency Christians, the policy of separate electorates had elicited a different kind of response, particularly from elite sections of the Indian Protestant community. During the months and years preceding the Round Table Conference in London (1932), Protestant notables had disavowed the idea of separate electorates for Christians. Rhetoric surrounding the Communal Award of 1932 gave rise to two competing options for national participation, namely communalism and nationalism. As much as they recognized the need for protections and safeguards, the Protestant leadership clearly espoused a certain variety of nationalism. Their position resonated with the Congress Party’s opposition to communal electorates. An outline of the background of the Award and the different kinds of rhetoric surrounding it helps to place Protestant responses in proper perspective. According to the Morely–Minto scheme of separate electorates (1909), each community would elect a fixed number of representatives to seats in the Legislature that were reserved for them. The Communal Award of 1932 maintained the system of separate electorates that was put into effect by the Morely–Minto reforms. These reforms (which had precedents in the Acts of 1861 and 1892) sought to introduce principles of representative democracy into British India by admitting greater numbers of Indians to the Legislative Councils in the Provinces and at the Center.104 In the Indian context, however, this representative principle was not conceived in terms of the generic “Indian citizen,” but in terms of the diverse races, creeds and castes that constituted the peoples within the population of the subcontinent.105 The most prominent of these distinctions was that between Hindus, who ostensibly numbered roughly two-thirds of the population, and Muslims, who comprised nearly a fourth. The Communal Award functioned according to the principle of “weightage.” This extended to a minority community a proportionately higher number of legislative seats in order to safeguard them from perpetual domination by the majority. The Award, indeed, also granted separate electorates to Muslims in Bengal and the Punjab in spite of their numerical majority in those regions. It also conceded “weightage” to Muslims in the Provinces and to Sikhs and Hindus in the Punjab.106 By recognizing “Depressed Classes” as a distinct minority community entitled to a separate electorate, and by reserving nearly three percent of the seats in Provincial Councils for women, the Award significantly altered the reforms of 1909 and 1919. Reactions to the Communal Award within the Madras Presidency varied according to the political perspective of any given community. These perspectives were voiced through local newspapers and can be grouped into three categories: the nationalist/pro-Congress position, that of the Self Respect Movement, and 123

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that of the Muslims. The nationalist press was most hostile toward the Award, viewing it as part of a “divide and rule” ploy of the imperial Government to undermine nationalist goals. One nationalist newspaper, Prajamatha (Madras), published a cartoon that portrays the Indian nation as a woman nailed to a cross. At her feet are a Hindu, a Sikh and a Muslim, fighting over her garments. The caption reads, “While Mother India is writhing with pain on the cross of her bondage, the champions of communal rights are flying at each other’s throats over mere trifles.”107 Prajamatha’s opposition to the “communal” threat to nationalism was shared by other vernacular South Indian nationalist newspapers, including Andhra Patrika (Madras), Swadeshabhiman (Cannanore), Mathrubhumi (Calicut) and Tamil Nadu. The Tamil Nadu, while conceding the divisions that exist between Indians, charged that the Communal Award was at odds with democratic principles: We admit that caste and religious differences are much in evidence in India. But we ask the Government themselves whether they can place their hand upon their heart and refer to any country in which these differences do not exist. We will tell the Government that the present communal troubles will only increase after the grant of communal representation, but will not decrease in the least.108 The Tamil Nadu also criticized the Award for granting a separate electorate to Christians against their own wishes, and to Muslims in Bengal and the Punjab where they did not need one.109 Passionate pleas within the nationalist press for a unified India were balanced by the outcries of Muslims and Adi-Dravidas for “safeguards” from Hindu or Brahminical domination. One of the mouthpieces of the Self Respect Movement, Justice, commended the Communal Award to its readers as an impartial settlement to the “vexed question” of representation. Justice had exhorted leaders of all communities to refrain from protesting against the Award, in spite of the objections that some of those leaders had voiced against the policy of separate electorates.110 The principle organ for the Self Respect Movement, Kudi Arasu, disseminated many of the views of its founder, E.V. Ramaswamy Naicker (also known as Periyar). Ramaswamy had come to oppose key features of the nationalist movement, as defined by Gandhi and the Congress Party. The Congress, in his view, had become a vehicle for the perpetuation of “political Brahminism” in Madras.111 Ramaswamy had also parted ways with the Congress in his defense of the principle of communal representation.112 The Self Respect Movement’s critique of Brahminical control and of the Congress Party resonated with many of the fears and concerns of South Indian Muslims. Self Respecters and Muslims, therefore, represented an axis of opposition toward what they saw as the “Hindu” nationalism of Gandhi and other Congress Party officials.113 Their mutual sympathy was reflected both in Ramaswamy’s high regard for Islam as an egalitarian religion and in the rising 124

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linguistic self-consciousness of Tamil Muslims. Unlike Madras Christian leaders, who had insisted on English-medium newspapers throughout the 1920’s and 1930’s, Tamil Muslims had responded to Dravidian and Tamil consciousness with vernacular publications of their own, geared especially toward the Tamil Muslim population.114 During the second and third decades of the twentieth century, socio-political developments had served to draw Tamil- and Urdu-speaking Muslims (hereafter, simply Tamil or Urdu Muslims) of the Madras Presidency into a more coherent community. Up until the Lucknow Pact of 1916, Urdu Muslims had been more politically active than Tamil Muslims and had retained stronger links to Urdu Muslims of North India.115 Gradually, however, both national and international factors had prompted Tamil Muslims to play a more active role in politics.116 Economic factors and distinctly “Islamic” sentiments, evoked by the Khilafat agitation, had altered the once parochial outlook of Tamil Muslims.117 So had the blossoming of a more radically Islamic press in Madras. Key Muslim journals were started, including the Hifazatul Islam, Dar-ulIslam, and the Quami Report. These newspapers defended Islam against attacks from outside the Muslim community. They also sought to uproot corruption from within the Muslim community. Communal clashes in the city of Madras, Nellore and Guntur, relating to celebrations of Muharram and the Hindu festival of Dasara, led Muslims to petition local authorities for the protection of their traditions.118 The revolt of Malayalam Mappillas and the Khilafat Movement of the 1920’s also enhanced the self-consciousness of Muslims throughout the Madras Presidency.119 All of these developments reinforced the self-awareness of South Indian Muslims as a distinct community bearing distinct interests, though internally divided along linguistic and cultural lines. Discussions of the Communal Award within the Muslim press in Madras tended to reify distinctions between “nationalist” and “communal” Muslims, as well as those between Urdu and Tamil Muslims. At least two Muslim publications, Quami Report and Saiphal Islam, supported the scheme of separate electorates as rendered by the Award. According to the Quami Report: “Muslims should not listen to what Muslim nationalists say because they are not friends of the former. If Muslims should under the influence of Muslim nationalists, accept joint electorates, they would ruin themselves.”120 Not all Muslims of the Presidency, however, shared this anti-nationalist position. Up until around 1930, Tamil Muslims were in the majority, but Urdu Muslims controlled the Muslim political organizations in Madras. These organizations included the Madras provincial branches of the Khilafat Committee, the Muslim Conference, and the two factions of the Muslim League (one headed by Jinnah, the other by Shafi). The Tamil Muslim presence in politics, however, gained momentum in 1930 when the wealthy Tamil merchant, Jamal Mohammed, succeeded the Urdu Syed Murtuza as president of the Madras Presidency Muslim League (MPML). 125

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The significance of Jamal Mohammed’s presidency, according to J.B.P. More, had nothing to do with rising Tamil Muslim assertiveness or anti-Urdu sentiments. Instead, it reflected a movement, into the 1930’s, toward a more moderate Muslim position in Madras. As President of the MPML, Jamal Mohammed opposed separate electorates, thus departing from the stand taken by the All-India Muslim League.121 In his speech at the Round Table Conference, he demonstrated his own commitment to Indian nationalism by advocating joint electorates with a reservation of seats for Muslims.122 In spite of the highly nuanced political posture of Indian Muslims, they continued to be associated with separatist or communal tendencies. The perception of Indian Muslims as “communalists” surfaced from time to time in the Christian press, and informed attitudes of Protestant elites towards the policy of separate, religion-based electorates. In their efforts to define their politics as a minority community, Protestant elites tried to differentiate themselves from Muslims and non-Brahmins, who opted for separate electorates. In dissociating themselves from “communalists” in this way, the Protestants achieved some success at replacing their stigma as “colonialists” with a reputation for being “model minorities” within the evolving Indian nation.123 At the Calcutta meeting of the AICIC, the IMC leader, Augustine Ralla Ram charged that the demand for separate electorates amounted to an admission of inferiority and ultimately undermined the interests of the nation.124 Commending Ralla Ram for his stand, Swadesamitran wrote: The difference between the mentality of some leaders who spoke at the non-Brahmin Congress at Amraoti, and that of Rallia Ram will be quite patent. The mentality of Rallia Ram is the result of patriotism, while the other mentality is the result of hatred towards others.125 In carving out their own space as a minority community, Protestants also revealed their prejudices toward Indian Muslims. During the Round Table Conference, the Guardian criticized Muslims for their “intense communal consciousness” that derived from their solidarity with the larger Islamic world. The larger brotherhood to which Indian Muslims belonged prevented them from standing solidly behind the Indian Nationalist Movement. The Guardian linked the divided loyalty of Muslims at the Round Table Conference to their politics of opportunism.126 By rejecting the path taken by Muslim communalists, Protestant elites tried to advance their own non-sectarian ideal of patriotism. This ideal, as spelled out by the Madras scholar, Eddie Asirvatham, avoided both the “caste mentality” of Hindus and the “fanaticism” of Muslims in its call for national commitment: If Hinduism is primarily a social order and ceremonialism, Muhammadanism seems almost identical with fanaticism and formalism … Christianity has a higher ideal – the ideal of universal brotherhood 126

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… One does not hear of Christians running amuck and killing Hindus or Sikhs. Nor do they rise in arms to the battle cry, “Religion in danger.” When one hears vendors in railway stations shouting Hindu “cha” and Musulman “cha,” one’s whole nature rebels within oneself and one says to oneself that one belongs to a land of lunatics.127 Such representations of Indian Muslims ignored the nationalist stand taken by Jamal Mohammed and the MPML. They reflected the tendency of Protestant Indians to ignore the dynamics of regional politics in order to identify themselves with the high politics of the Center.128 By thus positioning themselves between their caricatures of the two dominant communities of India, the Protestants tried to emerge as model minorities who sacrificed their sectarian interests for the uplift of the nation. This call to non-sectarian service became a fundamental theme of the Protestant pandits who frequented the conference networks in Bangalore and Madras. By 1922, but not before, the All-India Conference of Indian Christians (AICIC) began to take a clear stand against the policy of separate electorates.129 A resolution passed at the Ninth Session of the AICIC at Lahore had condemned separate electorates, linking them to the “increasing bitterness of inter-communal jealousy in India.” At the Tenth Session held at Bangalore, a consensus had been reached , declaring that … the method of separate electorates for the Indian Christian Community will lead to a very unhealthy growth of sectarian feelings in the Christian community itself and urges the Indian Christian associations in the Madras Presidency to take early steps for rectifying the situation.130 Reasons for this shift in attitudes toward separate electorates, it appears, had not only to do with growing communal hostility throughout India, but also with internal rivalries between Christians. Some feared that the Indian Christian community would degenerate into a “sectional and political community”, as opposed to a religious one. Since the enactment of the Communal Rule in 1921, Christians in Madras had come to rely on quotas that were created for them in Government services and in education.131 This reliance on the “loaves and fishes” of the Government compromised the spiritual character of the Church and only served to render the Christian community as another group (like the Muslims and NonBrahmins) attempting to milk the Government for benefits. As an antidote to this communal virus, Protestant leaders called for the end of the Christian community as a political entity. At one of the sessions of the Bangalore Conference Continuation, K.T. Paul invoked the Biblical metaphor of Christians being the “salt of the earth.” To be most effective as “salt,” Christians should “dissolve” themselves in service to the nation. Another participant urged that the “Indian Christian community, if it refuses to disintegrate 127

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peacefully, must be dynamited.”132 V.S. Azariah also opposed the policy of separate electorates, describing the inclusion of Christians in the Communal Award as a “direct blow to the nature of the Church of Christ.” Azariah’s displeasure with the Award also related to the practical disadvantages it posed to Christians from the Depressed Classes. The Award, in his view, illustrated the partiality of the Government toward non-Christian Depressed Classes. The Non-Christian Depressed Classes were entitled to two votes, one in a special constituency reserved for Depressed Class candidates, and one for the general electorate. The Award, however, granted the Christian Depressed Class member only one vote for a Christian candidate.133 Furthermore, Azariah pointed out that changing one’s religion does not entail a change in one’s politics. Thousands of persons of caste origin, he observed, had embraced the Christian faith over the past decade. “They have become one Church with Christians of Non-Caste origin; but they have not necessarily become one social and political community with them.”134 Azariah’s views toward the Communal Award were therefore shaped by his keen awareness of both the religious and the social (i.e., caste) components of Christian identity. What was particularly striking about the communal consciousness of Christian elites in Madras was the extent to which that consciousness was shaped by the memory of familial exclusion. Their imagined Christian community was not rooted in ancient tradition (such as the Syrians), but in the memory of Hindu intolerance toward converts. Some leaders went so far as to claim that there would have been no separate entity called “the Indian Christian community” were it not for the severance of converts from their Hindu families. Vengal Chakkarai, a prolific writer for a number of key Christian newspapers and a significant Protestant public figure, traced the initial formation of a Christian community to Hindu intolerance: … [Christians] have not formed themselves into a community, in the first instance at least, because they desired to add one more to the many communities in our land. The intolerance of the Hindu community, which was quite natural at the time, forced the converts out of its fold by the laws of orthodoxy; hence, they had no other alternative than to come together, or rather the Missionaries had no alternative.135 Chakkarai, however, also questioned whether “the missionaries” would actually have permitted converts to remain within the “social and religious atmosphere of their Hindu homes and castes” or whether they would have discouraged such interaction to protect their nascent Christian faith from contamination.136 In Chakkarai’s view, missionary hostility toward caste (as a religious institution) sifted converts from their castes while engendering in them a “mission compound mentality.”137 His explanation for the impetus behind a separate Christian community, therefore, highlights the two-sidedness of exclusion, in which Hindu family members and missionaries both played an active role. 128

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In their official pronouncement on the Church and politics, the Central Conference of the Methodist Church also denounced “Christian communalism,” while identifying both “Hindu” and Christian factors, which have bred communal consciousness among Christians.138 The Conference lamented the “separatist mentality” among Christians which segregated them from the rest of Indian society. But, like Chakkarai, the Conference also traced the origins of division to the intolerance of the Hindu family: If those who desired to give their allegiance to Christ had been allowed to stay in their homes and be frank, open baptized Christians then this communalism would not have been built up … [Part of the remedy for this communalism] lies in our hands, but more so does it lie in the hands of those who have, in general, laid social penalties on those who have changed their spiritual allegiance. Such words conveyed the hope that Christian belief might thrive within the Hindu social structure without acting as a disruptive force. They stand in stark contrast to the pessimism of earlier missionaries toward the prospect of converts remaining within the Hindu caste matrix.139 The Methodist Church’s critique of a “separatist mentality,” therefore, serves also as a critique of missionary hostility toward indigenous society and the role that such hostility played in socially uprooting converts.140 By portraying the Indian Christian community as a necessary evil, born of both Hindu and missionary intolerance, Chakkarai and others downplayed the legitimacy of distinct “Christian interests.” So strong was their desire to belong that they often portrayed the Christian community as a group of exiled or dislocated Hindus rather than persons committed to distinct views toward society and politics. Nevertheless, religious freedom, religious instruction in private schools and quotas for education and employment remained pressing concerns for Protestant Indians. In April of 1931 Gandhi pronounced that, if missionaries did not confine themselves to humanitarian work, without using such work as a means of “proselytizing,” he would call for their total withdrawal from India.141 This pronouncement, along with similar statements attributed to Gandhi during his private meeting with Church leaders in London, led Indian Christians to fear that their freedom to propagate their faith in a free India might be severely curtailed.142 Since 1917, Protestant leadership also had to contend with the introduction of “Conscience Clauses” into Christian schools. Such clauses exempted children from compulsory religious education in schools that received Government funds when sufficient numbers of parents took objection to such instruction.143 At stake in the debates over the Conscience Clauses was the right of private schools to retain their distinct identity as religious schools. Finally, since so many Christians were converts from low-caste or “untouchable” backgrounds, they continued to face social disabilities. Nationalist leaders 129

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and administrators mistakenly assumed that conversion to Christianity automatically resulted in the social uplift of the Depressed Classes. They therefore assumed that Christians of Depressed Class origin were in no need of remedial action. While quotas were dismissed by Protestant elites as part of the politics of “loaves and fishes,” they continued to provide relief for Depressed Class Christians who continued to suffer from social disabilities well after their conversion.144 Government quotas, religious freedom and the future of religious instruction were three interests which Protestant Indians could have promoted by seeking a more prominent place for their representatives within local elected councils. But this was not the avenue advocated by Paul, Datta, Chakkarai, Azariah and others. Their pleas for non-sectarian service to “the nation” rejected communal politics as a means of addressing the concerns of Christian constituencies within the Presidency. Were it not for their idealism, clusters of Christians in districts such as Guntur, Kurnool, Tinnevelly, Trichinopoly and Madras city might have responded to an alternative plea to organize themselves for concerted action. Local responses to the Award appear to support this view. The Premier’s Award that was announced in August of 1932 did create a separate electorate for Christians of the Madras Presidency. From this point on, though, what concerned Christians the most was not the fact that they were awarded a separate electorate, but the question of how to maximize their influence given what they were allotted.145 The Award included the following description of Indian Christian constituencies: Election to the seats allotted to Indian Christians will be by voters voting in separate communal electorates. It seems almost certain that the practical formation of Indian Christian constituencies covering the whole area of a province will be impracticable and that accordingly, special Indian Christian constituencies will have to be formed only in one or two selected areas in a province. Indian Christian voters in these areas will not vote in a general constituency. Indian Christian voters outside these areas will vote in a general constituency.146 Within the Madras Presidency, nine Christian constituencies were to be allotted seats (for a separate Christian electorate), with eight seats for men and one for a woman. Christians falling outside of these constituencies would merge with the general electorate. The Award, however, did not specify which areas were to be designated for separate electorates and which were to be merged in the general electorate. This omission gave Christians room for speculation. Should major Christian centers such as Guntur or Trichinopoly vote in separate electorates, or should they merge with the general electorate? According to a statement issued by the Madras Government, areas in which numbers of Christians were the highest should vote in separate electorates.147 130

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The Guardian, however, disputed this interpretation of the Award and pointed out that no such restriction is implied. On the contrary, the Guardian recommended that rural areas containing smaller numbers of Christians be lumped together to form an electorate, while major Christian centers such as Guntur, Tinnevelly, Madras city and Trichinopoly merge with the general electorate. In other words, the principle of “weightage” should favor the weaker, rural areas over the urban ones: Separate electorates should be formed only where dire necessity requires that system and not where a compact constituency can be easily formed. This would require that only the weakest body of Christians be granted the advantage of forming constituencies by themselves without being left to measure their strength with non-Christian voters and candidates. The strong centers where the numerical strength of Christians is concentrated to the extent of forming a fifth to a tenth or an eleventh of the total electorate should be prepared to take up the advanced position of combining with the others.148 The wisdom of this perspective had not only to do with its extension of fairness to the weaker areas. It had also to do with how it released the larger Christian populations to wield influence within the general electorate, with their own interests in mind. For the first time, participation in general electorates was conceived, not as a means for expressing national solidarity, but as a means of maximizing Christian influence. One writer to the Guardian spelled out this strategy in detail. He agreed that districts with a large Indian Christian population ought to be merged with the general electorate. The reasons he offered, however, were very “communal.” General electorates, in his view, would give Indian Christians a chance to secure their interests … by organizing and manipulating their forces and taking advantage of the strife between other rival candidates keenly contesting seats. At any rate Indian Christians, if powerful, may secure the election of a Hindu candidate pledged to support Christian claims.149 The reference to “Christian claims” was atypical of men like Azariah or Datta, who were keen on de-politicizing the Christian community. The writer concluded his letter with an exhortation to maximize Christian influence by uniting AngloIndians, Europeans and Indian Christians for concerted political action on behalf of “our Christian causes:” Of course we must attach ourselves to some political party or parties of the majority communities and in the joint electorates we shall be able to secure election of Hindu candidates pledged to support our causes. 131

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For attaining these purposes we must organize ourselves as Indian Christians, with definite aims and programme.150 The writer’s advocacy of political party affiliation, the pursuit of Christian interests through Hindu candidates, and the political mobilization of Christian constituencies contradicted the non-sectarian patriotism that Protestant elites had been pushing all along. The author of this letter was Jerome A. Saldanha, a former Catholic member of the Madras Legislative Council. Saldanha and other Catholic public figures advocated an entirely different approach to political involvement, which was geared toward the pursuit of distinctly Catholic interests.

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7 THE INDIGENIZATION OF CATHOLIC ACTION, 1921–1937

During the early twentieth century, the changing face of electoral politics presented Indian Catholics with new opportunities for political advancement and compromise. In 1917, the Catholic Bishops of South India passed a series of resolutions prohibiting “inter-confessional” alliances in the realm of social and political action.1 The bishops’ resolutions and the mass meetings of the laity held in protest against them (see Chapter 3) gave voice to two competing impulses within the Indian Catholic psyche: (1) the desire to employ new forms of political representation to secure “Catholic interests”; and (2) the need to preserve Catholic identity – both cultural and doctrinal aspects – in the process. Indian Catholic public discourse sustained the tension between these two principles well into the 1930’s and arguably to the present day.2 From 1909 on, constitutional reforms redefined the manner in which Indians would represent their interests in public. These reforms admitted greater numbers of Indians to the Legislative Councils in the Provinces and at the Center. They also introduced separate electorates based on religion and caste, which allowed members of a “minority community” to elect their own representatives to Provincial Councils.3 When implemented within the Madras Presidency, these rules of the game catalyzed new forms of political mobilization. Muslims, non-Brahmins, Christians and other minorities had now to consider how to maximize their influence based on the size of their constituencies and the number of seats assigned to them (i.e, their “weightage”) within the Provincial Councils.4 By entering the arena of provincial politics as they did, South Indian Catholics assumed a position that was at best ambivalent toward Indian nationalism, yet very much a part of an “indigenous” economy defined by group competition and group interests.5 Since the mass meetings of 1917, the Catholic hierarchy, joined by prominent lay professionals, charted out a course for Catholic politics that clearly differentiated them from their Indian Protestant counterparts. The Conference of the Catholic Hierarchy in 1921 at Mylapore, the Conference at Mangalore in 1930 and A.T. Pannirselvam’s representation of Indian Catholics at the Round Table Conference in London in 1932, successively defined the political posture of Indian Catholics. These events revealed the desire of Catholics to organize 133

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themselves into an All-India body that would define “Catholic interests” and defend those interests within the Provincial Councils. Many Catholics regarded the policy of separate electorates (Catholics electing their own representatives to reserved seats in Councils) as the best way to secure their interests.6 By supporting this policy, they departed from the Indian nationalist position as espoused by such figures as Gandhi and his “Southern commander,” C. Rajagopalachari.7 Such leaders discouraged political divisions based on caste and religion and promoted a unitary “Indian” identity, aligned against the British.8 As was the case with many Muslims, Catholics feared that Indian nationalism would assign them a highly marginal place within a Hindu-dominated India. Participation in “communal politics” was their way of contending with marginality. “Communalism” refers to the use of religious or caste identity as a basis for political mobilization. Often the term is viewed pejoratively as a false manipulation or exploitation of religion or caste for material gain.9 By virtue of their participation in communal politics, Indian Catholics hoped to achieve some measure of integration into the political landscape of South India in the early twentieth century. Though Indian Catholics and Protestants shared similar concerns about the autonomy of their institutions and the need for freedom to propagate their religion, they held very different attitudes toward political involvement. By supporting the policy of separate electorates, Catholic notables such as C.J. Varkey and A.T. Pannirselvam clearly took a different path from that taken by the Indian Protestant elites, who rejected any and all forms of “Christian communalism.”10 Catholic leaders stressed the distinctiveness of their culture, the strength of their community boundaries and the need to organize themselves for political action. By contrast, the Protestant elites disavowed separate electorates for Christians and stressed the need to blend with the nation by identifying themselves with Sanskritic culture. How is it that Indian Catholics and Protestants, when presented with the same political opportunities, adopted such disparate strategies for exerting influence?11 The answer to this question has more to do with local circumstances and constraints than it does with “essential” or “universal” features of either tradition. In their efforts to represent larger constituencies that spanned many regions, religious groups experienced dilemmas similar to those faced by caste organizations.12 Did a single “Indian Catholic community” actually exist, or did region, caste and language divide the Catholic population into many smaller, isolated entities? Did Indian Catholic representatives speak for all Catholics, or merely one section? The very decision to participate in communal politics can be seen as a move toward political and cultural integration. But could Catholics engage in such “interest-based” politics without compromising the ideals of “Catholic Action”? A critical examination of Catholic public discourse during the 1920’s and 1930’s reveals the path taken by Catholic elites toward the resolution of such questions. 134

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“Catholic Action” and Communal Politics The Indian Catholic population was dispersed across many regions. By the early 1930’s, the Catholic Church in India had established forty-six dioceses. These encompassed nearly three million Catholics. The Madras Presidency contained by far the largest percentage of this population. In 1921, Madras Presidency Catholics numbered roughly 700,000, while non-Catholic Indian Christians numbered 500,000. The highest numbers of Catholics resided in places such as Trichinopoly, South Kanara and Madras city.13 The project of nurturing a common Catholic consciousness and allegiance among congregations divided by region, caste and language was no simple task. To some extent, the organizational structure of the Catholic Church (i.e., its divisions into dioceses, orders, bishops, priests, etc.) and the strength of Catholic institutions helped to generate a sense of community consciousness. During the early twentieth century, however, Catholic officials within India and worldwide recognized the need for a strong Catholic press. The print media was to play a key role in shaping the minds of Catholic elites during times of ideological and political unrest.14 During the early 19030s, Catholic media were conceived of the Church’s obligation to its own elites. Newspapers were established in order to equip an emerging class of lay scholars, lawyers, MLAs and other professionals to wield influence on behalf of the Indian Catholic community at large.15 One purpose of the Catholic media was to establish a “Catholic point of view” regarding developments in social, religious and political spheres.16 In so doing, the Catholic media established fault lines between “us” and “them.” Common enemies on the international front included socialism, communism, capitalism, Nazism and Freemasonry.17 At home, the Catholic media occasionally attacked the Hindu and Self Respect movements for the falsity of their religious ideas.18 But by far the greatest enemy created by the Catholic press was Protestantism. The Examiner, for instance, often criticized Protestant compromises with “modernism,” with Sanskritic religion and with secular nationhood.19 While the paper upheld Catholicism as the guardian of the one, true ancient faith, it chided Anglicans for adopting weak moral positions on birth control, marriage and divorce at the 1930 Lambeth Conference.20 The Examiner also cited the Laymens’ Report on Christian Missions as an example of Protestant compromises with religious pluralism.21 The Laymens’ Report, drafted by a group of American theologians, criticized Christian exclusiveness as a basis for missionary activity and advocated a spirit of cooperation between Christians and the adherents of other religious traditions.22 Protestant missionaries had opposed the report just as much (if not more) than Catholics. Yet the Catholic elites portrayed the report as illustrative of a pervasive trend toward liberalism within Protestantism. In a similar vein, Catholics criticized Indian Protestants for their tendency to identify themselves with Sanskritic culture, in their efforts to appear “more Indian.”23 Catholics associated such Protestant tendencies with eagerness to

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move with the times, even at the expense of doctrinal commitment. “Catholics may thank God,” argued one cleric, “that, owing to their clearly defined faith and their precise discipline, they are not exposed to these unfortunate aberrations of nationalism.”24 The other role played by the Catholic media was to instruct Catholics worldwide on the meaning of “Catholic Action.” By the 1930’s, the Church had not yet officially defined the concept of Catholic Action in its canons. The origins of this policy lay in the concerted attempts of the hierarchy to prescribe legitimate parameters for the social and religious activities of the Catholic laity. Such attempts became particularly significant as Catholics, pressured by socio-political conditions in various national contexts, explored options of resorting to political means of improving their lot. In his letter to the President General of the International Union of Catholic Women’s Leagues, Pope Pius XI defined Catholic Action as The part taken by the Catholic laity in the apostolic mission of the Church with the object of defending the principles of Faith and Morals and of spreading a sane and beneficial Social Action so as to restore Catholic life in the home and in Society. This is to be done under the guidance of the hierarchy of the Church, outside and above all party politics.25 Party politics posed a twofold threat to the integrity of Catholic Action. At one level, such politics created a potential conflict between the authority of a given political party and that of the hierarchy. At another level, party politics contained elements of disunity and disagreement. Political disagreements that might arise between Catholics themselves would violate the singular vision of Catholic Action, a vision that derived its authority from pronouncements of the hierarchy.26 In 1921, the Indian hierarchy convened at Mylapore to discuss “the most important and urgent questions concerning the common welfare of the Catholic Church in [India].”27 Among the issues on the agenda, involvement in politics and cooperation with Protestants were given high priority. The prominent place of politics on the Mylapore agenda largely resulted from the lay protests of the bishop’s resolutions of 1917 concerning politics. Until 1920, articles dealing with that controversy appeared in the Hindu and in the Catholic Friend (the organ of the Catholic India Association).28 Such publicity may have embarrassed the Catholic hierarchy and prompted them to reassert their position on issues of politics and inter-faith cooperation.29 At the Mylapore Conference, Paul Perini, the Bishop of Mangalore, “refuted” the positions adopted by Catholic laypersons at their protest meetings in Madras and Tanjore.30 His memorandum inspired clerics of the hierarchy to reassert their “exalted dignity … and their divine powers or rights even concerning social and political matters.”31 136

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The resolution of the bishops at Mylapore modified the position previously taken in 1917. This had prohibited Catholics from joining associations with Protestants. At Mylapore, they supplemented that position with a clause that permitted temporary and instrumental cooperation with Protestants, but only for Catholic interests. The third and fourth resolution stated: (3) That it is not permissible for Catholics to fuse themselves together with Protestants into one Association under a Christian denomination, or to join as members any Protestant Association or denominational Association which has a religious basis as a condition for membership. (4) That in political and social matters Catholics should stand by themselves as far as possible. But if they think that a joint co-operation of Catholics and Protestants is necessary or useful for the Catholic cause or the welfare of the Catholics, such joint co-operation or collaboration cannot be permanent but only transitory [in] character, and should be under the vigilance of the Bishops, with precautions or guarantees pointed out by the Holy See or by the Ordinaries.32 These two clauses created the appearance of continuity between the stand of the bishops at Mylapore and their pronouncements in 1917. The fourth resolution, however, carried huge implications for Catholic involvement in politics during the following decade. First, by advocating this apparently “opportunist” approach to Catholic–Protestant alliances, the bishops sustained ideological differences with Protestants that had been reified by the Catholic print culture. Though Protestants represented heretical or aberrant theology, they could function as allies in the pursuit of Catholic interests. Second, the stand taken by the bishops enabled Catholics to accommodate themselves more effectively to South Indian political culture. Shifting and transient alliances between and within various groups were a defining feature of this culture.33 Emerging institutions of local self-government, based on separate electorates for different religious communities, prompted Indian Catholics to consider how best to maximize their influence. Such political strategizing later became even more urgent as Catholics anticipated the drafting of the Indian Constitution at the Round Table Conference in London. In August of 1930, a group consisting primarily of South Indian Catholics convened at Mangalore in order to identify key “interests” of Catholics and how best to secure those interests. Unlike the Conference of the Indian Hierarchy at Mylapore in 1921, the majority of those present at the Mangalore Conference were laypersons. A total of fifteen diocesan delegates (eleven priests and four laypersons), along with thirty-four invited delegates (six priests and twenty-eight laypersons), participated.34 The Mangalore Conference had been planned in anticipation of the Round Table Conference, whose first session was to take place in London two months 137

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later.35 Delegates enumerated the key interests of Catholics, which they hoped would be inserted into the text of the new Constitution. A.T. Pannirselvam, an attorney, landowner and former Tanjore District Board member, presided as Chairman and was selected to represent Indian Catholics at the Round Table Conference.36 He was responsible for persuading other delegates of the value of separate electorates for securing Catholic interests. While some delegates disagreed with each other on the issue of separate electorates – several Bombay delegates favored joint electorates – all seemed to agree on what constituted “Catholic interests.” Among the most pressing of these interests was religious education. Like South Indian Muslims, Catholics viewed their educational institutions as a means of preserving and perpetuating their identity.37 The delegates at Mangalore insisted that the new Constitution should provide: (1) the right of the Catholic Church to establish and maintain schools without hindrance; (2) that Catholic schools receive adequate support from public funds, so that Catholics would not have to bear the financial burden of their own schools while also paying taxes for the maintenance of other schools; and (3) that no person attending any school funded by State (or public) money should be compelled to receive religious instruction in a religion different from that person’s own.38 M.S. Shreshta, J.A. Saldanha, L.D. Swamikannu Pillai and other Catholic members of the Madras Legislative Council had already stridently defended Catholic educational rights in Council debates.39 Their petitions for separate schools for Catholic children, we shall see, were constantly and consistently being met with opposition from those who regarded such schools as “anti-national.” The delegates at Mangalore also pressed for greater scope for the application of Catholic Canon Law. The Indian Christian Marriage Act (XV of 1872) applied to “professing Christians” of British India, but exempted “Roman Catholics” from its guidelines for the solemnization of marriages.40 But Indian Catholics desired to be even farther removed from the Act’s applicability. They considered the Act to be “incompatible with and contrary to the Laws of the Catholic Church.”41 The urgency of their plea sprang from a 1928 dispute in Bombay which raised the question of whether a Catholic could participate in a “civil marriage” under the terms of the Indian Christian Marriage Act.42 The lack of clarity on this question led Catholics to push for greater separation of Canon Law from the laws applicable to other Christians of British India. A third resolution of the Mangalore Conference demanded that Catholic property and institutions no longer be deemed “alien bodies” vested in the Pope, but that in such matters, Indian Catholic authorities be granted the status of “Indian juridical persons.” According to the resolution, [T]he Government in India takes the view that, as the Pope is the supreme ruler of the Catholic Church, all Catholic dioceses, parishes and other institutions are alien bodies … even when the whole 138

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Catholic population of the diocese or of the parish and the incumbents themselves are Indians. [I]n consequence of this view, the acquisition, administration and retention of Catholic Church property are seriously affected, to the detriment of the spiritual and temporal welfare of Roman Catholics in India …43 Catholics of the Madras Presidency viewed the designation of their institutions as alien bodies as a serious impediment to the expansion of their social services.44 This was particularly the case in connection to property needed for orphanages, hospitals, schools and other charitable organizations. As much as they insisted on being recognized as “Indian juridical persons” for the sake of the purchase and sale of property, Catholics also insisted that Canon Law, not Indian civil law, should govern property transactions as it did the solemnization of Catholic marriages. This tension between wanting to “belong” to India while remaining distinct from it characterized the position of Indian Catholics, both legal and political. The most intensely debated subject at Mangalore was that of political representation. By this time, K.T. Paul, the Indian Protestant leader, had already been invited to attend the Round Table Conference. The Mangalore delegates were concerned that, in the absence of a Catholic representative, Paul would claim to speak for all Indian Christians, including Catholics. They therefore drafted a memorial to the Viceroy insisting that a Catholic representative should be invited. To this, they added: This Conference is of the opinion that, were this request of ours to be refused and only an Indian Protestant Christian to be invited to the R.T.C. to represent all sections of the Indian Christians, he would not be representative of Catholic Christians of India who constitute by far the majority of the Indian Christians, and that they would, therefore, feel themselves unrepresented at the R.T.C.45 Their request to include at least one Roman Catholic representative was based on a somewhat excessive claim that the interests of Roman Catholics were “very dissimilar to those of all other Indian communities, including even the nonCatholic Christians.”46 As a political strategy, such emphasis on the uniqueness of Catholic interests fueled their argument for a Catholic representative to the Round Table Conference. But would stressing such religious differences be as useful with respect to Catholic representation within Legislative Councils? The question of representation impinged not only on politics but also on the very nature of Catholic Action. Catholic Action, as discussed above, encompassed both direct and indirect ways of promoting Catholic interests. The very idea of being represented by non-Catholic political parties or individuals created a quandary for lay Catholics. As much as they would retain their own specifically “Catholic” interests, they would enter an arena which would have to be 139

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shared with non-Catholics and in which they would lack absolute authority.47 The ballot box and Catholic representation within Legislative Councils did not present themselves as issues for compromise as such. But for Catholics to rely on a non-Catholic political party such as the Indian National Congress or on a more general or “shared” representative category (such as “Indian Christian”) to secure specifically Catholic interests was more problematic.48 Furthermore, Catholic Action, being firmly grounded in the monolithic authority of the Church hierarchy, allowed for no division of Catholic opinion. Disagreements over approaches to communal representation, therefore, led some to regard communal politics as an arena that lay beyond the scope of Catholic Action.49 By the time of the Mangalore Conference, Catholics of the Madras Presidency, unlike Catholics of other Presidencies, had already enjoyed a separate electorate status as “Indian Christians” for nearly twenty-five years. They feared that the policy of joint electorates or joint electorates with reserved seats would return candidates to the Councils who would misrepresent Catholic interests. As the Madras Catholic Leader explained, such candidates … can never be regarded as authoritative and satisfactory representatives of the Catholic community. Reservation of seats in joint electorates may promote the growth of a sense of common citizenship but cannot adequately represent the interests of a small minority, for members thus returned will in all likelihood be more concerned to keep the favor of non-Christian majorities than that of a numerically insignificant community. An indifferent Christian, who proves himself agreeable to the majority party, may be returned to the council to the detriment of the interests of his own religious community.50 Such concerns led some Catholic delegates at the Mangalore Conference to state that they would rather be entirely unrepresented than to be “misrepresented” by members of majorities who did not belong to “their community.” The Mangalore delegates criticized the Simon Commission (1929) for granting separate electorates to Muslims, Anglo-Indians and Europeans, while merely offering Indian Christians some reservations of seats.51 Their resolution contained two demands: (1) that “Indian Christians” be allowed to elect their own representatives through the system of separate electorates; and (2) that the number of seats allotted to Indian Christians “be increased in proportion to the increase in the total number of the members of the Madras Legislative Council.” During the debates, J.A. Saldanha, an MLA from Mangalore, made a passionate appeal for Catholics to abandon separate electorates. Separate electorates, he claimed, were anti-national. But Pannirselvam fiercely attacked Saldanha’s view, along with his claim that separate electorates were undemocratic. Having “waved aside the taunt that a communalist was not a nationalist as an argument that did not even merit the honor of an answer,”52 he argued 140

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that Catholics could not hope to gain adequate representation in the Councils through a joint electorate. Using his own District of Tanjore as an example, Pannirselvam described how one Catholic candidate in a joint electorate would have to rely on a large number of Hindu votes to be elected. His speech, lasting nearly forty minutes, was met with “thunderous applause.”53 In order to persuaded his fellow delegates of the need for separate electorates, Pannirselvam pointed to groups who had previously relied on the policy as a safeguard against a dominant Hindu majority. Yet to be debated in relation to the new Constitution of India was the question of under which electoral category would Catholics place themselves. Would they continue to settle for “Indian Christian” representation, or would they insist on “Roman Catholic” representation? As one writer to the Times of India would later ask: Does he want a separate Catholic electorate or a separate Christian electorate? And when he speaks of self-preservation does he mean the preservation of the Indian Christian community or the preservation of the Roman Catholic Church in this country?54 On this particular question, Pannirselvam seemed to maintain a tactical public silence. If Catholic interests were unique, as some delegates had claimed, it would only have been logical for them to insist on a separate “Roman Catholic” representation within the Legislative Councils. Only Catholic representatives, after all, were “cut from the same ideological cloth” as their constituencies and could effectively advocate Catholic interests.55 But this was not the logic that stood behind their resolution concerning political representation. The dominant category was that of “Indian Christians.” At one point in the debate at the Mangalore Conference, a delegate by the name of A.N. Arokiasamy moved that the term “Catholic” be substituted for “Indian Christian.” His suggestion was fully consistent with the emphasis on Catholic uniqueness in other debates. Pannirselvam, however, opposed the amendment and, upon being put to vote, only five delegates supported it. The phrase “Indian Christian,” therefore, remained intact. This was a tactical move. Since the phrase “Indian Christian” encompassed the non-Catholic Christian population, it served to legitimate demands for more representatives within the Legislative Council – representatives which Catholics, by virtue of their greater numbers, would have greater power to elect.56 By locating themselves within a category that included Protestants, Pannirselvam and other delegates may also have been conceding, at least implicitly, that their interests were not as unique as they had originally claimed.57 More likely, however, they had come to regard the non-Catholic Christian population as “useful allies,” if only to maximize Catholic influence within the Council. Besides casting light on Pannirselvam’s charismatic influence, the Mangalore proceedings illustrate how South Indian political culture had influenced 141

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Catholic thinking. Local imperatives of group survival, political expediency and alliance-building had hedged the purity of Catholic principle. Local factors had shaped Catholic self-designations and claims upon Government. These developments marked a clear departure from the severe stand the bishops had taken in 1917 against “inter-confessional alliances;” a position which they had qualified in 1921 at their Conference at Mylapore. In each instance, the issue was whether Indian Catholics could join associations in which they could work alongside non-Catholics toward the achievement of common ends.58 According to L.D. Swamikannu Pillai, a “confessional” organization was one that represented a single creed common to its members, such as the Catholic Indian Association. “Non-confessional” organizations, which possessed no requirements of a common creed, included the Anglo-Indian Association or the National Congress. It was “inter-confessional” organizations to which the hierarchy, according to Swamikannu Pillai, took greatest objection: The Protestant Indian certainly believes in the essential unity of Christendom and asserts it whenever he can. A Catholic Indian cannot in conscience reciprocate this belief, and therefore, however much we, Catholic Indians, may wish the All-India Conference to be non-confessional, we cannot, so long as Protestant Indians remain in the frame of mind now adverted to, prevent its being interconfessional.59 So suspicious had been the bishops of “Protestant tendencies” that they prohibited any and all cooperation with non-Catholics in “matters temporal.” The issue of political representation constituted what was known within Catholic theological discourse as a “mixed question.” There were two classes of such questions. The first pertained to social or political issues, which also carried an intrinsically moral or spiritual element.60 Regarding the question of birth control, for instance, the hierarchy could be expected not only to advise but also to “order” a particular course of action for all Catholics.61 The second class of mixed questions concerned questions, which, in and of themselves, did not raise a religious or moral issue, but which, nevertheless, carried serious implications for Catholic communal interests. The policy of separate electorates could be placed within this category. In such matters, the hierarchy may “advise” Catholics to follow a particular line of thinking, but such “direction” carried no force of obligation.62 Seen from this perspective, the Catholic clergy at Mangalore had not overstepped their authority in advocating the policy of separate electorates. Their position nevertheless stood in tension with earlier pronouncements of the hierarchy, along with prominent strands of Catholic opinion, which prohibited alliances with Protestants. If the Bishops were so opposed to inter-religious alliances within independent associations, what would their position have been with respect to representation in the Councils? Would they not have objected to Catholics and Protestants being grouped together as Indian Christians?63 Acceptance of or 142

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acquiescence to the use of this category would undoubtedly lead to a shared project of political mobilization toward common interests. The letter of J.A. Saldanha to the Madras Guardian (a major Protestant journal) in 1933 advocated such cooperation. Saldanha argued that Catholics and Protestants, by “organizing and manipulating their forces and taking advantage of the strife between other rival candidates,” could jointly promote their causes.64 Such advocacy, however, violated, at least in principle, the 1917 resolutions of the bishops. Delegates to the Mangalore Conference – being comprised primarily of lay professionals – reached their conclusions independently of the bishops. Like the mass protest meetings of 1917, the Mangalore proceedings exposed a rupture between the bishops and the laity concerning involvement in political affairs. But Mangalore also revealed another rupture – between “South Indian” Catholics and those from Bombay and other parts of India who interpreted Catholic Action differently. Bombay Catholics, who were more pro-nationalist in their political outlook, often criticized the South Indian Catholics for defending separate electorates.65 Some charged that the “All-India” claims of Mangalore, having rejected the perspectives of Bombay Catholics, were not really “All-India.” Aloysius Soares, speaking at a Catholic gathering in Bombay, spoke against the “evils of communalism” and the dangers of a community “segregating itself from the rest of the nation” – a phrase often used by the Protestant opponents of separate electorates.66 At Bombay, Soares argued that the South Indian delegates at Mangalore did not speak for all Catholics. He moved That this meeting of Catholics of Bombay dissociates itself from the resolution passed at the All-India Catholic Conference at Mangalore, demanding separate electorates for Indian Christians as they are detrimental to the interests of the country and the community, and expresses itself in favor of joint electorates with reservation of seats for the present …67 Such disagreements between the South Indian Catholics and Bombay Catholics such as Soares over “matters political” were tolerable, as long as those disagreements were viewed as strictly political (i.e., removed from faith and morals). If, however, a dispute over matters political was anchored in conflicting interpretations of Catholic Action, the matter was far more serious. Some criticized the Mangalore Conference’s emphasis on electoral representation, claiming that it fell outside the parameters of Catholic Action. In reply to this, C.J. Varkey, a strident advocate of Catholic educational rights, replied: … it is no use to get some fundamental Catholic rights incorporated into the new Consitution of India without providing for some Catholics of the right sort getting into the legislative chambers in 143

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order to tell the legislators that the provisions of a proposed bill go counter to the fundamental laws of the Church … The Fourth AllIndia Catholic Conference that met at Mangalore was a non-political Conference: it was a Conference of “Catholic Action,” and Catholic Action is action in all fields where the interests of the Church come in, whether religious or economic, social or political.Ê[italics added for “or political”] Varkey’s words show us how the South Indian Catholics had appropriated electoral politics for their interests. At the same time, those words show us how Catholic Action had taken root within the competitive pluralist economy of South Indian politics. By linking electoral politics to the interests of the Church, Varkey and others refuted their Bombay critics. Thereby they also effectively baptized communal politics as a legitimate expression of Catholic Action. Yet their formula for “Catholic communalism” showed signs of compromise when measured against the Bishops’ formal pronouncements of 1917 and 1921. These pronouncements had condemned inter-confessional alliances and had dissociated Catholics from party politics. Their inconsistent use of the designation “Indian Christian,” disagreements with Bombay Catholics over the scope of Catholic Action, and wholehearted entry into political affairs, illustrate how Catholic principles had gradually become compromised, domesticated and even “Indianized” by communal politics. The actual proceedings of the Round Table Conference and political developments thereafter only serve to underscore these developments and tensions underlying them.

Communal Politics and the Round Table Conference Catholic opinion surrounding the Round Table Conference was marked by three dominant features. These were: (1) anxieties over the preservation of Catholic identity; (2) a desire to emulate the politics of Indian Muslims; and (3) an acceptance of communal politics as a mode of political engagement that was just as legitimate and just as “Indian” as Indian nationalism itself. In order to develop these points, it is helpful to review the theoretical approaches to communalism and their bearing on the debates of the Round Table Conference. Scholars of South Asia who are guided either by post-colonial or Marxist perspectives tend to emphasize the falsely conceived nature of communal divisions. Post-colonial theorists trace the origins of communalism to an essentialist view of India, crafted by British administrators, which consisted of “irrational” loyalties of caste and religion. They stress the colonial origins of communal categories, even to the point of denying agency to Indians themselves in constructing them.68 Marxists, on the other hand, highlight an underlying economic or class basis for religious mobilization. In their view, religious divi144

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sions masked material interests that had little to do with “religion” per se. Bipan Chandra argues that: In discussions of the minorities problem, the religious, cultural or social rights of the minorities seldom came up for discussion … the “protection” and “safeguards” demanded for religious minorities at the Center and in the provinces were invariably defined in terms of shares in public services, higher education providing training for such services and the professions and political and administrative power.69 Chandra assumes that religious groups were after the same “loaves and fishes” as every other group; and indeed, they often were.70 If taken to its logical conclusion, his analysis resembles that offered by theorists of pluralist politics. A theorist of pluralist politics would regard Hindus, Muslims, non-Brahmins, Scheduled castes, Christians, etc. as an array of “interest groups,” which held different symbols of allegiance but carried the same kinds of concerns and exerted the same types of “pressure” upon government.71 Each group derived its identity not from distinct ideological convictions but simply by opposing other competing groups within the system.72 The assertion of religious and caste difference, according to such thinking, did not stem from distinct worldviews or primordial loyalties. Instead, groups asserted their differences in order to maximize access to a common, zero-sum pool of resources. The merits of pluralist or Marxist perspectives are most evident in those instances where communal rhetoric clearly veiled other grievances or interests. Such perspectives, however, do not offer a sufficiently comprehensive explanation of group interests. They cannot account for cases in which cultural or religious factors, in and of themselves, significantly shaped those interests. In their emphasis upon the distorting effects of communal rhetoric, Marxist and pluralist frameworks fail to gain access, however incomplete or partial, to the actual thought processes of those who represented religious groups. Catholic elites of the Madras Presidency had specific expectations regarding the outcome of their “lobbying” activities.73 They engaged the political process on their own terms and for their own clearly defined interests.74 As argued above, their entry into politics certainly led them to modify purist ideals of Catholic Action. But such compromises did not consign them to the gallows of communalists who sought only to maximize their share of public services and administrative power. At the Round Table Conference, Catholic interests were articulated in terms of both “religious rights” and “cultural preservation.” Their interests were more complex and developed than merely being driven by a crude and simple quest for government handouts. An outline of these debates places the Catholic position in context. The proceedings of the Minorities Sub-Committee of the Round Table Conference crystallized the political options of communalism and nationalism. “Communalism,” by then, had become a pejorative term within the vocabulary 145

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of the Indian National Congress (INC). They associated it with the sinister “divide and rule” tactics of the British and with a focus on sectarian interests over and against the interests of the Nation. The INC also regarded any kind of communal behavior as “pro-British” (or “pro-colonial”). By exploiting identity categories created by the imperial Government, Muslims, Sikhs, non-Brahmins and Christians were accused of being complicit in promoting the Government’s policy of divide and rule. True nationalism, as defined by the INC, demanded a boycott of communal politics, even when such politics derived from the devolution of power to Indians. Communal politics prolonged the INC’s realization of its avowed goal of purna Swaraj (complete Home Rule) and its ambitions of becoming the sole successor of the British. The very appearance of fractures within the body of Indian society made the resolution of sectarian differences a precondition for the transfer of power.75 In contrast to communalism, the INC’s rhetoric of nationalism invoked concepts of sacrifice, voluntarism, “duty over right” and devotion to Mother India.76 Deploying such concepts, Gandhi and his followers tried to persuade groups to entrust themselves to the leadership of the Congress, to suspend their private interests, and to join a united front of “Indian” solidarity against imperial rule. In essence, nationalist leaders were urging groups to bracket their identities and participate in an uncoerced discussion on behalf of “the nation’s” best interests. Such rhetoric, however, concealed the many coercive and sectarian elements already latent within nationalism: elements that had become increasingly more salient and strident as nationalism assumed a more “Hindu” or “Sanskritizing” complexion.77 The Minorities Sub-Committee of the Round Table Conference consisted of thirty-nine delegates. Thirty-three of these were Indians representing different cross-sections of the population.78 Throughout the span of its ten sessions, the Sub-Committee was vexed by its inability to reach any kind of agreement on the “communal problem.” The central issue was how to satisfy the concerns of various minorities that their rights would be protected under the new Constitution. The grievances of Muslims and Sikhs dominated much of the proceedings. Issues relating to the representation of the Depressed Classes followed. The claims and interests of Indian Christians were discussed only minimally. Muslim and Sikh delegations insisted that no movement toward a Constitution would be possible if their demands for safeguards were not met. The Sikhs, who constituted roughly fourteen percent of the Punjab’s total population, sought to maintain the “weightage” in the Legislative Council that had been accorded to them through previous reforms.79 The Muslims, the largest Indian minority, maintained the demands which they had set forth in 1929 at the All-India Muslim Conference held in New Delhi.80 They wished to retain separate electorates for Muslims (wherever they constituted a minority) and to be given their due share of seats within both central and provincial cabinets. Muslim leaders such as Mohammed Ali Jinnah, Sir Mohammed Shafi and Fazl-ul-Huq did not reject nationalist aspirations for a self-governing India. 146

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They only insisted that their claims should be met before they could extend full support to Gandhi and other fellow nationalists.81 By the time of the Round Table Conference, Gandhi’s charismatic personality and his moral stature had attracted much attention within the London media. Many were led to believe that he, and he alone, could resolve the communal issues facing the Conference. But this hope was ill founded. After conducting talks with several delegations of minorities, Gandhi expressed his “deep sorrow and deeper humiliation” concerning “his utter failure … to secure an agreed solution of the communal question.”82 Gandhi attributed the source of that failure to the non-representative character of the Indian delegation at the Conference. They were not elected representatives of their respective parties or groups but had merely been nominated by the Government. Congress and Congress alone, according to Gandhi, represented the whole of India.83 To move the Conference forward, Gandhi recommended that the Minorities Sub-Committee be adjourned sine die and that the “fundamentals of the Constitution be hammered into shape as quickly as possible.” Efforts to resolve the communal problem, he urged, “must not be allowed to block the progress of constitution building.”84 What Gandhi would not acknowledge and seems not to have realized was that, for the majority of those present at the Minorities Sub-Committee, the communal issue stood at the heart of the new Constitution. If the communal question was not settled, the entire question remained as to whom the imperial Government should transfer responsibility.85 Muslims and other minorities could not agree with Gandhi’s assertion that the Congress represented the whole of India. Gandhi’s disbelief in the representative character of the Indian delegation was met with heated objections from Sir Mohammed Shafi, who headed one of the branches of the All-India Muslim League, and from Babasaheb Ambedkar, who represented the Depressed Classes. Both received Gandhi’s words as an affront to their own status as spokespersons for their respective constituencies.86 Shafi drew attention to three other “political parties” besides the Congress which represented their respective followings at the Conference: the Hindu Mahasabha, the Muslim League and the Liberal Federation. “The leaders of all the various political parties in India,” he stated, “are members of the Round Table Conference, and they were nominated by the Government of India after consultation with the Working Committees and Executives of these various organizations.”87 Ambedkar, “exasperated” by Gandhi’s comments, insisted that the Congress did not represent the Depressed Classes: The Mahatma has [always been] claiming that the Congress stands for the Depressed Classes, and that the Congress represents the Depressed Classes more than [my colleague or I] can do. To that claim I can only say that it is one of the many false claims which irresponsible people keep on making, although the persons concerned with regard to those claims have been invariably denying them. 147

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Ambedkar’s disagreements with Gandhi only escalated during the Second Round Table Conference. They not only disagreed over which of them spoke for the Depressed Classes, but they also disagreed over the best policy for representing them. Ambedkar advocated the policy of separate electorates for the Depressed Classes, while Gandhi sought to merge them with the general electorates. The Communal Award of 1932 inflamed Gandhi because it extended the policy of separate electorates to the Depressed Classes. In so doing, the Award sectioned off the Depressed Classes from caste Hindus. Gandhi saw this division as a “vivisection of Hindu society.” His own communal leanings became yet more evident when he described the Award as “an injection of a poison that is calculated to destroy Hinduism and do no good whatever to the Depressed Classes.”88 In protest against the Award, Gandhi announced his intention to “fast unto death.” Gandhi’s fast and Ambedkar’s eventual capitulation led to the Poona Pact. This merged the Depressed Classes with the general electorates, but with a special reservation of seats in all Legislative Assemblies.89 The issue of representation for the Depressed Classes exposed deep political divisions within the evolving Indian polity. These divisions were arguably as troublesome as, and indeed were part of, the rift between Hindus and Muslims. But it was Hindu–Muslim divisions, and the condition of the Sikhs of Punjab, which dominated debates over the so-called communal problem. Pannirselvam, the Catholic representative, complained that the Sub-Committee was so “engrossed” with these problems that it was ignoring the claims of smaller groups such as those of Indian Christians.90 Situated between “two distinct and mutually antagonistic religions,” he was not as concerned about the threat of overt persecution as he was about Catholic interests being ignored. An exclusive orientation toward the larger communities in the new Constitution would jeopardize the “self-preservation” of Indian Catholics. The rhetoric of self-preservation underscored many political choices of Indian Catholics. When presented with the twin options of nationalism and communalism, the South Indian Catholics leaned decisively toward the latter. One reason for this preference was internally oriented. As discussed, the South Indian Catholics saw communal politics as the most effective way of securing Catholic interests. Another reason why they opted for communal politics can be stated simply: everyone was doing it. To Catholics, such politics formed the very fabric of political life in the Presidency. Not to participate was to remain marginal to the public sphere. All along, Pannirselvam had attacked nationalist rhetoric for veiling the true communal character of Indian society. In his view, there was not a single association or organization in India, including the Congress, that was not communal. Since all other groups had been fighting for their own interests, the Catholics would commit “political suicide” if they were to embrace a higher ideal.91 Ever since the onset of provincial self-government, the Catholic Indian Association of South India had advocated separate electorates. When nonBrahmins and Muslims had staked their claim for separate electorates, the 148

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Catholic Indian Association, along with another Christian Associations (nonCatholic), had advocated the same for Indian Christians. The Catholic Leader described how such moves had accommodated Catholics to the political environment of the Presidency: The community had to move with the times and conditions [in] which it found itself in this Presidency. There was certainly nothing at stake, then and now, to induce the Catholic to play the hero, refuse communal representation and to organize a campaign for mixed electorates. He would only have estranged himself the more from the non-Catholic communities who were all communalistic. Besides, when the non-Christians had organized themselves on a communal basis, there was nothing left for the Christians but either to swim with others on the communal plank or to sink.92 Pannirselvam’s arguments at the Minorities Sub-Committee followed very similar lines. In response to nationalist critiques of separate electorates as denationalizing and disintegrating, he argued that nationalist ideals were useless if Indian social realities did not support them. According to Pannirselvam, Indians lived and breathed according to caste and religion. Even prominent Congressmen running for Council seats played the communal card. “People who talk most about nationalism,” Pannirselvam argued, have subjected Catholics to “indirect persecution.”93 By this he referred specifically to the denial of protection and grants to Catholic educational institutions. On this point, Pannirselvam commended the Justice Party. That party, he observed, though labeled “communal” by Congress members, had tried in Tanjore to distribute public funds evenly to all communities.94 Guided by fears of being neglected, Catholic rhetoric benefited by drawing comparisons with other communities: The Hindus and Muslims are allowed the observances of their own personal laws, whether it be in the matter of marriage or of inheritance. Why should not the same privilege be extended also to us Catholics who are, like themselves, citizens of India? Why should we alone be subjected in these matters to a civil law, which we cannot adopt in toto without doing violence to our conscience?95 At the Round Table Conference, Indian Catholics hoped to join a common pool of religious groups whose distinctive practices were protected by the Constitution.96 The Catholics were aware that they were a far weaker minority than the Muslims. Though they outnumbered the Sikhs, their population was far more dispersed. Numbers of Sikhs were so great in parts of the Punjab that they could significantly influence any election. Even where Catholic numbers were greatest (in places such as Trichinipoly or South Kanara) they hardly 149

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amounted to six per cent of the total electorate – hence the need for separate electorates. Throughout the debates of the Minorities Sub-Committee, Pannirselvam and S.K. Datta, the other Indian Christian representative who had replaced the late K.T. Paul, sharply disagreed with each other over the issue of representation. Whenever Pannirselvam expressed his views, Sir Henry Gidney, the Anglo-Indian representative, had observed that Datta, “who entertained almost pro-Congress views would diametrically oppose him … and so the voice of the Indian Christian community was divided and went by default.”97 Toward the end of the final session of the Minorities Sub-Committee, a group of minority delegates arrived at a “settlement” of the communal problem.98 Their settlement contained provisions relating to religious liberty, to the right to maintain and control religious institutions, to safeguards for personal laws, and to the maintenance of separate electorates.99 While Pannirselvam signed the settlement, Datta did not. Datta questioned why all minorities should not form a common electorate to protect themselves against the Hindu majority. He also resented the fact that there was no scheme in the settlement that would gradually phase out the policy of communal electorates.100 In spite of his objections, the spirit and politics of communal representation won the day. The provisions of the settlement were adopted by Prime Minister Ramsay MacDonald and, in 1932, he informed the substance of his Communal Award.

Post-Round Table Developments Having described how a specific set of “interests” led Catholics to step beyond the walls of their private institutions and enter the arena of communal politics, and having moved from the in-house “Catholic” debates at Mangalore to the high politics of the London Round Table Conference, discussion can now turn to specific political developments at regional and district levels. On the District Boards and in the Legislative Council, Catholic representatives continued to push for public funds for religious education. Hindus criticized advocacy for separate schools as being “anti-national.” Clearly, education had become a site for the cultivation of both religious and national identities. Throughout the nineteenth century, the issue of religious education in public schools had elicited heated controversies. A “Hindu public” comprised of upper caste, professional elites had opposed missionary influence and Bible instruction in state-run schools.101 Petitions for a religiously neutral, English education had gradually gained a more sympathetic hearing from officials. For the Raj, the movement toward religious neutrality in education, as in all other realms of administration, had always been a matter of political necessity.102 The State simply could not align itself with one particular religious agenda without eliciting bitter protests from other groups. By the turn of the twentieth century, secular standards for public education had acquired a strong consensus among 150

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officials. As a result of this consensus, the pendulum of grievance swung away from urban Hindu elites toward Muslim and Christian minorities. Under the Montegu–Chelmsford Reforms of 1919, Provincial Councils and District Boards had become directly responsible for devising and enforcing educational policies. Since these bodies were comprised of the representatives of various religious constituencies, they had become fighting grounds for distinct agendas. Catholics felt that District Boards had pushed religion to the margins of public education by spending the vast majority of funds on secular instruction.103 Catholics who desired religious instruction for their children had been obliged to finance it themselves. The grievances of various religious groups over the content of education led to the formulation of so-called “Conscience Clauses.” Such clauses had provided that if, in a state-funded school, at least ten parents from a minority religion insisted on religious instruction for their children, a class should be allowed and established to provide such instruction for those children.104 If the size of the minority were large enough, the District, under the Conscience Clause, would be required to finance the cost of a separate school. But such provisions on paper apparently had not materialized in practice. Catholic representatives complained that the District Boards heeded Muslim demands for separate instruction, but not their own.105 In his speech to the Madras Legislative Council, M.S. Shreshta remarked that Catholic Canon Law mandated religious education for Catholic youth. Yet, with respect to education, Catholic advocacy for Canon Law, unlike Muslim advocacy for Muslim personal law, was often dismissed as “anti-national.” In 1929, the Government of Madras had passed an order providing that Where in any locality there is scope for more than one school and where there is a reasonable number of Catholic children, the Catholics should be allowed to maintain and get aid for a school under their management. [italics added] This Government Order had provided only the appearance of a victory for Catholics. Due to ambiguous terms such as “scope” and “reasonable number,” District Boards were able to ignore its provisions. Shreshta’s speech stresses the role that nationalist rhetoric had played in discouraging separate facilities for Catholic youth: [My non-Christian friends on the District Educational Councils] sometimes feel when I am asking for separate schools for Catholic children, that I am anti-national, but I wish to impress on all people and all nonChristians that this is an absolutely necessary privilege and that it is in the interests of the State. It has been practically conceded in the case of the Muslims and what has been conceded in the case of Muslims, I maintain, should also be conceded in the case of the Christians.106 151

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The efforts of Catholic notables such as M.S. Shreshta, J.A. Saldanha and C.J. Varkey to secure Catholic educational rights frequently drew comparisons to the rights extended to other communities.107 Such comparisons indicated the potential for conflict between communities over relative degrees of influence within District Boards and the Legislative Council.108 In any given instance of such conflict, it was unclear as to whether a “religious” issue had been politicized or whether a “political” issue had assumed communal overtones.109 In addition to social work, Catholic Action – as described earlier in this chapter – mandated the dissemination of Catholic ideas through pamphlets, books and the Catholic press. Publications of the Catholic Truth Society often contained apologetics against Modern Hindu and Islamic beliefs.110 In 1927, S.J. Michael, a Roman Catholic missionary, published a Tamil book, A Short Story of the Catholic Faith, which allegedly contained derogatory statements about the prophet Mohammed. For several years, the local press paid little attention to the book and Muslim reactions to it. But in 1934 the book became the center of communal tensions in the city of Madras, involving Muslims, Catholics and Hindus. Earlier in that same year, A.T. Pannirselvam had replaced Mohammed Usman as the new Home Minister of the Government of Madras. Amid Hindu nationalist hostility toward conversion, Catholic representatives in the Councils sought to ensure that freedom to propagate religion would be protected.111 The political climate of the 1930’s, however, endowed religious propaganda with new political significance. Within this climate, attacks on other religious figures or ideas could not hide behind the pretext of “spiritual” concerns – for souls and their destinies.112 They impinged directly upon the aspirations and sensibilities of political communities and upon concern for “public” peace.113 In protest at S.J. Michael’s book, Muslims in Madras closed their shops and held a mass protest meeting on the beach to demand its proscription. Not far from their meeting, the Arya Samaj, a Hindu reformist organization, held its own meeting. Muslims were reported to have asked the Arya Samajists to join their protest against the book (since both groups resented missionary propaganda). When the Arya Samajists refused, a clash erupted, which resulted in the death of one Muslim and injury to several others. In response to these events the Archbishop of Madras, E. Mederlet, issued a statement which acknowledged the legitimacy of Muslim objections. He ordered that another edition of the book be published without the offensive passages. As newly-appointed Home Minister, Pannirselvam also took steps to proscribe the book, with the help of the Police Commissioner. The Catholic media took issue primarily with the timing of Muslim protests, rather than with the substance.114 They attributed Muslim reactions not to “religious” sentiments but to jealousy over Pannirselvam’s replacement of Mohammed Usman as Home Minister. The Catholic Leader alleged that Muslims had used the book controversy as a ploy to embarrass Pannirselvam. The Muslims, however, had objected to the book long before Pannirselvam’s 152

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appointment, just as they had long complained about other instances of inflammatory Christian propaganda. But only in 1934 had they staged a formal protest against the book.115 The Madras Guardian, an Indian Christian newspaper, traced the controversy to Muslim discontentment with Usman himself: The object of the attack at the protest meeting was curiously not the present Catholic Home Member, but his Muslim predecessor, who, it is an open secret, is not a persona grata with the majority of the Madras Muslim community. He was charged with neglect of duty to his religion while in office, by not taking action on the book.116 Madras Muslims felt that Usman had betrayed his co-religionists by having recommended a non-Muslim as his replacement. Madras Muslims had apparently preferred an “Islamic” representative who would be more responsive to their own religious feelings.117 The shortage of supporting evidence makes it difficult to gauge the merit of any of these explanations. Yet each of them illustrates how religious controversies had come to be associated with other forms of political influence, including Government offices. Into the mid-1930’s, Catholic political choices continued to be guided by their tense and somewhat competitive relationships with other minorities. In the years following the Round Table Conference, the Catholics of the Madras Presidency showed signs of warming to the Congress. This development coincided with their tense relations with the Madras Muslims. It also coincided with Catholic critiques of the anti-Brahminical Self-Respect Movement (see Chapter 9), which was by then being viewed as an “atheistic” and pro-Communist movement.118 These differences with other South Indian groups, who typically rejected the Congress, made it easier for the Catholics to consider the Congress more seriously as a political option. Whether this openness signaled a more favorable posture toward Indian nationalism, or simply another strategy for pursuing “Catholic interests,” is less clear. What does seem clear is the fact that into the 1930’s the Congress had replaced the Justice Party as the dominant political party within the province. From the Montegu–Chelmsford reforms of 1919 to the elections of 1926, the Justice Party had managed to control the politics of the Presidency. The Party had set out to challenge the dominance of Brahmans from Mylapore in Government services and other positions of influence. Toward this end, it had even won the support of Catholic notables such as A.T. Pannirselvam and M. Ruthnaswamy. By forging alliances with merchants, politicians, journalists and lawyers under the banner of non-Brahminism, the Justice Party had seized, for a time, the levers of political control from the influential Mylaporeans.119 But these days of glory had begun to fade. The lack of coherent party organization, the compromises of its own non-Brahmin position, and political infighting had gradually contributed to the political decline of the Justice Party and to the gains of the Indian National Congress.120 153

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The changing political climate during the following decade favored the politics of the Congress. As of 1930, reforms at the provincial level reduced the influence of the Governor and of Government ministers. Old systems of patronage and political favors from the top down were no longer sufficient means for acquiring and retaining power. Local board reforms of 1930 created more seats on the boards, wider electorates and larger numbers of elected (as opposed to nominated) members. Such changes at the provincial and district levels enabled increased roles for agitation, party organization and ideology, as means of marshalling political support.121 The Congress was well equipped to make use of these new formulas for political gain. During the elections that took place between 1934 and 1937, provincial Congress organizations embarked on a campaign to “capture local bodies” and acquire as many seats as possible within the Legislative Council. Congress campaigns in the district board elections of South Arcot, Kurnool, Trichinopoly, Tinnevelly and South Kanara – districts holding significant numbers of Catholics – raised the political stature of Congressmen. In early 1936 the Congress was successful in elections to six district boards; and by the end of the year it had acquired control over two-thirds of local government bodies of the Madras Presidency.122 A few, but not many, South Indian Catholic notables had all along supported Indian nationalism and Congress leadership. R.N. Arokiaswami Mudaliar was the most prominent of such figures. Arokiaswamy, an engineer by profession, served two terms on the Madras Legislative Council during the ministry of A.N. Subbarayan. As an MLC, Arokiaswami was the leading Catholic advocate in South India of the system of joint electorates for Indian Christians. He believed that, by supporting Indian nationalism, Catholics could serve Catholic interests and those of the nation at large.123 Like other Christian nationalists, he rejected civil disobedience and supported moderate, constitutional methods of securing self-government. Following his death in 1933, other South Indian Catholics became more openly supportive of the Congress, largely as a result of the party’s temporary adoption of more moderate politics.124 This swing toward the Congress by Catholics was reflected in a “tribute” paid to the Congress in the pages of the Catholic Leader.125 Though the tribute established no clear connection between Catholics and the Congress, it recognized the standing that the Congress had been gaining, especially after the elections of 1934, as the “voice” of the Indian people. Such recognition altered the substance of Catholic debates concerning political involvement. Previously, that debate had revolved around the issue of separate electorates for Indian Christians. Now it shifted to the question of Catholic involvement in the Congress Party. The question of whether to sink or swim with the Congress came to a climax in 1937 during the so-called constitutional “deadlock.” The Raj had instituted a “rule by Ordinance” in order to control terrorist activity in troubled regions and to counter acts of civil disobedience. Such Ordinances had expanded police 154

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powers, imposed severe penalties on those involved in seditious activities, and imposed heavy fines upon newspaper establishments (by way of the Press Act) that printed articles deemed seditious.126 The severe and repressive measures adopted by the Imperial Government had swung public opinion in the direction of the Congress. Liberal Indians, and minorities who had previously embraced a moderate variety of nationalism, became more critical of the Government and more supportive of the Congress. Several key Indian Christian newspapers criticized the Ordinances for instilling fear, resentment and distrust of the Government among Indians.127 It was during this crisis that three South Indian Catholics ran for seats in the Legislative Council on the Congress ticket. Several letters to the Catholic press criticized them for violating Catholic principles regarding party affiliation. The criticisms, structurally similar to statements made by the bishops two decades earlier condemning political alliances with Protestants, sprang primarily from the need to insulate Catholic identity from the diluting effects of more broad-based affiliations. Running for office under the Congress ticket, as distinct from outside support for the Congress, entailed submission to the structure of authority of the INC machine, which might compromise Catholic commitments. One writer insisted that Catholic Congressmen should draft a manifesto that would hold them accountable to their stated Catholic commitments. Fear of an enslavement of Catholics within the steel chambers of the Congress pervaded this proposal: If [Catholics] become part and parcel of the Congress Parliamentary Party, they become slaves to the iron discipline of the Congress … They have no opportunity of influencing the policy of the Party, which will be laid down for them by the Working Committee. In the Council they will be denied liberty of action and will be bound to obey the whip of the Party, even with regard to questions on which the community cannot see eye to eye with Congress dictators.128 Issues of potential divergence between Catholics and the Congress included religious education, prohibition, church properties, divorce, conversion and other religious and moral concerns. Would the Congress allow its Catholic members liberty to voice their own positions on such issues? If Catholics placed themselves under the immediate authority of non-Catholics, they risked the possibility of losing such liberty.129 Another Catholic Congress candidate was C.J. Varkey. An outspoken advocate of Catholic educational rights, Varkey argued that local Catholic interests were best served by joining forces with the Congress. He stressed the need for Catholics to infiltrate the ranks of the Congress to prevent the party from moving toward Communism.130 Varkey anticipated no conflict between Catholic and Congress agendas, and resented the manner in which his critics 155

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had invoked papal precepts regarding respect for religious authority in their attacks on him: I am quite prepared to withdraw from the party when I find it goes against our faith and morals, or if, and when the Hierarchy of India make a pronouncement that Catholics should not join the INC.131 In response to the demand for a manifesto from Catholic Congressmen, Varkey replied, The answer is plain. We stand by the manifesto of the Indian National Congress. I boldly declare that there is nothing in this manifesto which need cause the least misgiving to any Catholic at any time. Catholic doctrine leaves Catholics free to join political organizations.132 In spite of the novelty of his status as a Congress candidate, Varkey’s defense of his involvement was nothing new. It belonged to a broader history of Catholic accommodation to the political culture of South India. As with the petitions of the Catholic Indian Association, Pannirselvam’s defense of separate electorates, and the battle for educational rights within district boards, Varkey’s candidacy was another instance of Catholics using political institutions for their own objectives.

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Part III

CASTE AND COMMUNAL IDENTITY

8 RELIGION, CASTE AND POLITICAL RHETORIC, 1925–1937

During the early twentieth century, Indian politics had come to be shaped increasingly by new forms of political mobilization based upon caste and religious identity. Quite often, these politics were led by elites who claimed to represent larger, monolithic constituencies. As spokespersons for the Hindu Mahasabha, Muslim League, South Indian Liberation Federation, or the “Christian community” staked their claims upon government, they evoked a picture of an Indian society that was neatly divided into bounded groups who followed predictable lines of behavior. Stereotypes of a “tolerant” yet “threatened” Hindu majority, a separatist or “uncultured” Muslim minority, and masses of downtrodden and ignorant “Harijans” pervaded political discourse of this period.1 Indian Christians were no less subject to stereotypes than other communities.2 Stereotypes about the political leanings of the Indian Christian community (e.g., pro- or anti-nationalist), as we have seen, often ignored important differences between Catholic and Protestant Christians. Beyond assumptions concerning political commitments, administrators, politicians and missionaries often presumed Christianity to be an inherently “caste-less” religion. Whether or not caste consciousness was to be completely eradicated upon conversion, however, was a much more hotly debated issue within churches than what was commonly assumed.3 Increasingly, stereotypes concerning religious conversion, caste and nationality fueled the rhetoric of political leaders. While speaking to a group of Indian Christians at Nagpur, C. Rajagopalachari, the pro-Gandhian Congress leader from Salem, had portrayed Indian Christians as a socially progressive, national community.4 In his efforts to assure Indian Christians of their secure status within a free India, Rajagopalchari commended them for being a “non-partisan” and “non-communal” minority that had lent unqualified support to the nationalist movement: Does not the Nationalist world in India know that the Indian Christian community has distinguished itself at every Conference by giving the fullest support to the Nationalist Movement and by never giving support to anti-nationalist trends? Do you think that Nationalist people are so ungrateful, such wretched people, that they won’t remember these things?5 159

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Rajagopalachari also claimed that converts from the depressed classes to the Christian religion immediately acquired privileges that previously had been denied to them due to the stigma of untouchability: As soon as people become Indian Christians, they go to school. In many places in India whole villages are converted, and they cease at once to be called the “depressed classes.” … Have you not seen with your own eyes in the villages, that the untouchables are not allowed to take water from the village well, but that the moment they are converted to Christ they can use the well of the village? … Therefore even the lowest in the social scheme in India’s dark corners can by becoming a Christian enjoy these privileges. So why do you fear that a person belonging to the Christian religion will be tyrannized over?6 Rarely does one encounter a speech that so boldly presents as popular truisms assumptions that had been the subject of heated controversy. Essentially, Rajagopalachari claimed that, under Swaraj, Indian Christians would enjoy two distinct sources of privilege: (1) those the Government of India would bestow on them for their commitment to the nationalist cause (freedoms, protections, a share in administrative posts, etc.); and (2) those inherent in becoming a Christian (social mobility, dignity, public access, education, etc.). In making such claims, Rajagopalachari had glossed over pervasive criticisms of Christian missions – primarily those of Gandhi himself – as a “denationalizing” influence.7 Moreover, he falsely assumed that Dalits who had converted to Christianity no longer suffered the disabilities faced by other Dalits. A description of how the topic of religious conversion had come to occupy such a critical place in political rhetoric provides a necessary backdrop to the following chapter’s discussion of caste divisions within the Church. Gandhi’s trenchant criticisms of Christian missionary activity and his politics of “Hindu-ization” provide an excellent starting point for this discussion.

Gandhi and Conversion Gandhi’s critiques of Christian missions and religious conversion were shaped by two distinct but related phases of his political campaign. During the first of these phases (roughly from 1916 to 1930), Gandhi stressed the importance of national integration and swadeshi (economic and cultural self-reliance). In his efforts to envision a unified and self-reliant Indian nation, he espoused the unity and equality of all religions.8 This emphasis not only derived from his concern for Hindu–Muslim relations, but also from his many encounters with Christians.9 During the next phase (1931–37) of his campaign, Gandhi’s emphasis shifted to the issue of conversion, particularly with respect to religious movements among the depressed classes. It was in this context that Gandhi repeatedly distinguished falsely “material” from genuinely “spiritual” motives 160

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for conversion. His mounting opposition to conversion took him to the extreme of labeling it “the deadliest poison that ever sapped the fountain of truth.”10 Underlying such opposition lay his desire to protect the Dalits (or “Harijans,” as he called them) from an external or “foreign” source of empowerment. In his address to a crowd in front of Madras Christian College in February of 1916, Gandhi outlined his philosophy of swadeshi, which emphasized ideals of economic, political and cultural self-reliance.11 It was during this speech that Gandhi interpreted swadeshi not only materially but also spiritually. In addition to the boycott of foreign products, swadeshi stood for the protection of traditional institutions and “Hinduism” from Christian proselytizing: By reason of the swadeshi spirit, a Hindu refuses to change his religion not necessarily because he considers it to be the best, but because he knows that he can complement it by introducing reforms … If there is any substance to what I have said, will not the great missionary bodies of India, to whom she owes a deep debt of gratitude for what they have done and are doing, do still better and serve the spirit of Christianity better, by dropping the goal of proselytizing but continuing their philanthropic work?12 According to Gandhi’s interpretation of swadeshi, conversion to the Christian religion was objectionable because it violated his belief in the sufficiency of “India’s great faiths” toward the cause of national development.13 In subsequent encounters with Christians, Gandhi raised similar objections to conversion that were based on his belief in Indian self-reliance or swadeshi. Conversion, he argued, was legitimate when it inspired moral growth within the framework of one’s own tradition and led to greater dedication to one’s country. Conversion to Christianity, however, breached the principle of swadeshi and amounted to “denationalization.”14 In April of 1931, Gandhi made a statement that Christians regarded as a threat to their freedom to propagate their religion under Swaraj (Home Rule). Gandhi objected to humanitarian aid as a means of “proselytizing:” If, instead of confining themselves purely to humanitarian work, such as education, medical services to the poor and the like, [missionaries] would use these activities of theirs for the purpose of proselytizing, I would certainly like them to withdraw. Every nation considers its own faith as good as that of any other, certainly the great faiths held by the people of India are adequate for her people. India stands in no need of conversion from one faith to another.15 This statement of Gandhi’s triggered far-reaching reactions among both Indian and non-Indian Christians. Indian Christians who were beginning to trust his 161

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leadership and align themselves with the nationalist movement now saw shades of Hindu communalism in Gandhi.16 The Christians of Polamcottah and Tinnevelly, for instance, had issued a resolution that demanded safeguards for religious freedom, without which their “faith in [Gandhi’s] present leadership and the new freedom of our Motherland” would be shaken.17 Similar reactions to Gandhi’s statement came from various missionary bodies.18 Beyond raising questions concerning the future of religious freedom under Swaraj, Gandhi’s statement had signaled a strategy of “Hindu-izing” Dalits, in order to pre-empt conversion to another religion.19 In the two years following the Poona Pact of 1932,20 Gandhi had established the Harijan Seva Sangh and had launched his own campaign against untouchability.21 The main goal of the Harijan Seva Sangh was to persuade caste Hindus to desist from the practice of untouchability and thus extend to Dalits their rightful access to land, education, temples and the use of public facilities. When he toured the Madras Presidency during his anti-untouchability campaign, Gandhi was met with a very mixed reception from South Indian audiences. Within northern Telugu districts, he drew considerable crowds, but these, according to official reports, were more attracted by curiosity than by commitment to his campaign. Dalits themselves appeared to show little interest in his visit.22 During his visit to the city of Madras, he elicited a more enthusiastic response, but this response was interspersed with indications of resistance from Dalits over the position he had taken on the Poona Pact.23 Gandhi preferred to avoid coercive means of abolishing untouchability. He appealed instead for a “change of heart” among caste Hindus that would cause them to admit Dalits, as never before, into common social spaces. But Gandhi had another aim in mind as he campaigned against untouchability. He wanted the “Harijans” to trust the good will of reform-minded Hindus, desist from converting to another religion, and thus establish themselves within the fabric of a cohesive “Hindu society.”24 It was this desire of Gandhi to appropriate India’s Dalits to Hinduism that made him such an ardent critic of Christian missions. As Gandhi distinguished the spiritual from the material aspects of missionary work, he levied a corresponding critique of the actual motives for conversion among Dalits. Conversion, in his view, could either issue from an appeal to the “intellect,” which Dalits lacked, or an appeal to their “stomachs.” Gandhi believed that the vast majority of Dalits who had converted to the Christian religion had done so purely for “convenience” through false, material inducements. On one occasion, Gandhi was asked whether Dalit Christian converts of Travancore seeking to “reconvert” to Hinduism should undergo the ritual of shuddhi. Gandhi replied that there was no need for shuddhi, because the conversions were not “real” ones in the first place.25 Gandhi viewed Dalits as ignorant “children” who were incapable of grasping the content of Christianity and were converting “merely” for material reasons: 162

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I do maintain that the vast mass of Harijans, and for that matter Indian humanity, cannot understand the presentation of Christianity, and that generally speaking their conversion wherever it has taken place has not been a spiritual act in any sense of the term. They are conversions for convenience. And I have had overwhelming corroboration of the truth during my frequent and extensive wanderings.26 It was in the context of his insistence on a “spiritual” or “intellectual” basis for conversion that Gandhi likened preaching the gospel to a Dalit to preaching it to a cow.27 In spite of the heated reactions his comparison elicited from Dalits and certain American readers of his newspaper, Harijan, Gandhi refused to withdraw his statement.28 He argued instead that, since cows were objects of worship in India, the comparison did not amount to an insult.29 His words, however, only added salt to the wounds of Dalits who for centuries had born the brunt of a basic social irony: that while cows had been venerated as gods, they had been treated more poorly than animals.30

Ambedkar: Conversion as Autonomy Gandhi’s paternalistic solutions to Dalit problems led many Dalits to seek an alternative vision for their liberation. Rather than relying on the goodwill of caste Hindus, many preferred to fight for separation and autonomy from Hindu society. In Western India, B.R. Ambedkar, the leader of the Mahar community (a Dalit group), became the spokesperson for this alternative vision. As numerous observers of his remarkable career have shown, Ambedkar had not only stressed the legal, political and economic remedies to untouchability, but also had called for a total rejection of Hinduism by Dalits.31 Ambedkar’s call for the annihilation of caste and his repudiation of Hinduism drew him into heated confrontations with Gandhi over the subject of religious conversion among Dalits. Ambedkar’s challenges to Gandhi on issues of caste and separate electorates for Dalits are well known to students of modern India. Receiving less attention are his objections to Gandhi’s hostility toward Christian propaganda and conversion. Ambedkar criticized the double standard that Gandhi had applied to Muslims and Christians. Both groups had vilified the Hindu religion and had raised funds in order to support missionary projects among Dalits. The same charge of “inducement” that Gandhi had directed at Christians could just as well have been directed at Muslims. Yet Gandhi had treated the latter far more mildly than he did the former. The reason for the double standard, according to Ambedkar, was political. Since Muslims numbered far more than Christians did, they easily could have made themselves “a thorn in the side of Nationalism.”32 According to Ambedkar, Gandhi’s opposition to conversion “out of Hinduism” was therefore qualified by the relative numerical strength of Muslims and their relative importance to Indian politics.33 163

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Ambedkar even more sharply criticized Gandhi’s belief in the equality of all religions. He regarded as “utterly fallacious” Gandhi’s claim that all religions are equally true or equally valuable. On the contrary, it was precisely because of the fact that all religions are not true that adherents of one faith may indeed have a duty to share the truth with their unenlightened neighbors.34 Ambedkar also disputed Gandhi’s contention that missionaries had been providing material “baits” for conversion. He found it strange that Gandhi wanted Indians to enjoy the material services provided by missionaries, while opposing conversion as a response to such services: It is difficult to understand why Mr. Gandhi argues that services rendered by the Missionaries are baits or temptations, and that the conversions are therefore conversions of convenience. Why is it not possible to believe that these services by Missionaries indicate that service to suffering humanity is for Christians an essential requirement of their religion? Would that be a wrong view of the process by which a person is drawn towards Christianity? … Nobody will deny to Mr. Gandhi the right to save the Untouchables for Hinduism. But in that case he should have frankly told Missions, “Stop your work, we want now to save the Untouchables and ourselves. Give us a chance!” It is a pity that he should not have adopted this honest mode of dealing with the menace of the Missionaries.35 Ambedkar’s trenchant criticisms of Gandhi’s views on conversion stem in part from his sense of indebtedness to missionaries for the shelter from Hindu tyranny they had extended to Dalits. His criticisms, however, are best understood not as a defense of missionaries or of the Christian religion as such, but as part of his larger repudiation of caste and of the religious sanction that caste derived from Hinduism.36 His stand against Hinduism led him to defend conversion as a means of escaping the oppressive caste order. At the Yeola Conference in 1935, Ambedkar declared that Hinduism had no power to liberate the Dalits and that Dalits should seek equality of status within another religion. Because they lacked the strength required to challenge Hindu tyranny, they had to secure strength “from the outside:” [U]nless you establish close relations with some other society, unless you join some other religion, you cannot get the strength from the outside. It clearly means, you must leave your present religion and assimilate yourselves with some other society.37 “Conversion,” he argued, “is as important to the Untouchables as selfgovernment is to India … there is not the slightest difference in their ultimate goal.”38 Ambedkar ultimately chose Buddhism (as did masses of his followers) as 164

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his alternative to Hinduism. His defense of conversion to the Christian religion was consistent with the larger quest for autonomy from the Hindu social structure that he desired for Dalits. But his primary critique of the Church in India was that it all too often had perpetuated caste discrimination. It had merely replaced the dominance of caste Hindus with that of caste Christians – a criticism, we shall see, which certainly applied to many South Indian congregations.

Integration v. Autonomy in South India The relevance of Gandhi or Ambedkar to social and religious affairs within the Madras Presidency lies not so much in their personal popularity as it does in the alternative strategies they presented for Dalit liberation. Though their personal influence in the South was not nearly as strong as it was in other parts of India, their mutually opposing strategies of integration and autonomy had been voiced in different ways and by different leaders within Telugu and Tamil districts.39 Since the late nineteenth century, social reform within Telugu society had been articulated in terms of the reform of religious institutions. Brahminical religion had sanctioned such contentious practices as child marriage, prohibition of widow remarriage and insidious caste distinctions.40 Social reformers attempted to purge Hinduism of such “accretions” that had accumulated through successive phases of Indian history.41 Reformers had hoped that this purification of Hinduism would stem the tide conversion to Catholic and nonCatholic forms of Christianity that had been occurring among Dalit groups of the Telugu country.42 Toward the turn of the century, Kandukuri Viresalingam (1848–1919), the Niyogi Brahmin Telugu Pandit from Rajahmundry, had advocated sweeping social reforms while committing himself to the refinement and popularization of Telugu literary traditions. Viresalingam had maintained relations with American Lutheran missionaries who had established several schools in Rajahmundry. His viewpoints betrayed openness to European ideas, particularly those relating to modern science and empiricism.43 Though his views had elicited stiff opposition from orthodox Hindus, Viresalingam was not hostile to indigenous culture per se. As “a typical representative of early Indian nationalism,” he had appropriated liberal, rationalist ideas from the West without compromising his notion of “Indian” identity.44 He had identified himself with a universal project of overcoming social injustice, but “was reluctant to point to the West as the specific model for India’s future.”45 The delicate balance he struck between continuity and change complicated his overall contribution to Telugu society. In spite of having promoted a “mass-oriented” form of Telugu prose and having been a sharp critique of the elitist Brahminical culture of his day, Viresalingam had catalyzed processes of social change that were sustained primarily by upper-caste Hindus. He had been deeply influenced by the reformist vision of the Bengali Brahmo Samaj, which strove for the purification of Hindu institutions as an alternative to religious conversion.46 In 1878, he 165

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and several friends had formed the Rajahmundry Prarthana Samaj, modeled upon the Brahmo Samaj. Of the eight active members of the Prarthana Samaj, five were Niyogi Brahmins, two were Vaidiki Brahmins, and only one was nonBrahmin.47 Through public addresses, literature and articles in his monthly journal, Viveka Vardhani, Viresalingam had championed such causes as widow remarriage, the abolition of child marriage and the abolition of idol worship. He had based such advocacy, however, on a reinterpretation of existing scriptural traditions, not a rejection of those traditions.48 By disseminating his ideas through a simplified and widely accessible form of Telugu and by the sheer volume of his literary output, Viresalingam had contributed immensely to the formation of a Telugu reading “public.”49 The social and literary rejuvenation of Telugu society set in motion by Viresalingam had effectively generated a common “Telugu consciousness.” That consciousness, oriented as it was toward religious reform and sustained as it was by proponents of a distinctly Telugu regional identity, remained an essentially “Hindu” consciousness.50 As upper-caste Telugu Hindus initiated projects of social reform, Dalits in Andhra were faced with any of three options: they could either rely on the actions of Hindu reformers for their uplift, convert to another religion, or mobilize themselves within separate, Dalit associations. Well into the 1930’s, Dalits appear to have made use of all three options in varying degrees and capacities. Compared to conversions occurring in northern and western India, Andhra had become a key center for mass conversions. During the 1930’s, missionary reports and Christian media referred increasingly to conversions among Malas and Madigas as evidence of an immanent Christianization of India’s depressed classes.51 Large sections of these menial castes had opted for conversion as a means of escaping the oppressive Hindu social structure.52 In addition to Roman Catholic missions, Baptists, Methodists, Anglicans and Lutherans all had worked among these groups and had a stake in their destiny.53 Such conversions en masse to Christianity were not new, but had been occurring throughout (and before) the nineteenth century under the auspices of numerous missionary bodies.54 During the 1930’s, however, mass conversions had attracted international attention, largely due to the publication in 1933 of J. Waskom Pickett’s study, Christian Mass Movements in India.55 Pickett drew attention to large numbers of India’s depressed classes who had embraced the Christian religion while living under adverse social and economic conditions.56 He also described the difficulties that such conversions had posed for churches.57 Low-caste conversions within the Anglican diocese of Dornakal, for instance, presented Bishop Azariah with the huge task of eradicating the old “caste feeling” within churches.58 And Christian elites who had prided themselves for belonging to one of the most literate groups in India now had to merge themselves with a predominantly illiterate constituency. Despite controversies over the accuracy of his claims, Pickett had clearly outlined the causes 166

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and implications of group conversion at a time when the condition of Dalits had become an issue of growing political concern. Besides choosing the option of conversion, Dalits in Andhra, influenced by anti-Aryan and anti-Brahminical ideas of the Dravidian movement, also had attempted to rally around a distinct, “Adi-Andhra” identity. According to Gail Omvedt, Adi-Andhra consciousness had been taking root among the Dalits of coastal Andhra, “even while much of the mass-based Telugu consciousness was taking on a Hindu coloring and an acceptance of Brahmanism.”59 Adi-Andhra consciousness took shape at the First Adi-Andhra Mahajan Sabha and in numerous conferences held during the 1920’s and 1930’s at various urban centers in coastal Andhra.60 The extent of their political activities, however, could not compare to the pervasive impact of Dravidian ideology and of the Self Respect Movement within Tamil society. Among Tamils, Dravidianism had presented a powerful mode of resistance to the hegemony of Brahminical Hindu culture. In spite of the egalitarian and populist appeal of Dravidianism, the movement had carried its own internal divisions. The first of these divisions was between the racial and linguistic interpretations of Dravidianism; the second was between the religious and anti-religious interpretations. Dravidianism began as a theory that posited the uniqueness of the South Indian languages. According to Robert Caldwell, Tamil was the most prominent and most developed of the Dravidian language “family.”61 As with other theories of language (for instance, the theory of Indo-Aryan languages), Dravidianism had assumed a racial interpretation by which Dravidian “peoples” of the South were differentiated from Aryan peoples of the North. But this racial interpretation – which, in theory, ought to have included all South Indian peoples – stood in tension with devotion to the Tamil language, which for many had become the hallmark of Dravidianism. E.V. Ramaswamy Naicker, the fiery proponent of Dravidianism, feared that such emphasis on Tamil would threaten his vision for a united Dravidian nation, a nation that would include speakers of Telugu, Kannada and Malayalam.62 Still, the fact that Dalits had designated themselves “AdiAndhras” and “Adi-Karnatakas” shows that non-Tamils also had appropriated the notion of Dravidian identity, even if to a far lesser extent than had Tamils.63 In addition to the division between race and language, that between religion and rationalism had also hampered the quest for a united Dravidian identity. During the 1920’s, the Dravidian movement in Tamilnad had been undergoing a transition from a religiously Shaivite phase to an iconoclastic, rationalist phase. Until this time, champions of Dravidianism had been countering Aryan or Sanskritic Brahmanism by means of their commitment to neo-Shaivism and the divinization of the Tamil language along Shaivite lines. Such figures as P. Sundaram Pillai, J.M. Nallaswami Pillai and, most prominently, Maraimalai Adigal had spearheaded a campaign of religious reform which sought to expunge Shaivism of the irrational, polytheistic influences of Aryan Brahmanism. In their view, the authentic Tamil religion consisted of 167

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… “rational” worship of Shiva using pure Tamil rituals based on Tamil scriptures performed by Tamil (“non-Brahman”) priests through the liturgical medium of divine Tamil.64 This strategy of wedding Dravidian identity to neo-Shaivism served the dual purpose of countering Sanskritic Hinduism, while inculcating a more rational, egalitarian spirit within Tamil religious practice itself. Eventually, religious reformist impulses of neo-Shaivism gave way to more radical critiques of caste and religion presented by the Self Respect Movement. In 1925, E.V. Ramaswamy Naicker, a former Congress party member of the Naicker sub-caste (a high ranking Sudra sub-caste) of Erode, had launched the Self Respect League. The central aim of the Self Respect Movement was to produce an egalitarian society built upon foundations of a rationalist, atheistic world view. Earlier in his career, Ramaswamy had been an admirer of Gandhi, especially of his commitment to “Constructive Work” among socially backward people. In 1920, under the advice of C. Rajagopalchari, Ramaswamy had joined the Congress Party, having been drawn to its commitment to such causes as Non-Cooperation, Khadi, Prohibition and the Abolition of Untouchability. During the course of his years with Congress, however, Ramaswamy grew increasingly frustrated with the party’s soft positions on caste, its rejection of proportionate representation for non-Brahmins, and its pro-Hindu leanings. At the Tiruppur Congress Assembly in 1922, for instance, Ramaswamy had demanded that the Manusmriti and the Ramayana be burnt, as they legitimated the oppression of non-Brahmin peoples.65 At Vaikom, a small town in the princely state of Travancore, he had opposed in 1924 the more moderate tactics of Gandhi as he campaigned for the admission of Dalits and Sudras into the town’s temple and the streets surrounding it. In spite of efforts of the Congress to persuade him to allow Gandhi to take the lead in the Vaikom satyagraha campaign and to prevent him from participating, Ramaswamy had joined the agitation on his own more radical terms.66 For violating an order of the Raja of Travancore not to address public meetings, Ramaswamy had been imprisoned at Travancore. Refusing to leave Vaikom at the request of the Raja, he was imprisoned more severely (for six months) a second time. As did Ambedkar, Ramaswamy parted ways with Gandhi over the issue of varnashrama dharma (i.e., the four-fold caste system). After listening to Gandhi defend the integrity of varnashrama dharma at a public meeting in Mysore, it had become clear in Ramaswamy’s mind that he and the Mahatma held opposing views on the causes and cures of untouchability. He then committed himself to countering Gandhian ideals: Though the public believes that Mahatma Gandhi wishes to abolish untouchability and reform religion and society, the Mahatma’s utterances and thought reveal him to hold exactly the opposite views on this matter … We have been very patient, very patient and tight-lipped 168

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but today in the interests of abolition and self-respect we are, sadly enough, forced to confront and oppose the Mahatma.67 In Ramaswamy’s view, the end to untouchability required, not the reform of Hinduism, as Gandhi saw it, but the very annihilation of Hinduism and its insidious caste structure. But unlike Ambedkar, who envisioned a way out of caste society by means of religious conversion, Ramaswamy advocated a more far-reaching rejection of religious belief and hierarchy, which extended to other religions as well. Though favorably disposed to Islam, Ramaswamy was a trenchant critic of Catholicism for its adherence to priestly hierarchy, its perpetuation of caste and its belief in superstitions. Through the pages of his newspaper, Kudi Arasu, Ramaswamy propagated his critiques of caste and religion and their relationship to contemporary social and political issues. Self Respect activities and consciousness, as we shall see, had been either emulated or opposed by different cross-sections of the Indian Christian community.

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9 AT THE MARGINS OF MARGINALITY Dalit Christians, 1917–1937

Throughout the decades of the early twentieth century, efforts of Catholic and Protestant elites to envision a single, “Indian Christian community” had been strained by the sheer diversity of India’s Christian population. Yet, splintered as Christians were by region, language, denomination, and caste or “immemorial custom,” their project of becoming united as Indian Christians found new significance within the context of early twentieth-century politics.1 The system of communal representation led to the formation of representative bodies that articulated concerns and viewpoints of Indian Christians.2 But did these bodies speak for all Christians or only for English educated, urban elites? Perhaps the most pressing issue faced by Christian leaders was whether their notion of the Indian Christian community encompassed voices of converts from so-called “depressed classes.”3 During the 1920s and 1930s the phrase “depressed classes” applied to three categories of persons who lived under conditions of abject poverty and social backwardness: (1) criminal and wandering tribes; (2) aboriginal tribes; and (3) “untouchables,” who are now known as “Dalits,” which means downtrodden, depressed or broken. Dalits (with whom this chapter is primarily concerned) include “those menial castes, which have born the stigma of untouchability because of the extreme impurity and pollution connected with their traditional occupations.”4 Because they fell outside of the traditional, four-fold caste hierarchy (varnashrama dharma), they also were referred to as avarnas.5 As Dalit groups within various districts of the South identified themselves more strongly with Dravidian ideology, they tended more to designate themselves as “AdiDravidas,” “Adi-Andhras,” “Adi-Karnatakas,” etc.; the “Adi” prefix meaning “original sons of the soil” who had fallen under the tyranny of Hindu caste society.6 Though socially and economically backward, Dalits gradually acquired a stronger political voice within the evolving democratic institutions of India in the early twentieth century. Numbering nearly twenty-five per cent of India’s total population, Dalits could either enhance or undermine the power of any group simply by deciding to belong to one religion or another. The mass conversions of Dalits to the Christian religion, as we shall see, made them the subject of heated controversies 170

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between nationalist leaders such as Gandhi and Christian leaders who defended missionary work among the Dalits.7 As religion factored more prominently into the politics of numbers, various groups tried more deliberately to win the support of the Dalits in order to claim them as part of their fold. Hindu social reformers, Muslims, rationalists, Christians and government officials addressed Dalit-related issues from their own perspectives.8 Often ignored in this competitive arena were the voices of the Dalits themselves. And among the Dalits, those who had converted to the Christian religion faced unique difficulties. In his path-breaking study, John Webster shows how Dalit Christians suffered multiple liabilities: like all other Christians, they were marginal to Hindu society. But as Dalit Christians, they were denied quotas for education and employment that were available to those Dalits who had remained “Hindu.”9 Furthermore, Dalit converts continued to suffer discrimination within Christian institutions.10 Such double discrimination gave rise to a distinct Dalit consciousness even within Christian circles. Webster’s work highlights how Dalit Christians, in order to upgrade their status within the Church and society at large, challenged assumptions about the Indian Christian community that were propagated by elites.11 His insights provide a springboard for a closer examination of the dissonance between elite perspectives and particular modes of Dalit assertion. Catholic and Protestant elites, as we have seen, held very different opinions concerning the political character of the Christian community: South Indian Catholics wanted to preserve the uniqueness of their culture and institutions and regarded the policy of separate electorates as the best means for doing so. Protestant notables, by contrast, repudiated any and all forms of “Christian communalism” and tried more deliberately to blend with national culture.12 How might such differences have affected particular modes of Dalit assertion within Catholic and Protestant congregations? During the years following the Communal Award of 1932, the Dalits had grown more vocal in their demand for fair treatment within Christian institutions. Mirroring Dalit mobilization within the wider Indian society, their assertiveness had assumed one of two forms. They either strove to become more integrated into the life of their respective Christian communities, or they tended to assert their autonomy from the dominant sections (i.e., so-called “caste Christians”) of those communities.13 In some instances, their paths revealed tendencies toward both autonomy and integration. For example, some Dalit Catholics (or Adi-Catholics) demanded immediate integration into church life, as distinct from gradual change orchestrated by the church authorities.14 The shape and form of Dalit-related issues varied between Catholic and nonCatholic church contexts. Within Catholic congregations at Kumbakanum and Trichinopoly, Adi-Catholics pressed for the right to enjoy the same status as caste Catholics during church services and public ceremonies. As Adi-Catholics agitated for change, caste Catholics defended their right to preserve the “immemorial” custom of observing caste distinctions. While these disputes had 171

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been taking place within the Church, priests and other Catholic notables had been launching an assault against the “atheistic” Self Respect Movement. They blamed Self Respecters for inspiring in Adi-Catholics a defiant attitude toward church authority.15 Among Protestants, debates over the status of Dalits were linked to the phenomenon of so-called “mass conversions” to Christianity. V.S. Azariah, the Bishop of the Dornakal Diocese of the Church of South India, became a champion of Christian work among the Dalits and extolled the Church as a revolutionary order that demolishes caste distinctions.16 The persistence of caste prejudice within the Church, however, led some Dalits, such as Gurram Joshua, the renowned Telugu poet from Guntur, to place greater emphasis upon his status as an “untouchable” than as a Christian. When set against the findings of earlier chapters, these patterns of Dalit assertion lend themselves to the following generalization: in the case of Catholics, a high emphasis on communal and institutional boundaries and belief in the legitimacy of communal electorates appears to have coincided with a tendency among Adi-Catholics to press for integration within the structures of the Church. By contrast, the weakening of communal boundaries and disavowal of communalism by Protestant elites in the name of nationalism seems to have coincided with the emergence of a separate Dalit consciousness. No attempt is being made here to establish causality between one set of factors and the other. Yet the very existence of a correlation between them provides a captivating lens through which to examine caste politics of the 1930’s, both within and beyond the walls of the Church.

Caste Disputes among Catholics Caste-related conflict among Catholics re-enacted in Catholic terms a similar conflict occurring within Indian society at large. A survey of such conflict brings into focus an elite perspective, held by the hierarchy or by caste Catholics, and a Dalit or Adi-Catholic perspective. Caste and Adi-Catholics responded differently to the spirit of reform taking root within various sections of South Indian society.17 Many caste Catholics had applied to their own churches the same strategy that Gandhi had applied to eradicate untouchability within so-called “Hindu society.” They wanted to ameliorate the conditions of Adi-Catholics without unsettling the basic structure of the Church. Adi-Catholics had become impatient with this strategy and regarded it as an endorsement of the status quo. Would the Catholic Church, with its history of adapting itself to indigenous culture, resist challenges to the institution of caste that were largely initiated by non-Catholics? In an era of reform, this question had become the focal point of much distress and conflict. It should be noted from the outset that sources for the following discussion of Catholic caste conflicts come primarily from English-medium Catholic newspapers. These, most likely, will have been edited by high-caste Catholics who 172

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would most likely be critical of low-caste agitation within the Church. Hence, the reader may wish to consider how the perspectives of the periodical sources have inflected the Catholic caste politics narrated in this section. Catholic officials tended to justify the prevalence of caste distinctions within the Church by pointing to “exigencies of Hindu society,” to which Catholics had to accommodate themselves: If the Catholic Church has allowed its members to conform to a certain extent to Hindu class exclusiveness, that must be attributed to the inflexible exigencies of Hindu society in which the small Catholic minority had to live and over which the Church had no control. But now that Hindu society itself, long leavened by Christian influences, is reacting against that social feature, the Church and its clergy can only favor the happy change …18 Prominent Catholics at Trichinopoly also had justified their tolerance of caste mentality. They went so far as to suggest that caste exclusiveness among Catholics had been part of their strategy for winning the potential Hindu convert. Now that Hindus themselves, under the “ever-widening influence of Christian ideas,” had been abandoning untouchability, Catholics no longer could justify it within their own fold.19 Such rationalizations coming from Church officials denied that Catholics had been active agents in maintaining caste privileges. They had merely adapted themselves to circumstances imposed on them by “Hindu” culture. But these arguments, we shall see, were undermined by notable caste Catholics who boldly defended their right to observe immemorial caste practices. In addition to the impetus for reform coming from the outside, the sheer numbers of Catholics from Dalit backgrounds and the limited resources of Catholic institutions also had influenced Catholic thinking. Catholics from the depressed classes formed nearly forty per cent of the total Catholics population of the Madras Presidency. In the Trichinopoly diocese, they had numbered sixty per cent, and in the Kumbakonam diocese as much as seventy per cent. Growing numbers of converts from Dalit backgrounds exposed the limitations of Catholic resources to alleviate their condition. Such realities prompted members of the Catholic Indian Association and Catholic members of the Madras Legislative Council to seek Government assistance on behalf of Catholic Dalits.20 Throughout his term as a Catholic Member of the Legislative Council (MLC) from Trichinopoly, S. Arputhasamy had pressured the Council to extend Government assistance to Christian members of the “depressed classes.” Repeatedly, he encountered the prevailing assumption that converts to the Christian religion were not in need of economic assistance because of their access to missionary institutions and resources.21 So ingrained in the minds of nonChristians had this assumption become that, by the late 1920s, a resolution had 173

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been put forth in the Legislative Council insisting that Christians not be included in the “Depressed Class Community.”22 According to Arputhasamy, Government Orders had been issued in 1925 which defined the term “Depressed Classes” as applicable only to “Hindu” Adi-Dravidas.23 The Government’s denial of scholarships, concessions, land and other benefits to Christians had placed an undue burden on Catholic institutions to address the needs of Adi-Catholics. The experience of caste discrimination within the Church caused AdiCatholics (or Catholic Dalits) to compare their lot to that of non-Christian Dalits. The latter had not only enjoyed Government assistance, but also had been courted by Congress Swarajists and Justice Party politicians who promised them further benefits in exchange for political allegiance. Such treatment from non-Christians, Arputhasamy explained, stood in stark contrast to the treatment that Adi-Catholics had received from their co-religionists: These poor people naturally contrast [such] treatment [with the treatment] they receive at the hands of their co-religionists who insist on walling and railing off the portion of the Church reserved for them, on Holy Communion being served to them in their portion of the railing only after all the Caste Christians have been first served in theirs, on their exclusion from Catholic associations, Catholic Confraternities and sodalities, closed retreats and boarding houses, Seminaries and religious houses … They begin to agitate for the removal of these social barriers with the result that they often find their new position worse than the old, for action leads to re-action.24 The myth of the higher social mobility of Christian converts, therefore, had two repercussions: it justified the denial of Government assistance to converts, while concealing discrimination that persisted within the Church itself. By the 1930’s, the spirit of reform that had been generated by nationalist leaders and the heads of Depressed Class associations had prompted the Catholic hierarchy and Catholic professionals to address caste-related issues more frequently in speeches and consultations. In an address given to the All-India Depressed Classes’ Conference at Amroati in April of 1930, the president, R.S. Nekaljay, appealed to Catholic religious orders to devote more of their resources to the uplift of Dalits.25 His appeal had elicited numerous replies from members of the Indian hierarchy, who had expressed their willingness to mobilize such orders as the Benedictines, Carthusians and Cistercians for the uplift of Dalits.26 Other Catholic notables had framed the issue of caste and Catholicism in terms of competition with the Hindu religion. They had questioned whether Catholics ought to feel threatened by Hindu-initiated social reform movements among Dalits. As one writer put it: “will the depressed classes continue to embrace the religion of Christ, now that the social advantages and amenities of civilization will be offered them within the pale of Hinduism?”27 Such ques174

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tions exposed the ambiguity of Catholic opinion. All too aware of their limited resources in meeting the needs of Dalits, some had welcomed “extra-Catholic” aid and services, either from the Government or from Hindu reformers. But would such aid pre-empt conversion to Catholicism?28 Commentary by other Catholic notables pointed to a more internal problem. The Catholic Church had to balance its commitment to its elite with a commitment owed to more backward sections of its constituency. Toward the turn of the century, the Catholic media had become so oriented to the dissemination of “Catholic truth” and “Catholic opinion” among literate Catholics that the grievances of Adi-Catholics had been ignored. Efforts to heighten public consciousness and to increase the influence of Catholics as a political minority did little to address caste-related problems within Catholic congregations. As M. Ruthnaswamy, the outspoken attorney from Madras, had observed: The spirit of Caste has still to be exorcised from among the Catholics of the South. It has been allowed to maintain itself in some churches in Southern India. The arm of bishops and priests who would like to extrude the demon of Caste from churches and other institutions is weakened by the lack of public opinion among the laity. The present seems to be an acceptable time when Hindu opinion is veering in the direction of granting the depressed classes the freedom of the temple, for us Catholics to rid ourselves once and for ever of this accusation of Caste in Catholic churches.29 As Ruthnaswamy’s words suggest, Gandhi’s anti-untouchability campaign and temple entry advocacy forced Catholics to come to terms with their own social conservatism. As they addressed caste-related issues, however, Catholic elites experienced tensions between the task of defending “Catholic truth” and the call to eradicate caste distinctions. Such tensions were particularly evident in Catholic responses to the Self Respect Movement. Catholic elites were unable to affirm the social objectives of the Self Respect Movement on account of the atheistic and anti-clerical ideology that supported them. At one Self Respect gathering in the Tamil town of Erode, delegates passed a resolution which stated … That not a single pie or pie’s worth of material should be used for the purposes of worship, in the temple or elsewhere in the name of God; and that no priest or intermediary between the worshipper and the worshipped should be employed … That the employment of a priest or intermediary between the worshipper and the deity is highly derogatory to the self-respect of every person.30 So opposed were Self Respecters to religious intermediaries of any kind that they even advocated distinct marriage ceremonies for Adi-Dravidas which did 175

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not employ the ritual services of Brahmans. They attacked the Catholic priesthood along with the casteism it sanctioned within the Church. Through the pages of Kudi Arasu, the chief organ of the Self Respect Movement, they sought to persuade Dalits that the Catholic religion had no power to enhance their status because of its fundamental accommodation to caste practices.31 Ramaswamy’s objections to clerical religion became even more pronounced after his return from Russia, where he had been influenced by communist ideas of Stalin and Russia’s own version of anti-clericalism.32 Catholic clergy and professionals were quick to respond to Self Respect attacks on their religion. In response to a string of “scurrilous” articles published in Kudi Arasu, Catholics in April 1933 held a public meeting at Pudipet where they plotted a counterattack. P. Thomas, editor of the Catholic Leader, assured his audience that the “devastating and soul-destroying” Communist beliefs of Self Respecters would never thrive in India, as “the traditions and social institutions of this country form a bulwark against the spread of such a movement.”33 That Thomas could take refuge in the very “traditions and social institutions” that had given rise to the Self Respect Movement reflects the elite perspective from which he examined the issue of caste. Other speakers at the meeting had complained that Self Respecters were “creating disaffection” among the Catholics of South India and that their propaganda might very well lead to a breach of the public peace. Such concerns had been well founded. Over the past year, as many as ten to twelve thousand Adi-Catholics were reported to have systematically boycotted the observance of mass in districts of Trichinopoly and Tanjore on account of the influence of Self Respect propaganda.34 Adi-Catholics had also celebrated nearly one hundred and fifty marriages in the absence of a priest.35 “The movement,” according to Anthony Dorai Raj who spoke at the meeting at Pudipet, had “found a soil [in which] to thrive among the members of the Depressed classes, who, mostly ignorant, were laboring under great social disabilities.”36 His suggestion that Self Respecters had been exploiting the “ignorance” of Dalits echoes claims that Gandhi had made about the exploitative strategies of missionaries. The gathering at Pudipet passed the following resolution: This meeting of the Catholics of Madras vehemently condemns the Self Respect Movement and its propaganda, as it is a menace to religion, morals and even ordered government. They also appointed a committee to “take all possible steps to put a stop to the mischievous propaganda of The Kudi Arasu by having recourse to legal proceedings and publishing tracts and leaflets to counteract the movement.”37 The urgency behind such measures indicates the extent to which Self Respect campaigns had threatened the priorities of Catholic elites. Only one week after the meeting at Pudipet, the Archbishop of Madras, E. Mederlet, presided over another meeting of Catholics at St. Mary’s Hall in Georgetown. He and other 176

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high-ranking church officials drew up a “program of defense” against Self Respecters. Those present seem to have agreed that the appeal of Self Respect ideology among Adi-Catholics had been rooted in the inferior status assigned to them within the Church. Some drew attention to social disabilities suffered by Adi-Catholics in places such as Trichinopoly, Madura and Kumbakonam, where Adi-Catholics had been required to occupy separate sections of churches and were served Communion separately from caste Catholics. As much as they had recognized such distinctions as a bone of contention, Catholic officials insisted that they could not be removed “without the co-operation of the laity.”38 The Archbishop and others therefore advocated gradual change, initiated primarily by caste Catholics, to raise the status of AdiCatholics, thus dissuading them from leaving the Church: Let our non-caste Catholics be patient, they will have their desires fulfilled. But let them not harken to the false promises of the propagandists of the Self Respect Movement and lose their body and soul eternally. While most participants had agreed that the anti-Catholic articles in Kudi Arasu had to be countered, M. Ruthnaswamy feared that public meetings by Catholics to condemn Self Respect propaganda would only add fuel to the movement by giving them much-needed publicity. Finally, those present had resolved to form a committee to counteract the movement, especially the anti-religious writings of Kudi Arasu, and to report their findings to the Archbishop.39 It was not as if Catholic officials had expressed no interest in the removal of caste distinctions. Shortly after the Catholic gatherings in Madras, A.T. Pannirselvam, the champion of separate electorates for Catholics, called for an end to caste distinctions while speaking at St. Joseph’s College in Trichinopoly. P. Thomas, the editor of the Catholic Leader, had made a similar appeal in an interview with the Madras Mail. Thomas, however, had also pointed to positive steps that Catholics had already taken in some of their institutions to eliminate caste distinctions: [G]irls from Catholics of non-caste origin have been admitted as nuns in the convent of the Franciscan Missionaries of Mary, Madras, and in the convents of the Dutch Sisters at Guntur, Nellore and Kurnool, along with those of caste origin; and a few young men have also been admitted to the priesthood. Owing to the regrettable opposition of Catholics of caste origin, the progress in this direction has not been as rapid as the authorities would have liked: but even that opposition is being gradually overcome. Every well-informed Catholic knows that the Bishops of Southern India are wholly opposed to the maintenance of barriers in churches and to any arbitrary distinctions based on the mere accident of birth.40 177

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The real point of debate, however, was not the position of the hierarchy regarding caste distinctions, but their reliance on the cooperation of caste Catholics. The fact that Catholic officials had called for such urgent measures to counter Self Respect propaganda and such cautious measures to address their own caste grievances, shows, at least during this period, that they had taken their ideological battles more seriously than their social ones. The caution that the hierarchy had exercised in confronting caste distinctions, however, stemmed from extreme reactions of caste Catholics to any measures that would force them to associate with so-called “polluted” castes. In some instances, reactionary behavior by caste Catholics had erupted in heated legal disputes. The Trichinopoly Diocese of the Catholic Church had a long history of caste conflict, associated with the observance of caste distinctions during mass. Catholic Vellalars (a highly literate and influential group of Tamils) had strongly opposed the very idea of sharing common seating or ritual observances with Nadars.41 In 1916, a group of Catholic Vellalars (of both Pillai and Mudali families) sued the Bishop of Trichinopoly and several Nadar Catholics, demanding that certain caste privileges be secured to them at the Holy Family Church at Vadakkankulam. The Vellalars wanted the court to issue the following directives: 1 2 3 4

That walls be re-erected separating caste from Adi-Catholics That exclusive ownership of the Holy Family Church be vested in the Vellalar caste members That separate entrances to the church for caste and Adi-Catholics be maintained That caste Catholics retain the sole right to perform services at the altar of the church, conduct processions, and have custody of sacred images, church bells and the keys to the church.42

The Tinnevelly District Court held that such a suit was not valid, because “the theory of pollution and defilement by touch could not be recognized in the case of Christians.”43 The Madras High Court upheld the decision. The Vellalar plaintiffs justified their demands by referring to an “agreement” that had been made in 1855 which mandated the construction of two separate but attached churches sharing a common chancel. The agreement allegedly provided that all rights of control over the affairs of the church would be vested in members of the Vellalar caste.44 In order to legitimate their demands for caste segregation, the plaintiffs referred to practices of the seventeenth-century Roman Catholic missionary, Robert De Nobili. As a strategy of drawing Brahmans to Catholicism, De Nobili had adopted their dress and manners and had sanctioned the perpetuation of Brahminical practices among his converts.45 The plaintiffs pointed out that Pope Gregory XV had supported De Nobili by issuing a Bull allowing caste converts to retain such traditional practices as wearing the sacred thread.46 Judges J. Napier and Sadasiva Iyer, however, saw no legal basis for the rights being claimed by the Vellalars, and were unconvinced by the plaintiffs’ argu178

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ments. They saw no connection between De Nobili’s practices and the demands of the plaintiffs.47 Furthermore, they found no evidence suggesting that the two castes had ever come to the agreement specified by the plaintiffs. Documents provided by the plaintiffs had not been signed. Even if they had been signed, they would not have been able to “bind higher ecclesiastical authority.” Because the Roman Catholic Church was under the supreme authority of the Pope, members of that Church, in whatever context, could not make agreements among themselves that detracted from that authority. If they wished to do so, “they must,” according to the judges, “secede from that church and form a new religious association for themselves.”48 In the decades following Michael Pillai v. Barthe (1917), caste disputes within the Catholic congregations at Trichinopoly and Kumbakonum received a great deal of media attention. Such disputes revealed the resistance of caste Catholics to integration just as much as they revealed the opposition of AdiCatholics to segregation. Into the 1930’s, as Dalit concerns grew more and more politically significant, Dalit Christians grew more and more vocal within the Church. They formed associations in which they confronted both the Church and the Government for ignoring their plight. In July 1933, the first session of the Madras Presidency Untouchable Christian Conference convened at Trichinopoly and was well attended by AdiCatholics. The conference showed clear signs of Dravidianist and Self-Respect influence. Key messages had been delivered in Tamil, and Catholic priests had been singled out as a category responsible for the oppression of “Untouchables.”49 In his presidential address, Alphonso Lahache condemned the priesthood and discriminatory practices in the Church. He upheld principles of the Self Respect Movement and pleaded “for all Tamil-knowing people to be placed in one category, for interdining and intercaste marriage.”50 The most radical element of the conference, however, had been voiced through a series of resolutions. One resolution demanded separate representation for Dalit Christians (who are said to have comprised three fourths of the Christian community) as was given to Anglo-Indians. Another appealed to the Government to extend the relief to Dalit Christians that had been denied to them on account of their being grouped with caste Christians. A third called upon Dalit Christians “not to associate themselves with those who continued to regard them as Untouchables.” Finally, the conference warned ecclesiastical authorities in another resolution that, unless the grievances of Adi-Catholics were addressed within three months, the authorities would be construed as having granted them “permission to change their faith and Canon Law would not be binding upon them.”51 This “warning” may help to explain the spirit of the large-scale boycotts of mass carried out by Adi-Catholics in Madura, Trichinopoly and Kumbakonam.52 Public processions and festivals had become a site for caste conflict. Typically, processions had provided a means of incorporating the masses into the life of the Church. In some instances, however, processions had only served to reinforce entrenched caste distinctions.53 At Chetpat, a Tamil-speaking village in 179

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the North Arcot District of the Madras Presidency, Catholics had celebrated from February 24 to March 4 their annual festival of “Our Lady of Lourdes.” During the last four days of the festival, a car of “Our Lady” had typically been dragged in procession only by caste Catholics. During the 1936 celebration, however, the local priest had proposed that Adi-Catholics join in the dragging of the car.54 This proposal had triggered a volatile reaction by caste Catholics. At the onset of the procession, a crowd of ten thousand Christians, mostly caste Catholics, had assembled in protest, arguing that the inclusion of AdiCatholics “infringed upon their immemorial rights.” The Archbishop and the local authorities had attempted to negotiate a compromise, but to no avail. The Sub-Magistrate, fearing a breach of the peace, had then ordered that the procession be postponed for two months. Although incidents of this kind primarily highlighted the voices of Church officials and caste Catholics, they reveal the nature and extent of resistance faced by Adi-Catholics as they sought to become more integrated within the life of the Church. Similar resistance to integration had been waged by caste Catholics at Trichinopoly, who had seceded from the Church in protest of the removal of caste rails. At Trichinopoly, agitation by caste Catholics had culminated in charges of defamation against a parish priest. The authorities at the Our Lady of Seven Dolours Catholic Church, also known as the “Old Church,” had ordered the removal of caste railings that divided caste from Adi-Catholic parishioners. Outraged by the action, roughly five hundred caste Catholics broke away from the Old Church and began holding separate services of their own at a nearby chapel. On four or five separate occasions, some of the same caste Catholics were reported to have re-entered the grounds of the Old Church and interfered with the observance of mass. They had disrupted the Communion service, recited “mock prayers” to prevent the solemnization of a marriage, and even released live snakes in the church!55 Such incidents set the stage for the legal dispute which followed. Embittered by their self-imposed exile, the caste Catholics decided to mount a procession from their chapel into the streets surrounding the Old Church. Fearing a disruption of the peace, the priest, S.J. Planchard, petitioned the SubMagistrate to stop the “unauthorized” procession: In spite of warnings to avoid anything that might cause a serious breach of peace, some rowdy Catholics headed by Mr. Pangana Pillai, Mr. Sandanam Pillai, Mr. Savirimuthu Pillai, Mr. Lurdooswamy Pillai … had determined to have a procession this evening and to trespass willfully through the private streets of the church of our Lady of Seven Dolours in order willfully to cause a serious breach of the peace.56 This wording of this petition led caste Catholics to defend their position all the more stridently. One of the persons cited in the petition, Sandanam Pillai, accused Planchard of defamation for his use of the term “rowdy” to describe him and his party and 180

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for Planchard’s claim that they had willfully caused a “breach of peace.” The Sub-Magistrate at Trichinopoly, S.G. Grubb, acquitted Planchard of all charges, having found nothing offensive or inappropriate in the use of the term “rowdy” to describe Sandanam Pillai and his party. Sandanam Pillai’s objections to such terms being applied to his caste revealed the status consciousness that underlay his resistance to reform within the Church. Caste Catholics had vented their sensibilities in a similar fashion in a dispute at Kumbakonam. In December 1936, Adi-Catholics had demanded the right to be seated with caste Catholics during prayer at the newly consecrated St. Mary’s Catholic Cathedral at Kumbakonam. The Cathedral had a T-shaped hall, with one wing allotted to caste Catholics and the other to Adi-Catholics. The central portion of the hall facing the altar had been designated for schoolchildren and nuns.57 During a Sunday mass, a group of Adi-Catholics went and sat in the wing assigned to caste Catholics. Their move not only aroused the resentment of caste Catholics, but also of the parish priest and the Bishop of the diocese.58 Similar passions had been stirred when several Adi-Catholic women had seated themselves alongside caste women and were forcibly ejected from their seats. These incidents elicited a chain of protests by Adi-Catholics. One of their spokespersons, Sivaramaswamy, reminded the church authorities of the financial contribution Adi-Catholics had made to the construction of the Cathedral. He insisted that all restrictions on them be abolished without delay. The leader of the anti-caste agitation at Kumbakonum, Marianathan, claimed that the strongest opposition to their cause came from the priests, not from caste Catholics: The Catholic priests who ought to be interested in the elevation of the Adi Dravida Catholics that formed the bulk of their congregation were using them only as milk cattle for collecting money out of them, but denying them the rights which belonged to them. The abolition of “caste” in the new Cathedral at Kumbakonum was stoutly opposed more by the priests than by the other “caste” worshippers themselves.59 In an interview with the Hindu newspaper (Madras) Marianathan stated that the indifference of the clergy tended to “fan into flame the smoldering embers of discontent” among them.60 Adi-Catholics resolved to raise a fund on behalf of their cause and to support only that candidate to the Legislative Assembly who understood and supported their plight.61 In response to the assertiveness of Adi-Catholics, priests and caste Catholics became equally assertive. The Bishop at Kumbakonam, Peter Francis, claimed that Adi-Catholic agitation had been initiated primarily by youth in the church, who had come under the influence of Self Respect propaganda – a claim that was flatly denied by Marianathan.62 He described the agitators as people “who never frequented the church for worship, nor cared much for Catholicism”, and blamed their “precipitate and aggressive action” for spoiling a peaceful settlement of caste disputes. The Bishop pleaded for patience on the part of 181

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Adi-Catholics. While stating that he supported their cause for equal status within the Church, he advocated slow, gradual change, orchestrated by the church authorities. This approach, he felt, would be least likely to ignite conflict: If only the Adi-Dravida Catholic leaders would cease to dictate terms, I would see my way in good time to abolish these unnatural distinctions by persuading the Caste Catholics to march with the times.63 What the Bishop did not address was just how long it would take for caste Catholics to become ready for change. Views expressed by some caste Catholics indicate that they had no intention of moving “with the times” if doing so required that they abandon their privileged status within the Church. In an interview with the Hindu, two prominent caste Catholics defended the policy of separate seating within the church in terms of privileges their forefathers had long enjoyed at Kumbakonam.64 Samikannu Pillai and Michael Pillai regarded the actions of Adi-Catholics as an affront to their “immemorial right” as caste Catholics to separate themselves from the polluted castes. The Hindu reported them to have openly disclosed their prejudices toward Adi-Catholics: [They stated that] it was unthinkable that they would tolerate cobblers and their wives sitting alongside their men and women. The very idea was revolting to them, they said. What was more, they feared that if they sat along with the depressed class Catholics, they would fall low in estimation of their caste-Hindu brethren with whom they had to come into constant contact in their daily lives. Further the question of marriage of their children would become a great problem to them, as caste Catholics in other districts would boycott them in social life if they allowed the innovation which was against custom and unknown to their forefathers.65 Such unabashed defenses of caste privilege are rarely, if ever, encountered in debates over caste among Protestants. Prominent leaders such as V.S. Azariah were far more zealous in defending the Church as a casteless society. This ideal of a casteless Christian identity by itself, however, did little to mitigate the deeply entrenched caste divisions within Tamil- and Telugu-speaking dioceses and the disabilities suffered by converts from Dalit backgrounds.

Caste Disputes within Protestant Contexts Protestant deliberations over the status of the depressed classes, as in the case of Catholics, can be divided into elite and Dalit perspectives. Elite perspectives tended to revolve around the legitimacy of mass movements of conversion among Dalits. Some Christian elites had identified with national culture so strongly that they welcomed Hindu reform, even when it stemmed the tide of 182

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conversions to the Christian religion. Others, such as Bishop Azariah, felt burdened to defend Christian work among Dalits in the face of nationalist critiques.66 In spite of his vision for a caste-free Church, Azariah had to contend constantly with the persistence of the old caste mentality among converts. This tension between welcoming Dalits into the Church and overcoming caste prejudices among and toward them became even more pronounced as issues of caste and conversion became more politicized. Throughout the 1930’s, both Indian and international Christian media had devoted much attention to the role of religion in determining the future of India’s depressed classes. Views of Gandhi and Ambedkar on conversion and nationality, along with Pickett’s study of mass movements, had contributed to a climate of religious competition within which Dalit issues were being addressed. At the Yeola Conference of October 1935, Ambedkar issued his evocative call to Dalits to seek equality of status within “another religion.” His declaration caused Hindus, Muslims, Buddhists and Christians alike to consider the prospect of masses of Dalits committing themselves to their folds.67 Within this competitive climate, a group of prominent Indian Christians attempted to carve out a middle path between excessive evangelistic zeal and indifference to the plight of the Dalits. They formulated their position in a statement, “Our Duty to the Depressed and Backward Classes.”68 The statement reassessed the religious preferences of the “depressed and backward classes” in light of social reforms that were occurring within Hindu society. As with statements issued by the Catholic hierarchy, theirs revealed the ambiguity of Christian opinion. Aware of the limited resources of the Church, they welcomed initiatives being taken by Hindus to ameliorate the social and economic conditions of the Dalits.69 At the same time, they realized that this process of “absorption [of Dalits] into the Hindu community”, coupled with political privileges being extended to them by the Government, would eliminate at least some incentives for conversion.70 On the one hand, the statement pointed to the difficulties that mass conversions had created for the Church: … these mass conversions have generally lowered Christian standards so badly as to have left for the Indian Church a legacy of deplorable caste prejudices and jealousies, on account of which its progress, solidarity and its proclaimed witness to the oneness of all humanity in Christ Jesus suffer not a little even to this day.71 Caste prejudices, from this point of view, were not a problem for caste Christians, but had been imported into a pristine Church by means of Dalit conversions. On the other hand, the statement maintained the duty of Christians to receive those who were drawn to the Christian religion, even amidst incentives to remain Hindu: 183

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Men and women, individually and in family or village groups, will continue to seek the fellowship of the Christian Church. That is the real movement of the Spirit of God. And no power on earth can stem that tide … The Church will cling to its right to receive such people into itself from whatever religious group they may come. It will cling to the further right to go about in these days of irreligion and materialism, to awaken spiritual hunger in all.72 Had the authors omitted this clause, they might have been viewed as having capitulated, in politically correct fashion, to nationalist critiques of Christian conversion.73 Their statement would have validated Gandhi’s efforts to reform Hindu institutions, dissuaded Christians from “exploiting” the conditions of Dalits through aggressive evangelism, and celebrated the fact that members of other religions were sharing the burden of uplifting Dalits. By including the above clause, the authors maintained the legitimacy of welcoming Dalits into the Church, while rejecting aggressive means of evangelism.74 In spite of efforts to strike such a balance, the statement elicited a bitter response from Gandhi, who described it as both “aggressively open and militant” and “courteously patronizing.”75 Other commentary by Protestant elites compared the relative commitment to caste reform among Protestants, Hindus and Roman Catholics. A writer for the Guardian argued that, while caste distinctions among Protestants were not as severe as those observed among Catholics, Protestants could quickly fall behind the times due to their indifference to caste problems: Leaders of the Church are however under the delusion that the refined and respectable manner in which divisions lurk is not harmful.… Without the severe crisis of [that found in Roman Catholic churches], the Protestant section will enjoy its contentment until it finds it too late even to attain the standard of reform the non-Christian community will have achieved by that time.76 In spite of such pleas for awareness and reform within churches, many Protestant elites were of the opinion that the Hindu community, as the source of caste distinctions, ought to take the lead in eradicating them. As reforms occurred within Hindu society, they would have a rebounding effect on churches.77 Hindu reform was desirable even if it stemmed the tide of conversion to other religions.78 For the most part, Indian Christians were far less enthusiastic about largescale conversions among Dalits than other sections of the Christian world. The task of incorporating large numbers of Dalits into Christian institutions and working for their uplift required the administrative and financial resources of foreign missions.79 At a time when Indian Christians were seeking to exercise greater control over their churches by way of Indianization, mass conversions 184

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created new grounds for dependence on the foreign hand.80 The influx of Dalits into the Church also forced elites to come to terms with their own caste prejudices. Such factors tempered the missionary zeal of Indian Christians. Hence, when Ambedkar exhorted to Dalits to seek equality of status within another religion, the hearts of Indian Christians did not necessarily leap with eager anticipation of their entry into the Church.81 Even Bishop Azariah, who had all along championed Christian evangelism among the Dalits, responded to Ambedkar’s declaration lukewarmly: … religion is not a matter that can be adopted or changed by fifty million people at the behest of a leader, however influential he may be. Nor would there be any spiritual gain to the followers from a religion so adopted. The end of religion is not social uplift, but knowledge of God and union with God. It is of course certain that a true religion will bring social uplift, because it will unite men to God who is Father of us all.82 Ambedkar’s declaration provided an occasion for Azariah to defend the Christian gospel’s capacity to overcome caste divisions, while at the same time recognizing “the many exhibitions of caste spirit,” which persisted within the Church. Azariah pointed to churches within his Telugu-speaking diocese of Dornakal in which Christians, irrespective of their caste origin, sat together, received Communion, and shared common meals. Such integration, in his view, provided proof of the transformative power of Christian belief: There are some churches in this diocese where any Sunday morning Christians of from five to twelve different castes kneel side by side in one row to receive the Sacrament of the Body and Blood of our Lord. There is no parish where any consideration is given to the caste origin of the priest who officiates.… Most of our deanery chairmen and pastors are sons of the soil, children of Telugu converts, and irrespective of their caste origin preside over congregations and churches of caste, non-caste and out caste origin.83 As further evidence of the gospel’s appeal, Azariah pointed to the nearly fifty thousand Christians of caste origin who had decided to become Christian by observing the transformation that had occurred among Dalit converts.84 Azariah’s vision for an integrated, caste-free Church inspired his enduring commitment to evangelism among the downcast peoples of the Telugu country. He remained committed to baptizing Mala and Madiga converts at a time when methods of evangelism had come under close scrutiny, even by other Christians. Azariah rejected the notion that evangelism among the poor amounted to an exploitation of their condition for sectarian ends. In 1936, he refuted claims made by H.A. Popely, the former General Secretary of the National Council of YMCAs, that Christians were “exploiting the situation” of India’s poor in order 185

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to grow in numbers.85 In his response to Popely, Azariah referred to Biblical accounts in which physical circumstances and bodily hunger are what inclined persons to seek repentance and salvation.86 He also emphasized the desire of Dalits themselves to receive the gospel: Mr. Popely uses the phrase “Exploiting the present situation” seven times in his article!… When an individual asks me to instruct him in the faith and admit him into the Church, how can I be said to “exploit the situation” for my profit – if I do what he asks me to do? Similarly, when a group gives the Church the same call, how can the Church be said to “exploit the situation” for its own profit, if it accept the call and instruct them in the Gospel truth and admit them, when ready, into the Church?87 Azariah’s disavowal of the policy of separate electorates for Christians stemmed in part from his desire to de-politicize conversion. By defining the “Christian community” as a spiritual rather than a political entity, he was able to allay suspicions of communal motives for conversion held by such critics as Gandhi.88 Azariah was well aware of the tension between the social and cultural diversity of Indian Christians and the spiritual unity he sought to nurture between castes. With respect to the nearly twenty-five thousand persons of caste origin in Dornakal who had become Christian during the course of a decade, he observed: Most of these will be voters. They have changed their religion, but they have not changed their politics. They have become one Church with Christians of Non-Caste origin; but they have not necessarily become one social and political community with them. Their political and national cause is identical with their Non-Christian relations who are fellow farmers and artisans.89 These words of Azariah reveal dialectics that had profoundly shaped his career and outlook. The universality of Christian belief remained in constant tension with particularities of caste, regional and national identities. The pan-Christian solidarity nurtured by his ecumenical involvement tempered his enthusiasm for Indian nationalism.90 The same belief in a universal Church inspired his careerlong struggle against caste divisions among Christians. How exactly Azariah maintained his belief in the Church as a caste-free society amidst the saliency of caste consciousness within and beyond the walls of the Church was among the most defining struggles of his career. In her monumental work on the life of Bishop Azariah, Susan Billington Harper describes the ongoing tension Azariah had encountered between “local Andhra culture and the transformative agenda of Christianity.”91 Harper explains these tensions by what might be termed a “conversion–reversion” 186

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continuum, in which converts move back and forth between old ritual and caste practices and the new Christian identity. This sliding continuum draws heavily upon missionary records, which depict an ongoing tug-of-war between Christian norms and caste-specific behavior, or between “Christ” and “culture.”92 As much as Azariah strove to inculcate in converts new morals and beliefs of the Christian faith, he contended persistently with “regressive” tendencies toward practices that he deemed inimical to Christianity. “Azariah,” observes Harper, “presented Anglican Christianity to Andhra’s depressed classes as a dramatic alternative to their former religious practices and was often frustrated by the tendency of converts to treat the new faith and its practices as complements to the old.”93 A number of proscriptions signify the radical break from caste norms that the Dornakal diocese required from converts. The diocese strictly prohibited converts from working on Sundays, in spite of the angry reactions this elicited from high-caste employers.94 Converts also abandoned their caste names for new Christian names, which were often taken from the Bible.95 Removal of the juttu (the tuft of hair, signifying Hindu identity) from male converts and traditional caste markings from women became important means of demarkating the new Christian identity. Notions of purity and impurity that differentiated one caste group from another were strongly discouraged.96 The movement against the consumption of carrion among Madiga leather workers was a crucial reform for ridding them of their stigma of impurity.97 The diocese also prohibited converts from participating in any form of idol worship or festivals associated with Hindu sacrifices, rituals or ceremonies.98 Apart from these breaks from the past, Azariah also believed in retaining certain continuities with the “harmless” duties and customs observed by Dalit villagers. Marriage and baptismal ceremonies were adapted to conform to indigenous ceremonies. The diocese also adapted Christian liturgy, hymnody, architecture and festivals to Hindu and in some cases Muslim traditions.99 Perhaps the most significant accommodation to local practices occurred when authorities had allowed certain church leaders to make “substantial, if shortterm concessions to the caste sensibilities of non-Brahman converts.”100 In order to promote the progress of the gospel among Sudras, an appeal had been made to Mala and Madiga converts, requesting them to tolerate, for a time, the prejudices of caste Christians. Such accommodations to caste feelings and other facets of Telugu culture, however, could not prevent some converts from regressing or backsliding into “heathen” practices. According to Harper, many converts never abandoned Hindu ceremonies and rituals entirely. The Dornakal diocese framed regressive tendencies among converts in terms of “lapses,” “backsliding” or “apostasy” from Christian faith. On one occasion, “an entire body of Christian village elders near Nandyal participated in a devara (a buffalo sacrifice).”101 Citing the Dornakal diocese’s 187

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own record of “Church Censures,” Harper describes routine disciplinary actions taken against backsliders: In 1928, some 2,000 villagers in the Kistna (Krishna) district were struck off the registers for having “fallen back,” another 300 were expelled for not having attended church in fifteen months, and 2,000 others were discharged for “indifference.” Excommunications … were pronounced regularly for apostasy – both on individuals and on groups. In the 1929 case of a village that converted its chapel into a Hindu temple, all but one of its Christian families were excommunicated.102 Though predicated upon Christian norms, such records of “backsliding” illustrate the gravitational pull that the original caste matrix – both ritual and hereditary elements – still exerted upon those who had decided to become Christian. The “conversion–reversion” continuum provided by Harper’s study accounts for many gradations of “Christianization” to be found among low-caste and Dalit converts within the Dornakal diocese. Instances in which converts either broke from their ritual past, reverted to it, or retained elements of both the old and the new are all supported by the expansive data Harper brings to bear on her subjects. But does this continuum explain every cultural trajectory taken by Christian converts? In other words, when the mist of Christian ethos evaporates from a particular convert or group of converts, is what remains necessarily “Hindu?” In addition to the patterns described by Harper’s framework, and by other studies dealing with the “multiple identities” of village Christians, is what might be referred to as a “post-Christian” scenario.103 In such cases, Dalit converts to the Christian religion neither reverted to past ritual observances nor fully appropriated the Christian identity engendered by ecclesiastical structures. Instead, their persistent experience of untouchability lead them into a social space that was marginal to both “Sanskritic” and “Christian” worlds. This post-Christian position is illustrated by the life of Gurram Joshua (1895–1971), a Dalit convert from the heavily Christian-populated city of Guntur. The child of a Golla mother and a Mala father, Joshua grew up lacking financial means to support any formal education.104 For a time, he had been allowed to attend a high school run by missionaries. But due to his fascination for Sanskrit epics, and his schoolmaster’s opposition to such “pagan” works, he was asked to leave the school.105 Eventually Joshua found employment as a narrator for silent films. Later, he worked for a drama company; and from 1919 to 1942, after having educated himself through his own precocious interest in literature, he worked as a schoolteacher in Guntur. Joshua is known primarily for his contributions to Telugu literature. Considering the paucity of written sources by Dalit Christians, his poetic imagination provides a rare inroad into their consciousness which cannot easily be 188

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gleaned from missionary records. Joshua flourished as a poet during some of the most vibrant years of the Indian Independence Movement. His work reflects his attraction to Gandhi and his engagement with politics of his day.106 At the same time, it laments the material and social aspects of untouchability, which persisted even amid pervasive talk of reform. Multiple sets of relationships and experiences, all anchoring themselves in the experience of untouchability, are sounded through his poems. Such awareness captures what theologian M.E. Prabhakar describes as “dialectical existentialism.” This term refers to the two-dimensional aspect of Dalit Christian consciousness: We understand Dalit condition neither purely spiritually nor exclusively materialistically but, existentially and dialectically at the same time. For we are both Dalits and also Christians. We are both Indian and oppressed Indians. We are both human beings and Christian beings. We are accountable both to the Author of our faith and to the State. We are responsible both to the community of Dalits and to the Church; both to Christianity and humanity.107 Joshua’s poems are conversant with Sanskritic and Biblical narratives; with Shiva and Jesus; with Indian nationality and the painful exclusions of untouchability. His poem, My Story, describes how he had been misled by “religion:” We believed that angels bathe In the pit where Sita sacrificed herself Inculcating such stories in the young minds We ensured their total acceptance. Many a time did I read the Bible in the Church Sincerely did I pray for the removal of untouchability Took baptism like all others Loved even my enemy as my own brother Always kept my word of honor But the all-pervading false faith breaks my heart.108 A recurrent theme in Joshua’s writings is his disappointment with any and every human enterprise – whether religious or political – that failed to alleviate his condition as an untouchable. “Neither Eswar (the Hindu personal God), Krishna nor Christ,” he writes in his most famous poem, Gabbilam (The Bat; 1941), “can cure it.”109 Joshua’s disappointment with religion led him to embrace a philosophy of “universal humanism.”110 His humanism shared aspects of the rationalist ideology of E.V. Ramaswamy Naicker, but lacked its bitter opposition to Sanskritic or Aryan culture. The central image of Gabbilam is that of a bat. Regarded as a bad omen because of its dark and ugly features, the bat becomes an allegory for the plight 189

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of the untouchable.111 But, unlike bats, which can be found hanging in temples, untouchables are denied access to temples: Welcome to Thee, O Queen of Bats Sacred temples you dwell in Your “head-down” meditation augurs well to the temples You get respect denied to untouchables.112 Apparently the advent of Temple Entry legislation in 1937 did not temper his cynicism toward religious institutions: I will challenge Eswar that His abode Is no better than a Brahmin locality His temples are no better than the main streets To which my entry is barred I will make Him admit Community lunches are more dignified Than begging for offerings from the temples I will tell Him I would be happier To drink water from the common tank Than crave for the holy waters of the Ganges I will find out from Him Why my presence was shunned till yesterday Should I run to the Temple Just because I am invited today?113 In spite of reformist impulses within Hinduism and growing awareness within the Church of caste divisions, Joshua was not drawn to one religion or another, but remained a trenchant critic of all religion. Joshua represents that section of the Dalit Christian population that was neither willing to appropriate the new, caste-free “Christian identity” posited by Protestant leaders, nor willing to revert to local caste and ritual practices. Unable to identify themselves completely with the agenda of any particular “religion,” they remained nested in the consciousness of their backward status. When the Christian ethos of their post-baptismal experience “receded” from the picture, what remained were not devotees of a different “religion,” but persons shaped by many systems, none of which had fulfilled promises of its own rhetoric. This journey from “Christian consciousness” to a particular jati (for instance, “Madiga”) or “Dalit” consciousness was fueled by the failure of both Church and Government to recognize and respond to the disadvantages faced by Dalit Christians. Disappointed by the failure of these enterprises to render them justice, they mobilized themselves around issues related to their backward status. As their identity as depressed class members became more salient, their 190

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Christian identity became less relevant. Joshua’s attraction to humanism resembled the attraction of Adi-Catholics to Self Respect ideals. The primary goal of Adi-Catholics, however, was to become more fully integrated into the life of the Church. By contrast, Joshua and other Dalit Christians showed a propensity to drift into a separate, autonomous space, removed from the constraints of church authorities. As a member of the Telugu literati, Joshua’s career and outlook certainly possessed features not to be found among the predominantly illiterate Dalit Christians. His acculturation to elite circles, however, did not prevent him from identifying throughout his career with the experiences of fellow Dalits. His writings belied the prevailing assumption that conversion to Christianity put an end to the disabilities faced by the Dalits. They suggest instead that the fact of untouchability continued to shape the experiences and consciousness of baptized Christians, a fact supported by mobilizations occurring within other South Indian contexts.114 By mobilizing themselves politically, Dalit Christians demonstrated that they were not content merely to assimilate themselves into a generic, Indian Christian community. Rather, they were emboldened to form their own associations to advance their unique causes. In 1930, for instance, the Madras Tamil Nadu Agricultural Field Labor Classes Society met in Tranquebar in order to draft a memorandum that was to be submitted at the Round Table Conference in London. They demanded rights to acquire their own land and housing sites and an end to adverse labor conditions and the “barbarous punishments” meted out to them by oppressive landlords.115 The drafters of the memorandum identified themselves as “Field Laborers,” not as Christians, and made no references to the Church. However, several factors suggest that the organization had been comprised largely of Christians. First, previous meetings of its Executive Committee had been held in cities with large numbers of Dalit converts.116 Second, several drafters of the petition had Christian names. Among them were J. Jacob (District Secretary, Chittur District) and D. Xavier. Third, and most significant, the memorandum was to be submitted at the Round Table Conference by K.T. Paul, the Christian (Protestant) representative.117 Their petition illustrates how the Dalit Christians had sometimes worked under different occupational self-designations in order to pursue their causes. In 1936, the Depressed Indian Christians’ Association convened in Madras to bring the grievances of the Dalit Christians to the attention of both Catholic and Protestant church bodies. Their primary goal was to convince the larger Indian Christian community of the need for separate political representation in the legislature for Dalit Christians: It is unquestionable that converts to Christianity from among the Depressed Classes groan under all the disabilities arising from caste distinctions. Although the benign Government have been pleased to 191

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grant privileges to them, they are not sufficient to bring them to the level of the other Depressed Classes enjoying higher and more privileges. The said converts form the majority of the whole Christian population. Yet because of grinding poverty, deep-seated ignorance and illiteracy due to long-standing negligence on the part of others, they are unable to compete in open … elections.118 In order to ensure their participation in the electoral process, the petitioners requested that at least one seat in the Legislative Council be reserved for a convert from the depressed classes. Only six months later, the Depressed Indian Christians’ Association met with Lord Erskine, Governor of Madras, to convince him of the need for greater Government assistance for Christians of depressed-class origin. They argued: “the social grievances faced by ‘Depressed Class Christians’ [are] exactly identical with those afflicting the Hindu Depressed Classes of the country.”119 They urged the Governor to extend to them privileges such as educational scholarships and special vocational courses, government appointments, and the assignment of land for agricultural and residential purposes – all of which had become available to non-Christian depressed classes.120 They concluded their visit by reiterating their demand for seats in the Legislative Council to be reserved for “Depressed Class Christians.” Throughout the 1930’s, Dalit Christians went to great lengths to persuade the powers that be that the stigma against them had not disappeared upon their entry into the Christian fold.121 The fact that they are to this day denied “Scheduled Caste” status (which would entitle them to government assistance) purely because they are Christian points to the broader history by which their outcry went unheeded.

Conclusion Situated at the margins of a so-called “Hindu” nation, Indian Christians during the 1930’s not only turned outward to address public concerns, but also were forced to turn inward to address grievances of their own marginal sections. For the most part, both Catholic and Protestant elites advocated gradual, non-coercive measures to ameliorate the conditions of converts from the depressed classes. Both regarded the caste reforms occurring within Indian society at large as positive developments, even if such reforms would stem the tide of conversion to the Christian religion. At the same time, Catholic and Protestant Christians retained distinct priorities in their struggle against untouchability. These priorities stemmed from distinct histories and perspectives on the relationship of the Church to indigenous culture. Caste disputes within Catholic congregations related primarily to the observance of caste distinctions during Mass and public processions. In all but a few instances the church authorities advocated gradual, non-coercive measures to 192

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address the grievances of Adi-Catholics. Resistance to change had little to do with any ideological justification of caste derived from the Bible or church tradition. It derived instead from the hierarchy’s tendency to cater to the sensibilities of caste Catholics, who were determined to defend their “immemorial” privilege of separating themselves from the so-called “polluted” castes. So volatile were the reactions of caste Catholics to “forced integration” that they threatened the stability of Catholic institutions, in some instances entangling church officials in costly litigation. The Adi-Catholics challenged various forms of segregation observed within Catholic institutions. They were emboldened by low-caste assertions occurring elsewhere (e.g., Self Respect agitation, temple entry campaigns and other forms of Dalit mobilization); yet they understood their plight primarily as Catholics who sought equality of status and access to common spaces within the Church. Their church-specific grievances may be contrasted to those of Protestant Dalits Christians. The latter tended to compare themselves, not to caste Christians, but to non-Christian Dalits who qualified for Government assistance. In contrast to the Adi-Catholics, who pushed for a more prominent place within the Church, non-Catholic Dalit Christians showed a tendency to drift from the confines of the Church into more caste-specific types of advocacy. The poetry of Gurram Joshua and the petitions of the Depressed Class Christians’ Association reflect this tendency. Previous chapters have examined contesting notions of the “Indian Christian community” generated by Catholic and Protestant elites. South Indian Catholics defined their community not only in spiritual terms but also politically. They emphasized the distinctiveness of their culture and institutions and sought to defend their “interests” by means of the policy of separate electorates. Protestant elites, by contrast, rejected separate electorates as “loaves and fishes” politics that had to give way to higher ideals of national service and commitment. Azariah and other Christian nationalists emphasized the Church as a spiritual, not a political, entity. Such rhetoric also served to de-politicize the issue of conversion.122 What bearing did these contrasting approaches to electoral politics have on particular forms of Dalit assertion? When set against contested notions of political community, the findings of this chapter present tentative conclusions that warrant further inquiry. The stronger emphasis among Catholics on cultural uniqueness and clearly defined religious boundaries suited their preference for “communal” politics as a means to secure Catholics interests. This tendency to regard the Christian community as both a spiritual and a political entity within the Indian nation appears to have imposed limits, however inadvertently, upon the scope of AdiCatholic assertion. Catholic media did not tell the story of Adi-Catholics joining the ranks of the Self Respect Movement; instead the media described how Adi-Catholics had been emboldened by Self Respecters to demand equal status as Catholics. Protestant Dalits, by contrast, operated within circles where 193

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elites drew boundaries less rigidly and were more eager to identify themselves with the “national culture.” The unbounded nature of their church contexts appears to have permitted them to drift more easily into the humanism espoused by Joshua, and into more caste-specific types of advocacy.123

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Since the latter half of the nineteenth century, Christians of the Madras Presidency – both Catholic and Protestant, elite and non-elite – grew increasingly isolated from evolving notions of a Hindu society and nation. The prevailing tendency of existing scholarship has been to attribute this isolation to essential features of the Christian religion or to Western cultural values of foreign missionaries. This study has explored how Brahminical or Sanskritic assumptions of the British Raj were most instrumental in pushing Christians to the margins of the Indian polity. An official knowledge about Christians was constructed around the image of the apostate convert’s severance from the Hindu family. This official knowledge, derived from the colonial period, continues to define the plight of India’s Christians to this day. In October 2002, the Government of Tamil Nadu passed the Prohibition of Forcible Conversion of Religion Act. The All-India Anna Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (AIADMK) supported the Act, as did the pro-Hindu Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), which heads the central Government. The Act, which borrows language from anti-conversion laws in other states, prohibits conversion by “force or allurement or by fraudulent means.”1 In defending the Act, the Tamil Nadu Chief Minister, Jayalalitha, argued: “conversions create resentment among several sections and also inflame religious passions, leading to communal clashes.”2 She invoked the views of Mahatma Gandhi, citing his criticisms of missionary activity and his own interest in putting an end to conversions. Jayalalitha also claimed that conversions led to the social isolation of converts. Each element of the Chief Minister’s critique of conversion finds a precedent in debates that occurred within colonial courts and legislatures. This suggests that Indian officials continue to address the dynamics of religious change within a colonial framework, which portrays Christian conversion as denationalizing and disruptive. Within such a framework, religious change is viewed as categorically distinct from other forms of social change that entail the adoption of new attitudes and customs. Indeed, even the cultural transformation that has occurred in India since the 1980’s – sparked by economic liberalization, the impact of technology and mass media, and the growth of a new urban middle class – has not yielded new attitudes 195

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toward religious conversion. Amid such dramatic changes to India’s social complexion, one might expect to see greater appreciation for the choice or agency of Indians in adopting new lifestyles and identities, including religious ones. Opponents and defenders of conversion, however, continue to reiterate the old assumptions, debates and proposals that were framed within the agencies of British rule. It is hoped that this book will provide valuable historical resources for understanding the ongoing experience of exclusion faced by religious minorities while, perhaps, inspiring new conversations about conversion and religious difference. This historical account of South Indian Catholics and Protestants is being produced at a time when the enterprise of history-writing itself is under siege by the forces of Hindutva. Ever since the BJP came to power in 1998, ideologues of the Hindu Right have infiltrated the ranks of the National Council for Educational Research and Training (NCERT) and have pursued an agenda to “Hindu-ize” public education. Hindu nationalists allege that much of India’s history has been written from a colonial point of view. In order to preserve the nation’s cultural heritage and nurture patriotism among its youth, history textbooks need to be rewritten.3 The Right-dominated NCERT has sanctioned certain deletions from history textbooks in order to highlight the achievements of Hinduism and denigrate the contributions of other religions to India’s heritage. What proponents of Hindu history refuse to accept, however, is that Muslims and Christians have become an integral part of the fabric of Indian society through centuries of acculturation. A key aspect of this new Hindu communal history is its tendency to portray the “outsider” as the enemy. Most often, the outsider is Muslim or Christian.4 Sounding alarms of “the foreign hand” behind conversion, Hindu communalists continue to challenge the Indian-ness of Christians. Their rhetoric feeds upon categories of identity derived from India’s own history of alien rule, which marginalized Christians from indigenous institutions. That history is deeply intertwined with imperial taxonomies and the exercise of judicial power. Ironically, it was courts of law established under British rule which solidified the very prejudices against Christians that are invoked by the Hindu Right today. Imperial policies toward Christians were formulated originally as responses to their civil disabilities. These disabilities included the forfeiture of inheritance rights under Hindu law, the inability to marry according to the rites of one’s own caste, the inability to remarry after having been deserted by an unconverted spouse, and the lack of access to public wells in villages. In response to numerous petitions by missionary bodies on behalf of Christian converts, the Government was compelled to formulate policies that would address the unstable legal status of individual converts along with already-established Christian communities. Officials of the British Raj adopted two policies toward “Native Christians.” One policy sought to preserve the civil rights of converts by treating them, for all practical purposes, as if they still belonged to their Hindu families. The Caste Disabilities Removal Act (XXI of 1850), also known as the Lex Loci Act, was 196

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designed to protect the civil rights of persons who had changed their religion or, for any other reason, had “lost caste.” The second policy came later and was radically different. It sought to stabilize the “Christian community” by defining it in terms of personal laws that were distinct from Hindu and Muslim personal laws. Modeled upon English laws, the Indian Succession Act (X of 1865) and the Indian Christian Marriage Act (XV of 1872) served to reify Indian Christians as an alien community. By the end of the nineteenth century, the Government had come to regard the Lex Loci as an outdated piece of legislation. Against a climate of rising national consciousness and rising levels of Indian representation within all branches of government, officials of the Raj viewed the Lex Loci as being illsuited to the times. Some described the Act as an embarrassing relic of past capitulation to a missionary agenda. Others celebrated the fact that the Act amounted to little more than a “dead letter.” Rarely within British ruled districts, after all, had the Lex Loci been invoked by converts in order to obtain relief in a court of law. Nationalist sentiments among Hindu elites made the Government all the more responsive to their concerns regarding conversion. Through the eyes of that public, protective legislation for converts threatened to undermine the Hindu family by favoring converts over their unconverted relatives. Such sentiments pervaded debates about conversion within the British-ruled Madras Presidency, as well as within the neighboring princely states of Mysore and Travancore. Besides addressing the rights of the individual convert within the Hindu household, these debates also raised the question of how to define or constitute an Indian Christian community in terms of personal laws. The Madras High Court’s interpretation of the Succession Act and the Christian Marriage Act permitted no accommodation to indigenous customs and usages. The High Court’s construction of a Christian community around these laws, therefore, amounted to a “severance package” from Hindu society. Again and again, High Court rulings held non-Christian clerics liable under Section 68 of the Christian Marriage Act for illegally solemnizing marriages involving at least one Christian partner according to local caste rites. Such rulings concerning so-called “mixed marriages” further isolated Christians from the practices of their caste communities. A similar pattern of regulation can be observed in judgements regarding succession within Christian families. Legal remedies, designed to protect the civil rights of converts, along with efforts to regulate marriage and succession among Christian families, only served to crystallize a rigidly defined Christian community, a community that remained marginal to a richly diverse and ever-expanding notion of Hindu society. The exclusion of Christians from “little societies” of family or caste foreshadowed their exclusion from the “big society” of the nation. The instability of “Native Christians” as a legal category anticipated difficulties of constituting Christians as a political or constitutional entity. In both cases, the sheer diversity of practices, traditions and viewpoints represented among Christians made the 197

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notion of a single, monolithic Christian community a highly problematic one. And yet the idea of a Christian community was no more problematic than that of a Hindu, Muslim or Sikh community. The main difference, however, is that, while the latter three were viewed along Orientalist lines as being part of the basic fabric or constitution of Indian society, the Christian community was not. Perceptions of Christians as belonging to a colonial religion, and of conversion as denationalization, pervaded nationalist rhetoric, most notably that of Gandhi. How did Christian elites respond to such rhetoric and to the new political opportunities of the early twentieth century? Dominant themes of an evolving Christian print culture reveal how both local and international factors had shaped the political consciousness of Indian Christians. Catholic and Protestant newspapers published in India created distinct reading “publics.” These newspapers were attentive both to Indian affairs and to ideological battles within the larger Christian world. Voices within the Protestant and Catholic media shared a common desire for greater Christian involvement in public affairs; and yet they projected very different visions for the shape of such involvement. Protestant media maintained a dual orientation to international trends and to Indian politics. New orientations toward missions and inter-faith relations within international ecumenical circles coincided in India with a stronger identification with “national culture” and nationalist politics. Yet, oriented as Indian Protestant elites were to All-India nationalism, they remained largely aloof from regional political currents. Public figures such as K.T. Paul, V.S. Azariah, V. Chakkarai and S. Jesudasan disavowed so-called communal politics. They feared that separate voting electorates for Christians would corrupt the essentially spiritual nature of the Church and further isolate Christians from the national mainstream. Their stand on separate electorates reflected their lack of real concern for securing high levels of Christian representation within the Madras Legislative Assembly or on local district boards. Protestant leaders attacked the policy of separate electorates with such labels as “compulsory segregation” or “political purdah.” As an alternative, many advocated non-sectarian ideals of civic duty and voluntarism. By articulating their national commitment in terms of such lofty ideals, however, Protestant leaders entered a political vacuum. As they sacrificed sectarian interests upon the altar of nationalism, some had come to doubt whether an Indian Christian community should exist at all as a political entity. Throughout the 1930’s the resistance or refusal of Protestant elites to imagine a Christian community in political terms became a fundamental theme of their nationalist position. Images of the Christian community being “dissolved,” “dynamited” or de-politicized stood in stark contrast to the stand taken by South Indian Catholic elites. The Catholic media enhanced ideological fault lines between Catholics and non-Catholics. The Catholic press chided Protestants for their many compromises with Modernism and for their increasingly irenic posture toward other religions. Ideological battles against “godless” Communism, Socialism, 198

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Capitalism or Modernism internationally fueled the rhetoric of Catholic distinctiveness within India. Indian Catholic notables emphasized their cultural distinctiveness, community boundaries and need for political action. Public figures such as C.J. Varkey and A.T. Pannirselvam advocated separate electorates as the best way to secure “Catholic interests.” Gradually, however, this bounded and particularistic notion of Catholic identity, engendered by the international Catholic media, became domesticated by South Indian political culture. When presented with the twin options of nationalism and communalism, notable South Indian Catholic elites leaned decisively toward the latter. In their view, group politics formed the very fabric of political life in Madras and offered the best means for securing Catholic interests. Not to participate was to remain marginal to the public sphere. All along, Pannirselvam had attacked nationalist rhetoric for veiling the true communal character of Indian society. In his view, there was not a single association or organization in India, including the Congress, that was not communal. Since all other groups were fighting for their own interests, Catholics would commit “political suicide” if they were to abstain in the name of a higher ideal. From 1920 to 1937, Catholics of South India became more and more reconciled to the idea of entering local politics, even if doing so meant that they formed alliances with Protestants or worked within the structure of a political party such as the Indian National Congress. As Catholics accommodated themselves to party politics, the purist ideals of Catholic Action were hedged, compromised and made more Indian. South Indian group politics consisted of elites who claimed to represent larger constituencies. As Christian elites entered this arena, Christians from the so-called “depressed classes” challenged their representative claims and viewpoints. Perhaps the most pressing issue faced by Christian leaders was whether their notion of the Indian Christian community encompassed the voices of the vast majority of converts, who came from low-caste and Dalit backgrounds. Did representative Christians speak for all classes, or only for English-educated, urban elites? Situated at the margins of an evolving Indian nation, both Catholic and Protestant Indians during the 1930’s were compelled to address the grievances of their own marginal sections. Fired by the rhetoric of Self Respect leaders, along with agitation surrounding Temple Entry campaigns, Catholic Dalits (or Adi-Catholics) demanded an end to their inferior, segregated status within Catholic institutions. A seemingly progressive social climate added force to their demands. Still, they were met consistently with resistance from caste Catholics who defended their “immemorial right” to practice caste distinctions within the Church. Like Catholic Dalits, Protestant Dalits decried their inferior status in relation to caste Christians. But, unlike Catholic Dalits, who fought for higher status as Catholics, Protestant Dalits displayed a tendency to drift from the confines of the Church into more caste-specific types of advocacy. They protested against the fact that they were denied Government assistance solely because they were 199

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Christian, and insisted that their disabilities persisted in spite of their conversion. In some instances, their consciousness as members of the depressed class clearly outweighed their consciousness as Christians. Evidences of a receding Christian identity and a more salient depressed class or “Untouchable” identity abound in writings of the Telugu poet Gurram Joshua, as well as in the petitions and organized protests of Dalit Christians. The plight of Dalit Christians (both Catholic and Protestant) brought new meaning to the notion of “civil disabilities.” Previously, “Civil Disabilities of Native Converts” referred primarily to those disabilities that converts had suffered as outcasts or degraded persons (patita) under Hindu Law. Then it was not the convert’s lack of caste status, but his or her loss of caste status that was at issue. Converts who had held caste status and property to begin with were the ones to whom the phrase “civil disabilities” most often applied. Solutions to their grievances were primarily legal ones, such as the Lex Loci or Civil Disabilities Removal Act (XXI of 1850). As a result of the political reforms of the early twentieth century, the notion of civil disabilities became increasingly a Dalit issue. Civil disabilities became what Dalits suffered when they were denied state assistance on account of their conversion to Christianity. It was not the loss of status, but the supposed acquisition of status through the act of conversion, that disqualified them from obtaining state assistance. Disabilities were once associated with the convert’s severance from the Hindu joint family. But into the twentieth century they came to be associated with the convert’s severance from a predominantly Hindu nation, a nation trying to rectify past abuses toward members of its “own fold.” At a time when religious minorities in India are being subject to increasing levels of communal hostility, this study has explored different ways of answering the question, “Who is an Indian?”5 This overview of Christian marginality within legal, political and social arenas has revealed three senses in which “Indian-ness” may be defined. These may be designated “traditional,” “constitutional” and “nationalistic.” To be Indian in the traditional sense is, simply stated, to remain rooted in institutions and practices that are native to the subcontinent. This definition of Indian-ness has mostly to do with attachment to smaller units of social identity, even as these identities undergo change. Primordial loyalties of caste, hereditary occupations, devotion to one’s mother tongue, or participation in public festivals, ceremonies or other local traditions keep one rooted in the soil. To such traditional institutions, we have seen, Christians have displayed varying degrees of attachment. Roman Catholic Nadars and fishing communities, Protestant Vellalars, Mala and Madiga converts from Telugu districts, Syrian Christians and other groups, all have long been known for their attachment to caste identity and their adaptation to local or vernacular traditions. Other Christians belong to traditions that were strongly opposed to caste or had emulated Western customs and habits. 200

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To be Indian in the traditional sense does not necessarily mean that one belongs to “the Hindu religion.” In fact, numerous movements have been launched in resistance to Hindu, Aryan or Sanskritic hegemony. Charismatic figures such as B.R. Ambedkar and E.V. Ramaswamy Naicker virulently attacked the oppressive caste structure of Hinduism. Such leaders, who were significantly influenced by missionaries, left behind legacies of resistance to Hindu hegemony, or of nonHindu confessionalism. Yet, in doing so, they continued to identify themselves with the politics, traditions and language of their respective regional communities. To be Indian in the constitutional sense is to participate in politics within the institutions established by the evolving Constitution of India. Nationalist leaders had boycotted such participation during the non-cooperation campaigns of the 1920’s and 1930’s. From 1909 on, separate electorates based on religion and caste had allowed members of a minority community to elect their own representatives to Provincial Councils. Muslims, non-Brahmins, Christians and other minorities now had to consider how to maximize their influence based on the size of their constituencies and the number of seats assigned to them within Provincial Councils. As Christian minorities assumed a constitutional identity by means of separate electorates, some feared that their spiritual or ecclesiastical identity would be compromised. Catholic elites, I have argued, conceived a more compatible relationship than did their Protestant counterparts between their ecclesiastical and their constitutional identities. It is widely assumed that nationalistic criteria are the only criteria for defining Indian-ness. By the early twentieth century, when the Indian Independence Movement had entered its more radical or extremist phase, nationalism had acquired both cultural and political characteristics: politically speaking, Indian nationalism was defined in terms of participation in campaigns of resistance to British rule. Through the eyes of nationalist leaders, such participation functioned as baptismal waters into bona fide membership of the Indian Nation in the making. Culturally, Indian nationality came to be associated with uppercaste Hindu culture. Hindu gods and popular festivals were deployed as vehicles of mass mobilization. The nation, conceived as divine Mother India, became a Hindu one, however tolerant and inclusive national leaders such as Gandhi had claimed Hinduism to be. These distinct criteria for defining Indian-ness continue to be the source of certain ironies and tensions associated with those ironies: one could be Indian in the traditional sense (like followers of Naicker or Ambedkar, or Christians who adhered to local caste practices) without being nationalistic; one could be Indian according to the Constitution, and still be marginalized by nationalist ideology; and one could be Indian nationalistically, yet far removed from local traditions. Many Protestant elites who identified themselves with All-India cultural nationalism remained aloof from the dominant political currents of their region and locality. The multi-faceted character of Indian-ness renders the notion of an Indian Christian even more complex and unstable. Was an “Indian Christian” an 201

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oxymoron, or could one be defined in terms of organic categories of race, ethnicity, customs/usages or personal laws? With respect to personal laws, officials of the British Raj displayed greater confidence in defining a Hindu or a Muslim than a Christian. Unlike Manu or Mohammed, after all, the founder of Christianity taught no personal law. The absence of fixed cultural criteria, which define a Christian, has greatly enhanced the potential for Christians to adapt to any variety of cultural, linguistic or societal contexts. This process of adaptation, however, has been undermined whenever imperial structures, whether colonial or nationalistic, have institutionalized false assumptions about the cultural fit of a given class of people. It is hoped that this book will serve as a case study of the institutional sources of marginality and alternative strategies for political integration for many classes of disadvantaged minorities.

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1 INTRODUCTION 1

2

3 4

Early chapters of this book describe the role of the Indian judiciary in defining the boundaries of religious identity. The enforcement of civil laws was not only a means of distinguishing one religious community from another, but was also a means of distinguishing the realm of the customary from that of the modern. The judiciary sought to bring “the Christian community” under the governance of imported Christian laws of marriage and succession, to the rejection of local custom. The “Hindu community,” however, encompassed both those who conformed to the textual, codified Hindu law and those who adhered to local caste customs. This dualism of the modern (textual) and the customary observed in colonial India resembles the operation of colonial courts in late colonial Africa. According to Mahmood Mamdani, the enforcement of customary law in colonial Nigeria brought previously autonomous social domains under a newly defined “Native Authority,” which was backed by the colonial state. See Mamdani, Citizen and Subject: Contemporary Africa and the Legacy of Late Colonialism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996), 110–17. According to the first regulation enacted by the Bengal Government in 1780, “in all suits regarding inheritance, marriage, and caste, and other religious usages and institutions, the laws of the Koran with respect to Mahommedans, and those of the Shaster with respect to Gentoos, shall be invariably adhered to.” Standish Grove Grady, A Treatise on the Hindoo Law: Comprising the Doctrines of the Various Schools, with the Decisions of the High Courts of the Several Presidencies of India, and the Judgments of the Privy Council on Appeal (London: Wildy & Sons, 1868), xliv. Julian Saldanha, Conversion and Indian Civil Law (Bangalore: Theological Publications in India, 1981), 13. The traditional caste system (varnashramadharma ) divided society according to hereditary occupations and varying degrees of ritual purity. It consists of four rankings or varnas: Brahmins (priests), Kshaitryas (warriors) and Vaishyas (merchants). These are the so-called “twice-born” castes, believed to be of pure “Aryan” stock. The fourth caste, “Sudras,” consists of lower ranking land cultivators and service providers of various kinds. Each of the four varnas are subdivided into hundreds of subcastes or jatis, which more specifically designate one’s local birth group. Outside of the four varnas were persons who were designated as “untouchables” due to their consignment to “polluting” occupations. These persons have adopted the name “Dalit” for themselves, which literally means downtrodden, broken or oppressed. Converts to Christianity, especially those who converted in groups, often continued to abide by their caste customs. Courts of law, however, considered such converts to have altogether abandoned their caste identity.

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5 V.S. Azariah, “Christians and the New Government,” The Guardian, February 10, 1938; 86. 6 “Catholic Representation at Mangalore,” Examiner, September 6, 1930; 430. 7 John Webster’s The Dalit Christians: A History (New Delhi: ISPCK, 1992) offers an excellent account of the plight of Dalit Christians since the late colonial period. 8 The Presidential Order of 1950, which denies SC status to non-Hindus, was amended twice: in 1956 to include Dalit converts to Sikhism; and in 1990 to include Dalit converts to Buddhism. In spite of persistent protest by Dalit Christians, they have to this day been denied SC status. 9 See, for instance, Jose Kananaikil, “Discrimination Against Dalit Converts with Special Reference to Dalit Converts to Christianity,” Religion and Society, Volume XXXVII, No. 4, (December 1990), 60–3. Or John B. Webster, Religion and Dalit Liberation: An Examination of Perspectives (New Delhi: Manohar, 1999), 29. 10 Headlines from Indian newspapers from January and February of 1999 carry the highest concentration of references to attacks on Christians. Such awareness was created not only by a series of attacks against tribal Christians in Gujarat but also by the burning to death in Orissa of Australian missionary Graham Stains along with his two sons. See “Bajrang Dal to Intensify Campaign,” Deccan Chronicle, January 11, 1999; V. Venkatesan, “A Hate Campaign in Gujarat,” Frontline, January 16, 1999; “Debate on Conversion Necessary Now,” The New Indian Express, February 2, 1999; “Who is to Blame for Orissa’s Shame?,” The Hindu, January 31, 1999; “Missionary Killing was the Last Straw: Khurana,” The Hindu, February 3, 1999; “Incidents Against Minorities Inter-related,” The Hindu, February 6, 1999; “Parties Condemn Nun’s Rape,” The Hindu, February 7, 1999. 11 “Sonia Gandhi Warns Gujarat Government,” The Hindu, January 9, 1999. 12 Manas Dasgupta, “Prime Minister Calls for National Debate on Conversions,” The Hindu, January 11, 1999. 13 Gauri Viswanathan, Outside the Fold: Conversion, Modernity and Belief (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1998), xi, 16. 14 Sikhs numbered fewer than Christians but fell within the governance of Hindu law and were thus seen as part of Hindu society. 15 Kingsley Davis, The Population of India and Pakistan (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1951), 186. 16 G.T. Boag, The Madras Presidency, 1881–1931 (Madras: Government of Madras, 1933), 4. 17 Another account of the origins of the Thomas Christians points to the operations of merchants and missionaries of the East-Syrian or Persian Church. Those who believe in the apostolic origins of the Thomas Christians, according to A.M. Mundadan, do not deny East-Syrian influences upon the Thomas Christians. See A. M. Mundadan, History of Christianity in India, Volume I: From the Beginning up to the Middle of the Sixteenth Century (Bangalore: Theological Publications in India, 1984), 21. 18 Stephen Neill, A History of Christianity in India: The Beginnings to A.D. 1707 (Cambridge: CUP, 1984), 334. 19 Henriette Bugge, Mission and Tamil Society: Social and Religious Change in South India, 1840–1900 (Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press, 1994), 43. 20 Trichinopoly emerged as a major Catholic center. In 1901 there were 76,660 Christians in Trichinopoly, of which 72,352 were Catholic. When the Catholic hierarchy of India was first established in 1886, the Vicariate was made into a diocese under it and the Episcopal residence was located at Trichinopoly. Government of India, Imperial Gazeteer of India, Volume XXIV, Travancore to Zira (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1908), 31. 21 Bugge, Mission and Tamil Society, 44–6.

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22 A recent study by Brijraj Singh describes Ziegenbalg’s translation work, interactions with Hindus of Malabar, and his relations to colonial rulers. See The First Protestant Missionary to India: Bartholomeus Ziegenbalg, 1683–1719 (New Delhi: OUP, 1999). 23 Dennis Hudson, Protestant Origins in India: Tamil Evangelical Christians, 1706–1835 (Grand Rapids and Richmond, Surrey: Eerdmans Publishing Co. and Curzon Press, 2000), 107. 24 Franklin J. Balasundaram, Dalits and Christian Mission in the Tamil Country (Bangalore: Asia Trading Corporation, 1997), 66–9. 25 Geoffrey A. Oddie, “Christian Conversion in the Telugu Country, 1860–1900: A Case Study of One Protestant Movement in the Godavery-Krishna Delta,” Indian Economic and Social History Review, Volume XII, No. 1 (1975), 69. 26 The “twice born” castes refer to the first three of the varnas or rankings: Brahmin, Kshaitrya and Vaisya. 27 Dramatic increases in the literacy rates of Muslims from 1921 to 1931 made the press a powerful vehicle for Muslim solidarity. See Francis Robinson, “Technology and Religious Change: Islam and the Impact of Print,” MAS, Volume 29, No. 1 (1993), 229–51. But Christians declined in literacy. See Davis, The Population of India and Pakistan, 155. 28 Susan Herbst, Politics at the Margins: Historical Studies of Public Expression Outside the Mainstream (Cambridge: CUP, 1994), 4. 29 Karl Deutsch, Nationalism and Social Communication: An Inquiry into the Foundations of Nationality (Cambridge: M.I.T. Press, 1966), and Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (London: Verso, 1983). 30 For a balanced assessment of the impact of translation projects upon Telugu consciousness, see Peter Schmitthenner, Telugu Resurgence: C.P. Brown and Cultural Consolidation in Nineteenth Century South India (New Delhi: Manohar, 2001). 31 The role of missionary activity in the rise of regional consciousness is recognized in key studies of the history of South Indian print culture. See B. Kesavan, History of Printing and Publishing in India: A Story of Cultural Re-awakening, Vol. II, Origins of Printing and Publishing in Karnataka, Andhra and Kerala (New Delhi: National Book Trust, 1988) and J. Mangamma, Book Printing in India: With a Special Reference to the Contribution of European Scholars to Telugu (Nellore: Bangorey Books, 1975). See also Tara Chand’s references to contributions of missions to Bengali, Marathi and Tamil in History of the Freedom Movement in India, Volume Two (New Delhi: Government of India, 1967), 586–7, 598, 605. 32 Arjun Appadurai, “Number in Colonial Imagination,” in Carol Breckenridge and Peter van der Veer (eds), Orientalism and the Postcolonial Predicament (Philedelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1993), 314–41; and Bernard Cohn, Colonialism and its Forms of Knowledge: The British in India (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996). 33 On the secular/religious binary, see contributions of Talal Asad and Peter van der Veer to van der Veer and Lehman (eds), Nation and Religion: Perspectives on Europe and Asia (Princeton: PUP, 1999); Dipesh Chakrabarty, “Radical Histories and Question of Enlightenment Rationalism: Some Recent Critiques of Subaltern Studies, Economic and Political Weekly, Volume 30, No. 14 (April 8, 1995), 751–9; and T.N. Madan, “Secularism and its Place,” Journal of Asian Studies, Volume 46, Issue 4 (1987), 747–59. 34 Susan Visvanathan, The Christians of Kerala: History, Belief and Ritual among the Yakoba (New Delhi: OUP, 1999), 20–4. 35 By contrast, Protestant missionaries often played the role of Orientalists, as they generated various kinds of representations of India’s peoples. See David Kopf’s

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36

37

38 39

40

41 42

43

44

45

46

47 48

seminal work, British Orientalism and the Bengal Renaissance (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1969), and more recently, Geoffrey Oddie, “Orientalism and British Protestant Missionary Constructions of India in the Nineteenth Century,” South Asia: Journal of South Asian Studies, Volume 17, No. 2 (1994), 27–42. The imperial courts treated Sikhs as a Hindu sect. In Bhagwan Koer v. J.C. Bose (1903) the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council determined that, since Sikhs were popularly regarded as a Hindu sect, they ought to be considered so legally. This decision was upheld in key decisions of the Courts of Punjab, where most Sikhs have resided. See Julian Saldanha, Conversion and Indian Civil Law (Bangalore: Theological Publications in India, 1981), 36. Sikhs, however, have resented their legal entanglement with Hinduism. See Kharak Singh (ed.), On Sikh Personal Law (Institute of Sikh Studies, 1998), 25. Sir Henry Maine’s speech to the Legislative Council of the Governor-General on March 31, 1866. From Appendix A of Report of the Committee Appointed by the Resolution of the Board of July 16, 1894, to Ascertain the Law Bearing on the Legal Disabilities (if any) of Native Christians in India. V/9/9, OIOC. Jurgen Habermas, The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society (Cambridge: M.I.T. Press, 1989), 36. “Anyone with access to cultural products – books, plays, journals – had at least a potential claim on the attention of the culture-debating public.” Craig Calhoun (ed.), Habermas and the Public (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1992). 13. Nancy Fraser, “Politics, Culture and the Public Sphere: Toward a Postmodern Conception,” in Linda Nicholson and Steven Siedman (eds), Social Postmodernism: Beyond Identity Politics (Cambridge: CUP, 1995), 288–91. Christopher Baker, The Politics of South India, 1920–1937 (Cambridge: CUP, 1976), 80. For a description of how brokers of caste identity attempted to “sell” myths of transregional caste solidarity, see David Rudner, Caste and Capitalism in Colonial India: The Nattukottai Chettiars (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), 17–32. For discussions of how religious identities and meanings were shaped “in public,” see contributions by Dipesh Chakrabarty, Sandria Freitag, Pamela Price and David Gilmartin in “Aspects of the Public in Colonial South Asia,” a special edition of South Asia: Journal of South Asian Studies, Volume XIV, No. 1 (1991). David Gilmartin, “Divine Displeasure and Muslim Elections: The Shaping of Community in Twentieth Century Punjab,” in D.A. Low (ed.), The Political Inheritance of Pakistan (London: Macmillan Academic and Professional, 1991), 110. Ibid. For such reasons described by Gilmartin, scholars such as Gyanendra Pandey have argued that Muslim communal identity was a colonial construction, which stood at odds with any subjective consciousness of Indian Muslims. Usha Sanyal’s thorough study of the Ahl-e-Sunnat wa Jama’at movement in North India, however, casts doubt upon such claims. Sanyal’s discussion of Ahmad Riza shows the primacy of religious ideals and interpretation in the shaping of Riza’s consciousness and his notion of Muslim identity, not the categories of British rule. See Chapters 1–4 of Sanyal, Devotional Islam and Politics in British India: Ahmad Riza Khan Barelwi and His Movement, 1870–1920 (New Delhi: OUP, 1996). Marc Galanter refers to a “sacral order” or Hinduism. This refers to the judiciary’s understanding of caste groups, not as independent entities, but as belonging to a larger entity that came to be known as “Hinduism.” See Galanter, Law and Society in Modern India (New Delhi: OUP, 1997), 142–6. Gauri Viswanathan, Outside the Fold, 14, 81. Jesuits such as Robert de Nobili (1577–1656 ), and Lutheran Pietists such as Bartholomaus Ziegenbalg (1683–1719), made every effort to preserve structures of family and caste as they preached the gospel. Other missionaries, primarily

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49 50

51

52

53 54 55

Protestant, viewed the caste system as the greatest impediment to the spread of Christianity. Their hostility toward caste lent religious sanction to the division of converts from local customs and practices. During the twentieth century, however, some Indian Protestants, along with sympathetic Western theologians, have attempted to streamline Christianity with the “Indian ethos,” even to the point of rejecting the notion of “the Church” as a separate entity. For examples, see G.V. Job et. al., Rethinking Christianity in India (Madras: A.N. Sundarisanam, 1938), M.M. Thomas, Acknowledged Christ of the Indian Renaissance (London: S.C.M. Press, 1969), and Robin Boyd, An Introduction to Indian Christian Theology (Madras: Christian Literature Society, 1975). Scholars such as Robert Hardgrave, P.Y. Luke and John Carman, Susan Bayly, Dennis Hudson, and Daniel Jeyraj have demonstrated how deeply rooted Christian communities have always been in local institutions and practices. Hence the belief that Indian Christians, on account of their religion, are more culturally or politically aligned with the West than other Indians describes the outlook of some Westernized, urban Christians more than it does the vast majority. On this point Hardgrave, and Luke and Carman, have produced seminal works. See P.Y. Luke and John B. Carman, Village Christians and Hindu Culture: Study of a Rural Church in Andhra Pradesh, South India (London: Lutterworth Press, 1968), and Robert L. Hardgrave, The Nadars of Tamilnad: The Political Culture of a Community in Change (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1969). Note by Rajadharma Pravina T.R.A. Thumboo Chettiar, dated June 26, 1895. From G.O. No. 599–600 (Political), October 9, 1901, Tamil Nadu State Archives (TNA). Lloyd and Susanne Rudolph describe “demand groups” as a dimension of “interest group pluralism.” The demand group “uses mass mobilization more than expert knowledge and technical bargaining but combines issues and movement politics with the politics of interests.” Interests can be expressed through a variety of social formations, including religious ones. In Pursuit of Lakshmi: The Political Economy of the Indian State (Hyderabad: Orient Longman, 1987), 247–8. Pre-modern Indian polities were shaped by competition between central and local power. Horizontal loyalty between groups and vertical loyalty to a king were not grounded in some fixed contract or centered upon some abstract, inviolable Leviathan. Rather, loyalty operated within shifting clusters of alliances that were forged and dissolved whenever another “interest” took priority. Withdrawal of support or fitna (rebellion) against a regime was just as endemic to traditional political processes as allegiance. Andre Wink, Land and Sovereignty in India: Agrarian Society and Politics under the Eighteenth-Century Maratha Svarajya (Cambridge: CUP, 1986), 26. For a discussion of ashraf Muslims, see Richard Eaton’s The Rise of Islam and the Bengal Frontier, 1204–1760 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), 169–71, 174–9. Harjot Oberoi, The Construction of Religious Boundaries: Culture, Identity and Diversity in the Sikh Tradition (New Delhi: OUP, 1997), 25. Jalal, Self and Sovereignty, 57. Contributions to Kenneth Jones (ed.), Religious Controversy in British India: Dialogues in South Asian Languages (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1992) highlight some of these polemical encounters. See also Avril Powell, Muslims and Missionaries in Pre-Mutiny India (Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press, 1993); Rosalind O’Hanlon, Caste, Conflict and Ideology: Mahatma Jotirao Phule and Low Caste Protest in Nineteenth Century Western India (Cambridge: CUP, 1985), 50–67. On educational policy disputes, see B.K. Bowman-Behram, Educational Controversies in India: The Cultural Conquest of India and British Imperialism (Bombay: D.B. Taraporevala Sons and Co., 1943); David Kopf’s description of the Anglicist–Orientalist controversy

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57

58

59

60

61

62

in Orientalism and the Bengal Renaissance: The Dynamics of Indian Modernization, 1773–1835 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1969); Thomas Metcalf’s discussion of the creation and ordering of difference in Ideologies of the Raj (Cambridge: CUP, 1995); and Gauri Viswanathan’s Saidian analysis of the colonizing impact of English education in Masks of Conquest: Literary Study and British Rule in India (New York: Columbia University Press, 1989). Kopf and Viswanathan address the Anglicist–Orientalist controversy from two radically different perspectives. See, for instance: Henriette Bugge, Mission and Tamil Society: Social and Religious Change in South India (1840–1900) (Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press, 1994); John Webster, The Dalit Christians: A History (New Delhi: ISPCK, 1996); Dennis Hudson, Protestant Origins in India: Tamil Evangelical Christians, 1706–1835 (Grand Rapids and Richmond, Surrey: Eerdmans and Curzon Press, 2000); Susan Bayly, Saints, Goddesses and Kings: Muslims and Christians in South Indian Society, 1700–1900 (Cambridge, CUP, 1989); and David Mosse, “Catholic Saints and the Hindu Village Pantheon in Rural Tamil Nadu, India,” Man: The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, Volume 29, No. 2 (June, 1994), 304–7. See, for instance, Dipesh Chakrabarty, Provincializing Europe: Postcolonial Thought and Historical Difference (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000) and Gyan Prakash, “Writing Post-Orientalist Histories of the Third World: Perspectives from Indian Historiography,” in Vinayak Chaturvedi (ed.), Mapping Subaltern Studies and the Postcolonial (London: Verso, 2000), 163–90. Rosalind O’Hanlon and David Washbrook have questioned how any politics of resistance can be levied against forces, such as those of the modern nation or of capitalism, whose existence is essentially denied by post-foundationalist writers. “The principal casualty of this inadequacy must be politics, for what kind of resistance can be raised to capitalism’s systemic coercions if that resistance apparently denies their existence?” See “After Orientalism: Culture, Criticism and Politics in the Third World,” in Vinayak Chaturvedi (ed.), Mapping Subaltern Studies and the Postcolonial (London: Verso, 2000), 201. Talal Asad argues that non-Western subjects cannot properly be studied without addressing how their selves have been molded by global capitalism. He criticizes anthropologists who insist upon acquiring a “ground level” view of non-Western subjects, apart from any analysis of systemic issues. See Genealogies of Religion: Discipline and Reasons of Power in Christianity and Islam (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993), 6–11. These phrases have become clichés within postmodernist parlance. See Partha Chatterjee, The Nation and Its Fragments: Colonial and Postcolonial Histories (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993) and Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, “Can the Subaltern Speak?” in Cary Nelson and Lawrence Grossberg (eds), Marxism and the Interpretation of Culture (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1988). Multi-faceted and highly contested notions of Sikh identity are highlighted in Oberoi’s The Construction of Religious Boundaries: Culture, Identity and Diversity in the Sikh Tradition (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1997). In his scathing critique of Edward Said’s Orientalism, Aijaz Ahmad argues that Said has ignored the manner in which Indians resisted, reshaped and overturned Orientalist constructions of Indian society. See In Theory: Classes, Nations and Literatures (New Delhi: OUP, 1992), 159–221. It was in the same sense that Indian Christians acted to overturn imperial assumptions about their own status within Indian society. See also Richard Eaton’s trenchant criticism of postmodernist influences in Indian history writing in “(Re)imag(in)ing Otherness: A Postmortem for the Postmodern in India,” Journal of World History, Volume 11, No. 1 (2000), 57–78.

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63 Samuel Huntington, The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1996). 64 Jose Casanova, Public Religions in the Modern World (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994).

2 RIGHTS OF CONVERTS WITHIN BRITISH AND PRINCELY INDIA, 1870–1895 1

2 3

4

5

6

7

Portions of this chapter were presented at the Association for Asian Studies Meeting in Chicago, March 21–23, 2001. The title of that paper was “Civil Disabilities of Converts within British and Princely Ruled India, 1863–1900.” Thomas Metcalf, Ideologies of the Raj, (Cambridge: CUP, 1995), 66. Beyond the three main presidencies under direct British rule (Bombay, Madras and Bengal) were nearly six hundred smaller “princely” states that were ruled by Indian princes. Traditional models of kingship, not agencies of the modern bureaucratic state, were the defining feature of these states. During the last three decades of the nineteenth century, the London Mission Society (LMS), Church Mission Society (CMS), Basel Mission and the Syrian Mar Thoma Church had urged the Government to address the “civil disabilities” of converts. Roman Catholic authorities appear to have been less involved. This chapter’s discussion of the rights of converts is based primarily upon a 150-page compilation of official record correspondence, contained in G.O. No. 599–600 (Political), October 9, 1901, Tamil Nadu State Archives (TNA). Due to the extremely brittle condition of these documents, certain data and page numbers may be missing from forthcoming citations. Pressure from missionary societies led the Government to appoint a committee in 1894 to research the effectiveness of existing laws in securing the rights of converts. Among the disabilities discussed in the report were the convert’s forfeiture of inheritance rights, inability to remarry as a Christian upon being deserted by a non-Christian spouse, and the lack of access to public facilities within villages. Acts of Parliament reviewed by the Committee included the Lex Loci Act (XXI) of 1850, Indian Succession Act (X) of 1865, Native Converts Dissolution of Marriage Act (XXI) of 1866, and the Indian Christian Marriage Act (XV) of 1872. See Report of Committee Appointed by the Resolution of the Board of July 16, 1894, to Ascertain the Law Bearing on the Legal Disabilities (if any) of Native Christians in India. Proceedings of the Indian Legislative Council, 1865. V/9/9, OIOC. In her study of the campaign to abolish sati (the ritual burning of a widow upon the funeral pyre of her deceased husband), Lata Mani has shown how the Government, in consultation with local pandits who interpreted Hindu texts, had produced an “official knowledge” on sati. Textual knowledge had taken priority over the question of “a woman’s rights” in mobilizing opinion against the practice. See Contentious Traditions: The Debate on Sati in Colonial India (New Delhi: OUP, 1998), 32–41. This chapter describes a very similar process of “knowledge production,” which defined State policies concerning the rights of converts to the Christian religion. The “joint family” is considered (along with caste and village) to be among the most fundamental institutions of Indian society. According to A.M. Shah, it refers to “two or more elementary [or nuclear] families joined together,” based either on a principle of patrilineal or matrilineal descent. See The Household Dimension of the Family in India: A Field Study in a Gujarat Village and a Review of Other Studies (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1974), 109. The Government was aware that tampering with this institution in any way would arouse the indignation of Hindu families and threaten its own stability.

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8 J.D. Mayne, A Treatise on Hindu Law and Usage, Ninth Edition (Madras, Higginbothams, 1922), 293. For a more contemporary discussion of ritual prerequisites for inheritance within Hindu joint families, see A.M. Shah, The Family in India (Bangalore: Orient Longman, 1998), 178ff. 9 John D. Mayne, A Treatise on Hindu Law and Usage (Madras: Higginbotham & Co., 1900), 64. 10 Jimutavahana’s Dayabhaga school of Hindu law stresses the “spiritual benefit” provided to the deceased by funeral offerings. This benefit forms the basis of proprietary entitlement. The following chapter explores this topic in greater depth. 11 A special word of thanks is owed to my colleague, James F. Richardson, for the insights he brought to bear on this discussion of reciprocity and the different ethical norms presented in Hindu and Christian textual traditions. 12 See C. Yajnesvara Chintamani, Indian Social Reform: Being a Collection of Essays, Addresses, Speeches etc. with an Appendix (Madras: Minerva Press, 1901). See especially the essay by G. Subramania Iyer, former editor of The Hindu, on the Hindu joint family system. Subramania Iyer advocated reforms to Indian society modeled along Western lines: “The progress of the Western nations, more especially of the Anglo-Saxon race, marks the lines on which the progress of our own country should be directed. The Hindu civilization based on the ancient Aryan institutions is doomed.” 112. Hook-swinging is a ritual practice whereby metallic hooks are inserted into the flesh of a devotee, who then hangs or “swings” by a rope attached to a pole with a rotating crossbeam. See Goeffrey Oddie, Popular Religion, Elites and Reform: Hookswinging and its Prohibition in Colonial India, 1800–1894 (New Delhi: Manohar, 1995). 13 In spite of its professed commitment to principles of “non-interference” and “religious neutrality,” the Government intervened in religious affairs when it received sufficient pressure from the Hindu public to do so. The Government spelled out its criteria for intervention in Selections of the Records of the Government of India in the Home Department, No. CCXIII. Papers Relating to Infant Marriage and Enforced Widowhood in India (Calcutta: n.p., 1886), 3–5. The question of State control over Hindu charitable endowments and temple management schemes had also aroused disputes over the meaning of “religious neutrality” and “non-interference.” If State “interference” was geared toward the “protection of Hinduism,” it could more easily be justified. Upper caste Hindus had pressured the Government to retain its control over Hindu temples and charitable endowments in spite of its commitment to a policy of “withdrawal.” Some had argued that, by maintaining control over temples, the Government would assume the traditional role of South Indian kings, who had patronized temples and other cultural institutions in exchange for loyalty and prestige. Others had feared that temples would deteriorate if placed into local, indigenous hands. See Madras Legislative Council Proceedings, Vol. XIV, March 27, 1923; 2815–910. 14 Such fears can be traced back to attitudes of the East India Company’s Raj toward missionaries and conversion. The Company had feared that missionaries would create a climate of suspicion and instability that would ultimately undermine its trade interests. See Penelope Carson, “Missionaries, Bureaucrats and the People of India, 1793–1833,” in Nancy G. Cassels (ed.), Orientalism, Evangelicalism and the Military Cantonement in Early Nineteenth Century India (New York: Edwin Mellen Press, 1991), 121–55. Fears of social disruption resulting from state-backed conversions led to spirited objections to the introduction of the Lex Loci Act, in both the Bengal and the Madras Presidencies. For Bengali reactions, see Ali, The Bengali reaction to Christian missionary activities, 1833–1857 (Chittagong: Mehrub Publications, 1965), 117–32. For South Indian reactions, see R. Suntharalingam, Politics and

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16

17 18

19

20

21

22

Nationalist Awakening in South India, 1852–1891 (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1974), 44–5. Many officials within the Government of Madras had reached the conclusion that the Lex Loci Act undermined a central aspect of “the Hindu religion,” namely, the bond between inheritance rights and the power to perform religious sacrifice on behalf of one’s ancestors. State officials had come to believe that the Lex Loci “strikes at the family system which is the foundation of the whole Hindu social and domestic economy with its attendant customs and ideas.” Notes from the Government of India, Foreign Department, No. 3246–I.A. Taken from G.O. 599–600 (Political), October 9, 1901. For discussion of the link between the civil and religious aspects of Hindu law, see also Derrett, Religion, Law and the State in India (New York: The Free Press, 1968), 115–21. When discussing policies of British India, we will refer to the Act XXI simply as the “Lex Loci,” which literally means “the law of the land.” When discussing its possible extension into princely states, we will refer to the Act as the “Act of 1850” or simply as “the Act.” Taken from G.O. 599–600 (Political), 48. It was precisely on this point that the Act posed for the Government a most poignant dilemma. On the one hand, the Government recognized conversion as an event, which created a division between converts and unconverted family members on the basis of religious differences. On the other hand, the Act ensured that such differences would not deprive converts or other “outcasts” of their civil rights. That the Act, as Gauri Viswanathan states, amounted to a “perverse denial” of religious change is perhaps overstated. See Outside the Fold: Conversion, Modernity and Belief (Princeton: PUP, 1998), 81. The real point of contention was not the denial of religious change, but the separation of religion from civil entitlement. Missionaries of the LMS and CMS wanted the Lex Loci Act (1850) to be introduced into the princely states of Mysore and Travancore. Had their request been fulfilled, a major hindrance to conversion would have been eliminated. “[B]y becoming a Christian,” Koji Kawashima observes with respect to Travancore, “the partition of the family property, which was by custom impartible, would become much easier.” The Act would therefore present an incentive for conversion. See Kawashima, Missionaries and a Hindu State: Travancore 1858–1936 (New Delhi: OUP, 1998), 74. When in 1850 the Act came into effect, the Crescent newspaper expressed the Hindu gentry’s indignation when it accused the Government of having acted with “shameful duplicity, profound stupidity, and insulting tyranny.” From R. Suntharalingam, Politics and Nationalist Awakening in South India (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1974), 44–5. This posture was in keeping with the Queen’s Proclamation of 1858, which stated the Crown’s commitment to religious neutrality. The policy of neutrality also suited the political imperatives of the Madras Government at a time when Indian public opinion was scrutinizing its religious policies. D. Sadasivan, The Growth of Public Opinion in the Madras Presidency, 1858–1909 (Madras: University of Madras, 1974), 108, 128–40. “The intolerance of some Protestant missionaries in Travancore made me blush occasionally for the religion they professed in what is called with justice the land of charity.” Letter from J.T. Thomson, dated September 26, 1901. G.O. 599–600 (Political). J.D. Rees, the Resident in Travancore and Cochin, had first used the phrase “dead letter” to describe the effects of the Lex Loci within districts under British rule. See extracts from his letter, dated May 11, 1894. In Government Order No. 456–57 (Political Department), June 28, 1894. Madras Political Proceedings, 1894. OIOC.

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23 During the 1850’s the Madras Hindu gentry had opposed the educational policies of Lord Tweeddale, which sought to nationalize Christian education. See Robert Frykenberg, “Conversion and the Crisis of Conscience under Company Raj in South India,” Asie du Sud. Traditions et Changements, Colloques Internationaux du C.N.R.S., Issue 582, 311–21. Several decades later, opposition to Christian propaganda had taken the shape of aggressive campaigns to propagate “Hinduism.” See Geoffrey Oddie, “Anti-missionary Feeling in Madras: The Hindu Preaching and Tract Societies, 1886–1891,” in Fred W. Clothey, Images of Man: Religious and Historical Process in South Asia (Madras: New Era Publications, 1982), 228–43. 24 According to Robin Jeffrey, “The goal of British government was to make the state act in harmony with British interests.” “The Politics of ‘Indirect Rule’: Types of Relationships among Rulers, Ministers and Residents in a ‘Native State’,” Journal of Commonwealth and Comparative Politics, Volume 8, No. 3 (1975), 261. By the turn of the twentieth century, so-called British interests clearly stood at odds with missionary interests, the rights of converts, or any other apparently “Christian agenda.” Writing in 1901 about the possible extension of the Act of 1850 into Travancore, G. Stokes observed “the Act is strongly resented even in British territory and has been almost a dead letter … This is admitted by missionaries and is incontestable. The Act has never been adopted on the West Coast where it is regarded as a proselytizing Act passed against great opposition.” G. Stokes, September 15, 1901. In G.O. 599–600 (Political). 25 Petition of the Missionaries of the LMS stationed in Travancore to His Highness the Maharajah of Travancore. July 15, 1887. G.O. 599–600 (Political), 45. 26 Koji Kowashima, Missionaries and a Hindu State, 17–27. For illuminating and indepth discussions of the workings of Hindu states, see Pamela Price, Kingship and Political Practice in Colonial India (Cambridge: CUP, 1996), V. Narayana Rao, D. Shulman and S. Subrahmanyam, Symbols of Substance: Court and State in Nayaka Period Tamilnadu (New Delhi: OUP, 1992), and Cynthia Talbot, Gifts to Gods and Brahmans: A Study of Religious Endowments in Medieval Andhra (M.A. Thesis: University of Wisconsin, Madison, 1988). 27 Imperial Gazetteer of India: Mysore and Coorg (Calcutta: Superintendent of Government Printing, 1908), 75. 28 Donald R. Gustafson, Mysore: 1881–1902: The Making of a Model State (Ph.D. Thesis, Madison, WI, 1968), 6. 29 Within British India, a convert, upon being deserted by an unconverted spouse for his or her change of faith, could seek relief under the Native Convert’s Dissolution of Marriage Act (XXI) of 1866. This Act allowed the convert to dissolve the original marriage and remarry as a Christian without being charged with bigamy. As marriage and divorce are subjects of Chapter 2, the case of Huchi will not be discussed at length in this section. For a more detailed discussion of this case, see Gauri Vishwanathan, Outside the Fold, 101–5. 30 Proceedings of the Chief Commissioner of Mysore, Judicial Department, October 4, 1876. Taken from G.O. 599–600 (Political). 31 Draft of a letter from the Diwan to the Resident, in reply to the First Assistant Resident’s letter no. 860–96–95, dated September 3, 1895. From G.O. 599–600 (Political). According to the Diwan, from 1873 to 1880 the Government of India successively declined on four occasions to introduce Act XXI of 1850 into Mysore, with the concurrence of the Secretary of State for India. 32 Ibid. 33 The rule of procedure governing the Mysore Chief Court in civil matters was set forth in the eleventh section of the Chief Court Regulation: “Where in any suit or proceeding it is necessary for the Chief Court to decide any question regarding succession, inheritance, marriage, or caste, or any religious usage or institution: (a)

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37

38

39

40

41 42 43

the Hindu law, where the parties are Hindus; or (b) any custom, if such there be, having the force of law and governing the parties or property concerned, shall form the rule of decision unless such law, or custom, has, by legislative enactment, been altered or abolished [;] (c) In cases where no specific rule exists, the Chief Court shall act according to justice, equity, and good conscience.” From John D. Mayne, A Treatise on Hindu Law and Usage, Ninth Edition, 291. Diwan to Resident, March 9, 1895. G.O. 599–600 (Political), n/p. Ibid. However, prior to its landmark decision in Dasapa v. Chikama (1894), the Mysore Chief Court had “affirmed the principle that a mere change of religion did not deprive a citizen of the civil rights or social status he possessed prior to his changing his religion.” It affirmed this principle in an 1893 case in which Hindus had opposed the right of Christian converts to make use of a well. J.D. Mayne, A Treatise on Hindu Law and Usage, Ninth Edition, 291. For the Government’s ruling regarding the use of the well, see Proceedings of Government of Mysore, No. 9566 – 85 G. 2255 dated 19 December, 1893. The reasons Gordon had cited in opposition to the extension of the Act of 1850 into Mysore are as follows. First, that Mysore is a Native State, and the Act is opposed to the provisions of the Hindu Law, and but few cases arise under it. Second, that the Act is opposed to the provisions of the Hindu religion and should not therefore be extended being in contravention to the royal Proclamation. Third, that the test of the capacity to inherit under Hindu Law is the ability to benefit the manes of one’s ancestors, and the loss of caste deprives one of such ability, and is therefore a proper bar to inheritance. Report of Sir James Gordon, Judicial Commissioner, Bangalore. May 30, 1876. From G.O. 599–600 (Political). With respect to the rights of converts, the Mysore administration had enacted some protective measures, but not as many as had been enacted in the Bengal and Madras Presidencies. By the time that Dasapa v. Chikama had been tried, the Act of 1850 had not been extended into Mysore, but the Native Converts Marriage Dissolution Act (XXI) of 1866 had been so extended. Mysore Law Reports, XV–XVIII (1892–1895), 633–47. Judge P.N. Krishna Murti’s decision made reference to Section 11 of the Chief Court Regulation. See note 33 above. Apparently the Chief Court did not interpret its professed commitment to “justice, equity and good conscience” as something that could alter the operation of the Hindu law of inheritance. Mysore Law Reports, XV–XVIII (1892–1895), 639. Ibid., 641. The issue of reciprocity had also been factored prominently into arguments against the introduction of the Act of 1850 into Travancore. The Act, it was argued, “fully operates in favor of the convert and against the rights of his Hindu relatives in families governed by Mitakshara.” Letter of Diwan of Travancore, G.O. 599–600 (Political), 23. Three decades later, Gandhi would deploy notions of “right” and “duty” as he criticized Christians for defending their duty to welcome members of the so-called “Depressed Classes” into the Church. Gandhi’s views on conversion are discussed in Chapter 8. Abraham v. Abraham is discussed in depth in Chapter 3. Here, P.N. Krishna Murti is referring to Abraham v. Abraham (1863) 9 M.I.A, 199. Citing Hindley’s work on jurisprudence, Krishna Murti insisted that Mysore’s rejection of the Act of 1850 had been a conscious and deliberate choice of its sovereign, a choice that the Court should honor. “The principle of severance has been laid down by the leading judges of England and this rule of severance has been adopted by the legislature of this country … The rules of other systems of jurisprudence that a child belongs to his father and that he should be educated and brought up in the religion

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45

46 47 48

49 50

51 52 53 54

55

56

57

58 59 60

of the father do not seem to apply where the father has done something which the law declares shall sever him from all existing ties.” Mysore Law Reports, XV–XVIII (1892–1895), 642. Examples of other disqualifying factors include insanity, cruelty, drunkenness or misconduct, or other breaches of morality. Under the influence of late Victorian reforms in England, the Indian Courts refused to grant unqualified support to paternal rights over minor children. Misconduct or immoral conduct by the father that was likely to interfere with the material welfare or happiness of the child may lead to the forfeiture of his rights to custody. See discussion of this in J.D. Mayne, A Treatise on Hindu Law and Usage (1900), 269–73. See Skinner v. Orde (1871) 14 M.I.A., 309, regarding apostate mother’s loss of custody rights. Also, Shapurji Benzonji and another, Perry’s Or. Ca., 91. In that case, a Parsi family detained an infant from the father due to the father’s apostasy. The Supreme Court of Bombay, however, ordered that the child be given up to the father. And Barlow v. Orde, 13 M.I.A., 227, which ruled that the legal status and rights of the father are in no way affected by a change of religion, or even when the father professes no religion at all. Diwan to Resident, March 9, 1895. G.O. 599–600 (Political), n/p. Ibid. With regard to how Thumbu Chetty’s views had contradicted those of Judge P.N. Krishna Murti, it may also be noted that Krishna Murti was a Brahmin, while Thumbu Chetty (judging by his name) was from a lower, non-Brahmin trading/merchant or banker caste. His non-Brahmin status coupled with his Christian faith made him all the more critical of the “Aryan” standards of Indian families and more sympathetic to issues facing converts. Consultation with Robert Frykenberg, June 10, 2000. See T. Royaloo Chetty, A Brief Sketch of the Life of Raja Dharma Pravina, T.R.A. Thumboo Chetty (n.p. 1910). Mysore Law Reports, XV–XVIII (1892–1895), 637. Thumbu Chetty had cited Proceedings of Government of Mysore, No. 9566 – 85 G. 2255 dated 19 December, 1893. Ibid., 636. Note by T.R.A. Thumbu Chetty, Member of Council, 26 June, 1895. G.O. 599–600 (Political). Mysore Law Reports, XV–XVIII (1892–1895), 638. Such questions were raised by the Government of India in its Report of Committee Appointed by the Resolution of the Board of July 16, 1894, to Ascertain the Law Bearing on the Legal Disabilities (if any) of Native Christians in India. Proceedings of the Indian Legislative Council, 1865. V/9/9, OIOC. Missionaries often employed such generalizations. They appealed to the “enlightened” characteristics of princes in order to advance the cause of their medical and educational institutions within princely states. Kawashima, Missionaries and a Hindu State, 82–5. Susan Bayly, Saints, Goddesses and Kings: Muslims and Christians in South Indian Society, 1700–1900 (Cambridge: CUP, 1989), 321–7; Andre Wink, Al-Hind: The Making of the Indo-Islamic World Volume I (New Delhi: OUP, 1990), 74–5. T. Madava Rao was among the first graduates of the University of Madras (Presidency College). See G. Paramaswaran Pillai, Representative Indians (London: George Routledge & Sons, Ltd., 1897), 101–15. Koji Kawashima, Missionaries and a Hindu State, 36. Ibid., 28. Pamela Price similarly describes how formal agencies of the modern state in the southern Kingdom of Padukkotai, and courts of law especially, had provided new

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61 62 63 64

65

66 67 68

69 70

71

72 73 74 75 76

77 78

arenas for traditional modes of status competition. See Kingship and Political Practice in Colonial India, 40–58. Kawashima, Missionaries and a Hindu State, 21–4. Fisher, Indirect Rule in India, 11–12. Kawashima, Missionaries and a Hindu State, 73. “The Roman Catholic Christians, who form the majority (56%) of the Christians in Travancore, have shown no disposition to join in the movement. There is every reason to believe that they are contented with the laws of the State. The Syrian Christians, other than Protestants, who have been Christians for generations, are little affected.” J.D. Rees, Resident of Travancore and Cochin, to the Chief Secretary to Government. Trivandrum, June 20, 1898. G.O 599–600 (Political), 122–3. “It may be noted at the outset that those who press for the change are the European Protestant Missionaries on behalf of their converts, while the converts themselves do not appear to have felt any prompting in this direction. So far as Roman Catholic Missionaries are concerned, whose adherents number more by far – 295,337 against 44,792 – and who were the earliest to settle in Travancore, they are not known to have actively joined in the movement.” Diwan of Travancore to British Resident in Travancore and Cochin. Trivandrum, March 5, 1898. Ibid., 127. LMS to Maharaja, in letter from J. Duthie, Secretary of the Travancore District Committee, LMS, to the Acting British Resident of Travancore. Nagercoil, 15 July, 1887. Ibid, 46. Ibid, 47–50. Ibid., 50. Members of the Indian Legislative Council were careful to assess the likely impact of legislation on “Native public opinion.” In a debate concerning proposals to amend the Native Marriage Bill, for instance, members of the Council had expressed fears of creating “heart-burnings in Indian families” by violating their religious customs and sensibilities. It was in this context that Sir Richard Temple had pointed out that “popular opinion” ought not to be confused with the opinions of Government servants. See Abstract of the Proceedings of the Council of the Governor General of India. Meeting of the Council of Tuesday, 19 March, 1872; pps. 166–83. OIOC. Letter of the Registrar of the High Court of Madras, Appellate Side, No. 2238, 10 August, 1894. G.O. 599–600 (Political), 64. The original Government Order, which had requested such an enquiry, was restricted to Tinnevelly and Malabar Districts. G.O. No. 456 (Political), 28 June, 1894. Madras Political Proceedings, 1894. P/4651, OIOC. The scope of the enquiry was later expanded to include South Kanara, Tanjore, Coimbatore and Madura. For example, a couple was excommunicated on grounds of “illegal intercourse.” The couple sued for maintenance and won, under the relief provided by the Act of 1850. The reports made references to other varieties of “outcasts” besides converts, but did not specify the exact reasons for which they had become outcast. See ibid., 61–3. From District Judge of Kasaragod, to District Judge of South Canara, 12 September, 1894. G.O. 599–600 (Political), 64. Ibid. Ibid., 65. Ibid. The renowned South Indian social reformer R. Raghunatha Rao inspired in Sadasiva Iyer this devotion to Krishna. V.C. Gopalratnam, A Century Completed: A History of the Madras High Court, 1862–1962 (Madras: Madras Law Journal Office, n.d.), 169–71. Ibid., 171. However, see I.L.R., 12 Mad., 277. There, the Madras High Court had ruled that where two Marava sisters had become prostitutes and had lost caste, and one of them died, the degraded sister was entitled to inherit the deceased sister’s property, over

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79 80 81 82 83 84 85

86

87

and against the claims of the un-degraded brothers. Sadasiva Iyer cited the case in order to point out how the Act of 1850 had privileged converts over the unconverted. From T. Sadasiva Iyer, District Judge, Srivaikuntum, to District Judge, Tinnevelly. Srivaikuntam, August 27, 1894. G.O. 599–600 (Political), 90. Ibid., 91. Ibid. V.K. Desikachariar, Avargal District Judge, Tuticorn, to Acting District Judge, Tinnevelly. Tuticorn, August 25, 1894. Ibid., 93. Ibid. S. Gopala Chari, Subordinate Judge of Tinnevelly, to Acting District Judge, Tinnevelly, September 10, 1894. Ibid., 93–5. Ibid., 95. “Popular notions of right and duty and of [juridical] relations are now stronger than they were fifty years ago and the introduction of the Act would not be accepted.… [The Act] is admittedly and on its face urged for proselytizing purposes and any action which the Government may take will and can only be regarded as that of a proselytizing power.” Letter from Diwan of Travancore. G.O. 599–600 (Political), 22. Memorial of Bangalore Missionary Conference to Diwan of Mysore. Cited in draft of letter from the Diwan of Mysore to the Resident. March 9, 1895. G.O. 599–600 (Political). Notes from Government of India, Foreign Department. August 26, 1901. Ibid.

3 INHERITANCE LAW AND THE “NATIVE CHRISTIAN” COMMUNITY, 1863–1971 1

William Hay Macnaghten, Principles of Hindu and Mohammadan Law Republished from the Principles and Precedents of the Same (London: Williams and Norgate, 1862), 17. 2 The two schools also differ in their interpretation of the actual order or progression of inheritance, or the sapinda relationship. The Mitakshara teaches that higher degrees of consanguinity result in stronger claims to proprietary rights. The Dayabhaga, by contrast, stresses the ritual proximity of persons who offer pinda or rice balls to the deceased at the shraddha (funeral) ceremony. The offering of pinda is believed to provide a “spiritual benefit” to the deceased, and this benefit legitimates varying degrees of proprietary entitlement. For a discussion of the controversies surrounding the interpretations of both schools, see Ludo Rocher (editor, with introduction and notes), Jimutavahana’s Dayabhaga: The Hindu Law of Inheritance in Bengal (Oxford: OUP, 2002), 25–32. See also H.T. Colebrook (trs.), Daya-Bhaga and Mitaksara: Two Treatises on the Hindu Law of Inheritance (New Delhi: Parimal Publications, 1984). This is a reprint of the Calcutta edition, published in 1883. 3 J.D.M. Derrett, “Dharmasastra: The Origin, Nature and Purpose of the Smrti.” In Contributions to the Study of Indian Law and Society, Published papers of the South Asia Seminar at the University of Pennsylvania (Philedelphia, PA, 1966–7), 5. 4 Nelson took issue with many European scholars who had published legal commentaries on Hindu law. Renowned figures in Indian legal research such as Burnell, Norton, Strange, Macnaghten, Mayne and Cunningham all come under Nelson’s fire for their lack of knowledge of Sanskrit. See Nelson, A Prospectus of the Scientific Study of the Hindu Law (London: C. Kegan Paul and Co., 1881), 11. 5 See J.H. Nelson, A View of the Hindu Law as Administered by the High Court of Judicature at Madras (Madras: Higginbothams and Co., 1877), 11–12. 6 Would the application of Hindu law in South India, Nelson asks, not be equivalent to the “endeavor to find out the peculiar modern laws and usages of the Channel

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7 8 9

10

11

12 13

14

15

16

Islands by studying the early and medieval history of Christianity; or to go to the Byzantine chroniclers for light wherewith to illustrate the puzzling customs of the Basques.” Ibid., 7. L.T. Kikani, Caste in Courts or Rights and Powers of Castes in Social and Religious Matters as Recognized by Indian Courts (Rajkot, 1912), ii. Nelson, A View of the Hindu Law, 32. According to Hindu laws of inheritance, property was inherited laterally by surviving male members of the joint family. Such laws could favor the brother of a deceased father over a spouse or child. The Indian Succession Act (X) of 1865 applied a more “Western” standard of succession to Christian families, by which property of the deceased was passed on “linearly” to the surviving spouse and children. The Indian Succession Act of 1865 set forth the law “applicable to Intestate and Testamentary succession in British India.” Hindus (which included Buddhists, Jains and Sikhs) were excluded from the application of this Act, leaving Christians as its primary subject. Julian Saldanha, Conversion and Indian Civil Law (Bangalore: Theological Publications in India, 1981), 98. Sir Henry Maine’s notes. Taken from Government of India, Home Department Legislative. Statement of Objects and Reasons. Indian Succession Act, 1866; 4. L/PJ/5. OIOC. Section 331 of the Act reads: “The provisions of this Act shall not apply to Intestate or Testamentary succession to the property of any Hindu, Muhammedan or Buddhist; nor shall they apply to any Will made, or any intestasy occurring before the first day of January, 1866 …” Section 332 grants the Governor General of India in Council the power to exempt, by an order, “any race, sect or tribe in British India or any part of such race, sect or tribe” from the operation of the whole or any part of the Act. Ibid., 6. See Outside the Fold: Conversion, Modernity and Belief (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1998), 14–17, 77–8. Abraham v. Abraham (1863) 9 M.I.A., 240–1. Discussions of Abraham v. Abraham contained in this chapter are based upon two sources. One is the published verdict of the case, found in Moore’s Indian Appeals (M.I.A.). The other source is the actual case, found in the House of Lords’ Library in London (Cases with Judgments), which contains nearly all of the depositions and correspondence of the case, from the original suit filed in the Bellary District Court to the verdict issued by the Privy Council. The latter is cited later in the chapter, in connection to data drawn from the depositions. “The court came to the conclusion that there was in India no lex loci, but that the rule of law must be, according to the customs and usages of the class to which the parties belonged, and the usage in each particular family, to be ascertained by evidence.” Decree of the Sudder Court on November 5, 1859. Abraham v. Abraham. (1863), 9 M.I.A., 216. As Julian Saldanha observes, many converts to Christianity actively dissociated themselves from their Hindu caste heritage and identified themselves with Western cultural values. Such Christians legitimated the tendency of the courts to treat “Native Christians” as a separate legal entity. See Conversion and Indian Civil Law, 13–14, 93–4. The East India Company promoted the sale of liquor and other intoxicating substances as sources of revenue. Under Company rule, “Abkarry” revenue consisted of that collected from “arrack [an alcoholic beverage extracted from the juice of palm trees], foreign liquor, toddy, opium and hemp drugs.” The Company implemented the contract distillery supply system, under which exclusive rights to manufacture and sell liquor was obtained through tender. W. Francis, Madras District Gazetteers: Bellary (Madras: Government Press, 1904), 179–80.

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17 According to a deposition taken from the Plaintiff’s 43rd witness, Govindapah, son of Venketapa, a Hindu resident of Bellary who belonged to the Yellatee Reddy caste, Francis functioned as a hired employee of Mathew, not as an undivided brother: “I recall Mathew Abraham flogging Francis Abraham on three occasions. He flogged him as a servant is flogged when he misbehaves himself but not like a father beating his son. In a Hindoo family the undivided younger brother is never kept by the elder brother in the position in which Francis Abraham was kept by Mathew Abraham; but he is treated as an equal.” In the Privy Council On Appeal from Madras (Jones and Blaxland), Abraham v. Abraham, No. 561, O.S. No. 2 of 1854, Before the Civil Court of Bellary, 190. Hereafter, “Cases with Judgments.” 18 See also Skinner v. Orde (1871) 14 M.I.A., 309. 19 Abraham v. Abraham (1863), 9 M.I.A., 215. This decision followed a series of dismissals and appeals on the basis of filing procedures and other technicalities. 20 Ibid., 215, 233–4. 21 Ibid., 235. 22 Ibid., 217. 23 Ibid., 239. 24 Ibid., 244. 25 Abraham v. Abraham, Cases with Judgments, 618–19. 26 Of the 101 witnesses deposed by the Plaintiff’s counsel, only 72 depositions were available. Of those 72, 44 were taken from Protestants. Of the 44 Protestants, there were only 8 Indians, none of whom listed their caste background. Abraham v. Abraham, Cases with Judgments. 27 Testimony of the plaintiff’s 65th witness, the Reverend B.F. Amarante, aged 45 years, Catholic Priest, Rector of the Seminary of St. Tome, a Native of Goa, and residing at Mylapore. Abraham v. Abraham, Cases with Judgements, 232–3. 28 Ibid., 234–5. 29 Of the 150 depositions taken by the attorney for Francis, 104 were available. Of those 104 depositions, 53 were from Roman Catholics, of which all but two were Indian. Protestant witnesses consisted of Vellalars, Mootatee Capoos, Kammas and Reddys. Abraham v. Abraham, Cases with Judgments. 30 This resonates with Marc Galanter’s description of law and society as “interpenetrating realities.” See Galanter, Law and Society in Modern India (New Delhi: OUP, 1997), 104. 31 Abraham v. Abraham, 17. 32 For a discussion of acquisitions and alienations of property within joint families, see J.D.M. Derrett, Religion, Law and the State in India, (New York: The Free Press, 1968), 422–36. 33 Joint families most often functioned as undivided families, but the opposite was not always the case. Members of undivided families could live separately while subsisting on common family property. See Thomas Strange, Hindu Law: Principally with Reference to Such Portions of it as Concern the Administration of Justice in the King’s Courts in India, Vol. I (London: Parbury, Allen and Co., 1830), 225. 34 The redrafting of the Succession Act in 1925 preserved the essence of Act X of 1865. See The Indian Succession Act (XXXIX of 1925), Part V, Chapter I (Intestate Succession), Sections 32, 33 and 33A. K. Sreedhara Variar, The Christian Law (Statutes with Commentaries) (Ernakulam: Dewer Press, 1971), 210–12. 35 According to Robert Baird, both religious and legal discourses invoke “Hinduism” as an abstract category without fully establishing, on empirical grounds, that the category corresponds to the actual data of history. To bridge the gap between idea and fact, the courts, according to Marc Galanter, resorted to both analytical and descriptive approaches to Hinduism. While the descriptive approach views Hinduism as “a complex, indefinable inclusive aggregation of ways of life,” the analytical defines

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40 41

42

43

44 45

46 47

48

Hinduism in terms of a set of broad concepts (e.g., karma and rebirth, the quest for moksha, the acceptance of the Veda, etc.) shared by a vast array of local traditions. Both Baird and Galanter base their discussions on court cases from independent India. Still, the questions they raise about the applicability of Hindu textual law to a variety of local communities are the same dilemmas faced by the courts during the previous century. See Robert Baird, “On Defining Hinduism,” in Religion and Law in Independent India (New Delhi: Manohar, 1993), 46–7; and Marc Galanter, “Hinduism, Secularism and the Indian Judiciary,” in Law and Society in Modern India (New Delhi: OUP, 1997), 242–3. Ponnusami Nadan v. Dorasami Ayyan, 211–12. Saldanha, Conversion and Indian Civil Law, 99. Grady, A Treatise on the Hindoo Law, 7. “It was not a betrothal merely that took place. The consummation ceremony and consummation never took place, but otherwise the marriage was completed with all the ceremonies necessary to constitute a Hindu marriage between Brahmins.” Sinammal v. Administrator General of Madras (1883) I.L.R. 8 Mad., 171. Ibid., 172. See also the case of Shanmukharam, the Telugu convert who was “deserted” by his wife. The history of the case was recorded by John Hay, a missionary for the L.M.S., and raises the question of “who deserts whom?” See Chapter 4, pp 78–80. The decision quoted at length passages from the Vyavastha Chandrika (a commentary on the Dravada school of Hindu law) and the Code of Manu to establish Kristnama’s state of degredation and its implications for inheritance. These questions should have been mooted by the fact that Kristnama was a Christian governed by the Indian Succession Act. Yet the court in this instance ruled that upon Kristnama’s death, Sinammal’s marriage to him was dissolved under Hindu law. Even if the court had not delved so deeply into the fine nuances of textual law, it would still have had to disqualify Sinnamal from succeeding on the basis of her farikhut. This is the conclusion the court came to when the case was retried in Administrator General v. Anandachari (1886) I.L.R., 9 Mad., 471. A convert out of “Hinduism” may be readmitted into “the Hindu fold” through a purification rite known as shuddhi. A non-Hindu could also become a Hindu by conversion “if the society or group into which he or she was admitted accepted him or her as a full member – though it might be doubtful what caste (in the varna scale) he or she would obtain …” Derrett, Religion, Law and the State in India, 45. Sinammal v. Administrator General, 173. “The Brahminical theory of wealth is that it is conferred for the sake of defraying the expense of sacrifices; the theory of inheritance that it descends upon the heir to enable him to rescue the deceased from eternal misery. Consequently, one who is unable or unwilling to perform the necessary sacrifices is incapable of inheriting. Naturally, degradation from caste was itself accompanied by forfeiture of inheritance.” Quote from Mayne’s Hindu Law (Section 507). Cited in Committee Appointed by the Resolution of the Board of July 16, 1894, to Ascertain the Law Bearing on the Legal Disabilities (if any) of Native Christians in India, in Proceedings of the Indian Legislative Council, 1865. V/9/9, OIOC. (1886) Administrator General of Madras v. Anandachari, I.L.R., 9 Madras, 466. According to Judge Parker, “Had it not been for the farikhut which she gave Kristnama in 1858, I should have been inclined to think that half of Kristnama’s estate had vested in her at his death. But the farikhut is an absolute renunciation of all claims, present and future, so that under Section 33 of the Succession Act the father becomes entitled to the whole.” Ibid., 472. By the time of this trial, Sinammal was deceased. This redirected the court’s attention toward Anandachari’s claims to Kristnama’s property.

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49 Ibid., 472. 50 Ibid., 471. The aim of the Lex Loci Act of 1850 most often was interpreted in terms of the relief it granted to Christian converts. Converts forfeited, under Hindu law, the right to inherit property within a traditional, joint family. Some officials, however, had insisted that the Lex Loci ought also to protect unconverted family members from losing their civil rights on account of the convert’s change of faith. Parker’s words resonate with such concerns voiced on behalf of unconverted family members. Interestingly, his argument made no reference to the Lex Loci, but was rooted in his own interpretation of the Succession Act. 51 As one District Judge had observed in connection with the decision in Sinnamal, the Lex Loci Act suffered from this very lack of reciprocity: “Thus, while the Act XXI of 1850 preserves to a convert his rights in the property of the family to which he had belonged before conversion, there is no corresponding provision of law preserving to his unconverted relatives a right to property of which he dies possessed. The principles of Hindu law which operate to dissolve the connection between an outcaste and his relatives in caste and declare that as between them there can be no right of inheritance, are still in force against unconverted relatives, while they have been declared to be of no force against converts from Hindu religion.” From M.R. Ry. T.T. Runga Chariar Avergal, District Munsif of Coimbatore, to Dt. Judge, Coimbatore, 3 October, 1894. Taken from G.O. No. 367 (Political) June 10, 1896. OIOC. 52 Tellis v. Saldanha, (1887) I.L.R., 10 Madras, 70. 53 Ibid., 71. 54 Ibid. 55 Ibid., 72. 56 See, for instance, judges Napier and Sadasiva Iyer’s dissenting opinion in Kolandaivelu v. Rev. Dequidt (1917) I.L.R., 40 Mad., 1031. They argued that the High Court’s application of the Indian Christian Marriage Act of 1872 violated the principle of religious neutrality. 57 See J.H. Nelson, A View of the Hindu Law as Administered by the High Court of Judicature at Madras (Madras: Higginbothams and Co., 1877), ii–34. 58 T. Royaloo Chetty, A Brief Sketch of the Life of Raja Dharma Pravina, T.R.A. Thumbu Chetty (n.p. 1910), 194. 59 Ibid., italics added. 60 In addition to references to “Hindu” customs and usages, Thumbu Chetty also had made references to “the Hindu religion.” This shows that he recognized both traditional uses of the term “Hindu,” associated simply with anyone or anything that was native to the subcontinent, as well as a more modern use of the term “Hindu” which had come to be associated with “the Hindu religion.” See Frykenberg, “The Emergence of Modern ‘Hinduism’ as a Concept and as an Institution,” in Sontheimer and Kulke (eds), Hinduism Reconsidered (New Delhi: Manohar, 1989), 29–49. As a judge and a Christian, Thumbu Chetty was not only aware of both meanings of the term “Hindu,” but had used them strategically in his advocacy for the rights of Christian converts. 61 Section 331 exempts Hindus, Muslims and Buddhists from provisions of the Act. 62 (1895) I.L.R., XIX Bombay, 783. 63 Ibid., 785. 64 Ibid. 65 Dagree, 786. 66 Ibid. 67 Ibid. This is a point reiterated by Julian Saldanha in Conversion and Indian Civil Law, 13, 91–7.

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4 MARITAL LAW AND CONSTRUCTIONS OF HINDU AND CHRISTIAN IDENTITY, 1870–1920 1

Mixed marriages challenged orthodox standards of both Roman Catholic and Protestant churches throughout India. To insure the continuity of the Christian partner in the faith and that the children would be raised as Christians, some Catholic churches required partners to take an oath: “I the undersigned Joseph Thomas promise under oath not to interfere with my future wife … or mistreat her on account of her religion, and to make all of my children, if blessed, wilt by God, Catholics, in birth whereof I signed this my declaration, this day 22 July, 1872.” Mixed Marriages: Cautions. Baitakhanna Church, Bengal Mission. San Thome Cathedral Archives, Madras. 2 Skinner v. Orde (1871), 14 M.I.A. 309, 323. 3 J. Duncan M. Derrett, Religion, Law and the State in India (New York: The Free Press, 1968), 39. 4 According to Henry Maine, this journey away from orthodox belief was part of an “inevitable history of opinion.” “The first step,” he wrote, “is to disbelieve; the next to be ashamed of the profession of belief.” Henry Maine, “Civil Marriage of Natives,” in Whitley Stokes (ed.), Sir Henry Maine: A Brief Memoir of his Life with Some of His Indian Speeches and Minutes (London: John Murray, 1892), 290. For an excellent description of how Indians had re-examined their own traditions in light of Western influence, see Tapan Raychauduri, Europe Reconsidered (London: OUP, 1989). 5 The Brahmo Samaj was a reformist organization founded in late-nineteenth-century Bengal by Ram Mohan Roy. Brahmos were monotheist Hindus who, under the influence of Christian ideas, had repudiated the worship of images and attempted to rid Hinduism of other “immoral” or “irrational” practices. 6 Act III of 1872 applied only to “persons who do not belong to the Christian, Jewish, Hindu, Muhammadan, Parsi, Buddhist, Sikh, or Jaina religion.” For debates over the intent, scope and implications of the Act, see Proceedings of the Indian Legislative Council, July 4, 1872; 56–272. OIOC. 7 Such arguments for and against Act III are structurally similar to those surrounding the Lex Loci Act (XXI) of 1850. Seshiah Sastri, head sheristadar of the Madras Revenue Board, summarized the concerns of the orthodox as follows: “The question is repeatedly asked what do the orthodox people care about a law which concerns only those who renounce the orthodox religion? Those who put this question seem to forget the fact that it is the children of the orthodox who go to swell the ranks of the seceders, and that a law which facilitates, nay aids and abets, their children to swerve from the paths of their forefathers is a subject in which they are, and must be, deeply and painfully interested.” See Proceedings of the Legislative Council, March, 1872; 151. OIOC. 8 In the following quote from Lord Kingsdown in Abraham v. Abraham, the term “marriage” could easily be substituted for “property” and still retain the intended meaning of the passage: “The class known in India as ‘Native Christians,’ using that term in its wide and extended sense as embracing all natives converted to Christianity, has subordinate divisions forming again distinct classes, of which some adhere to the Hindu customs and usages as to property; others retain those customs and usages in a modified form; and others again have wholly abandoned those customs and usages, and adopted different rules and laws as to their property …” Taken from A.S. Viswanatha Aiyar, The Privy Council Digest (1836–1930): Vol. I (Madras: Madras Law Journal Office, 1930), 798. 9 Earlier laws, for instance Act XXV of 1864 and Act V of 1865, had been criticized for permitting marriages at too early an age and for inadequately instituting the principle

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10

11 12

13

14 15

16

17 18 19

20 21 22

23 24 25

of monogamy. For the history of the Marriage Bill, see Proceedings of the Indian Legislative Council, July 4, 1872; 562. OIOC. In his commentary on a bill calling for amendments to the Indian Christian Marriage Act, F. Hahn of Gossner’s Evangelical Lutheran Mission described the impact of the Act on the Kols of Chota Nagpur. Hahn protested the absence in the proposed amendment of any provision that would allow Kol Christians to “re-marry” in cases where their previous spouses have deserted them. It appears that Hahn proposed an amendment to the Christian Marriage Act in order to spare Kols the high costs of filing for a divorce under the Acts of 1869 or 1866 (discussed later in the chapter). “The Indian Christian Marriage Act,” Harvest Field, November, 1890; 193–8. The precise date of the bill in question is unknown. See discussion of this in Chapter 7, p. 138 H.. Caldwell’s views were cited by members of the Legislative Council in connection to proposed amendments to the Indian Christian Marriage Act (V). See Proceedings of the Indian Legislative Council, July 4, 1872; 566. OIOC. Ministers of the Leipzig Evangelical Lutheran Mission had expressed concerns over the rising occurrence of mixed marriages within their congregations. In 1912, three families had asked A.C. Sebastian, an LELM minister, for permission to wed their sons to “unbaptized heathen brides.” The parties proceeded to conduct the ceremonies “in a heathen way” in spite of having been denied permission to do so. Graham Houghton, The Impoverishment of Dependency: The History of the Protestant Church in Madras, 1870–1920 (Madras: Christian Literature Society, 1983), 155. See note 10. For our purposes, the term “caste” refers to a group of persons sharing a hereditary profession and a set of customs, which differentiate them from others. These customs may include religious or social practices, notions of pollution and purity, dietary preferences and marital practices. The “dual identity” of village Christians is highlighted in the work of P.Y. Luke and John B. Carmen, Village Christians and Hindu Culture: Study of a Rural Church in Andhra Pradesh, South India (London: Lutterworth Press, 1968), 190–207. A recent study by Dennis Hudson describes the relationship between Tamil Protestant converts and their pre-existing social and belief structures. See Protestant Origins in India: Tamil Evangelical Christians, 1706–1835 (Grand Rapids/Richmond, Surrey: Eerdmans and Curzon Press, 2000), 153–72. Robert Hardgrave, The Naders of Tamilnad (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1969), 91. The Indian Christian Marriage Act (XV of 1872), Preamble. In K. Sreedhara Variar, The Christian Law: Statutes with Commentaries (Ernakulam: Dewers Press, 1971), 1. According to Section 68, whoever solemnizes a marriage between persons, one or both of whom is or are Christian, without being authorized to do so under Section 5 of the Act, may be punished with imprisonment for up to ten years. Ibid., 40. (1894) I.L.R., 17 Mad., 391. 6 M.H.C.R., App. 20. The language of the Act itself supports this view: “Every marriage between persons, one or both of whom is a Christian or Christians, shall be solemnized in accordance with the following section; and any such marriage solemnized otherwise than in accordance with such provisions shall be void.” The Indian Christian Marriage Act (XV of 1872), from Variar, The Christian Law, 3. The marriage was conducted according to “non-Christian” rites, which we presume to be Hindu. (1897) I.L.R., 20 Mad., 13–14. Ibid., 14.

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26 The decision in Queen Empress v. Fisher sharply criticizes the awkwardness and “absurdity” of the wording of Section 68. “[A] difficulty arises as to why the words ‘in the absence of a Marriage Registrar’ appear in section 68 at all. They are out of place in a section penalizing all unauthorized marriages.” (1891) I.L.R. XIV, 345. 27 Queen Empress v. Paul, (1897) I.L.R. 20 Mad., 16. 28 Any criminal offense, by definition, was an action against the State and a breach of public peace. 29 (1917) I.L.R., 40 Mad., 1031. 30 Ibid., 1032. 31 Ibid., 1033. 32 Ibid., 1034. 33 Randolph Trumbach (ed.), The Marriage Act of 1753: Four Tracts (New York: Garland Publishing, Inc., 1984). 34 R.B. Outhwaite, Clandestine Marriage in England, 1500–1850 (London: Hambledon Press, 1995), 25. 35 In 1872, the right to perform marriages according to Quaker customs, even when only one or neither partner was Quaker, was granted provided that “the party or parties who shall not be a member or members of the said society shall profess with or be of the same persuasion of the said society.” This particular clause was struck, however, in 1873. See An act to extend the provision of the acts relating to marriages in England and Ireland, so far as they relate to marriages according to the usages of the Society of Friends. May 13, 1872. (London, G.E. Eyre & Spottiswoode, 1872). 36 Efforts to extend legal recognition to Greek marriages official in England resulted in similar legislation. See An act to remove doubts as to the validity of certain marriages of members of the Greek Church in England. July 3, 1884 (London, Eyre & Spottiswoode, 1884). For a discussion of the evolution of the institution of marriage and its legal framework, see James Bryce, Studies in History and Jurisprudence, Volume II (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1901), 382–410. 37 Gauri Viswanathan employs the metaphor of a “cross current” in order to demonstrate the relationship between political developments in nineteenth-century England and India. Legislation in England to enfranchise Roman Catholics, Jews and Dissenters, she argues, coincided with efforts of the Government of India to Anglicize Indians in order to incorporate them into the imperial regime. Each of these developments, in her view, belongs to the single, colonizing project of secular nationhood. Outside the Fold: Conversion, Modernity and Belief (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1998), 5–15. Viswanathan, however, overstates the Anglicist component of the Raj, and fails to consider the Raj’s extensive entanglement in the affairs of Hindu temples. Her claim that greater tolerance in England coincided with greater Anglicization of Indians is undermined by a more rigorous examination of the Raj’s religious policies. 38 (1918) A.L.J., Vol. 16, 414. 39 As Indian Christians became more and more self-conscious as a community, they took objection to the use of the phrase “Native Christian.” In response to their objections, the Government of Madras agreed in 1912 only to use the phrase “Indian Christians.” See G.O.322 Political Department, Pub. (Press), March 12, 1912. TNA. 40 The Indian Christian Marriage Act (XV of 1872), in Variar, The Christian Law, 2–3. 41 However, in 18 Mad. 230 (232), it was ruled that “persons who profess the Christian religion” includes, not only adults who profess the religion, but also their children, who are presumed in law to follow their father’s religion; and where the married child in question has been baptized, 1872 applies. In Solomon v. Pillai, I.L.R. 46 Mad., 839, it was decided that the profession of Christianity is a question of the person’s own action and not the action of his church. In other words, a person

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42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51

52

53 54 55

56 57

58 59

excommunicated by his Church does not cease to be a Christian.” These decisions suggest that Knox was working against the tide of precedent to show the difference between a “professing Christian” and a “Native Christian.” Emmanuel Zafar, Law Relating to Christian Marriages in Pakistan, India and Bangladesh (Anarkali: Eastern Law House, 1976), 32. Maha Ram v. Emperor, (1918) A.L.J., Vol. 16, 419. Ibid., 418. Ibid., 422. Ibid. Zafar, Law Relating to Christian Marriages in Pakistan, India and Bangladesh, 61. Ibid. A “reversioner” is one who holds the right of succession or future possession or enjoyment of an estate. Unlike the twice-born castes, the Sudras were permitted under Hindu law to marry outside their own sub-caste. Muthusami Mudaliar v. Masilamani Mudaliar, I.L.R., Mad. 33, 1910; 342. Ibid., 355. Sankaran Nair was instrumental in shaping other marriage legislation in Malabar District. He was a member of the Madras Legislative Council and an active member of the Indian National Congress. He was also appointed as Chairman of the Central Advisory Committee, which advised the Simon Commission during its visit to India. In 1928, the all-white Simon Commission collected evidence from various quarters of Indian society for the drafting of a Constitution of India. V.C. Gopalratnam, A Century Completed: A History of the Madras High Court, 1862–1962 (Madras: Madras Law Journal Office, nd), 159. According to Judges J. Sankaran Nair and Abdur Rahim, the evidence given by the plaintiff “establishes beyond all doubt that according to usage the members of the Kaikolar community in that locality used to marry girls who were Christians, who lived as Hindus after their marriage, were accepted as members of the community to which their husbands belonged and were allowed rights of inheritance under the Hindu law.” Muthusami Mudaliar v. Masilamani Mudaliar, 345. Abdur Rahim was the first Muslim Judge to be appointed to the bench of the Madras High Court. Gopalratnam, A Century Completed, 160. Muthusami Mudaliar v. Masilamani Mudaliar, 344. Ibid. Sankaran Nair’s judgement, therefore, does not ascribe to Hinduism the doctrinal ecclecticism “and almost unlimited freedom of private worship” often ascribed to it by Orientalist scholars. Julian Saldhana, Conversion and Indian Civil Law (Bangalore: Theological Publications in India, 1981), 91. Muthusami Mudaliar v. Masilamani Mudaliar, 343. Masilamani Mudaliar was deceased by the time this case was tried in the Appeals Court. As difficult as it would have been to access her own confessional position before and after marriage (through personal letters, records of confessions made during mass, baptism, etc.), the courts did not seem to regard these “subjective factors” as vital evidence for determining her religious identity. Marc Galanter, Law and Society in Modern India, 142. Derrett essentially supports the opinions of J. Napier and Sadasiva Iyer in Kolandaivelu v. Rev. Dequit and the decision of the Allahabad High Court in Maha Ram v. Emperor, while observing that the enforcement of the Christian Marriage Act of 1872 elsewhere has not followed these opinions. The sum total of the decisions on mixed marriages amounts to this: (1) irrespective of the validity of any marriage solemnized under the provisions of the Act of 1872; and (2) irrespective of the validity of any marriage solemnized under non-Christian rites between two parties one of whom only is a Christian (an issue which was not thrashed out thoroughly in

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60

61 62 63

64 65 66 67

68 69 70

71

72 73 74 75

the Full Bench judgement); (3) it is a penal offense to celebrate a marriage ceremony purporting to marry a Christian and a non-Christian otherwise than in strict accordance with the Act; (4) but it remains not finally decided whether a customary marriage between a Hindu and a Christian under Hindu rites is valid as a marriage, the general inference left after reading In re Kolandaivelu – that it is not.” Derrett: “If a Christian woman marries a Hindu solely in a Hindu Ceremony of Marriage is she entitled to an order of maintenance under section 488 of the Criminal Procedure Code?” in Essays in Classical and Modern Hindu Law (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1978), 68–76. See also Derrett, Religion, Law and the State in India (New York: Free Press, 1968), 342. J.A. Saldanha’s study of the legal norms of various religious communities in India reflects the racial and religious stereotypes that were operative during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. See Ethnical Jurisprudence: Racial Origins of Indian Statutory and Customary Laws (Mangalore: J.A. Saldanha, 1922). L.T. Kikani, Caste in Courts or Rights and Powers of Castes in Social and Religious matters as recognized by Indian Courts (Rajkot, 1912), ii. This in itself was a construction, an acceptance of the Brahminical picture of “Hindu society.” Ibid. See Sankaralinga Nadan v. Raja Reswara Dorai, 35 I.A.C, and Chathunni v. Appukuttan, A.I.R. 1945 Mad. 232, where the courts granted injunctions to prohibit members of certain castes from entering temples. See also Manickam v. Poongavanammal, M.L.J., Vol. 66 (Jan–June, 1934), 543; and Morarji v. Administrator-General, Madras, I.L.R. 52 Mad., 160; and 55 M.L.J., 478, which address whether marriages are permissible between twice-born Hindus and Sudras, and between different classes of Sudra. Galanter, Law and Society in Modern India, 147. Kunal Parker, “A Corporation of Superior Prostitutes,” MAS, Vol. 32, No. 3 (1998); 563. Ibid., 600. According to Sankaran-Nair, “the essential difference between the castes of this Presidency [Madras] and those of Upper India is that the ideas of the Aryans and the rules of Manu have affected the people of this Presidency less deeply than those north of the Vindhyas.” Mudaliar vs. Mudaliar, p. 352. J.H. Nelson, A View of the Hindu Law as Administered by the High Court of Judicature at Madras (Madras: Higginbothams and Co., 1877), ii. Ibid. Ibid., 10. The “Madras School of Orientalism” is a phrase coined by the South Indianist, Thomas Trautman. Other members of the Madras school included Abbé Dubois, Francis Whyte Ellis, C.P. Brown and Robert Caldwell. These scholars did much to further the understanding of South Indians as a distinct people or race from the “Aryan” peoples of the North. See V. Ravindran, “Discourses of Empowerment: Missionary Orientalism in the Development of Dravidian Nationalism,” in Timothy Brook and André Schmid (eds), Nation Work: Asian Elites and National Identities (Ann Arbor: Michigan University Press, 1999), 51–82. John Dawson Mayne, “Native Law as Administered in the Courts of the Madras Presidency,” Madras Journal of Literature and Science, No. 1, Third Series, July 1864, 20–4. Ibid., 20. Ibid. The influence of Benthamite ideas on judicial decisions increased with the codification of civil and criminal laws during the second half of the nineteenth century. For illustrations of the uses of Hindu texts which reinforced traditional patriarchy, see L.S. Vishwanath, “Efforts of Colonial State to Suppress Female Infanticide,” EPW,

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76 77

78 79 80 81 82

83

84 85

May 9, 1998, 1104–12; Lata Mani, Contentious Traditions: The Debate on Sati in Colonial India (New Delhi: OUP, 1999). Addressing the same kinds of issue in postIndependent India is Kumkum Sangari, “Politics of Diversity: Religious Communities and Multiple Patriarchies,” EPW, December 23, 1995. Also, Uma Chakravarti, “The Myth of ‘Patriots’ and ‘Traitors’ : Pandita Ramabai, Brahminical Patriarchy, and Militant Hindu Nationalism,” unpublished manuscript, October, 1996. Or see Papers Relating to Infant Marriage and Enforced Widowhood (Calcutta, 1886). Selections of Records of the Government of India in the Home Department, No. 213. TNA. Quote from Justice West of Bombay High Court in Indu Prakash, 14 March, 1887. Examples from both Protestant and Roman Catholic traditions abound. See, for instance, Village Christians and Hindu Culture, P.Y. Luke and John B. Carmen’s study of Telugu Christians of the Medok Diocese of the Church of South India, who participated in both caste and Christian practices. See also Hardgrave, The Nadars of Tamilnad, Susan Viswanathan, The Christians of Kerala: History, Belief and Ritual among the Yakoba (New Delhi: OUP, 1993), Dennis Hudson’s Protestant Origins in India and David Mosse’s study of Roman Catholics Paraiyars in the South Indian village of Alapuram (Ramnad District), “Catholic Saints and the Hindu village Pantheon in rural Tamil Nadu, India,” Man: The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, Volume 29, No. 2 (June 1994), 301–32. Much of Mosse’s work points to the fact that Christian identity, far from having radically changed the caste system, situated itself within pre-existing structures of belief and status; see also “Idioms of Subordination and Styles of Protest among Christian and Hindu Harijan Castes in Tamil Nadu,” Contributions to Indian Sociology, Volume 28, No. 1 (1994), 67–106. Hardgrave, The Nadars of Tamilnad, 91. (1917) A.I.R. Madras, 431. Ibid., 440. The Indian Divorce Act (IV of 1869), Part III, Section 10, Variar, The Christian Law, 99–100. Roman Catholics and various Protestant traditions eventually came to regard Christ’s prohibition of divorce as being qualified by the “Pauline privilege,” according to which a convert to Christianity has the right to divorce an unconverted spouse if the latter refuses to live with him or her. See J.D.M. Derrett, “The Native Converts’ Marriage Dissolution Act, 1866: Should it Be Abolished?” Bombay Law Reporter, Volume 74 (1972), 18–21. The inconsequential nature of a woman’s conversion is brought out in the decision of the Mysore Chief Court, in the case of Huchi (see Chapter 2). Conversion of the wife by itself does not provide grounds for the dissolution of a Hindu marriage, even when the husband no longer regards her as a proper “wife.” According to the testimony of Huchi’s husband, Appiah, “[Now that Huchi is a Christian] I would not admit her into my house. I would not eat the food prepared by her; but I would sleep with her, treating her as a prostitute (Soolai) … As she has lost her caste I would treat her as Soolai and not as a wife. But I still consider the marriage subsists.” Taken from Gauri Viswanathan, Outside the Fold, 101. The courts of British India appear to have been no more responsive to the claims of female converts than the Mysore Chief Court. The “Hindu” marriage prior to conversion may also have included a marriage contracted during infancy, but not officially consummated through a ceremony. An interest in discouraging sexual “adventuring,” especially among lower-class women, and in upholding the sacredness of the marriage contract, had guided decisions of the British Parliament during the late Victorian period. Mary Lyndon Shanley, Feminism, Marriage, and the Law in Victorian England, 1850–1895 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989), 39–44.

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86 (1891) I.L.R., 14 Mad., 382. 87 Followed Brinkley v. Attorney-General, in which the Court ruled that the expression “Christian marriages” conveys the idea, “not that the parties must profess Christianity, but that the marriage must be of a kind recognized in Christian countries, viz., that the marriage must be that of one man and one woman for life to the exclusion of all others.” I.L.R., 17 Mad., 240. 88 According to Islamic texts, conversion to Christianity “annuls” a Muslim marriage. Memorials and petitions by Muslim scholars convinced the Governor-General’s Council to concede that “conversion to Christianity immediately freed the convert to marry again without committing bigamy.” As a result, Muslims were excluded from the provisions of the Act of 1866. Hence, if a Muslim were to be baptized and then deserted by a spouse on the basis of his baptism, he would not be able to take advantage of the Act of 1866 even though he became a Christian. Muslim law made each partner “automatically free from the other.” The exception was that an apostate wife must prove a matrimonial offense in addition to her change of religion in order to obtain a decree of divorce (unless she was converted to Islam and reverted to her former faith). See Derrett, “The Native Converts’ Marriage Dissolution Act, 1866: Should it Be Abolished?,” 19. 89 Perianayakam v. Pottukanni, 384. According to Sarat Chandra Roy, vakil for the Allahabad High Court, marriage under Mohammedan Law was originally an act of God-worship. “It is laid down in Durr-ul-Mukhtar that ‘there is no worship for the Mohammedans which has come down to them from the time of Adam except faith (in God) and nikah (marriage).’ … Nikah in its primitive sense means carnal conjunction, but in the language of law it implies a particular contract used for the purpose of legalizing generation (Hedaya, Book II, p. 25).” See Roy, “Marriage Under Mohammedan Law,” Allahabad Law Journal, Volume 16, No. 8, 1918; 101. 90 Perianayakam v. Pottukanni, 385. 91 In Manickam v. Poongavanammal, the Madras High Court ruled that marriage between different sub-divisions of the Sudra caste can be validly contracted under Hindu law. M.L.J., Volume 66, (Jan–June, 1934), 543–51. For further discussions of the legal definition of “Hindu-ness,” see Derrett, Religion, Law and the State in India, 41–51, and Robert Baird, “On Defining ‘Hinduism’ as a Religious and Legal Category,” in R. Baird (ed.), Religion and Law in Independent India (New Delhi: Manohar, 1993), 41–59. See also questions concerning the racial or cultural aspects of the definition of “Hindu” discussed in Julian Saldanha, Conversion and Indian Civil Law, 103. 92 Thapita Peter v. Thapita Lakshmi (1894),17 I.L.R., Mad., 235. 93 Ibid., 239. 94 Such was the impact of the notion of Victorian companionate marriage upon AngloIndian law. Within India, such Victorian notions were invoked in order to galvanized public opinion against devadasis, and legal measures to criminalize their occupation. See Kunal Parker, “A Corporation of Superior Prostitutes,” MAS, Vol. 32, No. 3 (1998); 559–633. 95 Brinkley v. Attorney-General. The court recognized the marriage of a British subject of Irish domicile to a Japanese woman under Japanese customs as legitimate. The court found that the Japanese marriage precluded the man from marrying any other woman during the span of that marriage. The court did not reach the same conclusion with regard to Mormon marriages. See Hyde v. Hyde, L.R., 15 P.D., 76. 96 Ibid., 240. Contrary to the Madras High Court, the Calcutta High Court in Gobarahandas v. Jasdamoni, (1891) I.L.R., 18 Cal., 252 ruled that the Divorce Act of 1869 can be used to dissolve a marriage performed under Hindu rites prior to conversion, when the wife is found to be guilty of adultery.

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97 There was essentially no way of dissolving a Hindu marriage under law, until 1947–9, when Bombay and Madras states deprived Hindu husbands of the right to marry again during the lifetime of the first wife, and gave wives for the first time rights to judicial divorce. See chapter on “Hindu Law” in Duncan Derrett (ed.), An Introduction to Legal Systems (New York: Praeger, 1968), 88. 98 While it was mostly male converts who sought to dissolve marriages under the Act of 1866, the famous decision of the Mysore Chief Court concerning Huchi illustrates the different standards the courts applied to male and female converts who sought legal remedies to their disenfranchisement. See note 80. 99 John Hay, on the trial of L. Shanmukharam, Waltaire, 1876. Pamphlet of BMS archives, BC 180167 5870. 100 Vishwanathan: “When placed in the context of the structure of laws enacted under British colonialism, Christian conversion is less identifiable with an assimilative practice, designed to induce colonial subjects into a community affiliated with the governing class, than with permanent dislocation and exile from a sense of community at large.” Outside the Fold, 88. 101 John Hay, 29. 102 Ibid., 25. 103 Ibid., 2. 104 Ibid., 3. 105 Hay appealed to aspects of Hindu law, which emphasized a wife’s obligations or devotion owed to her husband. He appealed to English common law when he wanted to stress the obligation of children to adopt the religion of their father. 106 From the Sri Bhagavata, 7th Skanda: “[A wife] should consider her husband as a god, possessed of a kind, cheerful, virtuous and prudent disposition; she should, while adopting the same line of conduct as her husband, induce her relatives to act in a similar way; she should, though her husband were a vicious character, reform his conduct, by the excellence of her chastity.” And from the Bhagavata, 10th Skanda: “Though the conduct of a husband should be not good, though he be not beautiful, though he be ignorant, obstinate, and diseased, his wife must not forsake him.” Ibid., 7. 107 “The mother is an ignorant and superstitious woman, quite unfit to be the guardian of his children, or even to take care of herself, and therefore acts under the influence of others, whose antecedents indicate anything but fitness to be her advisers in this or in anything else.” Ibid., 27. Other references to “evil advisors” are found on pages 5, 6, and 16 of Hay. 108 As such, Hay understood the operation of this logic: “It appears, however, that it is only when the woman remains a Hindu that she must be allowed to have her own way; and in that case, she may go the length of robbing her husband of his dearest rights.” Ibid., 25. Here he contrasts Shanmukharam’s wife with the unfortunate fate of Huchi, who was bound to remain with her Hindu husband who treated her not as a wife, but as a “prostitute” after her conversion. 109 Mudaliar v. Mudaliar, 349. 110 Every group seeking to change the laws pertaining to Christian marriage has persistently raised this point. See the history of such appeals, contained in Law Commission of India: Fifteenth Report (Law Relating to Marriage and Divorce Amongst Christians in India), (New Delhi: Government of India, Ministry of Law, 1960). 111 Frykenberg, “Conversion and Crises of Conscience Under Company Raj in South India,” Asie du Sud: Traditions et Changements, Colloques Internationaux du C.N.R.S., Issue 582 (1980), 312. 112 B.N. Athavale, “The Present Law Regarding Indian Christians – is Legislation Necessary?” in The Report of the First All-India Conference of Indian Christians (Calcutta, December, 1914), v–vi.

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113 This question was discussed before the Representative Council for Missions in Bombay, established by the Mott Conference in December 1912. A member of the Council belonging to the Church of England denounced the introduction of any law that would permit a convert to dissolve his/her marriage to contract a second one, on the grounds that such a law would lower standards of morality. Athavale, however, argued that the law as it now stands places converts who were married under non-Christian rites at a disadvantage from Christians married according to Christian rites (who may divorce according to 1869). Ibid., ix. 114 “Proposal for the Amendment of the Christian Marriage Act,” from the National Council of Churches of India, Third Meeting, Madras, January 3–4, 1929, pp. 1–4. IMC/CBMS Archives, NCC Correspondence, Box 394, FB no. 28. 115 A vast amount of theological and missionary scholarship is devoted to the problem of reconciling “universal” with “particular” components of Christian identity; or of relating and/or “translating” the Christian message into categories of local culture. Such concepts as “incarnational theology,” “indigenization,” or “inculturation” describe processes by which the universal message of the Christian Gospel takes root within any given cultural matrix. See, for instance, Andrew Walls, The Missionary Movement in Christian History: Studies in the Transmission of Faith (Marynoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1996), Lamin Sanneh, Translating the Message: The Missionary Impact on Culture (Marynoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1989) or Lesslie Newbigin, The Gospel in a Pluralist Society (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1989). In applying such ideas to India, however, historians and theologians run the risk of committing methodological error: propensities toward caste distinctions and syncretism are not unique to Christianity, but can be found within Islam and other institutions (such as agencies of the modern Indian state), which have taken root within the Indian landscape over time. The ideology and practice of missions must not be conflated with cultural propensities specific to the subcontinent. 116 The question of how religious groups constitute their identities within a “public sphere” is one of rising scholarly interest. The extent to which a group has allowed its identity to be molded by official State categories – whether those of the census, the judiciary, or the legislature – determines, according to David Gilimartin, whether that group has genuinely acted “in public.” See Gilimartin, “Democracy, Nationalism and the Public: A Speculation on Colonial Muslim Politics,” South Asia, Volume 14, No. 1 (June 1991), 123–40. Further discussions of the “new face” of religion within the public sphere can be found in the contributions of Pamela Price and Sandria Freitag in the same volume. 117 Variar, The Christian Law, 104–8. 118 This question was poignantly raised in John Hay’s account of the case of Shanmukharam and in Sinammal v. Administrator General of Madras (1883), I.L.R. 8 Mad., 172. 119 Jurists often debated whether conversion amounted to a change in community or a “mere” change of opinion or belief. Advocates for rights of converts, such as T.R.A. Thumbu Chetty, tended to stress the “Hindu-ness” of Christians; that is, their grounding in local institutions of family and caste. Opponents of protective legislation, such as the Hindu gentry or officials of the Raj, regarded conversion as a change of community. See T. Royaloo Chetty, A Brief Sketch of the Life of Raja Dharma Pravina, T.R.A. Thumboo Chetty (n.p. 1910), 194–8. 120 In Sinammal v. Administrator General, it was ruled that the Hindu wife of a deceased Christian convert (Arthur Kristnama) could not succeed to his property, due to the “degraded” state of the latter. “If Kristnama had not been outcast and degraded,” Judge J. Kernan opined, “[the] plaintiff would inherit from him at least for life, his property, and she should have performed his funeral ceremonies by herself or by deputation. But, as he was and died an outcast, and his degradation

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was unatoned for, then, according to Hindu law, the marriage became absolutely dissolved and the relation of husband and wife.” (1883) 8 I.L.R. Mad., 173. 121 (1895) 19 I.L.R. Bombay, 786. 122 David Mosse, “The Politics of Religious Synthesis: Roman Catholicism and Hindu Village Society in Tamil Nadu, India,” in Charles Stewart, Rosalind Shaw (eds.), Syncretism/Anti-syncretism: The Politics of Religious Synthesis (London: Routledge, 1994), 92–5. 123 This, in fact, was the lesson learned in 1863 in Abraham v. Abraham. Yet, in all subsequent decisions of the Madras High Court dealing with both succession and marriage practices of Christians, fixed legal standards were applied to radically different cultural contexts.

5 THE SPIRITUAL V. THE POLITICAL: GLOBAL RELIGION AND INDIAN POLITICS, 1917–1933 1

Gandhi was far more eager to recognize Muslims, in spite of their pan-Islamic connections, as bona fide Indians than he was to recognize Christians in this manner. This was due primarily to the larger numbers of Muslims within British India. 2 Gandhi’s portrayal of conversion as a form of “denationalization” illustrates the tight nexus drawn by nationalists between religion and nation. See M.K. Gandhi, Christian Missions: Their Place in India, edited by B. Kumarappa (Ahmedabad: Navajivan Publishing House, 1941). New India, an organ of the Theosophical Society, criticized the activities of the YMCA for being a cloak for Christian conversion: “[M]any Indian gentlemen, who do not favor proselytizing work of missionaries, are deceived into cooperation with the YMCA by its professions of generally useful work, and do not recognize that that work is a bait.” New India, April 11, 1917. From Report on English Papers Examined in the Secretariate, Fort St. George and on Vernacular Papers Examined by the Translators to the Government of Madras for Month of April, 1917, 1021. The more explicitly “Hindutva” perspective of the VHP conflates to an even greater degree religion and national allegiance: “Catholicism is not merely a religion. It is a tremendous organization allied with some foreign powers.… Because the Catholic position is that [,] in the case of conflict between their country and the Church, their first loyalty will always be to the Pope!” Organizer, August 31, 1964; 1. From Christopher Jaffrelot, The Hindu Nationalist Movement and Indian Politics, 1925 to the 1990’s (New Delhi: Penguin, 1996), 197. 3 The relationship between Christianity and caste reveals dialectical tensions between universal and local aspects of Christian identity. Within both Catholic and nonCatholic contexts in South India, Indian Christians remained deeply rooted in caste practices in spite of prohibitions by church authorities. See Kenneth Ballhatchet, Caste, Class and Catholicism in India, 1789–1914 (Surrey: Curzon Press, 1998), 7–12; and Dennis Hudson, Protestant Origins in India: Tamil Evangelical Christians, 1706–1835 (Grand Rapids and Cambridge: Curzon and Eerdmans, 2000), 140–72. Within theological circles, such adaptation to local culture is sometimes described in terms of “inculturation” or “contextualization.” 4 Henriette Bugge’s study of missionary activity in South India allows us to draw interesting comparisons between the operations of mission societies and of the Raj. She shows how the Arcot Mission employed large numbers of indigenous intermediaries (catechists, teachers, Bible women and evangelists) in order to carry out its operations. In this respect, it shared with the Raj a reliance on intermediaries. See Mission and Tamil Society: Social and Religious Change in South India (1840–1900) (Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press, 1994), 79–96.

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5 The urban–rural divide among Christians parallels the divisions among Muslims between the more elite ashraf communities of the cities and the Islamized peasants of the mufussil. See Richard Eaton, The Rise of Islam and the Bengal Frontier, 1204–1760 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), 97–112. For a good description of the lingering “Hindu” practices of village Christians in Andhra, see Luke and Carmen, Village Christians and Hindu Culture: Study of a Rural Church in Andhra Pradesh South India (Lutterworth Press, 1968), 165–89. 6 David, The YMCA and the Making of Modern India (A Centenary History) (New Delhi: National Council of YMCAs of India, 1992), 28–34. 7 This dual participation in Indian and international affairs was a recurrent theme in the pages of Young Men of India (YMI), the organ of the Indian YMCA. See K.T. Paul, “Internationalism and the Spirit of India,” YMI, November 1921; 513, and “The Lambeth Advance and the View Point of India,” YMI, July 1921; 313–21. According to Susan Billington Harper, the YMCA provided an institutional base from which leaders such as V.S. Azariah transcended local church affairs and participated in a pan-Asian and worldwide Christian enterprise. See In the Shadow of the Mahatma: Bishop Azariah and the Travails of Indian Christianity during the Late Years of the Raj (Grand Rapids and Richmond, Surrey: Eerdmans and Curzon Press, 2000), 36–66. 8 From 1901 to 1920, all priests in Bengal, Tamil Nadu and Andhra were recruits from outside of India. By 1933, only 3 per cent of priests in Tamil Nadu were Indian. See Francois Houtart and Genevieve Lemercinier, Size and Structures of the Catholic Church in India: Indigenization of an Exogeneous Religious Institution in a Society in Transition (Louvain-la-Neuve: Universite Catholique de Louvain, 1982), 100. 9 Commentary on Catholic affairs by such figures as L.D. Swamikannu Pillai, M.Ruthnaswamy, J.A. Saldanha and A.T. Pannirselvam illustrate their role as mediators between the hierarchy and the laity. Their writings frequently appeared in publications such as the Catholic Leader (Madras), The New Leader (Madras) and The Examiner (Bombay). 10 In terms of their differentiation of “spiritual” from “political” domains of involvement, Indian Catholics and Protestants shared an essentially Augustinian framework. This framework distinguishes the church (the “Heavenly City”) from pagan society, which is destined for destruction and divine punishment. Political order nevertheless functions as “a necessary moral mediation between the virtue of those whose hearts are fixed on the highest and eternal good and the “lust” (i.e. disordered ambition) of those who surround them.” Oliver O’Donovan and Joan Lockwood O’Donovan (eds), From Irenaeus to Grotius: A Sourcebook in Christian Political Thought, 100–1625 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), 106. 11 The Catholic Laymen’s Directory of India (Mangalore: C.J. Varkey, 1933), 48. 12 In 1937, the Catholic Leader changed its name to The New Leader. This change came as a result of a need to reach a wider South Indian audience, though from a distinctly Catholic perspective. Interview, Fr. Joseph Antony, editor of The New Leader, February 10, 1999. 13 Catholic Laymen’s Directory of India, 164. 14 The Catholic Bishop’s Commission of India was not officially established until 1948. Prior to that time, Catholic bishops maintained authority over their respective dioceses and the religious orders that operated within their jurisdiction. The reference to “the Catholic bishops” by the laypersons at the Pachayappa’s Hall meeting most likely referred to specific bishops who had convened to pass at least six resolutions relating to inter-faith cooperation. The references to “the Catholic bishops” did not refer to a unified, All-India establishment as such. 15 According to M.D. Devadoss, the legal consultant to the AICIC, Madras newspapers had been printing advertisements inviting persons to purchase shares, costing 50

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16

17

18 19

20 21 22 23 24 25

26 27 28 29

30

rupees each, in order to finance the newspaper. In response to such calls for a common “Christian Organ,” the Catholic bishops issued their statements condemning inter-faith associations. See M.D. Devadoss, “Report of the Organ Committee,” AICIC Proceedings, Meeting held in Bombay, December 27–9, 1917; 54–5. Catholic thinkers were engaged in a battle against Modernism, in both its religious and its social manifestations. They decried the manner in which Protestants had accommodated themselves to higher criticism of the Bible and had embraced an “immanentist” theology, which stressed the centrality of social and political action to religious practice. In contrast to the “compromising” social activities of Protestants, Catholics engaged in social work from a distinctively religious frame of reference. In response to Protestant compromises with Modernism, Pope Pius X issued a number of decrees condemning modernist interpretations of the Bible and upholding the purity and absolute authority of the ancient Catholic faith. U. Benigni, “Pius X,” in Charles Herbermann (ed.), The Catholic Encyclopedia: An International Work of Reference on the Constitution, Doctrine, Discipline, and History of the Catholic Church (New York: Robert Appleton Co., 1911), 138–9. Hanna Pitkin distinguishes “virtual” representation, in which elites act in the best interests of their constituency, from “descriptive” representation, which requires a stronger correlation between the actual sentiments of a constituency and its representative(s). In terms of this distinction, it might be said that while the bishops believed in “virtual” representation, the protesters insisted on greater “descriptive” representation. See The Concept of Representation (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967), 55–91. “Catholics’ Mass Meetings: Stormy Proceedings,” The Hindu, March 26, 1917. Typically, reports of such “protest meetings,” especially when they assume a political nature, find their way into the Native Newspaper Reports of the Government of India. The fact that there were no references to these meetings suggests that, in the eyes of the Government, the Catholic mass meetings were primarily an “in-house” dispute over religious authority, and not a challenge to the State. “Stormy Proceedings,” Ibid. Ibid. Swamikannu Pillai, The Agitation anent the Bishop’s Conference (Trichinopoly: 1917), 2. OIOC. Ibid. “Catholics’ Mass Meeting: Stormy Proceedings,” The Hindu, March 26, 1917. Speech addressing the 6th resolution of the Catholic Bishops. Ibid. Swamikannu Pillai’s summary of the mass meetings does not give the names of the speakers and only quotes them when they made remarks in direct confrontation of the Bishop’s authority. The Agitation anent the Bishop’s Conference, 7. “The Indian Catholics: A Meeting at Tanjore,” The Hindu, May 21, 1917. Ibid. L.D. Swamikannu Pillai, The Agitation anent the Bishop’s Conference, 5. Swamikannu Pillai was raised a Catholic in a small village, fifteen miles from Coimbatore. Early in life, he “fell” under the influence of Protestant missionaries and was baptized in a Protestant Church. Later on, under the strong influence of his mother and an uncle, he was re-baptized a Catholic. His experience of both traditions may have informed his critiques of “interconfessionalism” and his support of the Bishop’s resolutions. Leo Proserpio, Swamikannu Pillai: A Biographical Study (Mangalore: Codailbail Press, 1931), 15. Swamikannu Pillai’s “translation” of this book into English illustrates how ideas prevalent within the larger “Catholic world” were appropriated and made useful within local, Indian contexts.

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31 Proserpio, Swamikannu Pillai, 143–4. 32 L.D. Swamikannu Pillai, “ The Dangers of Interconfessionalism,” in The Agitation anent the Bishops’ Conference, 26. 33 See Louis Cousin, Le Sillon et les Catholiques (1909). Notre charge apostolique: Lettre sur le Sillon: Lettre encylique de Notre Saint Pere le pope Pie X – Villegenon: Ed. Sainte Jeanne d’Arc, 1988. Vean de Lanouvelle, Ludovie, Commentaire de la lettre de Saint Pie X sur le Sillon du point de vue de la philosophie sociale; and Jeanne Caron, Le Sillon et la democratique chretienne, 1894–1910. 34 U. Benigni, “Pius X,” in Charles Herbermann (ed.), The Catholic Encyclopedia, 138. 35 Pope Pius X’s Letter on the Sillon. Cited by Swamikannu Pillai in The Agitation anent the Bishop’s Conference, 5 (italics added). 36 In Pope Pius X’s letter to Cardinal Svampa, the Pope confronted those who, “in answer to solemn prohibitions by venerable Bishops, affirm that such prohibitions do not concern their association or their persons, and that the Pope and the Bishops have the right to judge questions pertaining to faith and morals but not to direct social action.” Ibid., 7. 37 English Catholics credited themselves for not being as entangled in partly politics as Catholics in Germany, Belgium and France. Cardinal Bourne of England argued that maintaining distance from party politics actually enhances Catholic influence in society. The reason why English Catholics exert greater influence than German Catholics, he claimed, is because Catholics in England “have always been preserved from anything that has been labeled a Catholic Party, and that account, by keeping free from party politics, have established [their] claim to be heard simply and solely as Catholics.” EX, August 22, 1931; 1. 38 This process can be traced to the political privileges enjoyed by Catholics under Constantine. The historic memory of such privileges made it very difficult for Catholics to reconcile themselves to their status as a minority. Catholics have tried to retain a pseudo-Christendom mentality, preferring to think of themselves as a majority within a limited area, as opposed to a minority spread throughout the world. See Adrian Hastings (ed.), The Church and the Nations: A study of minority Catholicism (London: Sheed and Ward, 1959), xii–xiii. 39 Indian Catholics were, according to Walter Fernandes, “doubly a minority.” They were a minority in relation to “British” Protestants as well as in relation to “Hindu” Indians. In India, Catholics found security within the walls of their strong, educational and charitable institutions. By enclosing themselves within Catholic institutions, however, they accentuated their own minority consciousness. Walter Fernandes, The Minority Catholic Church in the Indian Society and State (Ph.D. Dissertation: Institute Catholique de Paris, 1977), 217, 247. 40 See Owen Chadwick, The Secularization of the European Mind in the Nineteenth Century (Cambridge: CUP, 1975). 41 As much as they perceived Anglicanism as a religion in decline, Catholics lived outside of the national mainstream largely because they were not Anglican. See contribution by John Lynch on Catholics in England, in Hastings (ed.), The Church and the Nations, 5–8. 42 As a convert to Catholicism, John Henry Newman strove to acquire a voice for Catholics within a Protestant-dominated English society. Liberal political values, the Whig political party, and the Anglican establishment all had become intertwined in a pervasive and oppressive English Protestant ethos. “In consequence,” Newman observed, “everyone speaks Protestantism, even those who do not in their hearts love it; it is the current coin of the realm. As English is the natural tongue, so Protestantism is the intellectual and moral language of the body politic.” From John Henry Newman, Lectures on the Present Position of Catholics in England: Addressed to

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43

44

45

46 47 48

49

50

51

52

53 54 55

the Brothers of the Oratory in the Summer of 1851 (London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1892), 366. Herbert, Bishop of Salford, A Pastoral Letter on Submission to a Divine Teacher: Neither Disloyalty nor the Surrender of Mental or Moral Freedom (London: Burns & Oats, 1875), 27–8. See Laing (ed.), Catholic Freethinkers Flysheet: The only publication in which Catholic interests are maintained frankly on their natural basis of CHRISTIAN RIGHT, instead of the usually adopted guarantee of atheistic sufferance (OIOC, 1883). For instance, “Communism is the First, the Biggest and Most Dangerous Peril,” The New Leader, April 18, 1937 (hereafter, “NL”); “Organized Socialist Parties are Hostile to Church and Religion” and “Materialistic and Atheistic Communism Condemned,” NL, February 21, 1937. Regarding Nazism, see “The Nazi Onslaught on German Catholicism,” NL, July 1, 1937; “The Tempest of Religious Struggle,” NL, July 11, 1937. NL, January 17, 1937; 1. EX, August 20, 1932. 1. By 1920, the Catholic population within the Madras Presidency numbered roughly 700,000 while Protestants numbered roughly 500,000. Under the system of communal representation, five seats were granted to “Indian Christians” in the Legislative Assembly. In the elections held on November 30, 1920, three of those seats went to Protestant representatives and two to Catholics. Afterwards, representatives from both sides entered an agreement that three seats ought to be reserved for Catholic representatives and two for Protestants. Apparently, that agreement eventually dissolved. Conference of the Indian Hierarchy held at Mylapore in the Year 1921 (Bombay: Examiner Press, n/d), 83–4. This report cited figures from the Madras Directory of 1920. Roman Catholic clergy, however, sometimes complained that the East India Company extended more privileges and liberties to Protestant clergy. Catholics maintained frequent correspondence with the East India Company to discuss matters relating to the distribution of clergy among European regiments and the recognition of the Vicars Apostolic within Company ruled territories. See William Strickland and Ignatius Persico, Notes on the Present Position of Catholics in India, being the matter of petitions to the House of Commons and the Court of Directors of the Hon. East India Company on 24 June (London: Burns and Lambert, 1853). OIOC. See also Kenneth Ballhatchet, “The East India Company and Roman Catholic Missionaries,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History, Vol. 44, No. 2. April 1993; 280–1. The Madras Government had appointed Abbé Dubois as superintendent of vaccinations and was paid a salary. The Company sometimes interfered with jurisdictional disputes between the Padroado and Propaganda Fide; sometimes taking the side of Propaganda to check Portuguese influence; sometimes taking the side of Padroado to counter criticisms that it was neglecting its historic ties with Portugal. Ibid. Among other rights, which they sought to secure as a religious minority, Catholics objected to the status assigned to their dioceses as “alien bodies.” This was one of the resolutions passed at the Mangalore Conference in 1930, in anticipation of the Round Table Conference in London. “The Mangalore Conference,” EX, August 23, 1930; 405. In 1910, there were in Tamil Nadu 1,853 Catholics for every priest. By 1920, the number of Catholics per priest increased to 2,152, and by 1933 the number more than doubled to 5,581. François Houtart and Genevieve Lemercinier, Size and Structures of the Catholic Church in India, 84. Catholic Leader, March 20, 1930. Reprinted from EX , March 29, 1930; 154. Ibid. Ibid.

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56 As institutions of local self-government were established and Catholic representation increased within local councils, Catholics even found themselves winning local battles for the preservation of the “Catholic ethos” around their churches. In Kariselapatti (Tamil Nadu), local Catholics had agreed to force neighboring “pagan Vellalars” to demolish a pagoda (temple) constructed eighty feet from their church. As a gesture of goodwill, the parish priest persuaded his parishioners to spare the Vellalars the shame of demolishing their temple. Caritas (A Diocesan Bulletin for Trichinopoly Diocese), March 1927. 57 See Part VI, section 65 of the Indian Christian Marriage Act. K. Sreedhara Variar, The Christian Law (Ernakulam: Dewers Press, 1971), 38. 58 “The Church in India Today,” Presidential address by M. Ruthnaswamy at the Catholic Congress, Bangalore, December 27, 1933. EX, January 7, 1933; 3. 59 Ibid. See also “The Political Situation in India,” EX, May 24, 1930; 243. Yet, toward the late 1930’s, the Catholic media was constantly fighting ideological battles against such foes as “Communism, Naziism, and Free Masonry.” 60 Baptista was one of the founders of the Indian Home Rule League and became its president in 1916. He held the position for several years, before it was turned over to Annie Besant. He worked closely with B.G. Tilak, even assisted Tilak with his defense when, in 1908, Tilak was arrested for civil disobedience. “The Late Mr. Joseph Baptista,” EX, September 27, 1930; 466. 61 It was Gandhi, after all, who had referred to conversion as the “deadliest poison that ever sapped the fountain of truth.” See The Collected Works of Mahatma Gandhi, Volume 64, 202–4. 62 Note, for instance, the Examiner’s criticism of C.F. Andrews for his veneration of Gandhi. Andrews was a convert to Anglicanism from a narrow order of Catholicism known as the Irvingites. See “C.F. Andrews – A Layman’s Estimate,” EX, December 10, 1932; 546. 63 Reprint from The Catholic Leader in EX, April 4, 1931; 1. 64 “Put not your Trust in – “Christian Influence,” EX, April 4, 1931; 158. The Protestant identification with Sanskritic culture was attacked in “Aberrations of Indian Protestantism,” EX, May 16, 1931; 230. 65 He criticized Gandhi for having threatened to “starve himself” if he did not get his way and charged that, in Gandhi, Catholics “are listening not merely to a pagan, but to an antique pagan.” “Put not your Trust in – “Christian Influence,” EX, April 4, 1931; 158. 66 Excerpts from reports from the Glasgow Herald, Young India and Heraldo covering Gandhi’s visit to Rome were reprinted in “Mr. Gandhi at Rome,” EX, January 23, 1932; 40. 67 Reprint of Glasgow Herald article in Ibid. 68 See Proceedings of Minorities Select Committee of the Second RTC, October 8, 1931. Might the visit to Rome have been Gandhi’s attempt to ameliorate his strained relations with Indian Catholics after the sessions of the Joint Select Committee? 69 According to Mahadev Desai’s account of the visit, Gandhi was moved by the frescoes in the Sistine Chapel and sculpture galleries in the Vatican. “Apart from the incomparable Michael Angelo’s paintings in the Chapel there is a statue of Jesus on the Cross which is capable of moving the stoniest heart. Gandiji stood before it for several minutes, went in the rear of it, performed so to say a pradakshina of it and said ‘one can’t help being moved to tears.” ’ Quoted in EX, January 23, 1932; 41. 70 EX, December 19, 1931; 41. 71 See Geoffrey Oddie, “Indian Christians and the National Congress, 1885–1910,” ICHR, Volume 2, No. 1 (1968), 45–54; and Vincent Kumaradoss, “The Attitude of Protestant Missionaries in South India towards Indian Nationalism with special refer-

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72

73

74

75

76

77

78 79 80 81

ence to Tamil Nadu, 1900–1907,” Indo-British Review, Volume 15, No. 1 (1988), 133–46. Some, such as Henry Lunn of the Wesleyan Methodist Mission Society, had sounded the alarm of a renascent Brahmanism, spawned by Christian education. This rebirth or revival of Brahminical Hinduism marked the defeat of Christian educational policy. See The Missionary Controversy: Discussion, Evidence and Report, 1890 (London: Wesleyan Methodist Book Room, 1890). Duff believed that, by disseminating Christian ideas among upper classes of Indians through education, missionaries might produce an “explosion” within the heart of Hinduism. Miller modified Duff’s ideas by interpreting Christian education as preparatio evangelica and not as a direct means for conversion. A. Mathew, Christian Missions, Education and Nationalism: From Dominance to Compromise, 1870–1930 (New Delhi: Anamika Prakashan, 1988), 75. Miller’s view of Hindu revival and national awakening as the realization, not the failure, of Christian educational policy derives from his own idea of the purpose of Christian education. The aim of the Chistian college is not to convert, but to spread or “diffuse” Christian thought and Christian influence throughout non-Christian India. Eric Sharpe, Not to Destroy but to Fulfill (Uppsala: Almquist & Wiksells Boktryckeri AB, 1965), 83. For an excellent discussion of the secularization of education in India, see Rudolph Heredia, “Education and Mission: School as Agent of Evangelization,” in Economic and Political Weekly, September 16, 1995; 2332–40. Toward the end of the nineteenth century, views of the fulfillment theorists were debated in connection to Christian educational policies in India. See, for instance, “Reckless Criticism,” Harvest Field, June, 1889; 409 and following reports from the Harvest Field. For example, G. Mackenzie, Minister of the Wesleyan Methodist Missionary Society, was censured for his more sympathetic approach to Hinduism advocated in a paper delivered at a Protestant Missionary Conference held in London, 1888. Others such as A.G. Hogg argued that it is presumptuous to claim that Christ fulfills Hinduism. “Doubtless, Christ fulfills what is good in Hinduism. But then he leaves out so much of what is in Hinduism, and he fulfills so much of what was never in Hinduism … What Christ directly fulfills is not Hinduism, but the need of which India has begun to be conscious, the need, by making her feel conscious of which, He has made her no longer quite Hindu.” Cited in Eric Sharpe, The Theology of A.G. Hogg (Madras: CLS, 1971), 51–2. According to W.H. Findlay, a Wesleyan missionary to South India, “[The revivers of Hinduism] are not supporting Hinduism as their fathers believed it or as we describe it; they are trying to imagine it to be, or to frame out of it, a worthy rival of Christianity, worthy when measured by the highest spiritual standards. I do not say they are consciously doing this. So ignorant have Hindus, in general, been in the past, of what their conglomerate religion is, that they can easily persuade themselves that what they now call Hinduism is the old genuine belief of their fathers, which in our descriptions we grossly malign.… Our triumph is that the Hindus who have, at last, begun to value religion, have a high, a Christian ideal of what a religion should be.” Harvest Field, June, 1889; 423. Gerard Studdert-Kennedy in British Christians, Indian Nationalism and the Raj (New Delhi: OUP, 1991) places such theological developments amid other Christian imperialist influences upon the policies of the Raj. Ibid., 51–9. H.A. Popely, K.T. Paul, A Christian Leader (Calcutta, YMCA Publishing House, 1938), 53–69. The Inquirer was a monthly supplement, edited by F.W. Kellet of Madras Christian College. Although, for a time, the Inquirer had a significantly larger circulation.

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82 See, for instance, “Nationalism and the Church,” YMI, March 1917; 165–74, “Christian Nationalism,” YMI, March 1920; 129, “Indianize the Church,” YMI, December 1921; 548–53, and “Nationalism and Christianity,” YMI, July 1931; 383–9. 83 M.D. David, The YMCA and the Making of Modern India, 258. 84 Ibid. 85 Ibid., 256. 86 Ibid., 259. 87 The notion that the church, not the mission, ought to be the chief agent of Christian missions in India was forcefully presented in 1916 by J.H. Oldham, secretary of the IMC, in his booklet, The World and the Gospel. His views were adopted by V.S. Azariah, the first Indian Bishop of the Anglican Church in India. See K. Baago, A History of the National Christian Council of India, 1914–1964 (Nagpur: National Christian Council, 1965), 31. 88 From private letters of K.T. Paul, UTC Archives, Box No. 22. Among the signatories were J.J. Banninga, A.W. Brough, L.A. Core, W. Cutting, G.S. Eddy, J.F. Edwards, N. MacNicol, H.A. Popely, L.R. Scudder and C.S. Vaughan. 89 Ibid., 1. 90 The Report cites D.J. Flemin, Devolution in Mission Administration; ibid., 12. 91 Susan Billington Harper has shown how indigenization was, in some cases, imposed from the higher ranks of the Anglican establishment even more than it was demanded “from below.” “Ironies of Indigenization: Some Cultural Repercussions of Mission in South India” (unpublished manuscript). 92 K. Baago, A History of the National Christian Council of India, 27–30. 93 Among the subjects that comprised the agenda at Jerusalem were the missionary message, religious education, relations between the older and younger churches, rural work, industrial work, race relations and cooperation. S.K. Datta, who would eventually serve as the Indian Protestant delegate to the Round Table Conference, was recommended as one of the heads of the “race relations” track. Jerusalem Agenda: Macnicol to Paton, June 28, 1928. IMC/CBMS Archives, Box 394, No. 27. Day Missions Library, Yale Divinity School. 94 From “Short Who’s Who” of Members of Mission of Fellowship from India. IBMS Archives. Box 424 (E/T India), No. 2. All documents relating to the Mission of Fellowship are found in IBMS Archives, Box 424 (E/T India), Nos. 2–4. School of Oriental and African Studies, London. 95 Azariah turned down the invitation because of the demands of his schedule and possible health problems. Letters from J.Z. Hodge to Maclennan regarding Azariah’s decline of the invitation to participate in the Mission of Fellowship. 96 Hodge to Paton, April 15, 1932. 97 Ibid. At a later meeting held on October 21, 1931, the subcommittee added, “It is not necessary to say that the Mission has no kind of political purpose or bearing … it is probable that one of the effects of the visit may be the promotion of a kindlier and more friendly feeling between Indians and Britishers in general. We may hope for that as a secondary effect, but the essence of the thing is not even that. It is that there may be a sharing of the treasure of Christ, a deepening of the spiritual life, perhaps even an evangelistic work.” 98 Minutes of a meeting of the subcommittee, held at Edinburgh House on October 31, 1931. 99 The outcome of the Second RTC became particularly volatile after Prime Minister Ramsay MacDonald’s announcement of the Communal Award in August, 1932. 100 Letter from H.J. Flowers to M.E. Aubrey, Swansea (no date). 101 William Ebori to Maclennan, November 11, 1932. 102 A. Ralla Ram, “The Present Indian Political Situation and the Way Out.”

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103 104 105 106 107 108 109

Flowers to Aubrey, Swansea (no date). Aubrey to Flowers, November 15, 1932. Ibid. Paton to Maclennan, November 15, 1932. Paton to Ralla Ram, November 15, 1932, 1. Ibid., 2–3. Maclennan wrote to Paton: “You ought to know that R.R. sent a copy of the Manifesto to Lord Irwin – I don’ t know to whom else; but I do know that he asked Temple (who was unwise enough to accede to the request!) to ask [ ] and the P.M. to see R.R. and Varki (this without asking Varki) about the political situation, and also to see the King!! I at once put Temple wise, and R.R. knows not that I know anything about all this. Please keep him in the dark.” Maclennan to Paton, November 17, 1932. Maclennan expressed to the Archbishop that he hoped that he would not meet with Ralla Ram and Varki due to the former’s “indescretions.” Instead, he offered the following suggestion: “What is of importance is that the whole group be seen by the Prime Minister for a few minutes, and that Lord Sankey might see Mr. Varki for a brief interview on the subject of the Syrian Church internal troubles.” Maclennan to the Archbishop of York, November 15, 1932. 110 In their initial exchange regarding the Manifesto, Ralla Ram told Maclennan that Flowers was acting on his own behalf, and not at the behest of Ralla Ram. Maclennan jumped on that statement, and incorporated it into the statement he wanted Ralla Ram to sign. Maclennan to Paton, November 17, 1932. 111 In his letter to Paton, Maclennan admits that he did not expect Ralla Ram to sign his draft wire, but did this to “jolt” him. Ibid. Maclennan’s draft wire read: “Please stop circulation of my Manifesto and recall as far as possible all copies issued. I deprecate solicitation of gifts for its circulation and view suggested creation of organization in its support and consequent apparent participation by me in political activities in this country as detrimental to my work on the Mission of Fellowship which is sole purpose of my present visit.” Draft wire from Maclennan to Ralla Ram. November 17, 1932. Ralla Ram refused to sign the above draft and offered the following in its place: “The nature of the Mission of Fellowship compels me to request you not to start an organization nor solicit funds suggestive of my lead in the matter. It will place the organizers of the Mission who have given [the understanding] that the Mission is not political in a wrong position. Please ask that no use of my statement be made and help all you can by stopping action on copies already circulated.” Telegram from Ralla Ram to Flowers. November 16, 1932. 112 Draft letter from Ralla Ram to Maclennan. No date. 113 Ibid. 114 Nationalist rhetoric concerning “colonial” allegiances of Christians or “Islamic” allegiances of Muslims have reinforced perceptions of India’s peoples as being balkanized along religious lines. According to Gyanendra Pandey, nationalist rhetoric had derived this essentialist picture of Indian society from the Raj. Both “nationalist” and “colonial” views of Indian society, therefore, conceived divisions along religious lines. See Pandey, The Construction of Communalism in Colonial North India (New Delhi: OUP, 1990), 21. This reification of political divisions based on religion predates the “clash of civilization” thesis, which Samuel Huntington applies to geopolitics of the post-Cold War era. See Huntington, The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1996). 115 Catholic accommodation to South Indian political culture is the subject of Chapter 7.

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6 THE PROTESTANT DISAVOWAL OF CHRISTIAN COMMUNALISM, 1910–1933 1

Well-researched works have surveyed the relationship between Christians and Indian nationality. See Abraham Vazhayil Thomas, Christians and Secular India (Rutherford: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 1974); George Thomas, Christian Indians and Indian Nationalism, 1885–1950: An Interpretation in Historical and Theological Perspectives (Frankfurt: Verlag Peter D. Lang, 1979); A. Mathew, Christian Missions, Education and Nationalism: From Dominance to Compromise, 1870–1930 (New Delhi: Anamika Prakashan, 1986). Gerald Studdert-Kennedy, British Christians, Indian Nationalism and the Raj (New Delhi: OUP, 1991); and Elizabeth Alexander, The Attitudes of British Protestant Missionaries Towards Nationalism in India: with Special Reference to Madras Presidency, 1919–1927 (New Delhi: Konark Publishers, 1994). These works tend to exclude Catholics from their assessment of “Christian” responses to Indian nationalism. Efforts to locate Christians within “national life” or in relation to “nationalism” are symptomatic of the very marginality from public life being described in the present study. 2 In The Christian Community and the National Mainstream (Poona: Spicer College Press, 1985), Louis D’silva draws attention to the significant institutional presence of Christians in India. Christian social services, especially schools, hospitals and orphanages, demonstrate how Christians have entered the “national mainstream.” In some instances, the focus on “Christians and nationalism” has served to correct the opposite tendency, to equate missions and colonialism. Proof that Christians were not colonialists appears to be the aim of Jeevaratnam Buruga, “The Role of Christians in India’s Freedom Struggle,” in Itihas – Journal of the Andhra Pradesh State Archives and Research Institute, Vol. 19 (1993), 109–16. 3 Unless otherwise stated, the phrase “South Indian” refers specifically to Tamil- and Telugu-speaking districts of the Madras Presidency. 4 Saraswathi’s study highlights the significance of caste alliances and “group selfconsciousness” in defining the politics of Madras. See Minorities in Madras State: Group Interests in Modern Politics (New Delhi: Impex, 1974). Irschick’s foundational study of non-Brahmin politics explores relationships between political reforms, nationalism and non-Brahmin agitation in the South. See Politics and Social Conflict in South India: The Non-Brahmin Movement and Tamil Separatism, 1916–1929 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1969). 5 In key respects, elite representatives of religious groups functioned in ways that resembled representatives of caste organizations. Each tried to “create and sell a myth of cluster solidarity to the emerging colonial government, position themselves as brokers of political influence for members of their caste clusters, and employ these newly created patronage resources to build a base of political support.” David Rudner, Caste and Capitalism in Colonial India: The Nattukotai Chettiars (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), 19. 6 According to Christopher Baker, “Almost every permutation of alliances was mooted, and it was this period that caused [Lord Goschen, the Governor of Madras,] to fit the epithet ‘kaleidoscopic’ to Madras politics.” The Politics of South India, 1920–1937 (Cambridge: CUP, 1976), 80. 7 Communal mobilization for social status was a defining feature of the political culture of Travancore during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Syrian Christians competed alongside other caste (e.g., Nairs and Ezhavas) and linguistic associations for their social and political advancement. See George Mathew, Communal Road to a Secular Kerala (New Delhi: Concept Publishing Company, 1989), 32–114. The present argument, which describes the “displacement” of Protestant elites from the political culture of the Madras Presidency, therefore does

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10 11 12

13 14

15

16

17

18

19

not apply to Syrian, low-caste or Roman Catholic Christians of Travancore. Clearly, such groups “played the game” of group politics. Charles Ryerson, Regionalism and Religion: The Tamil Renaissance and Popular Hinduism (Madras: Christian Literature Society, 1988), 62. V. Geetha and S.V. Rajadurai, Towards a Non-Brahmin Millennium: From Iyothee Thass to Periyar (Calcutta: Samya, 1998). This study offers the most thorough discussion of the cultural, ideological and political aspects of the non-Brahmin movement. Catholic political involvement is the topic of Chapter 7. Chris Bayly, Origins of Nationality in South Asia: Patriotism and Ethical Government in the Making of Modern India (New Delhi: OUP, 1998), 14. Bayly pays special attention to well-defined notions of patriotism within pre-colonial Maratha states. In so doing, he rejects the idea that Maratha kingdoms, as Andre Wink has argued, had simply functioned as extensions of Mughal polities. He also casts doubt on views of modern theorists of nationalism, such as Ernest Gellner and Benedict Anderson, who argue that nationalism is an entirely modern phenomenon, brought into being by industrialization and print media. See Ibid., 21–30. Ibid., 102. For a captivating study of the relationship between regional and nationalist outlooks, see Veronique Benei, “Reappropriating Colonial Discourse in Kolhapur (Maharashtra): Variations on a Nationalist Theme,” Modern Asian Studies, Vol. 33, No. 4 (1999), 913–50. Benei explores the relationship between regionalism and nationalism by examining local reactions to the 1989 publication of the Kolhapur District Gazetteer. Benei’s discussion highlights how “social actors locally articulate their relationship to the post-independence nationalist [program] of history writing and re-writing.” Idem, 914. The application of Bayly’s insights to political currents within the Madras Presidency (i.e., harmony between region and nation) appears to be undermined by Dravidian resistance to Sanskritic, “Hindu” nationalism. How, after all, could anti-Brahminical sentiments or devotion to the Tamil language (as distinct from Sanskrit or Hindi) be seen as a vehicle of integration into “Indian” nationality? On this point, Sumathi Ramaswamy observes that devotion to Tamil had “many imaginings.” While some such imaginings inclined devotees toward resistance to the Nation, others conceived devotion to Tamil as a gateway into a larger devotion to Mother India. See Sumathi Ramaswamy, Passions of the Tongue: Language Devotion in Tamil India, 1891–1970 (New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal Publishers, 1998), 47–54. Among the major organs of Indian Protestant public opinion were the Harvest Field, Guardian, National Christian Council Review, Young Men of India and Madras Christian College Magazine. Among the goals of the Sangam were the promotion of the social, material and general welfare of the Nadars as well as the rights and interests of the community. See Robert Hardgrave, The Nadars of Tamilnad: The Political Culture of a Community in Change (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1969), 132. For a well-documented account of missionary contributions, see B.S. Kesavan, History of Printing and Publishing in India: A Story of Cultural Re-awakening, Vol. II, Origins of Printing and Publishing in Karnataka, Andhra and Kerala (New Delhi: National Book Trust, 1988), 63–104, 351–67, 392–6. See also J. Mangamma, Book Printing in India: With a Special Reference to the Contribution of European Scholars to Telugu (Nellore: Bangorey Books, 1975). The actual extent of missionary impact on regional consciousness may be debated. So might the validity of Caldwell’s “Dravidian” theory of the language and merits of various translations of the Bible into Telugu. But that missionaries, through translation and print culture, had made creative interventions in the domain of language,

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24 25 26

thus contributing to the emergence of regional consciousness, is widely acknowledged by scholars. For recent discussions of these issues see Ramaswamy, Passions of the Tongue, 40–1, V. Geetha and S.V. Rajadurai, Towards a Non-Brahmin Millennium, 110–16. V. Ravindran, “Discourses of Empowerment: Missionary Orientalism in the Development of Dravidian Nationalism,” in Timoth Brook and Andre Schmid (eds), Nation Work: Asian Elites and National Identities (Ann Arbor: Michigan University Press, 1999), 59–61. Missionaries, according to Vincent Kumaradoss, had found in the non-Brahmin Movement an effective way to counter anti-Christian elements of Home Rule agitation. They also supported non-Brahminism for its opposition to Theosophist influences in the Madras Presidency. Kumaradoss, “The Attitude of the Protestant Missionaries in Madras Presidency Towards Home Rule and Non-Brahminism, 1916–1917,” Indian Church History Review, Vol. 24, No. 2 (1990), 106–7. For a parallel analysis of the impact of print culture upon the Urdu-speaking Muslims of North India, see Francis Robinson, “Technology and Religious Change: Islam and the Impact of Print,” Modern Asian Studies, Vol. 27, No. 1 (1993), 229–51. Robinson argues that print media had provided the necessary means to perpetuate Muslim identity in a Hindu-dominated India. After the decline of the Mughal Empire in India, printing had become an alternative source of Islamic power and consciousness. Among these interests were religious instruction in private schools, freedom to propagate religion, the ongoing “civil disabilities” of converts relating to marriage and inheritance, and Government quotas for employment and higher education. Vengal Chakkarai, “Indian Christians and the Communal Award,” GRD, September 1, 1932; 357. Christian nationalists such as Kerala’s S.K. George, V. Chakkarai and K.T. Paul advocated that Christians become involved in national life, not as Christians, but as Indians. As K.T. Paul had passionately argued, “That a so-called ‘Christian Community’ begins the exercise of citizenship is no guarantee that it will be exercised in Christian quality.… [T]he sooner we get off the stilted pedestal of Rights and begin to climb the rugged steep of responsibility, the truer will be our perspective of the situation and of the relative values of our various opportunities.” Presidential speech given at the Tenth Session of the AICIC Held at Bangalore, December 27–29, 1923; 13–15. See also S.K. George, “The Indian Christian Nationalist,” GRD, June 30, 1932; 248; and “Religion and the New Social Order,” GRD, November 18, 1937; 724 and November 25, 1937; 742, where he expounds on the new “public righteousness” to which Christians, in his view, have been called. According to Chakkarai, “… the Indian Christian is the least communal minded in India, even less so than some of the stalwarts of the Congress who still talk of Ram Raj. He can speak with more confidence of Christ Raj which he does do, but he must do it with more eloquence of deeds.” Chakkarai, “Some Impressions of the Pasumalai Conference,” GRD, April 28, 1938; 268. See Vengal Chakkarai’s two-part article “Should the Indian Christian Community Continue?” GRD, April 7, 1932; 100–1, and GRD, April 14, 1932; 116–17. Vengal Chakkarai, “Indian Christians and the Communal Award,” GRD, September 1, 1932; 357. Articulating his vision of “Christian citizenship” in terms of nishkama karma (desireless action) and the building of Swarajya (self-government), K.T. Paul asserted: “We cannot with understanding serve other communities, nor will our service be very long acceptable, unless we ourselves enter into our common heritage of the culture of India.” Speech given at Tenth Session of AICIC, 26. At times, Paul saw greater redemptive change occurring within Hinduism than he did within the Church: “That Hindu thought is herein immeasurably enriched is a great fact; that Christian thought has yet to find its enrichment in this most wonderful happening, still so

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29 30

31 32

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unknown to it, is also a great fact.” The British Connection with India (London: Student Christian Movement, 1928), 50–1. Leaders of the Self Respect League had attacked the Catholic Church in India for its retention of caste distinctions, adherence to “superstition,” and retention of a clerical hierarchy. Such attacks differed, however, from nationalist stereotypes of Christians as belonging to a “colonial religion.” See V. Geetha and S.V. Rajadurai, Towards a NonBrahmin Millenium, 427–9. While Protestant missionaries, as Kumaradoss argues, recognized the potential value of non-Brahminism for opposing Hindu nationalism, Indian Christians were far more silent on the matter. Too strong an identification with non-Brahminism would, perhaps, have undermined the efforts of Indian Christians to identify with “national culture.” In one of its rare references to the Self Respect Movement, the Madras Guardian attacked Self Respect leaders for “plant[ing] atheistic doctrines” among non-caste Christians. GRD, April 27, 1933; 194. K.T. Paul commended Brahmins for their commitment to education and opined that history would judge Brahmins to have “saved up much for themselves in the measure of their forbearance and patience.” Speech at Tenth Session of AICIC, 16. Sumit Sarkar, The Swadeshi Movement in Bengal, 1903–1908 (New Delhi: People’s Publishing House, 1977), 49, 254. Ibid., 254. Their politics replaced the coldly rational petitions of Congressmen with an unprecedented evocation of vernacular songs, slogans, drama and popular Hindu festivals aimed at awakening the masses to Swadeshi ideals. Bal Gangadhar Tilak, who used both the Shivaji and Ganesha (the elephant god) processions as tools for political mobilization in the Bombay Presidency, captured the revivalist sentiments of the day when he declared in the Bengali newspaper, “We are all idolaters and I am not ashamed of the fact.” Following Tilak’s example, agitators in Bengal used the Shivaji Festival to fire nationalist sentiments at the popular level. Ibid., 422. Taken from Bengalee, June 6, 1906. Ibid. See Suntharalingam, Politics and Nationalist Awakening in South India (Tucson, AZ: University of California Press, 1974), 293–8. Other Modern Hindu organizations included the Hindu Sabha (1880), the Aryan Forefather’s Society founded in Tinnevelly (with many members who were Theosophists), the Bellary Sanmarga Samaj, and the Association for the Propagation of the Aryan Vedic Religion, founded by Ragunatha Rao (who also became a Theosophist) in 1886. Goeffrey Oddie, “Anti-Missionary Feeling and Hindu Revivalism in Madras: The Hindu Preaching and Tract Societies, 1886–1891,” in Fred W. Clothey (ed.), Images of Man: Religious and Historical Process in South Asia (Madras: New Era Publications, 1982), 217–42. While Indian Christians attended the early Congress meetings in relatively high numbers, their attendance eventually declined as the more populist nationalism of the Extremists caught fire. See Goeffrey Oddie “Indian Christians and the National Congress, 1885–1910,” in Indian Church History Review, Vol. II, No. 1, June, 1968. “Spirit of Unrest,” Harvest Field (HF), April, 1908; and “Swadeshi Movement and Christian Evangelism,” HF, July, 1908; 279–80. See also Vincent Kumaradoss, “The Attitude of Protestant Missionaries in South India towards Indian Nationalism with special reference to Tamil Nadu, 1900–1907,” Indo-British Review, XV, 1 (1988), 134; and Eric Sharpe, Not to Destroy but to Fulfill: The Contribution of J.N. Farquhar to Protestant Missionary Thought in India before 1914 (Uppsala: Almquist & Wiksells Boktryckeri AB, 1965), 220. According to one report, when Bipan Chandra Pal was sentenced to prison for refusing to give evidence in a criminal case, one Hindu admirer said, “I wept when I heard news of his imprisonment … but I thought of Christ’s crucifixion and I said

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39 40

41 42

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44 45

why should not Chandra Pal suffer also?” “Spirit of Unrest,” Harvest Field, April, 1908. The designation “untouchables,” during the colonial period, had referred to menial castes, who, because of their association with “unclean” or “impure” hereditary occupations, had been altogether excluded from the four-fold varna system. In more recent decades, the term “untouchable” has been replaced with “Dalit,” a self-designation, which literally means “downtrodden,” “depressed,” or “broken.” Throughout this study, we will use the term “Dalit” except when representing the viewpoints of persons who, during their lifetime, had used the term “untouchable.” M.K. Gandhi, An Autobiography: The Story of My Experiments with Truth (London: Jonathan Cape, 1966), 28–9. See also Gandhi, Christian Missions: Their Place in India, Bharatan Kumarappa (ed.) (Ahmedabad: Navajivan Publishing House, 1941), 68–70. Gandhi: “I do maintain that the vast mass of Harijans, and for that matter Indian humanity, cannot understand the presentation of Christianity, and that generally speaking their conversion wherever it has taken place has not been a spiritual act in any sense of the term. They are conversions for convenience.” Harijan, June 12, 1937. Taken from M.K. Gandhi, Christian Missions, 61. For a Christian response to Gandhi on this point, see GRD, June 3, 1937; 344. Government of Madras, Public Proceedings, G.O. No. 322 (Public), March 12, 1912. OIOC. Here, they use the term “Hindu” in the sense in which it was used prior to its association with “Modern Hinduism” as a religion. In their view, a “Hindu” is anyone or anything that is native to the subcontinent. See Frykenberg, “The Emergence of Modern Hinduism as a Concept and as an Institution,” in Sontheimer and Kulke (eds), Hinduism Reconsidered (New Delhi: Manohar, 1989), 29–49. G.O. No. 322 (Public), March 12, 1912. Ibid. In some respects this decision of the Government resembles the action taken by the East India Company Directors in 1847 to ban the use of the term “heathen” to signify the people of India. The term “heathen” in their view had become “repugnant to that regard for the feelings of the people, which formed an essential part of genuine toleration.” In both instances, the Government modified its use of terms in response to fundamental changes in public consciousness, which had given rise to new sensibilities and demands upon the Government. See Robert Frykenberg, “Conversion and Crises of Conscience under Company Raj in South India,” Colloques Internationaux du C.N.R.S. No. 582 – Asie Du Sud. Traditions et Changements, 311–13. In key respects, their goal of “Indianizing Christianity” ran parallel to the project of Indian nationalism as described by Partha Chatterjee. According to Chatterjee, Bengali nationalists did not merely imitate the forms of nationalism that evolved in the West (defined by statecraft and modern political processes), but creatively imagined their nationhood by preserving the distinctiveness of Hindu culture and religion. For the Protestant elites in Madras, ‘Indian’ Christianity had not only to redefine the categories created for them by the State (e.g, “Native Christian”), but also had to deflect the ideas and forms handed down to them by foreign missionary societies and church structures. Partha Chatterjee, The Nation and its Fragments (Princeton: PUP, 1993), 5. Suntharalingam, 157. Citing S. Pulney Andy, A Collection of Papers connected with the Movement of the National Church of India (Madras, 1893). For examples of how Indians had attempted to harmonize Christian and “Sanskritic” thought, see the contributions of Chenchiah, Paul and Parekh in Parekh and Cornelius (eds), An Indian Approach to India (London: Student Christian Movement, 1928). See also Robin Boyd, An Introduction to Indian Christian Theology (Madras: Christian Literature Society, 1975).

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46 Sanskritized Christianity became the strategy to counter a semitized Hinduism. Sadhu Sundar Singh advocated drinking the water of life in a Brahmin cup. He assumed the garb of the renouncer, like de Nobili. To gain a sense for the extent of Arya Samaj and Brahmo Samaj activities in South India, see V. Ramakrishna, Social Reform in Andhra (New Delhi: Viking Press, 1983). 47 See G.V. Job et. al., Rethinking Christianity in India (Madras: A.N. Sudarisanam, 1938) and P. Chenchiah, V. Chakkarai and A.N. Sudarisanam, Asramas Past and Present (Madras: CLS, 1941). 48 “In fact,” Partha Chatterjee observes, “here nationalism launches its most powerful, creative, and historically significant project: to fashion a ‘modern’ national culture that is nevertheless not Western.” The Nation and Its Fragments, 6. Similar to how Chatterjee describes the project of Indian nationalism, so-called “rethinkers” of Indian Christianity attempted to “keep the West out” of the “inner domain” of the Indian Church. See Vengal Chakkarai’s seven-part series, “What it is to Indianize Christianity,” printed in The Guardian from October 1 to December 24, 1931. 49 In 1922, Vengal Chakkarai, as editor of The Christian Patriot, alluded to a special “racial spiritual characteristic” which characterizes Indian Christianity. Some objected to this claim, arguing that Chakkarai had taken “Indianization” to such an extreme that he denied the unity of the human race. See HF, September, 1922; 321. The editor of the Harvest Field in 1923 declared his interest in making his newspaper a foremost representative of “progressive Indian Christian opinion.” Toward this end, he ran a series of articles dealing with an “Indian Interpretation of Christianity.” Vengal Chakkarai authored most of these articles. 50 Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (London: Verso, 1983), 37–46. 51 From the mid-nineteenth century onwards, executive members of church denominations and missionary societies in India had recognized the need for cooperation and unity in the cause of evangelism. Missionary conferences played a key role in drawing members of diverse church affiliation into common “Christian” networks. The first Provincial Conference of Bengal missionaries in 1855 and the first National General Missionary Conference held in Allahabad in 1872, along with their local offspring, laid foundations upon which the National Missionary Council (the forerunner of the National Christian Council of India) had been built. In 1897, Anglican, Lutheran, Congregationalist, Baptist and Methodist missionaries in South India formed the South Indian Missionary Association. The goal of this organization was “to provide means of consultation and of united action in the interests of mission work.” K. Baago, A History of the National Christian Council of India (Nagpur: National Christian Council, 1965), 4–7. 52 A point made by John Webster in The Dalit Christians: A History (New Delhi: ISPCK, 1996), 77–8. 53 These delegates were most likely referring to the Muslims. The Muslim League had begun petitioning the Government for greater representation in local councils, based on the unique needs and customs of “the Muslim community.” The Muslim League, however, also had to contend with regional, linguistic and religious differences among India’s Muslim population. 54 [S.E. Rangunathan], “An Indian Christian Organ for the Whole of India,” Report of the First Session of the AICIC, Held in Calcutta, December, 1914; 40. 55 Ibid., 39–40. 56 See V.C. Rajasekaran, “The Rethinking Group of Madras: The Champion of Interreligious Co-operation,” in ICHR, Volume 27, No. 2 (1993), 97–106. 57 Toward the turn of the twentieth century, the Harvest Field had provided a forum for a heated debate over missionary policy, in light of rising nationalist sentiments among educated classes. Henry Lunn, a Wesleyan Methodist missionary, criticized

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missionaries for contributing to the renaissance of anti-Christian Indian nationalism. Missionaries did so, according to Lunn, by spending the vast majority of their resources on education and not enough on preaching to the masses. See The Missionary Controversy: Discussion, Evidence and Report, 1890 (London: Wesleyan Methodist Book Room, 1890). Articles written in response to Lunn indicate the extent of the stir he had created. See HF, April 4, 1889; 357–8, 402–410; and June 1889; 397–425. Other organs of both Indian and non-Indian Christian opinion include Madras Christian College Magazine, Church Missionary Intelligencer and International Review of Missions. Exceptions to this rule were two vernacular Christian newspapers: The Marathi weekly Dyanodaya, published in Ahmednagar (Bombay Presidency) and the less known Telugu weekly, The Ravi, published from the coastal town of Kakinada. By the 1930’s, agitation for a separate Andhra province, based upon the linguistic and cultural distinctiveness of Telugu-speaking people, had gained momentum. “This demand for a separate province, based on linguistic principles, is a very [legitimate] demand. Telugu is the common language of the Andhras; from the standpoint of culture and traditions also they have got a peculiar individuality of their own.” Speech by Nir Akran Ali. Extract from the Proceedings of the Madras Legislative Assembly, dated September 18 and 19, 1937. From Selected Extracts from the G.O.’s relating to Civil Disobedience Movement in Andhra, 1937. G.O. No. 2164 Public (Reforms) Department, November 12, 1937. Andhra Pradesh State Archives, Hyderabad. See, however, Sumathi Ramaswamy’s discussion of Tamil perceptions of missionary linguistics. She takes pains to contrast the adulation of Tamils themselves for missionary scholars of Tamil (“Our Tamilians do not have the tamilpparru that these men had. Alas! Alas! O Tamilnadu!”) with the treatment of missionaries by the Western academy – the obvious implication being that Tamils were pathetically misled to suppose that missionaries were bona fide devotees of the Tamil language. Passions of the Tongue, 190ff. After he had presented one of his famous dramas, “The Drama of the Crippled Hero of Wisdom,” the Tranquebar Evangelical Congregation bestowed on Vedanayakam Pillai the title “Evangelical King of Poets.” Dennis Hudson, Protestant Origins in India: Tamil Evangelical Christians, 1706–1835 (Grand Rapids and Cambridge: Eerdmans and Curzon, 2000), 123. Indira Viswanathan Peterson, “The Evolution of the Kuravanci Dance Drama in Tamil Nadu: Negotiating the ‘Folk’ and the ‘Classical’ in the Bharata Natyam Canon,” South Asia Research, Volume 18, No. 1 (1998), 57. R.R. Sundara Rao, Telugulo Kraisthava Sahithyam (Madras: Gurukal Lutheran Theological College, 1989), 18–28. Among Purushottam Chaudhari’s Telugu tracts were: (1) Kulachara Pariksha (Examination of Caste); (2) Nistara Ratnakaram (Jewel Mine of Salvation); (3) Rakshana Charitra (History of Salvation); (4) Vigraha Nirmana (The Creating of an Idol); (5) Manasse Mulam (Spiritual Worship); (6) Masuchi Visuchi Bhranti Nasanam (Destruction of the Fear of Disease); and (7) Mukti Marg Pradarsanam (The Way of Happiness). Edward P. Rice, “Purushottam, the Telugu Christian Poet,” HF, December, 1892; 206. Adaptations to local culture, such as singing Christian songs in “village Telugu,” is central to the life of village Christians in Andhra. See P.Y. Luke and John B. Carman, Village Christians and Hindu Culture: Study of a rural church in Andhra Pradesh South India (London: Lutterworth Press, 1968), 184. According to Andrew Walls, Bible translation is the pivotal act upon which the Christian faith and missionary enterprise depend. Not to “translate” the words of

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70 71 72 73 74

75

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78

God is to undermine the very mission of the Church. See The Missionary Movement in Christian History: Studies in the Transmission of Faith (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1996), 20. Ibid., 33. Ibid. Tamil Hindu literati in Jaffna during the nineteenth century had similarly deployed the double-edged sword of “language-divinity” in their refutations of missionary polemics. Central to the Shaiva Siddhanta outlook was the Indian notion of the mandala (or center). Shaiva orthodoxy stood at the center, while Muslims, Christians, Buddhists and Jains presumably stood in peripheral realms, governed by barbaric and demonic powers. Dennis Hudson, “Arumuga Navalar and the Hindu Renaissance Among the Tamils,” in Kenneth Jones (ed.), Religious Controversy in British India: Dialogues in South Asian Languages (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1992), 27–8. Ramaswamy, Passions of the Tongue, 46–60. Ibid., 47. Ibid., 51. The same argument could be used with respect to Telugu nationalism, in relation to which Christians also had been marginal. “Truly centered on the Brahma Sutras, the source to which Hindu culture has turned afresh in every generation, faithful also to the interpretation of Sankara, as the ultimate analysis of the Great Hypothesis that is possible to pure human reason, the Ramakrishna Order has still taken a clear step forward in enriching the content of karma yoga, by reading into it … selfless service in the most human sense of the term, what indeed we cherish as the distinctive message of Jesus Christ.” K.T. Paul, The British Connection with India, 50–1. For a description of the impact of Bible translation upon African national consciousness, see Lamin Sanneh, Translating the Message (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1989). There were Christians, of course, who had played an active role in the nationalist movement. Among them were Kali Charan Banerji, Krishna Mohan Banerji, Raja Harman Singh, Kali Charan Chatterjee, H.C. Mookerjee, J.C. Kumarappa and others. See Jeevaratnam Buruga, “The Role of Christians in India’s Freedom Struggle,” Itihas-Journal of Andhra Pradesh State Archives and Research Institute, Vol. 19, Nos. 1 & 2, Jan–Dec., 1993; 109–16. An exception to this rule was the English daily, The Hindu, which occasionally pushed the limits of the Government by airing its nationalistic views. The Hindu was founded as a response to attacks waged by the Anglo-Indian Press against the appointment of Muthuswami Iyer to the Madras High Court. The newspaper constantly attacked Anglophile attitudes. See S. Muthiah, Madras Discovered: A Historical Guide to Looking Around Supplemented with Tales of “Once Upon a City” (New Delhi: Affiliated East–West Press, 1992), 81–98. Use of vernacular songs and slogans was among various “techniques of mass contact” deployed by extremist politicians. Sumit Sarkar, The Swadeshi Movement in Bengal, 1903–1908, 252–4, 287–316. S. Satyamurti, a leading Congress Party official, objected to Indian languages being referred to as “vernaculars.” He declared to the Madras Legislative Council, “Vernacular means the tongue of slaves. I do not think we ought to insult our languages by calling them ‘vernaculars’ or tongues of slaves. Of course, the answer of the Englishman would be, ‘My vernacular is English.’ But he never uses the word ‘vernacular’ in connection with his mother tongue. “ Taken from Ramaswamy, Passions of the Tongue, 57.

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79 These South Indian “Native Newspaper Reports” (Hereafter, NNPR) were compiled into volumes and made accessible in the Tamil Nadu State archives in Madras. See especially Vernacular Papers Examined by the Translators to the Government of Madras. 80 The Government proscribed numerous vernacular books and tracts for their allegedly seditious content. Many of these are listed in the indexes to the Public Department of the Government of Madras, 1935–38. See also Graham Shaw and Mary Lloyd (eds), Publications Proscribed by the Government of India (London: British Library, 1985). 81 In 1935, the Government took action against presses and newspapers under the Indian Press Act of 1931. According to an enquiry conducted in February of 1935, of the presses from which a security had been demanded by the Government, all were “Hindu” except for two, one Muslim and one Christian (unnamed). G.O. No. 307 (Public-General), February 20, 1935. TNA. 82 S.E. Runganadhan, “An Indian Christian Organ for the Whole of India,” Report of the First Session of the AICIC, Calcutta, December, 1914; 40. 83 For various aspects of the evolution of caste politics, see Eugene Irschick, Politics and Social Conflict in South India, 236–7; David Washbrook, “The Development of Caste Organization in South India, 1880 to 1925,” in Baker and Washbrook, South India: Political Institutions and Political Change, 1880–1940 (New Delhi: Macmillan, 1975), 162–4; and Christopher Baker, The Politics of South India, 77–84. 84 Kumaradoss’s study of Protestant missionary responses to non-Brahminism is next to silent on the question of Indian Christian responses to the same. See Kumaradoss, “The Attitude of the Protestant Missionaries in Madras Presidency Towards Home Rule and Non-Brahminism, 1916–1917,” 106–10. 85 H.A. Popely’s account of the life of K.T. Paul highlights his role in the furtherance of rural reconstruction programs. See K.T. Paul: Christian Leader (Madras: Christian Literature Society, 1938), 111–55, 236–41. Sessions of the AICIC addressed matters relating to the “depressed classes” in terms of village education projects and industries. See G.V. Gnanamuthu, “The Present Condition of Village Christians in Madras and the Steps to be Taken for the Improvement of their Status,” First Session of AICIC, Calcutta, December 1914, 11–24. 86 Nadars were formerly referred to as “Shanars,” a semi-untouchable community, who converted en masse to Christianity during the nineteenth century. By virtue of their conversion, upward mobility and appropriation of the name “Nadar,” this community eventually claimed Kshaitrya status for themselves. For a thorough discussion of Azariah’s battle against caste divisions within the Dornakal Diocese, see Susan Harper, In the Shadow of the Mahatma: Bishop Azariah and the Travails of Christianity in British India (Grand Rapids and Cambridge: Eerdmans and Curzon, 2000), 247–61. 87 Irschick, Politics and Social Conflict in South India, 164–5. 88 Chakkarai, “Caste Among Indian Christians,” GRD, September 8, 1932; 368–9. 89 Ibid., 368. 90 By the end of the nineteenth century, tens of thousands of books and pamphlets in Urdu had been published and more than seven hundred newspapers and magazines started. These newspapers had helped to promote “an increasingly intense imaginative and emotional relationship with the wider Islamic world.” Francis Robinson, “Technology and Religious Change: Islam and the Impact of Print,” 243. 91 The publication of Rethinking Missions: A Laymen’s Inquiry after One Hundred Years (New York, Harper & Bros., 1932) aroused a huge wave of objections from foreign

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missionaries in India, as well as critical engagement by Indian Christian writers in the Guardian and the Harvest Field. 92 See Report of Committee Appointed by the Resolution of the Board of July 16, 1894, to Ascertain the Law Bearing on the Legal Disabilities (if any) of Native Christians in India. Proceedings of the Indian Legislative Council, 1865. V/9/9, OIOC. 93 In her study of various approaches to the question of political representation, Hanna Pitkin distinguishes “virtual” from “actual” representation. Virtual representation, espoused by Edmund Burke, envisions rule by a “natural aristocracy,” who (indirectly) represent the “unattached interests” of the people. Pitkin contrasts this with “actual” representation, whereby persons are represented by members of their “own kind.” Under the influence of liberal ideals derived from Protestant ecumenical culture, Indian Protestant elites came to regard pejoratively such “communal representation.” See Hanna Pitkin, The Concept of Representation (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1972), 169–83, 91–5. 94 In contrast to the earlier, “issue-based” representation of petitions and legal action, communal electorates construed representation according to “numbers,” or the size of a constituency. While conversion was once a basis for civil disability, conversion, within the scheme of communal electorates, was endowed with new political significance. This was especially true with respect to the mass conversions of Dalits to Christianity. See John Webster, The Dalit Christians, 77. 95 See “The Communal Award,” GRD, August 25, 1932; 342–3, and “Indian Christians and the Communal Award,” GRD, 349–50. For a discussion of the policy of separate electorates in relation to evangelism among the so-called “depressed classes,” see Susan Billington Harper, “The Politics of Conversion: The Azariah–Gandhi Controversy over Christian Mission to the Depressed Classes in the 1930’s,” Indo-British Review, Volume 15, No. 1 (1988), 147–75. 96 This theme was reiterated by speeches given at the various sessions of the All-India Conference of Indian Christians. 97 Eugene Irschick, Politics and Social Conflict in South India: The Non-Brahmin Movement and Tamil Separatism, 1916–1929 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1969), 14. 98 Ibid., 165–6. 99 For details concerning the operation of the two Communal G.O.’s, see G.O. No. 613 (Public, Ordinary Series), September 16, 1921 and G.O. No. 658 (Public, Ordinary Series), August 15, 1922. Printed in appendix of Ibid., 368–72. 100 The Communal G.O.s were enacted to increase the representation of “nonBrahmins” in government services. Since non-Brahmins encompassed so many different sub-groups, there remained a possibility that specific groups would monopolize benefits derived from quotas for non-Brahmins. In 1934, members of the “Hindu Backward Classes” had complained that “appointments … reserved under the communal rule for Non-Brahmin Hindus all went to a few classes such as Reddies, Vellalas and Malayalees, who are advanced in the matters of education …”, G.O. No. 1109 (Public), November 7, 1934. TNA. 101 Paul had envisioned a Minorities Bureau in India to be modeled upon the Minorities Department of the League of Nations Secretariat. Such a body would be detached from any political party and “constituted by statute centrally for all British India.” K.T. Paul, “Minorities Bureau,” Young Men of India, May, 1930. Reprinted in GRD, March 24, 1938; 186. 102 Ibid. 103 See G.O. No. 365 (Public), April 7, 1934 regarding the representation of Indian Christians in public services; and G.O. No. 369 (Public), April 7, 1934 regarding the representation of Indian Christians, Muslims and Depressed Classes. TNA.

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104 For a good summary of these reforms, see Sir Reginald Coupland, The Indian Problem, 1833–1935 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1942), 149. 105 The paternal attitude of British administrators no doubt contributed to this picture of Indian society as deeply divided along caste, linguistic and religious lines. But Indians themselves were complicit in creating the same picture. Joya Chatterji shows how the Hindu bhadrolok, along with Muslim elites, actively contributed to a “two-nation” view of India. See Bengal Divided: Hindu Communalism and Partition, 1932–1947 (Cambridge: CUP, 1995). 106 Coupland, The Indian Problem, 128. 107 Prajamatha, 21 August, 1932. From Report on English Newspapers Examined in the Secretariat, Fort St. George, and on Vernacular Papers Examined by the Translators to the Government of Madras for the month of August, 1932, p. 743. Hereafter, NNPR. 108 Tamil Nadu, August 10, 1932. NNPR, 729. 109 Tamil Nadu, August 17, 1932. NNPR, 731. 110 Justice, August 18, 1932. NNPR, 702–3. 111 V. Geetha and S.V. Rajadurai, Towards a Non-Brahmin Millenium (Calcutta: Samya, 1998), 236–44, 298–301. Another organ for Self-Respecters, the Dravidian, also commended the Award for its fair resolution to the problems of minority representation. The paper was particularly pleased with the introduction of reserved seats for women. Since it was Christian and Brahmin women who primarily benefited from higher education, they would enjoy a virtual monopoly with a joint electorate. “It is only with a view to avoid this [monopoly] that the British Government have granted communal representation to women.” Dravida, August 19, 1932. NNPR, 732. 112 The principle of communal (or proportional) representation most often refers to quotas for education and government employment that were extended to minority communities. This principle is to be distinguished from the policy of “separate electorates,” which entitled members of a minority community to elect a pre-assigned number of its own representatives to seats in the Legislative Assembly. Ramaswamy had come to view communal representation as a necessary measure for the advancement of the untouchables: “If the [U]ntouchables had been granted proportional representation fifty years ago, would they suffer as they do today … If we, as NonBrahmin Hindus, yet refuse to grant proportional representation to these seven million people, we will, undoubtedly [be forced to] extend the concession to them when [out of despair], they convert to Islam or Christianity.” Kudi Arasu, August 16, 1925. Quote taken from V. Geetha and S.V. Rajadurai, Towards a NonBrahmin Millenium, 289. 113 J.B.P. More, The Political Evolution of Muslims in Tamilnadu and Madras, 1930–1947 (Hyderabad: Orient Longman, 1997), 109–20. 114 The founding of the Majlis-ul-Ulema by Tamil merchants in 1917 is what sparked an interest in Tamil publications for Muslims. See Ibid., 116. 115 The Lucknow Pact had established, for a time, closer cooperation between the Muslim League and the Congress. By signing the Pact, the Congress had agreed to support the policy of separate electorates for Muslims in Hindu-dominated regions of India. 116 Wartime taxation and trade restrictions adversely affected the Tamil Muslim dominated tanning industry. This led to an increase in Tamil Muslim support for the Madras Presidency Muslim League. Kenneth McPherson, “The Social Background and Politics of the Muslims of Tamil Nad, 1901–1937,” IESHR, Vol. VI, No. 4, December, 1969; 390. 117 “The problem was, how to maintain this Tamil Muslim outlook, the unity of Tamil and Urdu Muslims and how to organize a provincial Muslim political party

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118

119

120

121

122 123

124

125 126

127

128 129

affiliated to the Urdu Muslim-dominated All-India Muslim League? Essentially the problem was one of identity: how was this peculiar Tamil Muslim view of themselves to be reconciled to the dominant Urdu Muslim concept of Indian Muslims?” Ibid., 397. See G.O. 927 (Public), October 26, 1926. This pertains to potential riots created by Hindu processions, in which music had been played around mosques; and the precautions taken by the Government. In its assessment of causes of Hindu Muslim riots in South Indian districts, the Government, making reference to a study by W. Hitchcock, argued that the Khilafat agitation and other political activity permitted in other parts of India had led to the Mappila Rebellion of 1921. See G.O. No. 603 (Public), June 15, 1926. TNA. The Quami Report was edited by Abdul Majid Sharar, a fervent Pan-Islamist from an orthodox Urdu Muslim family. His Urdu daily newspaper, therefore, tended to be quite critical of any pro-nationalist position: “Muslims should not listen to what Muslim nationalists say because they are not friends of the former. If Muslims should under the influence of Muslim nationalists, accept joint electorates, they would ruin themselves.” Quami Report, August 10, 1932. NNPRI, 736–7. In 1927, however, ten of twelve Muslim MLC’s in Tamil Nad had issued a statement condemning the Congress proposals for the policy of joint electorates. See McPherson, “The Social Background and Politics of the Muslims of Tamil Nad, 1901–1937,” 395. More, The Political Evolution of Muslims in Tamilnadu and Madras, 123–4. This perception of Indian Christians as “model minorities” who stand solidly behind the nationalist movement without thinking of themselves comes through in Rajagopalchari’s speech to the Indian Christians in Madras. The Madras Premier commended Christians for having rejected communal representation, thus demonstrating their national commitment. Speech printed in Guardian, June 7, 1945, 179. In his speech to the AICIC, B.A. Nag, delegate from Calcutta, similarly challenged Christians to pursue greater degrees of cooperation and coexistence with fellow Indians belonging to other religious traditions. Nag attributed the lack of such cooperation to the “unwholesome fear of losing loaves and fishes.” See B.A. Nag, “What Should Be the Relation of Indian Christians to Non-Christian Communities in India?” Report of the First Session of the AICIC held in Calcutta, December 1914, 36. The speech is cited in Swadesamitran, January 1, 1926. NNPR (n/p). “[Islam] will cooperate with Hinduism, so long as it sees a chance that by that method it will secure advantages for its own status in India; but when the Indian Muslim is confronted in the last resort by the alternative of ‘British Raj’ or ‘Hindu Raj,’ he rarely casts his vote unhesitatingly for the latter.” From “Thought Tendencies in Modern India,” GRD, May 7, 1931; 209. Asirvatham was a theologian, political scientist and ardent Christian nationalist. While receiving his theological training in the United States, he was influenced by liberal thinkers such as Walter Rauschenbusch, John Spurge and W.E. Hocking. He became a strident critic of the “parochial mentality” within Christian circles. See “Depressed Classes and Christianity,” NCCR, December, 1935; 619; also, “The Parochial Mind,” GRD, February 20, 1941. In spite of their focus on “high politics,” they paid no attention to the existence of nationalist Muslims such as those from Aligarh or Deoband. At the Seventh Session of the AICIC held in Calcutta, it was observed that “justice had not been done in Madras,” in granting to Christians only five seats in the

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130 131

132 133 134 135 136

137

138 139

140

141 142 143

144 145 146 147 148 149 150

Legislative Assembly. “Madras deserved not five but ten seats,” observed A.C. Mukerji of Benares. The Report of the Seventh Session of the AICIC, held in Calcutta on December 28–31, 1920, 16. The Tenth Session of the All-India Conference of Indian Christians, held at Bangalore, 27–29 December, 1923; 29. See G.O. No. 365 (Public), April 7, 1934 regarding the representation of Indian Christians in public services; and G.O. No. 369 (Public), April 7, 1934 regarding the representation of Indian Christians, Muslims and Depressed Classes. TNA. Chakkarai, “Should the Indian Christian Community Continue?” GRD, April 7, 1932; 101. “The Communal Award,” GRD, September 8, 1932; 368. Ibid. Chakkarai, “Should the Indian Christian Community Continue?”, GRD, April 7, 1932, 101. “So great was their abhorrence of Hinduism that Paul’s words, ‘Come out of them, and touch not the unclean thing. What has God to do with Belial?’ came naturally to their lips. That such is still the attitude of the older generation of Indian Christians cannot be doubted.” Ibid. For an account of Protestant missionary hostility toward caste, see Duncan Forrester, Caste and Christianity: Attitudes and Policies on Caste of Anglo-Saxon Protestant Missions (London: Curzon Press, 1980) 53ff. “An Important Pronouncement,” GRD, January 15, 1931. Their statement defines “communalism” as using race or religion for separatist social and political ends. Take, for instance, the stand against caste adopted by the LMS, discussed by Forrester. G.A. Pope, who attacked caste distinctions as an impediment to the spread of the Gospel; or the policy of the Basel mission, which sought to eradicate caste consciousness within its congregations. This critique of separatism is consistent with a larger shift in missionary ideology away from the anti-Hindu polemics of the early nineteenth century, toward a greater appreciation for the reform and evolution of “Hinduism.” This shift was particularly evident in educational missionaries such as T.N. Farquhar, T.E. Slater, A.G. Hogg and others who regarded the evolution of Hinduism as the “fulfillment” of the mission of the gospel. GRD, April 30, 1931. Gandhi eventually revised the statement, but did not soften his original stand against evangelism among “Harijans.” GRD, December 12, 1931. See Susan Billington Harper, “The Politics of Conversion: The Azariah–Gandhi Controversy,” 153–60. The question of a general Conscience Clause was raised in the Madras Legislative Council and also in the Senate of Madras University. Catholics had addressed the matter more passionately than Protestants. See discussion of this in NCCR, October, 1925; 443–4. See Depressed Classes: A Chronological Documentation (Kurseong, 1937) for petitions of Depressed Class Christians. GRD, April 20, 1933; 182. Taken from “Electoral Arrangements in Madras,” GRD, May 18, 1933; 230. Ibid. Ibid., 231. GRD, June 1, 1933; 258. Ibid.

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7 THE INDIGENIZATION OF CATHOLIC ACTION, 1921–1937 1

The pronouncements of the bishops and mass protest meetings are discussed in Chapter 5. 2 This chapter makes use of Catholic newspapers from the early twentieth century in order to reconstruct the development of political consciousness among the Indian Catholics of the Madras Presidency. The ideal source of data for this inquiry would have been the Catholic Leader, the organ of the Archdiocese of Madras. After an exhaustive search of major Catholic institutions in Bangalore and Madras, the Catholic Leader was nowhere to be found. Hence the main source of data for this chapter is the Bombay Examiner (hereafter, “EX”). Because of the strength of Catholic numbers and institutions in the Madras Presidency, The Examiner has covered “Madras news” extensively. For purposes of this chapter, The Examiner is used primarily as a reliable source of raw data. Occasionally, reprints of articles from the Catholic Leader are cited from The Examiner. Viewpoints expressed by writers for The Examiner are cited as elements of an unfolding “Indian Catholic elite” perspective, but never as evidence for a distinctively “South Indian Catholic” perspective. 3 The Morely–Minto Reforms of 1909 first enacted the policy of separate electorates. This policy was upheld in 1916 by an agreement between the Muslim League and the Congress known as the Lucknow Pact. It was reinstated with a few modifications by Premier Ramsay MacDonald’s Communal Award of 1932. 4 Saraswathi’s study of minorities in Madras highlights the role of caste divisions in defining group interests and in shaping the politics of the Presidency. Census categories and classifications of traditional varna-jati rankings led to the formation of political majorities and minorities within so-called “Hindu society” itself. See S. Saraswathi, Minorities in Madras State: Group Interests in Modern Politics (New Delhi: Impex India, 1974), 30–5. 5 Indian Catholics were minorities in a double sense; with respect to the “Protestant” British on the one hand and the “Hindu” Indian on the other. Sandwiched between the two poles, they often attempted to find security in Catholic institutions that were tolerated under British rule. Walter Fernandez, The Minority Catholic Church in the Indian Society and State, Vol. I (Ph.D. Dissertation: Institute Catholique de Paris, 1977), 217. 6 Catholics were not unanimous in their support for the policy of separate electorates. Bombay Catholics supported the policy of general electorates for Catholics and tended to be more pro-nationalist than South Indian Catholics. See “Bombay and Catholic Representation,” EX, September 13, 1930; 437–8, “Bombay Catholics and Communal Representation,” EX, February 7, 1931; 62–3, and “Bombay and the ‘Catholic Board,’ ” EX, January 30, 1932; 44. Such differences regarding representation are discussed in greater detail in the discussion of the Mangalore Conference. 7 Antoney Copely, C. Rajagopalachari: Gandhi’s Southern Commander (Madras: IndoBritish Historical Society, 1986). Interestingly, it was Rajagopalachari who commended a group of non-Catholic Christians at Nagpur for disavowing separate electorates and standing above and beyond Hindu–Muslim antagonism. The speech is printed in GRD, June 7, 1945; 179 8 In connection to safeguards for minorities such as separate electorates, Gandhi is reported to have chided minorities for “sitting by the carcass [of responsible selfgovernment] and dissecting it.” “Catholic Claims at the RTC,” EX, November 21, 1931, 568. 9 See, for instance, Bipan Chandra, Communalism in Modern India (New Delhi: Vikas, 1987), 78–86. Within the context of the present discussion of Catholic politics, however, the terms “communalism” or “communal politics” refer simply to

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10 11

12

13 14

15

16

17

18

political mobilization based on religion. The policy of communal representation (or separate electorates) lent constitutional sanction to such group politics, however inimical “group interests” were to nationalist ideals or aspects of political liberalism. Veena Das provides an insightful analysis of “cultural rights” and group politics in Critical Events: An Anthropological Perspective on Contemporary India (New Delhi: OUP, 1995), 84–117. For a discussion of tensions between liberal political values and “factions,” see Hanna Pitkin, The Concept of Representation (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967), 190–200. Regarding how to reconcile political liberalism with group interests, see Yael Tamir, Liberal Nationalism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993). See discussion of Protestant attitudes toward communal politics in Chapter 6. The mere fact that Catholics of the Madras Presidency outnumbered Protestants by roughly forty per cent does not explain their support for the policy of separate electorates. Larger concentrations of Christians in some districts have fueled arguments for general electorates, the argument being that districts with smaller numbers of Christians are more needful of separate electorates. See “The Delimitation of Christian Constituencies in Madras II,” GRD, May 18, 1933; 231. David Washbrook describes how pan-regional caste organizations often compromised the original character of caste groupings within a given locality. “The ‘mega-categories’ of Reddi, Vellal, Kamma or Nair, and even of Choliya-, Thondamandala-, or Gounder-Vellala, which were to be mobilized for political purposes, covered groups which were organically separate from each other and whose status identification was of the loosest possible kind.” “The Development of Caste Organization in South India, 1880–1925,” in C.J. Baker and D.A. Washbrook, South India: Political Institutions and Political Change, 1880–1940 (New Delhi: Macmillan, 1975), 151–5. Statistics provided in Conference of the Indian Hierarchy held at Mylapore, 1921, 83, and EX, March 19, 1932, 130. The hierarchy recognized an official role for the Press in educating Catholics worldwide on Catholic faith and morals and their relevance to current events. See M. Ruthnaswamy, “Laymen and Catholic Propaganda in India,” EX, December 5, 1931; 581. “Helping the Catholic Press in India,” EX, January 7, 1933; 1 (“1” denotes front-page article). “Commentary on the Press,” EX, April 1, 1933; 149. According to the Archbishop of Madras: “[The press] should look to the needs of the elite and should make itself a decisive guide in this smaller, more highly educated circle, which is so very receptive. The Catholic elite rightly holds a reserved place in society, and it can exercise a very special influence, but for this it must be prepared, aided and directed; and this is the duty of the Catholic Press.” “Catholics and their Press,” EX, December 5, 1931; 581. See also views expressed by the Delegate Apostolic, “Press Exhibition and Congress at Bangalore,” EX, January 7, 1933; 9, regarding how Catholic newspapers help to fulfill the Church’s duty to its elite. “In the incessant intellectual and moral warfare between the two cities described by St. Augustine, the Press is indeed the great armory and arsenal.” “Press Exhibition and Congress at Bangalore,” Ibid. A survey of articles from the New Leader (Madras, formerly the “Catholic Leader”; hereafter, “NL”) from 1937 illustrates how such ideological fault lines were drawn: “Pretensions of Communism and Liberalism Exposed,” NL, January 3, 1937. “Communism is the First, the Biggest and Most Dangerous Peril,” NL, April 18, 1937; “Organized Socialist Parties are Hostile to Church and Religion” and “Materialistic and Atheistic Communism Condemned,” NL, February 21, 1937. Regarding Nazism, see “The Nazi Onslaught on German Catholicism,” July 1, 1937; “The Tempest of Religious Struggle,” NL, July 11, 1937. The Self Respect League was launched in 1925 in order to promote the social and political advancement of non-Brahmin peoples (which included both “upper caste”

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19

20

21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29

30 31 32 33

34

35

and “non-caste” non-Brahmins). In his battle against Brahminical domination, E.V. Ramaswamy Naicker, the leader of the Self Respect Movement, espoused rationalist, egalitarian ideals and attacked the hierarchical values of priestly religion. In this connection, he not only attacked Brahminism, but also Catholicism. See V. Geetha and S.V. Rajadurai, Towards A Non-Brahman Millennium: From Iyothee Thass to Periyar (Calcutta: Samya, 1998), 427–9. The Catholic media chided Protestants for their compromises with Modernism. Differentiation from both Hinduism and Protestantism was basic to the intellectual structure the Catholic media had been trying to construct in India. “The first step is to make plain the abyss that separates the Catholic Church from Protestantism. For what Hindus have come to know and to hate under the pseudogeneric name of Christianity is mostly Protestantism, now in its decrepit shape of amorphous Modernism.” G. Dandoy, S.J., “India vs. Catholicism,” EX, December 8, 1928; 548. “From the cabled summary of the conclusions arrived at by the Lambeth Conference of the Anglican Bishops, it would seem that the ultra-Protestant and Modernist elements have triumphed all along the line, and that the relics of Catholic principles, defended by the High Church party, have been definitely thrown overboard.” “The Anglican Surrender to Modern Paganism,” EX, August 23, 1930, 1. See also, “Nonconformists and the Lambeth Report,” EX, September 27, 1930; 1. “Why Protestant Missions must Fail,” EX, December 3, 1932; 534. W.E. Hocking, Rethinking Missions: A Laymen’s Inquiry after One Hundred Years (New York, Harper & Bros., 1932). “Aberrations of Indian Protestantism,” EX, May 16, 1931, and “Hinduising Christianity,” EX, September 26, 1931; 457–8. The worlds of Pere Brou in Etudes, April 20, 1931. Reprinted in EX, May 16, 1931; 230. (July 30, 1928: Civardi, p. 6). Reprinted in EX, January 23, 1937; 42. “Indifference to Public Life,” EX, August 20, 1932; 1. Conference of the Indian Hierarchy held at Mylapore in the Year 1921 (Bombay: Examiner Press, 1921), v. Ibid., 73. “This scandalous and public agitation of Catholics against the bishops had never before been witnessed in India on such a large scale; it had however taken such large proportions because its leaders had reason to believe that they were helped, though secretly, by some Indian priests, chiefly in the city of Madras.” Memorandum of H.L. Theotonio Manual Ribeiro Vieira de Castro, Bishop of Mylapore. Ibid., 72. Ibid., 72–83. Ibid., 110. Ibid. Countless permutations of alliances between caste and religious groups and political parties explain why politics of the Presidency had been described as “kaleidoscopic.” Christopher Baker, The Politics of South India, 1920–1937 (Cambridge: CUP, 1976), 80. These were the dioceses of Patna, Vizagapatnam, Mylapore, Pondicherry, Coimbatore, Calicut, Mangalore, Salem, Kumbakonam, Tuticorn, Trichinopoly and Kottayam. Each diocese sent its own delegates. One delegate represented Calcutta, Ranchi, Dinajpur, Dacca and Chittagong (and the Catholic Association of Bengal); one delegate Hyderabad and Nellore; and one delegate Madras, Assam and Dinajpur. In addition to these divisions, eight major Catholic associations sent delegates. “The Mangalore Conference, Aug. 15–17,” EX, August 30, 1930; 417. The First Session of the Round Table Conference convened on November 12, 1930. Its primary aim was to establish the parameters of a Constitution for India that would be federal in nature, ensuring responsible self-government in the Provinces along with adequate “safeguards” for minorities.

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36 Among those who served on the selection committee for the Catholic representative to the Round Table conference were A.T. Pannirselvam (Tanjore), M. Ratnaswami (Madras), Arupdaswami Udayar (Trichinopoly), Frank D’Souza (Poona), J.A. Saldanha (Mangalore) and M.S. Shreshta (Mangalore). EX, August 30, 1930, 417. An active member of the Justice Party, Pannirselvam had in 1925 organized a nonBrahmin conference in Tanjore. Chris Baker, The Politics of South India, 1920–1937, 68. 37 J.B.P. More argues that education became a major site for the preservation of Muslim identity in Tamil Nadu during the early twentieth century. See J.B.P. More, The Political Evolution of Muslims in Tamilnadu and Madras, 1930–1947 (Hyderabad: Orient Longman, 1997), 50–87. 38 “The Mangalore Conference,” EX , August 23, 1930, 406. To the third demand on Catholic education was added: “that where compulsory and free education is introduced and there exist no Catholic school, Catholic children shall not be compelled to attend schools in which, in the opinion of the Ordinary of the diocese, adequate provision is not made for instruction in religion to such children.” “The Mangalore Conference, Aug. 15–17,” EX, August 30, 1930; 417. 39 See G.O. No. 104 (Public Department, Misc.), January 14, 1929. TNA. This addresses the issue of whether District Educational Councils must make provisions for Catholic children when existing schools lack religious education. Regarding the education of Catholic children according to Canon Law, and comparisons to Muslims, see M.S. Sreshta, “A Speech on Our Educational Disabilities,” Catholic Educational Review (hereafter, “CER”), Assumption, 1932; 133. 40 Indian Christian Marriage Act (XV of 1872), Part VI (entitled “Marriage of Indian Christians”), Article 65. K. Sreedhara Variar, The Christian Law: Statutes with Commentaries (Ernakulam: Dewer Press, 1971), 38. 41 From Resolution VI of Mangalore Conference. EX, August 23, 1930; 406. 42 A Catholic man had been accused of bigamy. He had married two women within the span of two weeks – one under civil law, the other under Catholic Canon Law. The Sessions Court dismissed the case, holding that Catholic Canon Law alone was applicable and that the first marriage was invalid. Notwithstanding the ambiguous moral implications of the case and the fact that it did ultimately uphold the validity of Catholic law alone for Catholics, it prompted Catholics to urge a clearer separation of their Canon Law from the laws applicable to other Christians. The decision was from the Nasik Sessions Court, November 2, 1928. It was summarized in “An Important Marriage Case,” EX, November 10, 1928; 504, and commented upon in “Indian Marriage Laws,” EX, November 24, 1928; 525. 43 “The Mangalore Conference,” EX, August 23, 1930, 405. 44 There appeared to have been some dispute among Catholics themselves as to whether the Government regarded all Catholic dioceses as “alien bodies.” The view appears to have been prevalent among Catholics of the Madras Presidency. 45 “The Mangalore Conference, Aug. 15–17,” 417. 46 Resolution III (a) from the Mangalore Conference. EX, August 23, 1930, 405. Beyond the issue of church property as “alien bodies,” there were few issues raised by Catholics that were not also raised by Protestants. Revisions to the Indian Christian Marriage Act and the Indian Succession Act, religious education and religious freedom (for the propagation of religion) were issues shared by all “Indian Christians.” Protestants recognized this all along, and hence urged the cooperation of Catholics toward these interests. 47 By way of comparison, David Gilmartin argues that separate electorates recognized Muslim particularity, but not Muslim belief. His analysis appears to suggest that there were no distinctively “Islamic” motivations that underlay Muslim desire for separate electorates. This clearly was not the case with Catholics, who constantly legitimated

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48

49

50 51

52 53 54

55

56

57 58

their involvement in politics by linking it to “Catholic interests” and “Catholic Action.” See Gilmartin, “Democracy, Nationalism and the Public: A Speculation on Colonial Muslim Politics,” South Asia, Volume 14, No. 1 (1991), 125–6. The relation between communal organizations and Catholic Action was aptly described as follows: “So then the immediate task of Catholic Action Groups, whether for All India, for dioceses or for parishes lies in a sphere outside and above all party politics. Such groups may have sub-committees to watch over legislation or communal interests, but the actual promotion of such interests must be taken in hand by other organizations independent of or distinct though not separated from Catholic Action.” From Fr. Houpert’s article in Rays of Light (Catholic Truth Society, 1932). Reprinted in EX, January 30, 1932, 44. “This question of Catholic Representation is essentially a communal and political question, a question of communal politics. It is a question that interests Catholics as members of the Catholic, or more accurately of the “Indian Christian” community. But it is as citizens and voters that they are so classified. The fact that the Indian electoral system is based largely on the separate representation of communities does not change the nature of that representation or make it any the less a purely political matter.” “Catholic Action and Separate Electorates,” EX, September 20, 1930, 446. Catholic Leader, September, 1930. Reprinted in EX, September 13, 1930, 438. The Simon Commission or Statutory Commission of 1927–29 was sent to India in order to research the operations of Provincial Legislatures as well as the claims and grievances of various communities. Based on its research, it recommended further devolution of power to the Provinces by the extension of responsible government over every branch of administration. Yet key powers were to be retained at the Center over the financial and military policies. Because the Commission lacked any Indian members, the Congress boycotted and strongly protested against its arrival in major Indian cities, including Madras. For details regarding South Indian delegations to the Simon Commission, see Under-Secretary’s Safe – Secret Files, “Indian Statutory Commission: Visit to Madras, 1929”. TNA. “Catholic Representation at Mangalore,” EX, September 6, 1930, 430. Ibid. The writer was responding to Pannirselvam’s defense of separate electorates at the Round Table Conference. Times of India, January, 1931. Reprinted in EX, January 10, 1931, 1. The editor of the Examiner insisted upon maintaining strong Catholic boundaries: “There are also communal questions on which Catholics and Protestants are likely to take the same line. But nevertheless it is not ‘the preservation of the Indian Christian community’ that we are aiming at. For Catholics and Protestants are not one community despite the official label of ‘Indian Christians.’ ” The policy of communal representation, instituted in British India, is an example of “descriptive representation.” Hanna Pitkin, The Concept of Representation, 61. According to Pitkin, descriptive representation is based on “the representative’s characteristics, on what he is or is like, on being something rather than doing something.” In the 1928 Council elections, for instance, five seats were reserved for Indian Christians, of which Catholics had occupied four. In the previous election they occupied three seats. Results given in EX, October 27, 1928, 483; reprinted from Catholic Leader. Either that or they were assuming that, because they outnumbered Protestants, they would be able to control/decide who would fill the reserved seats. The precise wording of the Bishops’ resolution in 1917 is as follows: “Regarding the question of cooperation of Catholics with Protestants in social and political matters, the conference is unanimous in declaring that it is not expedient that Catholics should join as members any Protestant association or other organization, of whatever

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59

60 61

62

63

64

65

66

67 68

denomination, even if the object of the association is only concerned with social and political questions. If, in particular cases, it is found that joint action of Protestants and Catholics is desirable, the Hierarchy will be glad to appoint Catholic delegates to meet Protestant delegates with a view to come to a common understanding on the matters proposed.” “Catholic Co-operation with Protestants,” EX, March 11, 1933, 118. L.D. Swamikannu Pillai, “The Dangers of Interconfessionalism,” contained in The Agitation anent the Bishop’s Conference (Trichinopoly: 1917), 19. See also clarifications of the Catholic position in “Our Bishops and Politics,” EX, August 26, 1933; 394–5 and “Catholic Co-operation with Protestants,” EX, March 11, 1933; 118. “Is Catholic Representation a Mixed Question?,” EX, September 20, 1930; 446. In 1933, the Catholics of Madras had assembled in protest against the advocacy of birth control measures by the Minister for Local Self-Government. According to their statement, such a proposal was “contrary to morality and religion, is subversive of character and attacks the very foundations of society and the family …” “Madras Catholics Protest Against Birth Prevention,” EX, October 14, 1933; 486. “Hence,” The Examiner concludes, “the clergy at Mangalore were not overstepping their proper function in giving advice on the subject of separate electorates, but that nevertheless it remains an essentially political issue, which the body of Catholic voters are fully competent to decide for themselves.” Ibid. Regarding the silence of the Bishops on this matter, one can only speculate. Perhaps their intervention in 1917 served as a single episode, intended to pre-empt unwieldy involvement of Catholics in temporal affairs. According to the Examiner: “There are many matters which have arisen since 1921 on which Catholics would welcome a lead from the hierarchy in conference, but bishops are not in such a hurry as journalists and they will meet when they think fit and decide when they think proper.” “Catholics and Protestants,” EX, August 5, 1933; (n/p). Why Saldanha could endorse this variety of politics, while labeling separate electorates as “anti-national,” remains unanswered. Saldanha was from Mangalore and for two terms served as a member of the Madras Legislative Council. To the Guardian, he wrote: “Of course we must attach ourselves to some political party or parties of the majority communities and in the joint electorates we shall be able to secure election of Hindu candidates pledged to support our causes. For attaining these purposes we must organize ourselves as Indian Christians, with definite aims and programme.” GRD, June 1, 1933; 258. The distinction between “Bombay Catholics” and “South Indian Catholics” derives from the debates printed in the Examiner. They are not distinct analytical categories introduced by the author. Quote is from Soares’s speech at a meeting of Bombay Catholics, held two weeks after the Mangalore Conference. “Bombay and Catholic Representation,” EX, September 13, 1930, 437. Like the Protestant K.T. Paul, Soares consented to “reservation of seats” as only a temporary safeguard, on the way to a time when he hoped that “all communalism would have disappeared from Indian politics.” Ibid., 438. Ibid., 437–8. Pandey tries to “recover” historicity from the essentializing, colonial construction of India. He does this by discrediting the identities posited by bourgeois/elites and privileging the voices of the so-called “little communities” of North India. See The Construction of Communalism, 109–15. But what happens when the little communities, through their own choice, invoke the categories of the State for their own interests? In other words, can we assign Indians historical agency, even when they employ the organs of the State for their own political advancement? A South Indian case in point is the “non-Brahmin” movement, which was often labeled as “communalist” by South Indian Congress Party members.

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69 Chandra, Communalism in Modern India, 50. 70 See, for instance, G.O.s of Indian Christians demanding greater representation within Government services: G.O. No. 365 (Public), April 7, 1934 regarding representation of Indian Christians in public services; and G.O. No. 369 (Public), April 7, 1934 regarding representation of Indian Christians, Muslims and Depressed Classes. TNA. 71 For a good description of the “instrumentalist” character of pluralist politics, see A. Rabushka and K. Shepsle, Politics in Plural Societies (Columbus: Merril, 1972). Other studies addressing cultural pluralism within nation-states include Larry Diamond and Marc F. Plattner (eds), Nationalism, Ethnic Conflict and Democracy (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1994), A. Lijphart, Democracy in Plural Societies (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1977), D. Horowitz, Ethnic Groups in Conflict (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985) and K.M. de Silva, Managing Ethnic Tensions in Multi-Ethnic Societies (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1986). 72 In a poststructuralist universe, signs derive their meanings through their opposition to other signs within the same linguistic system. Yet, in moving from a conceptual world to action, Marshal Sahlins observes, “the sign is determined also as an ‘interest,’ which is its instrumental value to the acting subject.” Sahlins, departing from the assumptions of linguistic relativists, argues that signs, when subject to processes of human consciousness and intelligence, undergo change through the exercise of human creativity. See Islands of History (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1985), 150–1. Such insights suggest that groups – like Indian Catholics – may introduce their own distinctive or creative motivations for involvement in competitive, plural politics. 73 Daniel Hoffrening describes the politics of religious lobbies in the United States as “prophetic.” Using Weber, he argues that religious groups work outside the bureaucratic machinery of the State, but enter it on their own terms. See In Washington, But Not of It (Temple, 1995) 9ff. 74 M.S. Shreshta’s speech to the Madras Educational Council concerning Catholic “educational disabilities” illustrates Catholic parsimony in making claims on the Government. “We are a very peaceful community, we do not ask for rights unnecessarily, and as a matter of fact, a large number of us, Christians, are prepared to efface themselves entirely and say we do not want any special representation in the Council; and if, therefore, [on the point of religious education] we are firm and ask that some facilities should be given, it is because we feel strongly on this point.” CER, Assumption, 1932, 135. 75 Purna Swaraj refers to the complete self-government of India, as opposed to an incremental transfer of power leading to Dominion Status within the Empire. This official and uncompromising INC position made the drafting of a Constitution all the more difficult. 76 See Gandhi’s exposition of “duty over right” in his response to the Indian Christian Manifesto. Harijan, April 3, 1937. Included in M.K. Gandhi, Christian Missions: Their Place in India (Ahmedabad: Navajivan Publishing House, 1941), 82–3. For a description of how nationalist leaders had deployed religious symbols in service to Mother India, see Indira Chowdhury-Sengupta, “Reconstructing Spiritual Heroism: The Evolution of the Swadeshi Sannyasi in Bengal,” in Julia Leslie (ed.), Myth and Mythmaking (Richmond: Curzon Press, 1996), 124–42. 77 See Ranajit Guha, A Disciplinary Aspect of Indian Nationalism (Santa Cruz: Merrill Publications, 1989); Sumit Sarkar, “Indian Nationalism and the Politics of Hindutva,” in David Ludden (ed.), Making India Hindu (New Delhi: OUP, 1996). 78 Proceedings of the Indian Round Table Conference (hereafter, “Proceedings”), 531. 79 Sikhs had been granted twenty seats in a 100-strong Chamber. Ibid., 554.

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80 Among their demands were: (1) the maintenance of the policy of separate electorates for Muslims, unless they were to request otherwise; (2) that, in Provinces where Muslims constitute a minority, there would be no decrease in their representation from what they were granted under the existing law; and (3) that Muslims be given their due share in the Central and Provincial cabinets. Reginald Coupland, The Indian Problem, 1833–1935, 96. The text of the resolution is given in the Simon Report, ii., 84–5. 81 For accounts of Muslim nationalist politics, see Mushirul Hasan (ed.), India’s Partition: Process, Strategy and Mobilization (New Delhi: OUP, 1993); and Ayesha Jalal, The Sole Spokesman: Jinnah, the Muslim League and the Demand for Pakistan (Cambridge: CUP, 1989). 82 Proceedings, 530. 83 Gandhi: “In spite of appearances to the contrary, especially in England, the Congress claims to represent the whole nation, and most decidedly the dumb millions, among whom are included the numberless Untouchables, who are more suppressed and depressed, as also in a way the more unfortunate and neglected classes known as Backward Races.” Ibid. 84 Ibid. 85 Sir Mohammed Shafi: “[I]f the communal problem is not settled, to whom is the British Government to transfer responsibility? To the Hindus? Then the Muslims will object. To the Muslims? Then the Hindus will object; and unless and until the minorities are satisfied – all minorities, Depressed Classes, Europeans, Anglo-Indians and Christians – that their vital interests have been adequately safeguarded as a result of the deliberations of this Committee, how can you expect them to agree to the transfer of responsibility?” Ibid., 532. 86 The issue of representation, thus, was central to the resolution of the “communal problem” and pervaded the entire political discourse of the early 1930’s, as also of both preceding and succeeding decades. Each delegation at the Round Table Conference claimed to represent the interests of a larger constituency. It was their job to speak at the right time and to agree or disagree with the right people. They did so in order to make the presence of their constituencies at the Conference in some sense “real.” 87 Ibid., 531. 88 Quote taken from Sukumar Muralidharan, “Patriotism without People, Milestones in the Evolution of the Hindu Nationalist Ideology,” Social Scientist, Vol. 21, No. 7 (1993), 32. 89 For a more detailed summary and analyses of these events, see Eleanor Zelliot, “Gandhi and Ambedkar: A Study in Leadership,” in From Untouchable to Dalit: Essays on the Ambedkar Movement (New Delhi: Manohar, 1996), 150–83; Bhikhu Parekh, Colonialism, Tradition and Reform: An Analysis of Gandhi’s Political Discourse (New Delhi: Sage, 1999), 228–71; D.R. Nagaraj, The Flaming Feet: A Study of the Dalit Movement in India (Bangalore: South Forum Press in association with Institute for Cultural Research and Action, 1993). 90 Proceedings, 534. 91 Contrast this with non-Catholic Christians, who described separate electorates in such terms as “political purdah” and “compulsory segregation.” See Chapter 5, pp. 110, 127–32. 92 EX, October 1928, 483. Reprinted from Catholic Leader. 93 “Christian Delegates at the R.T.C.,” EX, June 20, 1931, 299. 94 Ibid. 95 “The President’s Address,” EX, August 23, 1930, 406. 96 The Examiner, responding to a speech by Maulana Mohammed Ali, who emphasized the comprehensiveness of Islam, noted: “We Catholics, too, ‘have a culture, a

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polity, an outlook on life, a complete synthesis,’ which is Christian civilization at its best. We, like the Hindu and the Muslim, want to make sure that our specific culture and civilization shall have freedom to exist and to develop in the India of the future.” “What We Want to Preserve,” EX, January 10, 1931, 1. These comments were in response to an article in the Times of India, which had posed the question to Catholics, “Whose self-preservation – Roman Catholics or all Indian Christians?” Cited in idem. 97 “Indian Christians and Communalism,” Indian Social Reformer (hereafter, “ISR”) September 8, 1934; 21. 98 Signatories included the Aga Khan, B.R. Ambedkar, Pannirselvam, Sir Henry Gidney and Hubert Carr (Europeans). Proceedings, 552. 99 Proceedings, 550–1. 100 Ibid., 583–4. 101 For a good summary of these controversies, see Suntharalingam, Politics and Nationalist Awakening in South India, 1852–1891 (Tucson, AZ: University of Arizona Press, 1974), 32–45. 102 Rudolf C. Heredia, “Education and Mission: School as Agent of Evangelization,” in Economic and Political Weekly, September 16, 1995, 2335. 103 The terms “secular” and “religious neutrality” in the Indian context carry different meanings from their use in the West. Secular policies in India have never suggested the absence or eradication of religion, but that the State would remain neutral or equidistant from all religions. For discussions of the meaning of secularism in the Indian context, see Donald Eugene Smith, India as a Secular State (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1963), and Robert Baird (ed.), Religion and law in independent India (New Delhi: Manohar, 1993). 104 “Conscience Clauses” also provided exemption for non-Catholics from religious instruction in Catholic schools, when such schools received state funds. However, the Senate of Madras University had rejected a proposal to require Catholic institutions to provide instruction in non-Catholic religion to non-Catholic students. The proposal violated the mandate of the Catholic Church not only “to teach the religion of which she claims to be the custodian, but to forbid the teaching of any other religion within the premises of her establishments.” A letter from L. Proserpio to the Madras Mail, March 4, 1933. Reprinted in EX, March 11, 1933, 118. 105 A dispute concerning the introduction of Muslim instruction in a Catholic school arose in 1933 in Cochin. The Director of Public Instruction, the Hindu son of the late Maharaja of Cochin, had ordered that Koranic teachings be introduced in St. Anthony’s Primary School because there were more than thirty Muslim students enrolled. “Koran in Catholic Schools Order,” EX, January 28, 1933, 47. 106 Shreshta’s speech to MLC reprinted in CER, Assumption, 1932, 134. In claiming that Catholic education was in the interests of the State, Shreshta used arguments that were similar to those of the Protestant “fulfillment theorists.” The latter argued that the real success of Christian missions was not to be measured in individual conversions, but in the conversion of the society as a whole to Christian social ideals – even if these ideals expressed themselves within the framework of Hinduism. See Eric Sharpe, Not to Destroy but to Fulfill: The Contribution of J.N. Farquhar to Protestant Missionary Thought in India before 1914 (Uppsala: Almquist & Wiksells Boktryckeri AB, 1965). 107 See, for instance, Saldanha’s advocacy for Catholic education in the Legislative Council: Proceedings of the Madras Legislative Council, August 1927, Vol. 36; 139–41, 402–3. TNA. Here, Saldanha compared the lot of Catholics to the influence being wielded by the Mahila Sabha of Mangalore, an Association of Hindu women interested in educational standards. Saldanha questioned the grounds on

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108

109

110 111

112

113

114

115 116 117 118

119 120 121 122

which the Mahila Sabha had been given special representation in the District Educational Councils. In 1933, the number of Christian seats in the Madras Legislative Council was increased from nine to fourteen, due to Shreshta’s advocacy. See EX, April 8, 1933; 164. “In the present state of feelings in India, the interests of religion find uninvited guardians in political demagogues and that fact is made an excuse by preachers for covering up the faults of propaganda. Religious truths have little place in the minds of either of these groups.” ISR, September 22, 1934; 58. Reprinted article from Madras Guardian. See M. Ruthnaswamy, “Laymen and Catholic Propaganda in India,” EX, December 5, 1931; 581. For an account of F.X. DeSouza’s advocacy for Christian interests in the Bombay Legislative Council, see “Christian Interests in the Assembly,” EX, April 8, 1933; 164; “Indian Christians in Public Services,” ISR, August 11, 1934; 787; and “Indian Christians and Communalism,” ISR, September 15, 1934; 35. The communal implications of religious propaganda were nothing new. Religious controversies of the nineteenth century illustrate similar dynamics. See Kenneth Jones, Religious Controversy in British India: Dialogues in South Asian Languages (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1992), and Tapan Raychauduri’s account of Bankimchandra Chatterjee’s encounter with William Hastie, in Europe Reconsidered (New Delhi: OUP, 1988). Religious categories solidified by the Communal Award of 1932 made religious propaganda and “conversion” all the more a game of numbers and communal power. This was another reason why Protestant elites disavowed communal representation. The disputes between editors of the Catholic Leader, Examiner and Indian Social Reformer illustrate the “public” dimension of these disputes. The Examiner wrote: “The Indian Social Reformer remarks that ‘uncontrolled religious propaganda by preachers whose knowledge is not equal to their zeal is a great danger to public peace.’ But our contemporary must be aware that the question of ‘knowledge’ simply does not arise, else Government would have to ban all serious works by nonMuslims on Mohammed, beginning with the Encyclopedia Britannica. Mr. Natarajan knows very well that he is not as free to write in his paper about Mohammed as he does about Christ, and in fact he is very careful to keep clear of the subject.” “The Examiner’s Grouse,” ISR, October 6, 1934, 85. Muslim preachers also attacked the claims of Christianity, as did Arya Samajists. Arya Samajists also abused Islam. See “Religious Propaganda,” ISR, September 22, 1934; 58–9. Reprinted from The Guardian (Madras). This point is an inference drawn from the report of the incident provided by The Guardian. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. “[I]f the Self Respect Movement had confined itself to the uplift of the Harijan community in social matters, nobody would ever have quarreled with them. But now, imitating Russia, they seem to have widened their attack on all religions, particularly the Catholic Church and its clergy.” “Catholics and the Self-Respect Movement,” EX, April 22, 1933; 188. Numerous reports concerning conflict between the Catholic Church and Self Respecters are found in The Depressed Classes: A Chronological Documentation, 1932–37 (Kurseong). Ibid., 25–33. Ibid., 237–44. Ibid., 246, 270. Ibid., 271.

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123 “Madras – Late Mr. Arokiaswami,” EX, February 11, 1933, 70. 124 “When the Congress dropped its policy of defying government and defying the law, it quickly became respectable because there were many people who wanted to use it for respectable and constitutional ends.” Baker, The Politics of South India, 255. 125 Catholic Leader, December, 1934. Reprinted in ISR, December 29, 1934, 282. 126 For a report on actions taken by the Government of Madras against various presses and newspapers deemed “seditious,” see G.O. No. 307 (Public-General), February 20, 1935. TNA. 127 See R.M. Gray’s pamphlet, The Present Deadlock in India (London: SCM Press, 1937). 128 NL, February 7, 1937. 129 It was reported that M.S. Gilani, one of the three Catholics running on the Congress ticket, had to obtain permission from Pandit Nehru before he could accept an invitation to preside at the All-India Catholic Congress held in Trichinopoly. In this instance, Gilani’s political affiliation appeared to trump his religious one. Ibid. 130 NL, January 31, 1937. 131 Ibid. 132 Ibid.

8 RELIGION, CASTE AND POLITICAL RHETORIC, 1925–1937 1

2

3

4

5 6 7

In order to legitimate their claims to power, the Hindu bhadrolok of Bengal generated stereotypes of Muslims (who outnumbered them) as culturally backward people who were unfit for the purposes of administration. See Joya Chatterji, Bengal Divided: Hindu Communalism and Partition, 1932–47 (Cambridge: CUP, 1995), 173–80. Those whom Gandhi referred to as “Harijans” (literally, children of Vishnu) often found the term patronizing. It portrayed Dalits (formerly “untouchables”) as naive, backward “children,” totally at the mercy of caste Hindus for their uplift. The term validated Gandhi’s politics of “Hindu-ization” and pre-empted Dalits from forming a separate political identity. See Eleanor Zelliot, From Untouchable to Dalit: Essays on the Ambedkar Movement (New Delhi: Manohar, 1996), 150–8; and Gail Omvedt, Dalits and the Democratic Revolution: Dr. Ambedkar and the Dalit Movement in Colonial India (New Delhi: Sage, 1994), 133–6. Perceptions of Christians as belonging to a “colonial religion” were, to some extent, replaced by the stereotype of Christians as a “model minority” committed to selfless, patriotic service to India. See Chapter 6. For nineteenth-century accounts of caste disputes within Catholic and Protestant church settings in South India, see Henriette Bugge, Mission and Tamil Society: Social and Religious Change in South India 1840–1900 (Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press, 1994), Kenneth Ballhatchet, Caste, Class and Catholicism in India, 1789–1914 (Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press, 1998), and Dennis Hudson, Protestant Origins in India: Tamil Evangelical Christians, 1706–1835 (Grand Rapids and Richmond, Surrey: Eerdmans and Curzon Press, 2000). The speech was given in 1944 at the Robertson YMCA in Nagpur. It was printed in the Dnanodaya, a Marathi weekly published in Ahmedabad, and then reprinted in the Guardian, June 7, 1945, 179. Ibid. Ibid. “… I see many Christian Indians almost ashamed of their birth, certainly of their ancestral religion, and of their ancestral dress. The aping of Europeans on the part of

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8

9

10

11

12

13 14

15

16

Anglo-Indians is bad enough, but the aping of them by Indian converts is a violence done to the country and, shall I say, even to their new religion.” M.K. Gandhi, “For Indian Christians,” Young India, August 20, 1925. From M.K. Gandhi, Christian Missions: Their Place in India, Bharatan Kumarappa (ed.), (Ahmedabad: Navajivan Publishing House, 1941), 68–70 (hereafter, “CMPI”). Throughout the 1920’s, Gandhi’s conception of Indian unity did not deny the existence of diverse faiths, but asserted, as Ainslee Embree notes, “a profoundly dogmatic [claim] – that all religions are true.” Ainslee Embree, Utopias in Conflict: Religion and Nationalism in Modern India (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), 44. Gandhi’s encounters with Christians may be divided between those pertaining to doctrinal or philosophical matters and those dealing with conversion and national commitment. A compilation of his writings dealing with both kinds of Christian encounters is contained in CMPI. Gandhi referred to conversion as “the deadliest poison” in a conversation with a Polish Catholic philosopher, Krzenski, who argued for the existence of a single truth, found in Catholicism. See The Collected Works of Mahatma Gandhi, Volume 64, 202–4. Swadeshi was a philosophy of self-reliance, which impinged primarily upon the realm of economics. Economic swadeshi stressed the importance for Indians to purchase only Indian-made goods and to boycott all foreign goods. Gandhi’s first exposition of his interpretation of swadeshi was his Hindu Swaraj. See Sumit Sarkar, The Swadeshi Movement in Bengal, 1903–1908 (New Delhi: People’s Publishing House, 1973). But Swadeshi also had a cultural dimension, which inclined Indians to reclaim or ‘recover’ aspects of traditional society that had been lost by way of Western influences. The emphasis on swadeshi during the early decades of the twentieth century contributed to perceptions of Christians as belonging to a “foreign” religion. Gandhi’s speech on Swadeshi at the Missionary Conference, Madras. Printed in Young India, June 21, 1919; 220. A special word of thanks is owed to Elizabeth Alexander, who referred to this speech and its significance in a paper she presented at the meeting of the Church History Association of India, Mangalore, October, 1997. See also Gandhi, “Why I Am a Hindu,” Young India, October 20, 1927; CMPI, 28. See also Young India, April 19, 23, 1931. Gandhi, “For Christian Indians,” Young India, August 20, 1925; CMPI, 69. Gandhi felt that conversion to Christianity was uniquely “denationalizing” because it often inspired Indians to adopt a European lifestyle. “Many converts here have been denationalized, e.g., even their names have been changed in many instances to those of Europeans; they have been told that there is no true light to be found in the religion of their forefathers. The ancient scriptures of their ancestors are a closed book to them. They have had implanted in them a psychology of fear in regard to their nonChristian brothers.” Gandhi, “A Christian Letter,” Harijan, January 30, 1937; CMPI, 71. Gandhi actually had intended to clarify his original statement by this passage. After having received reactions from many sections of the Christian community, Gandhi stated that he was not opposed to missionary work per se, but to the act of using humanitarian work as a “bait” for conversions. GRD, April 30, 1931, 1. Gandhi’s revised statement did little to assuage the fears of Catholics and non-Catholics. See GRD, May 21, 1931; 232. The Catholic Leader of Madras expressed its surprise that Gandhi, who had often expressed his admiration for Christian ethical standards, would display such prejudice against Christians: “His recent declaration disillusions, however, any optimistic feeling one might have entertained regarding his attitude towards the work of Christian Missions in India.” Reprinted in EX, April 4, 1931; 1. “Mr. Gandhi and Christian Missions,” GRD, May 21, 1931; 232.

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17 “Indian Christians and Mahatma Gandhi’s Pronouncement,” GRD, May 14, 1931, 218. 18 The Canadian Baptist Mission Society, which was active in Telugu-speaking districts of the South, expressed concerns that Gandhi’s statement had posed a threat to the future of missionary work in India. See Canadian Baptist Mission publication, Among the Telugus, March 31, 1931. See also Report of the American Baptist Telugu Mission, South India. Survey of the year, 1931 (Orissa Mission Press, 1932), 8–9. 19 Catholics criticized Gandhi’s Temple Entry campaign for having the effect of “identifying the ‘untouchables’ with the Hindus in religion [even when] it is denied by Hindu authorities that they are Hindus by religion.” “Are the Harijans Hindus by Religion?,” EX, January 7, 1933; 1–2. The question of the size and composition of the so-called “depressed classes” became the subject of considerable debate in the 1930’s, particularly in light of the attention that Gandhi, Ambedkar and Ramaswamy had brought to the matter. The Simon Report of 1930 and the Census Report of 1931 provided definitions for untouchability, which were debated by writers to various newspapers. See the rejoinder of S.R. Venkataraman, of Gandhi’s Harijan Seva Sangh (The Hitavada, August 19, 1936) to an article published in the Times of India, July 31, 1936 addressing the population of the “depressed classes” of India. Reprinted in Depressed Classes: A Chronological Documentation (Kurseong, n/d), 161–2 (hereafter “Chronological Documentation”). 20 The Poona Pact settled the conflict between Gandhi and Ambedkar over the issue of separate electorates for Dalits. In order to put an end to Gandhi’s “fast unto death,” Ambedkar capitulated to Gandhi’s core demands. According to the Poona Pact, elections to seats in the assemblies would take place by joint electorates, subject to the following condition: Depressed Class members within a given consistuency “would form an electoral college, which [would] elect a panel of four candidates belonging to the Depressed Classes for each of such reserved seats by the method of the single vote; the four persons getting the hightest number of votes in such primary election shall be candidates for election by the general electorate.” “The Poona Pact,” September 24, 1932; Chronological Documentation, 8. 21 See Barun Ray, Gandhi’s Campaign Against Untouchability, 1933–34: An Account of the Raj’s Secret Official Reports (New Delhi: Gandhi Peace Foundation, 1996), 6–15. 22 See “Extracts Taken from the Secret Files Relating to Civil Disobedience Movement in Andhra, 1934: Gandhi’s Anti-Untouchability Tour in Madras Presidency.” Andhra Pradesh State Archives, Hyderabad. 23 Ibid. For an account of Gandhi’s critics in Madras and his responses to them, see “No Ulterior Motive,” The Hindu, December 18, 1933. 24 While addressing the Representative Assembly, the Raja of Mysore set forth a strategy to simultaneously ameliorate the conditions of “Adi-Karnatakas” and to “Hinduize” them, in order to pre-empt their conversion to other faiths. Gandhi lauded the Raja’s statement as “a gentle warning both to the Christian missionary and the Mussalman missionary not to try to wean these suppressed classes from Hinduism but, if they at all wish to interfere, to act so that they may become better Hindus.” Young India, July 7, 1927; CMPI, 50–1. 25 Shuddhi is a ceremony of purification performed in order to “readmit” persons who had lost caste (due to apostasy, immorality, etc.) back into the Hindu fold. See Gandhi, “Four Questions,” Harijan, September 25, 1937; CMPI, 84. 26 “Conversion for Convenience,” Harijan, June 12, 1937; CMPI, 61. 27 Harijan, June 5, 1937; CMPI, 58. 28 Outraged by Gandhi’s statement, Ambedkar charged: “That Untouchables are no better than a cow is a statement which only an ignoramus, or an arrogant person, can venture to make. It is arrant nonsense. Mr. Gandhi dares to make it because he has come to regard

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29 30

31 32 33 34

35 36

37 38 39

40 41

42

43

44

45 46

himself as so great a man that the ignorant masses will not question his declarations and the dishonest intelligentsia will uphold him in whatever he says.” See Ambedkar, Writings and Speeches, Vol. 5 (Bombay: Dept. of Education, Gov’t of Maharashtra, 1989), 449. “Nevertheless I am unrepentent. My American credit will be little worth if it can be demolished on the very first shock however trivial it might be”, CMPI, 58. The Telugu Dalit poet Gurram Joshua, in his famous poem Gabbilam (“The Bat”), writes: “Did you ask Siva what perverse logic impels Hindus to shun my fellowmen and inhumanly practice untouchability, but worship bulls to earn salvation?” K. Madhava Rao (translator), Joshua’s Gabbilam (Hyderabad: Joshua Foundation, 1996), 52. See Zelliot, From Untouchable to Dalit (New Delhi: Manohar, 1996), and Omvedt, Dalits and the Democratic Revolution (New Delhi: Sage, 1994). See Ambedkar, Writings and Speeches, Vol. 5 (Bombay: Education Department, Gov’t. of Maharashtra, 1989), 445–8. Ibid., 448. As he addressed the question of the relative validity of various religions, Ambedkar had pragmatic considerations in mind. He was far more concerned about the emancipating capacity of a religion than he was with any abstract or philosophical notion of “truth.” Ibid., 450. For a more detailed account of Ambedkar’s religious views in relation to Dalit issues, see John Webster, Religion and Dalit Liberation: An Examination of Perspectives (New Delhi: Manohar, 1999), 35–53. Ambedkar, Why Go for Conversion?, 12. Ibid., 17. This discussion adopts Gail Omvedt's language of “integration and autonomy” to describe approaches to caste inequality in South India. See Dalits and the Democratic Revolution (New Delhi: Sage, 1994), 105-36. V. Ramakrishna, Social Reform in Andhra, 1848–1919 (New Delhi: Vikas, 1983), 153–4. In this respect they had adopted an “Orientalist” view of Indian history that was divided into three periods: (1) an original golden, or “pure,” Hindu period, that culminated in the Gupta dynasty; (2) a degenerative, Muslim period; and (3) the period of British colonialism. During the 1870’s, these conversions had coincided with a famine that had afflicted Telugu-speaking districts of the Madras Presidency. During this period, large numbers of Malas and Madigas underwent Baptism into both Catholic and nonCatholic traditions. Hindu onlookers made frequent references so-called “rice conversions” as a result of such responses to the famine. See John E. Clough, Social Christianity in the Orient: The Story of a Man, a Mission and a Movement (New York: Macmillan, 1914), 266–9. John Leonard and Karen Leonard, “Viresalingam and the Ideology of Change,” in Kenneth W. Jones (ed.), Religious Controversy in British India: Dialogues in South Asian Languages (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1992), 170. V. Ramakrishna, Social Reform in Andhra, 79. Viresalingam’s use of the name “Hun” to refer to Europeans and his boycott of all terms of English origin in his writing “voices his repudiation of indebtedness to Western influence.” E.E. Silliman, in his foreward to his translation of Viresalingam, An Indian View of Hindu Customs (San Diego, 1930), 2. Leonard and Leonard, “Viresalingam and the Ideology of Change,” 169. The Brahmo Samaj movement had been making an impact in the city of Madras and in coastal Andhra. In Madras, the movement had blended for a time with the antiBrahminical spirit of Tamil nationalism, but eventually disappeared from Tamil Nadu’s intellectual history. In Andhra, Brahmo Samaj ideas became integral to Telugu literary and political culture, but had been largely championed by members of the upper castes. Ibid., 157.

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47 Ibid. 48 In his critique of caste, Viresalingam disputed not the differentiation of social functions as such but their differentiation on the basis of heredity or birth. Citing passages from the Mahabharata, Bhagavadgita, Puranas and Upanishads, he argued that society was indeed divided into Brahmins, Ksaitryas, Vaisyas and Sudras, but that these categories were not fixed at birth. They were determined on the basis of moral qualities and talents cultivated during the course of one’s lifetime. Viresalingam, An Indian View of Hindu Customs, 6–22. 49 See J. Gurunadham, Viresalingam: The Founder of Telugu Public Life (Rajamundry, 1911), 59–80, 93. Gurunadham’s critical insights into Vireselingam’s “great gift of satire” and refinement of the Telugu language help to explain the revolutionary impact of Viresalingam’s writings upon Telugu society. 50 Gail Omvedt, Dalits and the Democratic Revolution, 116. That there existed a link between “Telugu” and “Hindu” consciousness is evident in the writings of G.V. Subbarao, a Telugu nationalist who, during the 1930’s, was a strong advocate for a separate Andhra province. Subbarao also pushed for a more prominent place for the Hindu Mahasabha in Telugu politics. See Subbarao Collection, Andhra Pradesh State Archives, Hyderabad. 51 “When Will India Become Christian?,” Missionary Review of the World, Vol. 4, No. 10 (October 1932), 517–18. V.S. Azariah and J.W. Pickett both regarded depressed class conversions as a catalyst for conversions among Sudras and even higher-ranking caste groups. See Harper, In the Shadow of the Mahatma: Bishop V.S. Azariah and the Travails of Christianity in British India (Grand Rapids and Richmond, Surrey: Eerdmans and Curzon Press, 2000), 276–7. 52 The traditional occupation of Madigas was that of leather workers. In some districts, Madiga labor was indispensable for the supply of sandals, ox harness and irrigation buckets. Because of their occupation, they came into contact with carcasses and took to the eating of carrion. Because of such practices, caste Hindus regarded them as “polluted.” A.T. Fishman, Culture Change and the Underprivileged (Madras: Christian Literature Society, 1941), 91. 53 Webster, The Dalit Christians: A History (New Delhi: ISPCK, 1996), 40; and Clough, Social Christianity in the Orient, 223–30. 54 Geoffrey Oddie, “Protestant Missions, Caste and Social Change in India, 1850–1914,” IESHR, Vol. 6, No. 3 (September 1969), 261–71; Webster, The Dalit Christians, 40–6. 55 The NCCI had originally submitted a proposal for an official enquiry into Christian mass movements to the Institute of Social and Religious Research. The significance of such research, according to the proposal, “lies in the fact, not only that the numbers affected are enormous, but that whole village communities have moved as social units toward Christianity.” Proposal to the Institute of Social and Religious Research for Help with a Survey of the Mass Movement in India. IMC/CBMS Archives, Box 394, No. 28. Pickett had undertaken this study under the oversight of the Indian National Christian Council and of Bishop Azariah himself. This shows how mass movements, in addition to being an essentially Indian phenomenon, had become internationalized within existing Christian ecumenical societies. 56 J. Waskom Pickett, Christian Mass Movements in India: A Study with Recommendations (New York: Abingdon Press, 1933). 57 Ibid., 313–19. 58 Ibid., 310–311. Quite often, mass converts had retained or “reverted” to the ritual and social functions they had practiced before conversion. Because of his belief in the radical inclusiveness of the Christian religion, Azariah “insisted that all beliefs, rituals, practices, and cultural manifestations of Hinduism that the church judged to be evil should be renounced at baptism.” Harper, In the Shadow of the Mahatma, 247.

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59 Gail Omvedt, Dalits and the Democratic Revolution, 118–19. 60 Ibid., 118. 61 See Caldwell, A Comparative Grammar of the Dravidian or South Indian Family of Languages (London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner & Co. Ltd, 1913), 6–11. 62 Sumathi Ramaswamy, Passions of the Tongue: Language Devotion in Tamil India, 1891–1970 (New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal Publishers Pvt. Ltd., 1998), 64. 63 Gandhi refers to “Adi-Karnatakas” in Young India, July 7, 1927; CMPI, 51. 64 Sumathi Ramaswamy, Passions of the Tongue, 25. 65 V. Geetha and S.V. Rajadurai, Towards A Non-Brahman Millenium: From Iyothee Thass to Periyar (Calcutta: Samya, 1998), 284–5, 291–5. 66 Anita Diehl, E.V. Ramaswami Naicker-Periyar: A Study of the Influence of a Personality in Contemporary South India (Stockholm: Esselte Studium, 1977), 22–4. Diehl observes how Ramaswamy’s participation had been omitted from many of the accounts of the Vaikom satyagraha due to an interest in casting Gandhi as the initiator and leader of the campaign. 67 Quoted by V. Geetha and S.V. Rajadurai, Towards A Non-Brahman Millenium, 299.

9 AT THE MARGINS OF MARGINALITY: DALIT CHRISTIANS, 1917–1937 1

While Catholics tried to optimize political influence within the legislatures, Protestants preferred to de-politicize “the Christian community” in order to express national commitment. See Chapters 6 and 7. 2 For Protestants, the most significant organization was the All-India Conference of Indian Christians. For Catholics, it was the All-India Catholic Board. C.J. Varkey had organized the Catholic Board as a follow- up to the 1930 conference of Indian Catholics at Mangalore. 3 Several accounts of caste disputes have been taken from a compilation of news clippings provided in The Depressed Classes: A Chronological Documentation (Kurseong: St. Mary’s College, n/d). When citing this compilation, the original source and date of the report is first provided (in some cases, however, the compilation provided only the date of the original report). This is followed by reference to Chronological Documentation, and the page number. 4 John Webster, Religion and Dalit Liberation: An Examination of Perspectives (New Delhi: Manohar, 1999), 11. See also Webster, “Who is a Dalit?” in S.M. Michael (ed.), Dalits in Modern India: Vision and Values (New Delhi: Vistaar Publications, 1999), 68–79. 5 Government of Madras, report on the Depressed Classes. G.O. No. 1675 (Home Department, Misc.) December 2, 1919; 2–6. TNA. 6 The origins of the “Dravidian” theory of racial identity traces back to Bishop Robert Caldwell’s study of the Dravidian family of languages. Caldwell distinguished “Dravidian” languages – the oldest and most classical of which was Tamil – from the Sanskrit-based “Aryan” tongues of north India. According to Caldwell, Sanskrit sources used the term “Dravidian” to refer to the distinctive peoples of South India and their languages (which included Telugu, Kannada, Tamil and Malayalam). Robert Caldwell, A Comparative Grammar of the Dravidian or South Indian Family of Languages (London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Truber & Co. Ltd: 1913), 4. 7 See Chapter 6. Gandhi attributed this competition, not only to missionary activity, but also to B.R. Ambedkar’s threat to lead thousands of Dalits “into another religion.” Wrote Gandhi: “I am convinced that change of Faith by [Ambedkar] and those who have passed the resolution will not serve the cause which they have at heart, for millions of unsophisticated and illiterate Harijans will not listen to him and them when they have disowned their ancestral Faith, especially when it is remem-

267

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8

9

10

11

12

13

14

bered that their lives, for good or evil, are intertwined with those of Caste Hindus.” October 15, 1935. Chronological Documentation, 41. Articles by prominent public figures, representing many religious perspectives, appear in The Indian Review from 1911–13. Among the contributors were Annie Besant, Lal Lajpat Rai, G.A. Natesan, A. Vasudeva Pai and numerous clerical figures. Rising national consciousness clearly had awakened representative Indians to the needs of this vast population of socially and economically backward peoples. In 1916, the Government of India undertook an exhaustive enquiry as to what measures had been taken by local Governments to ameliorate conditions of the “depressed classes.” This enquiry resulted in an extensive report by the Government of Madras containing documentation from every major missionary organization and heads of District Boards concerning the status of “untouchable” and other members of the depressed classes. See Extract from the Proceedings of the Indian Legislative Council (the Council met at New Delhi, March 16, 1916). All relevant enclosures from these proceedings are contained in G.O. No. 1675 (Home Department, Misc.) December 2, 1919. TNA. Regarding the efficacy of conversion, M.B. Dadabhoy, who had presented the resolution regarding the amelioration of the depressed classes to the Imperial Legislative Council, made the following observations: “It has been remarked by one acute observer that their conversion to Christianity effaces all memories of their former degradation. Change of religion is, therefore, their only hope. This view, however, does not appeal to me. The change of treatment which follows the assumption by them of European dress is produced, not by the conversion preceding it, but by the material wealth and prosperity lying at the back of it. Poor Christians do not enjoy the same consideration.” Ibid., 5. According to Webster, belonging to the “Christian community” under the scheme of communal electorates did little to empower the Dalit Christians. Because the state only classified Hindu Dalits as Scheduled Castes, it offered no quotas in employment or education to Dalit Christians. This created a powerful disincentive for conversion. See Webster, The Dalit Christians: A History (New Delhi: ISPCK, 1992), 128–9. Most prominently, Dalit Christians challenged the idea – whether advanced explicitly or implicitly – of the Church as an institution in which caste distinctions and disadvantages ceased to exist. Ibid., 96–7. In a recent work, Sathianathan Clarke identifies three difficulties created for Dalits by elite efforts to “Indianize” Christianity: (1) the foundations of Indian Christian theology were predicated upon Brahminical assumptions of an elite minority of caste Hindus and Christians; (2) such perspectives did not employ or interact with the symbolic resources of Dalit communities. In fact, they “invalidate” and “repudiate” the culture and religion of Dalits; (3) the universal claims and priorities of nationalism sacrificed the “yearnings” of subaltern communities such as the Dalits. Sathianathan Clarke, Dalits and Christianity: Subaltern Religion and Liberation Theology in India (New Delhi: OUP, 1998), 40. Clarke references James Massey’s critique of Indian Christian theology in his Indigenous People: Dalits, Dalit Issues in Today’s Theological Debate (New Delhi: ISPCK, 1994), 339. The two main options available to Dalits were integration into Hindu society or autonomy from it. Dalit Christians were presented with the same options of integration and autonomy with respect to their participation in Christian institutions. See Gail Omvedt, Dalits and the Democratic Revolution: Dr. Ambedkar and the Dalit Movement in Colonial India (New Delhi: Sage Publications, 1994), 114. Some of the most volatile points of controversy within Catholic churches had to do with different roles or spaces assigned to Adi-Catholics and caste Catholics during mass. Examples of such segregation include separate entrances to churches, unequal

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15

16

17

18 19

20 21

22

23

participation in public festivals, and dividing rails which separated Adi-Catholics from caste Catholics during the serving of communion. “If [Self-Respecters] do not succeed in a real uplifting [of the depressed classes], they may succeed more easily in creating disaffection of those castes against their shepherds. In some regions they seem to have succeeded to a certain extent in this line. It cannot be denied that there is danger ahead.” Notes from Trichinopoly, EX, January 28, 1933; 47. Reprint from the international Catholic journal, Fides. “The religion of Christ is one of the most dynamic factors in the world. It always bursts its boundaries, however strong and rigid those boundaries may be laid. It refuses to be confined to any one race, class or caste. It seeks to embrace all.” V.S. Azariah, “The Communal Award,” GRD, September 8, 1932; 368. Azariah’s emphasis on the catholicity of the Christian religion is also evident in “The Annual Sermon, Preached at St. Bride’s Church,” May 3, 1920. CMS Proceedings, 1919–20; and “The Bishop of Dornakal on Dr. Ambedkar’s Declaration,” GRD, December 12, 1935; 791. During the 1930’s, the chief element of this “spirit of reform” was the call to abolish untouchability and to uplift the status of the so-called “Depressed Classes.” Within Tamil- and Telugu-speaking districts of the Madras Presidency, this call led both to Dalit mobilization and to Gandhian campaigns to “conscientize” caste Hindus to the hardships suffered by Dalits. For accounts of both kinds of development see Gail Omvedt, Dalits and the Democratic Revolution, and Baren Ray, Gandhi’s Campaign Against Untouchability, 1933–34: An Account from the Raj’s Secret Official Reports (New Delhi: Gandhi Peace Foundation, 1996). “H.E. the Apostolic Delegate on the Self-Respect Movement,” EX, May 13, 1933; 224. Reprinted from Catholic Leader. “If caste exclusiveness was tolerated in the Church in a former day, it was to avoid scandalizing the prospective Hindu convert who had clung to it with all the warmth of religious fervour. Now these very Hindus are abandoning it; what justification can the Catholics have to hold to it any longer?” The statement had been issued in order to counter Self Respect propaganda and was signed by ten Catholic professionals of Trichinopoly. “Catholics and the Self-Respect Movement,” EX, April 22, 1933; 189. Ibid. That Christian converts could no longer be classified as “untouchables” because of their change of religion and were therefore not entitled to Government assistance was a view upheld by Ambedkar himself. In an interview published in the Times of India, Ambedkar distinguished change in religious belief from change in one’s community. “He concludes that the intention to leave a religious sect born of disgust with current practices and injustices, or declaration of loss or lack of faith in a set of tenets, does not militate against enjoyment of attendant political rights, but holds that it would be different if a member of the Depressed Classes gave up Hinduism and actually embraced another religion, say Islam or Christianity. Then and only after such conversion will he come under a political group assigned to adherents of such religion; then only can he be compelled to forfeit the rights attaching to membership of Hindu community.” “Poona Pact and Conversion – Dr. Ambedkar’s View,” July 24, 1936. Chronological Documentation, 140. According to the communal returns prescribed previously by the Government of Madras, “Indian Christians should be classified as such, irrespective of the community from which they or their ancestors became converts.” G.O. No. 493 (Public), May 29, 1928 – Should Converts from Depressed Classes be “Christian” or “Depressed Class”? Discussions recorded. TNA. Prior to the issuing of G.O. No. 493, a number of branches of Government had been grouping Depressed Class Christians with the rest of the depressed classes. The

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24 25 26

27 28

29

30

31

32

33 34

Inspector General of Police (F.O.C. No. 160, dated February 10, 1928), for instance, classed “Adi-Dravida Christians” as members of “Depressed Classes.” In 1926, the Public Works and Labor Department directed that, “except in regard to educational concessions, the depressed classes, even after conversion to Christianity, are [to be] treated by the Labor Department as ‘depressed classes’.” This would be the case, for instance, with regard to the acquisition of housing sites. See G.O. No. 117 (Labor, Genl.), dated January 12, 1926. Similarly, the Education Department had directed that “converts to Christianity from depressed classes shall not forfeit their eligibility to half fee concessions merely because of their conversion to Christianity.” G.O. No. 855 (Education), May 19, 1925. “How Depressed Classes are Penalized,” EX, December 29, 1928; 588. “The Indian Hierarchy and the Depressed Classes,” EX, September 27, 1930; 459. Among the letters received by Nekaljay were those from the Archbishop of Bombay and Verapoly, the Bishop of Kumbakonam and Tuticorn, and the Vicar General of Allahabad and Calicut. Ibid., 459–60. Sylvester F. Menezes, “Christianity and the Untouchables,” EX, December 31, 1932; 579. If secular or Hindu aid pre-empted conversion, it would only validate Gandhi’s claim that conversions among Dalits were based primarily on material inducements. But if other “spiritual” or “intangible” advantages had been sought through conversion, the Church’s mission would continue among the poor. “Let the missionaries continue exercising their zeal in the various fields of Christian charity, let education march onward and medical missions multiply and the poor, depressed untouchables will have eyes to see and discriminate.” Ibid., 580. M. Ruthnaswamy’s presidential address delivered at the Catholic Congress, Bangalore, on December 27, 1932. “The Church in India Today,” EX, January 7, 1933; 4. “The Menace of the Rationalist,” EX, May 24, 1930; 1. In his presidential address at the conference, M.R. Jayakar had commended Muslims and Roman Catholics for joining the Self Respect Movement in their attacks on priestcraft. To this the Catholic Leader retorted: “any Catholics who were present attended the Conference to show their sympathy for Hindu social reform, chiefly the abolition of the caste system, and their presence is not to be interpreted in the least as an indication of their support to the agnostic tendencies of the movement or to attacks on the Catholic priesthood.” Idem. V. Geetha and S.V. Rajadurai, Towards A Non-Brahman Millenium: From Iyothee Thass to Periyar (Calcutta: Samya, 1998), 427. In its attack on organized religion, Kudi Arasu had also propagated aggressively atheistic ideas. As one Self Respecter had written: “If there be a God and if He appears before me, I will cut His throat … If the word ‘God’ is removed from the language of the world, what doubt is there that mankind will live a prosperous life? Therefore, if even today the word ‘God’ disappears from the face of the earth, no evil will affect the human race.” Kudi Arasu, November 13, 1932. Cited in “Reply to ‘Self-Respect’ Charges,” EX, April 29, 1933; 201. According to a report in Fides, the ideological tone of Self Respect rhetoric had changed markedly after Ramaswamy’s return from his pilgrimage to Russia and Spain. Reprinted in EX, January 28, 1933; 47. “Catholics and the Self-Respect Movement,” EX, April 22, 1933; 188. These figures were given by P. Thomas, editor of the Catholic Leader, in response to the claim of S. Ramanathan, the General Secretary of the Self Respect League, that a large number of Catholics had committed apostasy. Thomas retorted that there was no apostasy and, on the contrary, at least one-third of those who had boycotted Mass

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35

36

37 38 39 40 41

42 43 44 45 46

47

48 49

50 51 52 53

had “repented of their conduct and reconciled themselves to the Church.” “Reply to ‘Self-Respect’ Charges,” EX, April 29, 1933; 201. In one instance, Ramaswamy himself had presided over a “Self Respect” marriage between two Adi-Catholics from the Tamil town of Palakkarai. S.J. Ratnasami, Secretary to the Trichinopoly branch of the Catholic India Association, filed a petition to the Superintendent of Police which claimed that such a marriage violated the terms of the Indian Christian Marriage Act of 1872, since Ramaswamy was not authorized to solemnize a marriage between two Christians. After being examined by the police, all parties to the marriage were released because the couple had declared that “they were not Christians.” When asked by the police why they had been identified as such, they replied that “it was for purposes of identity.” Reported in the Madras Mail. Reprinted in EX, May 20, 1933; 237. “Catholics and the Self-Respect Movement,” EX, April 22, 1933; 188. “The literate and especially the youthful sections in their ranks are feeding avidly on the vile and venomous stuff provided by the yellow vernacular press and are drifting headlong into the quagmire of social discontent, rank atheism and rabid anti-clericalism.” Idem, 189. Ibid., 188. Ibid. Ibid., 189. “Reply to ‘Self-Respect’ Charges,” EX, April 29, 1933; 201. Robert Hardgrave’s study of the Nadars offers the most thorough account of the transition from “Shanar” to “Nadar” and the upward mobility of that community. See Hardgrave, The Nadars of Tamilnad: The Political Culture of a Community in Change (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1969). K. Michael Pillai v. J.M. Barthe and others, A.I.R. 1917 Madras, 431. Ibid. Ibid., 433. Robert Frykenberg, Chapter on “India,” in Adrian Hastings (ed.), A World History of Christianity (London: Cassell, 1999), 187. K. Michael Pillai v. J.M. Barthe, 436. In 1744, however, Pope Benedict XIV condemned such accommodation to caste when he ordered that “everyone, whatever their class, should hear Mass and receive Communion in the same church at the same time.” Kenneth Ballhatchet, Caste, Class and Catholicism in India, 1789–1914 (Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press, 1998), 111. Directives given by the Pope on the subject of caste, according to Napier, “say nothing more than that the people are not to be persuaded to renounce their usages, customs and manners ‘provided that they be not most evidently contrary to Religion,’ an exception which clearly covers a claim to assert caste pollution in a Christian church against the orders of the Bishop.” K. Michael Pillai v J.M. Barthe, 436. “A congregation has no power to select what canons it will follow and what [it will] disregard.” Ibid., 431. In spite of other signs of Dravidianist influence, the speakers at the conference appear not to have used the phrase “Adi-Catholic” or “Adi-Dravida.” If they did use such terms, the Examiner had not reported them as such. “Caste Question at Trichinopoly,” EX, August 5, 1933; 294. Ibid. Ibid. See note 36. In his illuminating study of Catholics in the South Indian village of Allapuram (Ramnad District), David Mosse shows how the festivals of the saints had reinforced

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54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61

62 63 64

65 66

67

68 69

70

71

distinctions between Catholic caste or lineage groups. As with functions associated with Hindu temples, Catholic festivals assigned ritual roles and relative degrees of “church honors” to a range of village officers, professionals, artisans and servants. David Mosse, “The Politics of Religious Synthesis: Roman Catholicism and Hindu Village Society in Tamil Nadu, India,” in Charles Stewart and Rosalind Shaw (eds), Syncretism/Anti-Syncretism: The Politics of Religious Synthesis (London: Routledge, 1994), 89. The Archbishop of Madras (then, L. Mathias) had approved his suggestion and had come to Chetpat for the procession. GRD, March 12, 1936; 163. Excerpts from the actual case report are printed in “Trichy Superior Acquitted of Defamation,” EX, October 10, 1936; 490–1. Ibid., 490 (italics added). “Caste Trouble in Catholic Church,” January 17, 1937, Chronological Documentation, 306. December 29, 1937; ibid., 275. January 16, 1937; ibid., 304–5. Ibid., 305. At a separate gathering, the Adi-Dravida Catholic Christian Conference threatened to conduct civil marriages among their members if the Catholic Church did not put an end to discrimination. “Kumbakonam Christians’ Threat,” April 5, 1937; Chronological Documentation, 367. “Caste Trouble in Catholic Church,” January 3, 1937; ibid., 285. December 30, 1936; ibid., 278. Coverage by The Hindu of caste conflict at Kumbakonum differed from the perspective of the New Leader (Catholic). A correspondent for the New Leader charged that The Hindu had exaggerated events at Kumbakonum. The correspondent claimed to have visited St. Mary’s Cathedral and to have found no discrimination to the extremes described by The Hindu. He claimed that Self Respect propaganda had aroused agitation in the media and that The Hindu had been printing reports uncritically. Ibid., 290–1. December 29, 1936; ibid., 277. Samikannu Pillai must not be confused with L.D. Swamikannu Pillai, the former MLA, who by this time was deceased. For an extremely thorough account of Azariah’s differences with Gandhi, see Susan Billington Harper, “The Politics of Conversion: The Azariah–Gandhi Controversy over Christian Mission to the Depressed Classes in the 1930’s,” Indo-British Review , Vol. XV, No. 1, 1988; 147–75. See, for instance, “Nasik Hindus’ Assurance to Harijans” and “Muslim Proposals,” October 21, 1935; Chronological Documentation, 46. “The All-India Hindu Mahasabha,” “Buddhist Reaction,” “And the Sikhs,” and “A Hindu Voice,” December 29, 1935; Chronological Documentation, 58–61. “Our Duty to the Depressed and Backward Classes: An Indian Christian Statement,”GRD, March 11, 1937; 150–1. “The accession of large numbers of the Depressed Classes into the Christian Church in rapid movements brings them into a field where the facilities for solving the caste problem are dwindling.” “Depressed Classes Indian Christians,” GRD, January 28, 1937; 51. In light of these “extra-Christian” benefits, “[Dalits] will not have the same dissatisfaction with Hinduism which often-times led them to gravitate towards Christianity or Islam. Therefore we are unable to share the hope that the present upheaval is going to result in an influx of the Depressed and Backward classes into the Christian Church in the phenomenal measure in which, it is said, it is going to happen.” “Our Duty to the Depressed and Backward Classes: An Indian Christian Statement,” 150. Ibid., 151.

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72 Ibid. 73 Catholics did in fact regard their statement as such. See “Catholic Comments on the Joint Indian Christian Statement,” The New Leader, April 18, 1937; Chronological Documentation, 382–5. Among the signatories of the statement were G.V. Job, J.D. Asirvatham and S. Jesudasen – three members of the so-called “Rethinking Christianity” group, which reassessed the role of evangelism in the context of Indian nationalism. 74 The New Leader (Catholic) regarded the “Protestant Manifesto” (as they called it) as having undermined the exclusiveness of the Christian religion and its missionary imperative. Ibid. 75 Gandhi charged that the statement had tried “to reconcile the irreconcilable.” It was, in his view, at once militant and aggressive and “courteously patronizing.” Christians, he argued, had confused their “duty” to the Dalits with their “right” to preach the gospel. Furthermore, Gandhi boldly retorted that “men and women do not seek the fellowship of the Christian Church,” and that included “poor Harijans” who lacked spiritual hunger and merely groveled after material goods. Harijan, March 4, 1937; from Christian Missions: Their Place in India (Ahmedabad: Navajivan Publishing House, 1941), 82–3. 76 “Caste in the Indian Church,” GRD, March 12, 1936; 163. 77 “Concerning Untouchables,” GRD, January 9, 1936; 19. Such a view was consistent with those propagated by the “Rethinking Group” of Indian Christians who stressed the “permeating influence” of Christian movements beyond the walls of the Church. See Job et. al., Rethinking Christianity in India (Madras: A.N. Sudarisanam, 1938) 1–4. 78 Many reform movements within Modern Hinduism had been aimed at countering the “threat to the Hindu fold” posed by conversion. See C.V. Mathew, The Saffron Mission: Missionary Ideologies and Practices of Hinduism during the Modern Period (New Delhi: ISPCK, 1999), 93–101, 123–41. Mathew describes how organizations such as the Arya Samaj and the Ramakrishna Mission were not merely committed to social and religious reforms, but were also committed to the active propagation of Modern Hinduism. 79 “The responsibility tacitly undertaken by British Christianity in regard to ‘Mass movements’ is very onerous, and it will take many years to be discharged. These infant congregations are so many human groups whose social and moral amelioration is a direct charge on the Churches of the West. Their care will demand the lives of some of the best young men and women in the British colleges.” K.T. Paul, “Should British Young Men and Young Women be Still Called to Missionary Work in India?,” HF, November 1924; 407. 80 Graham Houghton, The Impoverishment of Dependency (Madras: Christian Literature Society, 1983), 10–17. 81 For a keen analysis of the ramifications of Ambedkar’s pronouncement, see K.V. Sesha Aiyangar, “Should the Depressed Classes Secede from Hinduism,” GRD, December 12, 1935; 789–90, and December 19, 1935; 805. 82 “The Bishop of Dornakal on Dr. Ambedkar’s Declaration,”GRD, December 12, 1935; 791. Reprint from Dornakal Diocesan Magazine. 83 Ibid. 84 The conversions of Sudras, according to Pickett, showed clearest signs of Christianization. See Pickett, Christian Mass Movements in India: A Study with Recommendations (New York: Abingdon Press, 1933), 294–312; and Webster, The Dalit Christians, 40. 85 Popely’s article is published in GRD, May 7, 1936. 86 Azariah referred specifically to the parable of the Prodigal Son, the Babylonian captivity of the Jewish nation and the persecution of Jews during the Maccabean

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period. In each case, physical duress had inspired spiritual hunger. “The Indian Church and the Depressed Classes,” GRD, May 21, 1936; 325. 87 Ibid. 88 In response to Popely, he retorted: “The Christian Church is not a political body. Such being the case, how can the Church ‘exploit the present situation’ to its own profit?” Ibid. But, when addressing caste divisions themselves, he stressed the solidarity of Christians in Christ. 89 “The Communal Award,” GRD, September 8, 1932; 368. Azariah stressed the dynamic and inclusive character of the Church: “We are not a static community; growth is our religious characteristic. All races, all tongues and all castes are included in our group; our status is not to be a caste among the many Hindu castes.” “Christians and the New Government,”GRD, February 10, 1938; 86 90 In the heyday of Indian nationalist fervor, Azariah’s attention “turned to an even broader subject: the increasing international character of Christianity and its varied cultural expressions in Asia.” See Susan Billington Harper, In the Shadow of the Mahatma: Bishop Azariah and the Travails of Christianity in British India (Grand Rapids and Richmond, Surrey: Eerdmans and Curzon Press, 2000), 41. 91 Ibid., 244. 92 Harper alludes to H. Richard Neibuhr’s classic, Christ and Culture (New York: 1951), which outlines five paradigms by which the historical Christian faith has interacted with culture. These paradigms range from “anti-cultural” (Christ against culture) to accommodationist. Harper makes use of these schemata to describe dilemmas faced by the church authorities at Dornakal. 93 Ibid., 252. 94 Such reactions to conversion by high-caste employers were nothing new, but prevailed during the mid-nineteenth century. “Education led to increasing mobility; and mobility led to consciousness of social disability and injustice. This in turn led to social protest and rebellion, on one hand, while it provoked social resistance and repression from entrenched elites on the other.” Frykenberg, “The Impact of Conversion and Social Reform upon Society in South India during the Late Company Period: Questions Concerning Hindu–Christian Encounters, with Special Reference to Tinnevelly,” in Philips and Wainwright (eds), Indian Society and the Beginnings of Modernization, 1830–1850 (London: School of Oriental and African Studies, 1976), 204. 95 For further insights into the significance of names for Christians, see P.Y. Luke and John B. Carmen, Village Christians and Hindu Culture: Study of a Rural Church in Andhra Pradesh, South India (London: Lutterworth Press, 1968), 190–2. 96 Although, in this connection, the Dornakal diocese, according to Harper’s account, seemed to vacillate between a strict prohibition of such notions and a more gradual approach which did not confront caste prejudice at the outset of conversion. 97 See John Webster, The Dalit Christians, 16–17, 24. 98 Harper, In the Shadow of the Mahatma, ibid., 251–5. 99 Ibid., 261. 100 Ibid., 259. 101 Ibid., 253. 102 Ibid., 252. 103 The term “post-Christian” derives from scholarship, which draws attention to the tendency of the Christian religion to expand and recede in cyclical historic patterns. Andrew Walls argues that, unlike the “linear” expansion of Islam, which retains its essentially Arabic core identity and extends it into other regions, the expansion of Christianity is “serial.” By this he means that distinct phases of Christian expansion in the periphery have coincided with phases of “recession” at the center. Hence, just as regions within Asia and Africa have over the past thirty years entered a

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104

105 106

107

108 109

110 111 112 113 114

115

116 117

118 119 120

Christian period, Europe and North America have become “post-Christian.” See Walls, The Missionary Movement in Christian History: Studies in the Transmission of Faith (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1996), 13–15 (in pre-publication manuscript). See also Lamin Sanneh, Encountering the West: Christianity and the Global Cultural Process (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1993), 184–90. The Gollas were not “untouchables,” but were a lower Sudra subcaste. On account of his father being a Mala, Joshua inherited the stigma of untouchability which remained with him throughout his life. Interview, Hemalatha Lavanam, daughter of Gurram Joshua. March 16, 1998. “Could you see Vallabh Bhai Patel? He is as great as Gandhi. He sacrificed his all for the cause of Independence. He knows my mental agony. Jawaharlal is reining in the horse of imperialism. The whole world holds him in high esteem. Hope he will not forget our problems when we get Independence. The tree of the Congress party is spreading its roots among all castes. Hope we can build our nest on one of its branches.” Excerpt from Joshua’s poem Gabbilam. K. Madhava Rao (translator), Joshua’s Gabbilam (Hyderabad: Joshua Foundation, 1996), 56. M.E. Prabhakar, “Perspectives for a Vision and an Ideology for Christian Dalits,” in Struggles and Hopes of Christian Dalits in India: Perspectives for Ideology and Vision (Bangalore: Chrisitan Dalit Liberation Movement, 1986), 47. Gurram Joshua, My Story. Unpublished copy provided by Joshua Foundation, Hyderabad. Joshua’s Gabbilam is modeled upon Kalidasa’s poem, Meghadutam. Kalidasa, a fifth-century Indian poet, enunciated the fundamental principles of Brahminical thought and culture through his poetry and plays. Joshua, Gabbilam, 107. Ibid., III. Ibid., 5. Ibid., 59. His journey predates that of the Madiga converts in Andhra who, frustrated by disproportionate quotas extended to Malas, formed separate “Madiga” associations committed to their own political advancement. A Memorandum of the Agricultural Field Labour to the Right Honorable Mr. Ramsay MacDonald PC, Chairman, Indian Round Table Conference. UTC Archives. For instance, Madras, Trichinopoly, Tranquebar and Cuddalore. Ibid., 2. Ibid., 1. It was most likely the case, however, that K.T. Paul had taken up the cause of the Field Laborers as an advocate of Rural Co-operative Credit Societies. As a member of the national staff of the YMCA, Paul made rural expansion a higher priority. He tried to establish stronger links between Christian missions and the Cooperative Credit Movement in rural India, a movement largely inspired by socialist projects in Germany and Denmark. By issuing loans to villagers (funded primarily by the Labor Department of the Government of India), Co-operative Societies enabled them to fund development projects and pay their debts to landlords. See H.A. Popely, K.T. Paul, A Christian Leader (Calcutta: YMCA Publishing House, 1938), 56–9. In 1930, the Government began transferring supervision of these societies from the Labor Department to a separate Co-operative Department. By 1931–32, the Labor Department had administered 1,136 societies, while the Cooperative Department had administered 1,632. “The Depressed Classes Societies,” GRD, May 27, 1937; 328–9. Ibid. “Petition to Governor by Depressed Class Christians,” GRD, January 28, 1937. Reprint from Madras Mail. Ibid.

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121 “There may be other reasons why masses of that community have not turned with enthusiasm to enter the Christian community, but have indications and pronouncements been lacking from Harijans themselves that the stigma against them will not disappear when they join the Christian fold?” “Caste in the Indian Church,” GRD, March 12, 1936; 163. 122 “Prompted by the feeling that the Indian Christian community has, on the whole, remained outside the current national effort and aspiration, the Hindu has come to regard any migration, large or small, from the Hindu to the Christian community as a loss to the nation.” “An Indian Christian Manifesto,” GRD, March 11, 1937; Chronological Documentation, 354. 123 These conclusions, while supported by empirical data, do not establish any causal relationship between fixed notions of political community and the manner in which caste-related issues were addressed within a given church context.

10 CONCLUSION 1 2 3 4 5

Tamil Nadu Ordinance, Number 9 of 2002. Published in the Tamil Nadu Government Gazette, Chennai, October 5, 2002; 223. “Anti-conversion Bill Passed in T.N.,” The Hindu, November 1, 2002. Rama Lakshmi, “Hindu Rewriting of History Texts Splits India,” International Herald Tribune, October 15, 2002. K.N. Panikkar, “Outsider as Enemy,” Frontline, January 19, 2001. This question was poignantly raised in a paper delivered by Judith Brown, “Who is an Indian? Dilemmas of National Identity at the end of the British Raj in India.” At “Missions, Nationalism and the End of Empire” Conference at Queens College, Cambridge University, September 6–9, 2000.

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295

INDEX

Abdur Rahim, Judge 224 Abkarry contract 41, 217 Abraham v. Abraham 27, 40, 41–50, 52, 213, 217 actual representation 248 Adi-Andhra consciousness 167 Adigal, M. 167 Administrator General v. Anandachari 53–5 adultery 75 Ahmad, A. 208 aid, humanitarian 129, 161, 251, 263–4 alien bodies, Catholic property and institutions as 95, 138–9 All-India Anna Dravida Munnetra Kazhagan (AIADMK) 195 “All-India Christian Organ” 89–90, 232 All-India Conference of Indian Christians (AICIC) 81–2, 89, 115, 119, 127 All-India Depressed Classes’ Conference 1930 174 Allahabad High Court 67–9 Amarante, B.F. 43–50 Ambedkar, B.R. 147–8, 163, 183, 185, 201, 264, 265, 269; conversion as autonomy 163–5 Anderson, B. 10, 115 Andhra 166–7 Andy, P. 114 Anglo-Indian Association 90 Anglo-Indians see East Indians Anthoniswamy Pillai, V.A. 90 anti-Christian bias, mobilization of 111–13 apostasy 28, 29, 187, 188 Appadurai, A. 10 Appasamy Pillai, A.S. 36 Appeals Court 42 Arokiasamy, A.N. 141

Arokiaswami Mudaliar, R.N. 154 Arputhasamy, S. 173–4 Arumainatham, T. 90 Arya Samaj 112, 152 Asad, T. 11, 208 Ashram movement 114–15 Asirvatham, E. 115, 120, 126–7, 250–1 Athavale, B.N. 81–2 attacks on Christians and churches 4–5, 204 Aubrey, E.E. 104 Augustinian framework 231 autonomy: conversion as 163–5; v. integration 165–9, 171, 269 avarnas see depressed classes Ayyar, Judge Muttusami 76, 77 Azariah, V.S. 103, 107, 110, 115, 119, 193, 247; caste 166, 172, 182, 183, 185–7, 266, 267, 269, 274; separate electorates 2–3, 121, 128, 130, 198; YMCA 9, 88, 100 backsliding 187–188 Baird, R. 218, 219 Bajrang Dal 5 Baker, C. 239 Bangalore Conference Continuation 127 Bangalore Missionary Conference 26, 37 Bannerji, J.S.C. 103 Baptista, J. 96, 235 Baptists 66 Bayly, C. 109, 240 Bayly, S. 7, 17 Bellary Civil Court 41–2 Benares school 38 Benedict XIV, Pope 271 Benei, V. 240 Bengal school 38 Besant, A. 34

296

INDEX

Beschi, R. 116 betrothal 52 Bharati, S. 108, 118 Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) 5, 195, 196 bias, mobilization of 111–13 birth control 142, 257 bishops, Catholic 88, 89–91, 107, 133, 142, 232 Bombay Catholics 143 Bombay High Court 57–8 Brahmo Samaj 60, 114, 165, 221, 266 Brinkley v. Attorney-General 227, 228 Britain: Mission of Fellowship 101–7; Raj see Raj Brown, C.P. 110, 116, 225 Brown, D. 110, 116 Buddhists 11 Bugge, H. 17, 231 Caldwell, R. 60–1, 108, 110, 116, 167, 225, 267–8 Canadian Baptist Mission Society 264 Casanova, J. 18 caste 2, 10–11, 16, 159–69, 203, 222; Ambedkar 163–5; Chakkarai 119–20, 128–9; four-fold system 168, 203; Gandhi and conversion 160–3; integration v. autonomy 165–9, 171, 269; marital law and 61, 62, 71–5; missionaries and 206–7; sacral view of 71–5; “twice born” castes 9, 203; see also Dalits, depressed classes caste-degradation 219 Caste Disabilities Removal Act (XXI) of 1850 (Lex Loci Act) 14, 21–37, 78, 79, 82, 196–7, 200, 211, 220; Mysore 25–30, 212, 213; Travancore 30–6 caste disputes 170–94; among Catholics 171–2, 172–82, 192–3; among Protestants 172, 182–92, 193–4, 199–200 caste organizations 13 Catholic Action 152, 256; and communal politics 135–44 Catholic Canon Law 138, 139, 151, 255 Catholic Indian Association (CIA) 89, 91, 148, 149 Catholic Leader 89, 96–7, 140, 149, 152, 154, 231–2, 270 Catholic Truth Propagation League 89 Catholic Truth Society 89, 152 Catholics 3, 15, 60, 88–9, 107, 109, 133–56, 198–9; bishops 88, 89–91,

107, 133, 142, 232; caste disputes among 171–2, 172–82, 192–3; Catholic Action and communal politics 135–44; communal politics and the Round Table Conference 144–50; Gandhi and the Pope 96–8; missionaries 7; post-Round Table developments 150–6; property and institutions as alien bodies 95, 138–9; and the State 88–96 Central Conference of the Methodist Church 129 Chakkarai, V. 2, 107, 114, 115, 128–9, 244; caste 119–20, 128–9; Christian Patriot 116; disavowal of separate electorates 110, 111, 198, 241; and nationalism 15, 111–12, 118, 130 Chakrabarty, D. 11 Chandra, Bipan 145 Chandra Pal, Bipan 112, 243 Chatterjee, P. 243–4 Chenchiah, P. 111–12, 115, 118, 120 Chetpat 179 Chetty, T.R.A. Thumbu 14, 26, 28–30, 56–7, 214, 220 Chidambaram Pillai, V. 117–18 child custody 27–8, 78–80 Christian Ashram movement 114–15 Christian Marriage Act see Indian Christian Marriage Act Christian Patriot 116 Christians: composition 5–6; Madras Presidency and the Christian elite 6–9; and the public sphere 12–16; see also Catholics, Indian Christians, Native Christians, Protestants Christo Samaj 114–15 Church Mission Society (CMS) 8, 11, 24, 31, 211 civil disabilities 200; see also converts’ rights clandestine marriages 65–7 Clarke, S. 268 Cobb, G.M. 99 Code of Manu 38 Cohn, B. 10 Collins, Judge C.J. 55–6, 77 colonial history 4–6 commerce/trade 30 Communal Award of 1932 109, 121–32, 150 Communal G.O.s 122, 248 communalism 2–3, 4, 13, 108–56, 198–9,

297

INDEX

252, 253; Catholic Action and communal politics 135–44; Catholics and 133–56; growing Christian selfconsciousness 113–21; mobilization of anti-Christian bias 111–13; postRound Table developments 150–6; Protestant disavowal of 108–32; and the Round Table Conference 144–50 Communism 94 competition: competing publics 13; group competition 108, 109, 144–50 Congress Party 112, 145–6, 153–6, 168 Conscience Clauses 129, 151, 251, 260 constitutional deadlock of 1937 154–5 constitutional sense of Indian-ness 201 consummation of marriage 52–3 conversion 1, 14, 195–6; as autonomy 163–5; conversion debate 4–6; divorce and desertion 75–80; Gandhi and 112–13, 160–3, 230, 243; government assistance to depressed classes and 173–4, 269; mass conversions 166–7, 184–5, 267; separate electorates and 121, 248 conversion-reversion continuum 187–8 converts’ rights 21–37, 196–7; marital law and 78–80, 83; Mysore 25–30; Travancore 30–6 Co-operative Credit Societies 275–6 coparcenary rights 51 cultural self-reliance 112 culture 52; identification of East Indians with English culture 43–7; Sanskritic 111–12, 114–15, 244 customs 39, 43–50, 56–7, 187, 203 Dadabhoy, M.B. 268 Dagree v. Pacotti San Jao 57–8 Dalits 3–4, 8, 160, 170–94, 199–200, 203, 243, 262; caste disputes among Catholics 171–2, 172–82, 192–3; caste disputes among Protestants 172, 182–92, 193–4, 199–200; Gandhi 112–13, 162–3, 184, 268, 273 Dar-ul-Islam 125 Dasapa v. Chikama 27–8, 213 Datta, S.K. 2, 100, 107, 130, 150 Dayabhaga school 38, 216 de Britto, J. 7 De Nobili, R. 7, 178–9 degradation from caste 53 demand groups 15, 207

depressed classes 170; Ambedkar and Gandhi 147–8, 264; Communal Award of 1932 and 128; defining 173–7, 270; privileges due to conversion 160; quotas 130; see also Dalits Depressed Indian Christians’ Association 191–2, 193 Derrett, J.D.M. 39, 225 descriptive representation 232 desertion 75–80, 83 Desikachariar, V.K. 35 Deutche, K. 10 deva-dasis (dancing girls) 72 Devanandan, P.D. 9, 88 devolution 102 Devadoss, M.D. 232 dialectical existentialism 189 Diehl, A. 267 difference 17–18 dissolution 228 District Boards 151, 154 divorce 25, 75–80, 212, 226 Dorai Raj, A. 176 Dravada school 38 Dravidianism 108–9, 167–8, 170, 267–8 D’Silva, L. 239 dual identity 62 Dubois, Abbé 225 Duff, A. 99, 236 East India Company 94–5, 210, 218, 234, 243 East Indians (Anglo-Indians) 41; identification with English culture 43–7 Easter Star 114 ecumenical networks 87–107, 120–1 education, religious 138, 150–2, 255, 260 elite, Christian 6–9 elite responses 2–3; see also communalism, politics Ellis, F.Whyte 225 England: Catholics 93, 234 English language 110, 118–20 English law 5–6, 12; and inheritance 42–50 enlightenment 30, 214; continuum of relative enlightenment 25 Erskine, Lord 192 Evangelicals 99 Examiner 97, 98, 135, 252, 260, 261 exclusion, notions of 83–4

298

INDEX

familial exclusion 27–8, 128–9, 214 farikhut (release) 219, 220 Farquhar, J.N. 99 Fazl-ul-Huq 146–7 female infanticide 74 festivals 179–81, 272 field laborers 191, 275 Findlay, W.H. 236–7 Fleming, D.J. 102 Flowers, H.J. 104, 105–6 Francis, P. 181–2 Fraser, N. 13 Friend in Need Society of Madras 90 Frykenberg, R. 274 fulfillment theorists 99, 260–1 funeral rites 53, 219 Galanter, M. 71, 219 Gandhi, M.K. 5, 87, 115, 134, 195, 213, 230, 252–3; anti-Christian bias 112–13; Catholics and 96–8, 236; Communal Award 148; conversion 112–13, 160–3, 230, 243; Dalits 112–13, 162–3, 184, 268, 273; missionaries and humanitarian aid 129, 161, 251, 263–4; nationalism 146; Ramaswamy and 168–9; Round Table Conference 147–8 Gandhi, S. 5 George, S.K. 15, 111 George V, King 105 Gidney, Sir H. 150 Gilani, M.S. 262 Gilmartin, D. 14, 256 Glasgow Herald 97–8 Gopala Chari, S. 35–6 Gordon, Sir J. 26–7, 213 Greaves, W.E. 101 Greek Orthodox Church 66, 223 Gregory XV, Pope 7, 178 group competition 108, 109, 144–50 Grubb, S.G. 181 Guardian 116, 120, 126, 131–2, 153, 184, 250 Habermas, J. 12–13 Hahn, F. 222 Hardgrave, R. 110 Harijan Seva Sangh 162 Harper, S.B. 186–8 Harvest Field 116, 120, 244, 245 Hastings, W. 11

Hay, J. 78–80 Herbst, S. 9–10 Hifazatul Islam 125 Hindu, The 182, 246, 272 Hindu law 2; converts’ rights 22; inheritance 38–9, 52–5, 217, 220 Hindu marriage 52–5, 76 “Hindu states” 24–5, 212; ideology 30–1; see also Mysore, Travancore Hindu texts 74 Hinduism 6, 11, 51, 219; communal history 196; converts to Christianity from 14; exigencies of Hindu society 173; fulfillment theory 99, 236; Indian-ness and 201; reform of 23, 210; sacral order of 71–5 Hindu-ization 96, 112, 162–3 Hodge, J.Z. 103 Hoffrening, D. 258 Hogg, A.G. 236 Huchi case 25–6, 226, 228 Hudson, D. 8, 17 humanism 189, 191 humanitarian aid 129, 161, 251, 263–4 Huntington, S. 18 identity 5, 10; dual 62; marital law and constructions of Hindu and Christian identity 59–84 identity consciousness 13, 108; Dalits 190–2; Protestant 113–21 ideology, imperial 21 Indian Christian Marriage Act (XV) of 1872 12, 60–1, 62–71, 74, 81, 197, 222–3; Catholics and 138; marriage as public profession of faith 67–71; proposals for amendments 81–2; solemnization of mixed marriages 62–7 Indian Christians; Catholics and terminology 141; elements of Indian Christianity 6–9; petition to rename Native Christians as 113–14 Indian Divorce Act (IV) of 1869 75–7, 81 Indian National Congress (INC) 112, 145–6, 153–6, 168 Indian nationalism see nationalism Indian Press Act of 1931 247 Indian Succession Act (X) of 1865 12, 37, 38, 39–40, 50–8, 197, 217 Indianism 117–18 Indian-ness, senses in defining 200–1 indigenization 102, 237

299

INDEX

inheritance 37, 38–58, 197; Abraham v. Abraham 40, 41–50, 52, 217; Malabar 33; Succession Act 12, 37, 38, 39–40, 50–8, 197, 217; systems of 31 Inquirer, The 100, 237 integration v. autonomy 165–9, 171, 269 inter-confessional alliances 89–91, 107, 142 interest groups 145 International Missionary Council (IMC) 9, 99–100, 102, 106 irregular marriages 60–1 Irvine, Judge 42 Irwin, Lord 105, 238 Islam see Muslims

Lahache, A. 179 Lambeth Conference 1930 135, 254 language 109–10, 116–20, 245; English 110, 118–20 law 2, 8–9, 196–7, 203; Catholic Canon Law 138, 139, 151, 255; converts’ rights see converts’ rights; English see English law; Hindu see Hindu law; inheritance see inheritance; marital see marital law; notions of exclusion in 83–4 lay professionals 88 Laymen’s Report on Christian Missions 135 Leipzig Evangelical Lutheran Mission 222 Lex Loci Act see Caste Disabilities Removal Act Liberal Federation 147 literacy rates 9, 205 London Mission Society (LMS) 8, 24, 31, 211 Lucknow Pact 125, 249–50 Lunn, H. 245

Jacob, J. 191 Jains 11 Jalal, A. 16 Jamal Mohammed 125–6 Jayakar, M.R. 270 Jayalitha, Tamil Nadu Chief Minister 195 Jesudasan, S. 110, 111–12, 115, 198 Jesuits 7 Jinnah, Mohammed Ali 146–7 joint families 22, 209, 218 Jones, K. 17 Joshua, G. 172, 188–91, 193, 200, 265, 275 Judicial Committee of the Privy Council, London 41, 42–50, 59 Justice 124 Justice Party 109, 122, 149, 153 Kaikolar people 69–71 Kalidasa (poet) 275 Kannappa, U. 90 Kawashima, K. 30–1, 211 Kellet, F.W. 99 Khilafat Movement 125 Kindersley, Judge 52 Kingsdown, Lord 50, 221–2 Kirkpatrick, H.C. 57–8 Knox, J. 67–8 Kol Christians 222 Kolandai, D. 91–2 Kolandaivelu v. Rev. Dequidt 64–6, 69, 70 Koli Christians 57–8 Krishna Murti, P.N. 213–14 Kristnama, A. 52–5 Kudi Arasu 124, 169, 176, 177, 270 Kumbakonam 181–2

MacDonald, R. 105, 150 Mackenzie, G. 236 Maclennan, K. 103–4, 105, 238 Macpherson, Acting Advocate General 57–8 Madan, T.N. 11 Madigas 8, 166, 266 Madras Guardian 116, 120, 126, 131–2, 153, 184, 250 Madras High Court 197; conversion and divorce 75–7; critique of rulings 72–5; Indian Christian Marriage Act 61, 63–6; Succession Act 51–8 Madras Indian Ministers’ Conference 1912 petition 113–14 Madras Missionary Conference 26 Madras Presidency 108; and its Christian elite 6–9 Madras Presidency Legislative Council 9, 138, 154, 234; Catholic Congress candidates 155–6 Madras Presidency Muslim League (MPML) 125–6 Madras Presidency Untouchable Christian Conference 179 Madras School of Orientalism 73, 225 Madras Tamil Nadu Agricultural Field Labor Classes Society 191 Madurai mission 7

300

INDEX

Maha Ram v. Emperor 67–9 Mahasabha 147 Mahila Sabha 261 Maine, Sir H. 12, 21, 40, 60, 221 Makkattayam system 31 Malabar District 32–4 Malas 8, 166 Mamdani, M. 203 Mangalore Conference 133, 137–44 Mani, L. 209 Mappila Rebellion 125, 250 maramakkattayam system 31, 32–3 marginality 1–2; contending with 9–12; Dalits and caste disputes 170–94 Marianathan, Mr 181–2 marital law 25, 37, 59–84, 197, 212; conversion, divorce and desertion 75–80; exclusion from the “Sacral Order of Hinduism” 71–5; marriage as public profession of faith 67–71; responses to laws of Christian marriage 80–3; Self-Respect Movement 176, 271; solemnization of mixed marriages 62–7 Marxist perspective 144–5 mass conversions 166–7, 184–5, 267 Mathew, C.V. 273 Mayne, J.D. 73–4, 213 Mederlet, E. 152, 176–7 Meston Award of 1920 119, 122 Metcalf, T. 21 Michael, S.J. 152–3 Michael Pillai v. Barthe 74, 178–9 Miller, W. 99 Minorities Bureau 122, 249 Minorities Sub-Committee of the Round Table Conference 145, 146–50 Mission of Fellowship 101–7 missionaries: Gandhi and humanitarian aid 129, 161, 251, 263–4; intervention in marital law 78–80; and regional consciousness 110, 241 missionary conferences 244 missionary euthanasia 102 missionary societies 21–2, 31–2, 36–7, 209, 215 Mitakshara school of law 22, 38, 216 mixed marriages 59, 61, 71, 221, 222, 225; solemnization of 62–7 mixed questions 142 model minorities 126–7, 250 Modernism 232

Mohan Roy, Ram 221 monogamy 75–7 Montagu-Chelmsford Reforms of 1919 151 More, J.B.P. 126 Morely-Minto Reforms of 1909 123, 252 Mosse, D. 17, 272 Mudaliar case 69–71, 80–1, 224 Mundadan, A.M. 7, 204 Munro, Colonel T. 11 Muslim League 125–6, 147, 245 Muslims 6, 11, 14, 16, 83–4, 112; and Communal Award 124–7; conversion and Muslim marriage 76, 227; education 151, 260; Gandhi and 163; Minorities Sub-Committee of the Round Table Conference 146–7, 259; protest against Michael’s book 152–3 Muthusami Mudaliar v. Masilamani Mudaliar 69–71, 80–1, 224 Mutiny of 1857 31 Muttusami Iyer, Judge 52 Mylapore Conference 133, 136–7, 142 Mysore 21, 22, 24, 25–30, 36 Nadars 62, 178–9, 247 Nag, B.A. 250 Nallaswami Pillai, J.M. 108, 167 Napier, Judge J. 65, 178 National Christian Council of India (NCCI) 81, 82, 100, 102, 104, 106, 266 National Church 114 National Council for Educational Research and Training (NCERT) 196 National Missionary Council (later National Christian Council) 100 nationalism 239; Catholics and 96, 134, 199; INC rhetoric 146; pan-Christian networks and 87; Protestants and 14–15, 100–1, 123, 124, 126–7, 134, 198; regionalism and 108–11; see also Indian National Congress nationalistic sense of Indian-ness 201 Native Christians 196–7; converts’ rights 21–37, 196–7; inheritance law 38–58, 197; petition to be called Indian Christians 113–14 Native Converts Marriage Dissolution Act (XXI) of 1866 26, 77–80, 81, 212 Native Marriage Act (III) of 1872 60 NCCI Review 116

301

INDEX

Neill, S. 7 Nekaljay, R.S. 174 Nelson, J.H. 39, 56, 72–3, 216–17 neo-Shaivism 117, 167–8 networks, ecumenical 87–107, 120–1 neutrality, principle of 23–4, 65–6, 211 New Leader 94, 272 Newman, J.H. 234 newspapers see print media/press Non-Anglican (non-conformist) clergy 64 non-Brahminism 108–9, 121–2 Nyein, Ma 103 Oberoi, H. 15–16 O’Hanlon, R. 17, 208 Oldham, J.H. 237 Omvedt, G. 167 Ordinances 154–5 Orientalism 10–11 “Our Duty to the Depressed and Backward Classes” 183–4, 273 Pachayappa’s Hall meeting 89–91 Padmanabha, Sri 31 padroado 7 pan-Christian networks 87–107, 120–1 Pandey, G. 239 Pannirselvam, A.T. 9, 98, 153, 255, 273; caste 177; communalism 3, 134, 199; Mangalore Conference 138, 140–1; Michael’s book 152; Round Table Conference 133, 148, 149, 150; Tanjore meeting 91 Parker, Judge 54, 55, 55–6, 220 Parker, K. 72 Paton, W. 101, 102, 104–5 Paul, K.T. 2, 107, 111–12, 115, 118, 130, 139, 150; Bangalore Conference 127–8; Christian citizenship 241, 242; Field Laborers 191, 275; Minorities Bureau 122, 249; nationalism 15; and separate electorates 110, 111, 198; YMCA 9, 88, 100 Pauline privilege 226 penal law 57–8 Perianayakam v. Pottukanni 75–6 Perini, P. 136 Pickett, J.W. 166–7, 266 Pillai, Michael 182 Pillai, Samikannu 182 Pitkin, H. 232, 248, 256 Pius X, Pope 92–3, 232, 233

Pius XI, Pope 97–8, 136 Planchard, S.J. 180–1 pluralist politics 145 Plutschau, H. 7 politics 2–3, 13, 197–9; Catholics and the State 88–96; communal see communalism; Gandhi and the Pope 96–8; global religion and 87–107; Mission of Fellowship 101–7; notions of exclusion in 83–4; Protestant ecumene and 88–9, 98–101, 107 Ponnusami Nadan v. Dorasami Ayyan 51–2, 55–6, 57 Poona Pact 148, 162, 264 Pope, G.U. 108, 110, 116 Popely, H.A. 185–6 post-Christian scenario 188–91, 275 post-colonial theories 144–5 Powell, A. 17 Prabhakar, M.E. 189 Prajmatha 124 Prarthana Samaj 166 Presidency of Fort St George see Madras Presidency Presidential Order of 1950 4, 204 princely states see “Hindu states” print media/press 9, 10, 13; Catholic 135–6, 198–9, 253; Protestant 110, 114, 115–16, 118–20, 198 “Problem of Race Relationship, The” 102 processions 179–81 profession of faith, marriage of 67–71 Prohibition of Forcible Conversion of Religion Act 2002 195 Propaganda Fide 7 propagation of religion 152–3, 261 property, Catholic 95, 138–9 property rights see inheritance proportionate representation 121–3 proselytizing 161–2 Protestants 2–3, 171; associations between Catholics and 137; criticism in Catholic press 135–6, 254; Dalits 172, 182–92, 193–4, 199–200; disavowal of Christian communalism 108–32, 198; Indian Christian Marriage Act 60–1; and Indian politics 88–9, 98–101, 107; Mission of Fellowship 101–7; missions 7–8; mobilization of bias 111–13; nationalism 14–15, 100–1, 123, 124, 126–7, 134, 198 Provincial Councils 94, 151, 201

302

INDEX

public sphere 12–16 Pudipet public meeting 176 “pure blooded” Christians 41 purna swaraj (complete Home Rule) 146, 258 Purushottam Chaudhari 116–17, 246

Ruthnaswamy, M. 9, 96, 153, 175, 177 Ryerson, C. 108–9 Ryves, A.E. 68

Quakers 66, 223 Quami Report 125, 250 Queen Empress v. Paul 63–4 Queen Empress v. Yohan 63, 64 race 47–50 Raj 118; classification of Indians 10–11; ideologies 21; policies 1–2, 196–7; see also law Rajagopalachari, C. 118, 134, 159–60, 168, 252 Ralla Ram, A. 103–6, 126, 238 Ramalinga Pillai, V. 117–18 Ramaswamy, S. 117, 240, 245 Ramaswamy Naicker, E.V. 124, 168, 176, 189, 201, 254, 271; communal representation 124, 249; Dravidianism 167; and Gandhi 168–9 Rangunathan, S.E. 115 Rao, R. Raghunatha 215 Rao, T. Madava 30, 214 Ratnasami, S.J. 271 reciprocity, principle of 22 Rees, J.D. 32, 36, 211, 215 regimes of imagination 117–18 regional politics 108–11 regressive tendencies 187–8 “regular” marriages 66 religious education 138, 150–2, 255, 260 religious neutrality policy 23–4, 65–6, 211 religious organizations 13 representation 259; communal see communalism; Pachyappa’s Hall meeting 90; virtual and actual 248; virtual and descriptive 232 resistance 208 “Rethinking Christianity” group 114–15, 116 rights, converts’ see converts’ rights Robinson, F. 241 Roman Catholics see Catholics Round Table Conference (RTC) 98, 103, 106, 238; Catholics 133, 137–8, 139, 144–50; Muslims 126 Roy, S.C. 227

sacral view of caste 71–5 Sacred Congregation for the Propagation of the Faith (Propaganda Fide) 7 Sadasiva Iyer, Judge T. 34–5, 65, 74, 178, 215, 216 Sahlins, M. 258 Saiphal Islam 125 Saldanha, J.A. 2, 131–2, 138, 140, 143, 152, 217, 261 Sandanam Pillai 180–1 Sankaran Nair, Judge J. 69, 70, 80–1, 224 Sanskritic culture 111–12, 114–15, 244 Sanyal, U. 206 Saraswathi, S. 252 Sastri, S. 221 sati 74 Satthianadhan, S. 100 Satyamurti, S. 247 Scheduled Castes (SCs) 3–4 Schwartz, C.F. 110 Scudder, L.R. 63 secularism 151, 260 self-reliance (swadeshi) 112, 160, 161, 263 Self-Respect Movement 109, 153, 168–9, 254, 261–2; Catholics and 172, 175–8, 242, 271; Dalits and 193, 199; Justice 124; Kudi Arasu 124, 169, 176, 177, 270 separate electorates see communalism severance 27–8, 128–9, 214 Shafi, Sir Mohammed 146–7, 259 Shanmukharam case 78–80, 219 Shreshta, M.S. 138, 151, 152, 258 shuddhi 162, 264 Sikhs 11, 15–16, 146, 149, 206 Sillon of France 92–3 Simla YMCA 101 Simon Commission 140, 256 Sinammal v. Administrator General of Madras 52–5, 219, 230 Singh, B. 205 Sivagnanam, M.P. 118 Sivaramaswamy, Mr 181 Slater, T.E. 99 smrti 38–9 Soares, A. 143 social climate 28–30 social reform 23, 174–5, 210

303

INDEX

Society for the Propagation of the Gospel (SPG) 8 solemnization of mixed marriages 62–7 Somerville, A.N. 100 Sorabji, R.K. 68 South Indian Missionary Association 244 Srinivasagam Pillai, S. 35–6 State, Catholics and the 88–96 stereotypes 159 Stokes, G. 212 Subramania Iyar, G. 210 Subramania Iyar, V.V. 118 succession see inheritance Succession Act (X) of 1865 12, 37, 38, 39–40, 50–8, 197, 217 Sundar Singh, Sadhu 114, 244 Sundaram Pillai, P. 108, 167 survivorship, right of 56 Swadesamitran 126 swadeshi 112, 160, 161, 263 Swami Mudaliar, K.M. 90–1 Swammikannu Pillai, L.D. 9, 92–3, 138, 142, 233 swaraj (Home Rule) 146, 160, 161–2, 258 syncretism 17 Syrian (Thomas) Christians 6–7, 11, 204 Tamil linguistic nationalism 116–18, 246 Tamil Muslims 125 Tamil Nadu 195 Tamil Nadu 124 Tamils 72–3; Dravidianism 167–8; regionalism 108–9, 116–18; Tamil religion 167–8 Tanjore Catholics’ meeting 91 Tellis v. Saldanha 55–6, 57 Telugu district 165–6 Telugu linguistic nationalism 116–18 Temple, R. 60 Temple, W. 105, 238 temple dancing girls 72 Temple Entry legislation 190 Thapita Peter v. Thapita Lakshmi 76–7 Theosophical Society 34, 112 Theotonio Manual Ribeiro Vieira de Castro, H.L. 254 Thomas, P. 176, 177 Thomas (Syrian) Christians 6–7, 11, 204 Thumbu Chetty, T.R.A. 14, 26, 28–30, 56–7, 214, 220 Tinnevelly District 34–5

trade/commerce 30 traditional sense of Indian-ness 200–1 Tranquebar mission 7 transitional Christian families 51–2 Travancore 11, 21, 22, 24, 25, 30–6 Trichinopoly 178–9, 180–1, 204 “twice born” castes 9, 203 undivided families 51, 218 United Christian Forum for Human Rights 5 untouchables 112–13, 243; see also Dalits Urdu Muslims 125 Usman, M. 152–3 Vaikom 168 Vajpayee, A.B. 5 Variar, K.S. 62 Varkey, C.J. 134, 143–4, 152, 155–6, 199 Varki, A.M. 103, 238 varnashrama dharma (four-fold caste system) 168, 203 Vasudeva Rao, R. 51 Vatican 89, 91, 92–3; Gandhi’s visit to Rome 97–8 Vedanayakam Sastri (Vedanayakam Pillai) 116–17, 245 Vellalars 7–8, 178–9 Venn, H. 102 Vincent, Sir W. 101 Viresalingam, K. 165–6, 265, 266 virtual representation 232, 248 Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP) 5 Visvanathan, S. 7 Viswanathan, G. 5, 14, 40, 78, 223, 228 Walls, A. 246, 275 Washbrook, D. 208, 253 Webster, J. 3, 171, 268 “weightage” 123, 131 widow remarriage 74 women 74 World Missionary Conference, Jerusalem 1928 102 Xavier, D. 191 Xavier, F. 7 Yeola Conference of 1935 164 Young, R. 17 Young Men of India 100–1, 107, 116, 120

304

INDEX

Young Men’s Christian Association (YMCA) 9, 88, 99–101, 102, 106, 107, 230; National Council 100, 101; Resolution III 101

Zafar, E. 224 Ziegenbalg, B. 7, 116

305