Archetypes in Dalit Literature

Archetypes in Dalit Literature explores the significance of archetypes and

myths in understanding the psychological and cultural evolution of the
Parayar Dalit community from Tamil Nadu, India. The book also extends
its analysis to other Dalit communities, such as the Bhangis, Chuhras, and
Madigas, through the lens of archetypal criticism. This work presents a nu‑
anced approach to Dalit Studies, where Western theoretical frameworks are
applied to the works of prominent writers who have written about Dalit lives
and struggles like Bama, Mulk Raj Anand, Omprakash Valmiki, Sharanku‑
mar Limbale, and Perumal Murugan. An exploration of ­archetypal charac‑
ters, settings, myths, rituals, and language helps deepen our understanding
of the experiences of the so‑called “lower caste” communities.
By utilizing Jungian archetypes such as Rebirth, Mother, Spirit, and
Trickster, the book offers fresh insights into the lives, struggles, and
transformations of marginalized groups. The study builds on foundational
myth criticism theories, including Joseph Campbell’s concept of the
“Monomyth” and Vladimir Propp’s “Functions,” to analyze how Dalit
literature, particularly Bama’s Vanmam (2008), aligns with these structures.
This makes Bama’s work a compelling example of fiction rooted in real‑world
experiences, offering a powerful narrative that elevates Dalit writing to the
same literary standing as mainstream Indian Writing in English.
The book also delves into the role of community myths, folklore, and
oral traditions, using the concept of implicit mythology to uncover deeper
meanings embedded in Dalit culture and identity. A key revelation of this
study is the reality of a “language of marginalisation”—a linguistic and
cultural construct that reflects the lived experiences of Dalit communities.
Bama’s narratives, particularly, capture the transformative journey of
Parayar Dalit identity formation, offering a rich, historical perspective on
the evolution of Dalit consciousness.
This book is relevant in multiple academic and intellectual fields like Dalit
Studies, Postcolonial Studies, Literary Criticism, Cultural Studies, Myth
Criticism, Socio‑anthropology, Translation and Comparative Literature.
Overall, this study not only enhances the understanding of Dalit literature
but also invites greater recognition of the significant role that marginalized
communities play in shaping India’s cultural and social landscape.

Chandna Singh Nirwan is an Assistant Professor and Faculty Director of

Quality Assurance and Enhancement (UG) in the Faculty of English Lan‑
guage Studies at Majan University College. She has over eight years of
teaching experience at the university level. She has a PhD in English from
the National Institute of Technology (NIT), Jaipur, India. She studied MA
in English with Communication Studies from Christ University, Bangalore,
India. Her areas of specialization include Dalit studies, archetypes, myths,
land politics, language, and identity. Her scholarly work has been pub‑
lished by SAGE Publications and others. She has also authored a mono‑
graph titled An Ecocritical Reading of Tess of the D’Urbervilles. It is based
on her study of Ecocriticism and Ecofeminism. Besides, she has worked on
several international projects in collaboration with organizations such as
the Centre for Asia‑Pacific Initiatives, University of South Victoria; Oxford
University Press; Global South Colloquium, University of Victoria; York
Centre for Asian Research, York University; Centre for South Asian Stud‑
ies, University of Hawaii, Manoa.
Archetypes in Dalit Literature

Chandna Singh Nirwan

First published 2025
by Routledge
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and by Routledge
4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
© 2025 Chandna Singh Nirwan
The right of Chandna Singh Nirwan to be identified as author of this work has been
asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act
1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised 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.
Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered
trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe.
Library of Congress Cataloging‑in‑Publication Data
A catalog record for this title has been requested

ISBN: 9781032778600 (hbk)

ISBN: 9781032786742 (pbk)
ISBN: 9781003488927 (ebk)
DOI: 10.4324/9781003488927
Typeset in Sabon
by codeMantra
Contents

Acknowledgementsvi

1 Introduction 1

2 Archetypes in Dalit Writings: Bama and Others 31

3 Dalit Writings: A Structural Analysis 75

4 Social Inclusivity/Exclusivity of the Dalit Communities 97

5 The Language of Marginalisation in Dalit Narratives 134

6 Conclusion 163

Interview175
Notes179
Bibliography186
Appendix192
Index199
Acknowledgements

My heart brims with joy and gratitude as I write this segment of the book.
I feel emotionally overwhelmed to have come thus far. It would be rather
cumbersome to trace the exact timeline of such research projects. How‑
ever, it can be said that the journey of working on this research project
started back in 2018 as a PhD researcher at Malaviya National Institute of
Technology, (NIT Jaipur), India and continued through my initial years of
being an adjunct faculty at the College of Banking and Financial Studies,
Oman, and later as an Assistant Professor at Majan University College,
Muscat, Oman. I owe my appreciation to a community of professors and
scholars who have motivated me during the whole process of cultivating
and refining this work—from the project’s original conception to its subse‑
quent developments that have brought the dissertation to its present state.
During a conference in Dublin City University, Dublin (2019), I remem‑
ber re‑imagining the course of this research and was swiped off in the
academic recitals of different presenters who challenged the various di‑
mensions of marginalized literature. The dilemma of addressing the issue
of Dalit consciousness, psyche, and identity under one umbrella called for
several brainstorming sessions with professors and scholars. The amount
of support and guidance that I have received from faculty, friends, and
family during these years is immeasurable. First, I would like to extend my
gratitude to my dissertation committee whose substantial intellectual en‑
gagement and emotional support sustained me and this project. Dr Preeti
Bhatt, my primary supervisor and mentor, who with her distinct academic
vision, meticulous methods, kindness, and compassion, has led me through
this process with care and patience. I have turned to my DREC (Depart‑
mental Research Evaluation Committee) members time and again for their
invaluable insights and guidance. Late Prof Santosh Gupta, Prof Rajul
Bhargava, and Prof Nupur Tandon have always believed in research aug‑
mentation, and their feedback on each semester presentation has added
several layers to this project. I would sincerely thank my colleagues and
family for gently pushing and inspiring me to develop my PhD thesis into
 Acknowledgements vii

a book. My deepest gratitude to Bama Faustina Soosairaj for sparing her

valuable time for an interview.
I am sincerely grateful for the fellowship I received during my PhD
tenure from Malaviya National Institute of Technology (MNIT), which
sustained me financially at the time. I also appreciate receiving scholarly
leave from my present institute of work, Majan University College, Oman,
which helped me immensely in working devotedly towards a project of
this magnitude. For this, I, especially, am grateful to the Dean, Dr Maha
Kobeil, Deputy Dean, Ms Nabila Al‑Macki and Head, Faculty of English
Language Studies, Dr Peter Mitchell.
Family support is of utmost importance to dedicatedly pursue research.
I shall be eternally grateful to my parents, Dr VKS Nirwan and Mrs Shobha
Nirwan, who have always been there for me, and to my husband, Jagat
Singh Mahecha, for his unwavering confidence in me and my dreams. My
deep love and gratitude go to my seven‑year‑old, Adhiraj, for his uncondi‑
tional love and cheerful presence over these years. My sincere and heart‑
felt thanks to my maternal grandfather, (Retd.) Prof. M. Singh for always
motivating me to aim for the stars. Changing capes from a researcher to
a mother only comes with a strong backing, and hereby, I owe my grati‑
tude to my brother, Bhanu Pratap Singh; my grandmother‑in‑law, the late
Mrs Tara Mahecha; my mother-in-law Mrs Renu Mahecha and my father-
in-law Mr Vijaideep Singh Mahecha for their love and support.
1 Introduction

Dalit Literature
During the Indian Independence movement, Jyotirao Phule (1827–1890),
also popularly known as Mahatma Jyotiba Phule, an Indian reformer,
coined the term “Dalit” as a more descriptive and sympathetic term for a
section of marginalized communities in the Indian subcontinent. In S­ anskrit,
the word Dalita stands for someone or something broken, s­hattered, or
­divided. Excluded from the fourfold varna system of Hinduism, the Dalits
were often regarded as the Panchama, the fifth one. During India’s strug‑
gle for Independence, activists like Mohandas Gandhi also took up this
cause with all seriousness and sincerity. Gandhi called them “­Harijan,”
­meaning “children of God,” to emphasize that they are equal to other
castes and any discrimination against them would be a violation of God’s
will. ­Following the Independence of India in 1947, Dr BR Ambedkar, a
member of the Drafting Committee of the Indian Constitution, formulated
several laws and rights in favour of the Dalits. India’s new Constitution
identified some groups of weaker sections of people as “scheduled castes”
for ­consideration and government assistance.
Dalit literature challenged Indian mainstream writing because of a
­major shift in writing style, narration, and language. It is literature with
a purpose, directed against conventions and cultural norms that margin‑
alized not only the Dalit voices but also those of other oppressed com‑
munities, including women. It attempts to create a new paradigm, a new
interactive space where their words come across as not merely literary but
also political. The term “Dalit literature” came into use in 1958, at the
first conference of the Maharashtra Dalit Sahitya Sangha (Maharashtra
Dalit Literature Society). Dalit literature is an important stream of Indian
writing in English and other Indian languages. It is literature about the
­oppressed classes, castes, and sections of India.
Joothan is an autobiographical account of the life of a Dalit. About
writing Joothan, Valmiki, in the Author’s Preface to the Hindi edition,

DOI: 10.4324/9781003488927-1
2 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

said, “Once again, I had to relive all those miseries, torments, neglects,
­admonitions. I suffered a deep mental anguish while writing this book.
How terribly painful was this unraveling of my self, layer upon layer” (viii).
The translator, Arun Prasad Mukherjee shared his thoughts on the book,

it brought to surface, as a scalpel penetrating deep into the flesh, the

­details of my childhood and adolescence in a small town in northern
­India where casteism and untouchability were ‘normal’, where untouch‑
ables cleaned our latrines and carried away the excrement of their heads.
When they asked for water, it was poured into their cupped hands, from
a distance. There were no untouchables studying with me in school or
college. (ix)

Mukherjee believes that Joothan is an apt answer to Gayatri Spivak’s

­question, “Can the Subaltern speak?” (x). He also hails Joothan as an
excellent addition to the genre of Dalit literature. This genre has been gain‑
ing prominence, as it represents the subjugated and has given a voice to
the voiceless. It has not only helped in retelling Dalit experiences but has
also emerged as a strong foundation for establishing their political iden‑
tity. As Mukherjee says, “It expresses Dalit’s knowledge of themselves as
oppressed people and signifies their resolve to demand liberation through
a revolutionary transformation of the system that oppresses them” (xii).
Dalit literature also presents a space where writers like Valmiki, Bama,
Limbale, and others assert and embrace their Dalit identity,

by identifying themselves as Dalits, writers like Valmiki are therefore

embracing an identity that is born in a historic struggle to dismantle the
caste system, responsible for their untouchable status, and to rebuild
society on the principles of human society on the principles of human
dignity, equality and respect. (xiii)

Mukherjee also highlighted the reasons behind placing the so‑called lower
caste on the margins. He says,

conflicts over land, resources and cultural practices between a people

who called themselves Aryans when they began arriving in India about
the beginning of the second millennium B.C. and the various communi‑
ties of indigenous people that ranged from citizens of highly developed
city states to forest dwelling hunters and gatherers. (xv)

He suggested that these conflicts gave rise to the chaturvarna system of so‑
ciety. He also mentioned the famous agitation on 25 December 1927, led
by Ambedkar to fight for the rights of Dalits to draw water from Chavda
 Introduction 3

Lake at Mahad, Maharashtra. Ambedkar also burnt a copy of Manusmriti

in a bonfire because its author, Manu, had “codified the Brahminic laws of
untouchability and pollution” (xix).
In the Introduction to Limbale’s The Outcaste/Akkarmashi, GN Devy
writes, “The Dalit Literary movement is a result of his (Ambedkar’s)
­powerful articulation of the place of the Dalits and the need to recognize
their human dignity, which remains a seminal contribution to the social
discourse of pre‑independence India” (xvi).
Dr BR Ambedkar not only played a pivotal role in drafting the Constitu‑
tion of India, but his ideological insights have also shaped modern Dalit
writings. Dalit literature is directly tied to Dalit liberation movements in
various parts of the country. This category of literature became signifi‑
cant in the 1960s in Marathi literature and later in Hindi, Tamil, and Ma‑
layalam as well. Many of these works have been translated into English,
French, and other languages. These writings formed a collective voice of
the Dalits that questioned, through the articulation of their social reality,
the types of writings that made them invisible or distorted their identity. As
can be seen in various Dalit narratives, the ill‑treatment meted out to them
was gratifying for the so‑called upper castes. The Dalits were in a position
of subordination and their means of earning a livelihood, and their daily
wages were limited and dependent on the upper castes. They were not even
allowed to let their shadow fall upon a member of the upper caste and
were required to sweep the community lanes and clean the toilets, both
public and private. Dalits typically resided in segregated neighbourhoods
outside the main village because it was against societal norms for them to
worship in temples or draw water from the same wells as the upper castes.
In the introduction to Untouchables, EM Forster mentions about the
ideas of “dirty” and “clean” in Indian society. He said, “…the belief that
the products are ritually unclean as well as physically unpleasant and
that those who carry them away or otherwise help to dispose of them
are outcastes from society…it takes a human mind to evolve so devilish.
No animal could have hit on it. As one of Mr Anand’s characters says:
“They think we are dirt because we clean their dirt” (vi). It is agonizing to
note the plight of these sweepers, who were treated like slaves from birth
and had resigned themselves to their fate. Forster said that even slaves are
in a better situation, as they can change their master or duties, “but he
(sweeper) is bound forever, born into a state from which he cannot escape
and where is excluded from social intercourse and the consolations of his
religion” (vi). Forster believed that because of their continuous subjuga‑
tion running across generations, this has entered their consciousness and
affected their identity. They have come to accept their wretched fate with a
dull submission: “No wonder that the dirt enters into his soul, and that he
feels himself at moments to be what he is supposed to be” (vi).
4 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

Untouchable takes one through a day in a sweeper’s life. From cleaning

the toilets of the regiment to sweeping the streets, they clean the dirt of
the so‑called upper caste only to be shunned as outcastes. The incident of
“touching” the upper‑caste man culminated in verbal and physical abuse,
and one cannot help but question the very foundation of such entitlement
cherished by the upper caste. As a probable solution to this issue, Anand
suggests a change in religion from Hinduism to Christianity. The mission‑
ary, Hutchinson, could raise Bakha’s interest but failed to sustain it. Anand
also deftly presents his critique of Gandhian idealism, which suggested that
one should take pride in one’s role as a sweeper, as they are cleaning society
of its dirt, as opposed to the ideas of a modernist poet who suggests that
embracing foreign products over swadeshi can be a revolutionary move in
bringing about a change in the life of the so‑called lower caste. He believed
that the fate of the sweepers is tied to their occupation of cleaning toilets.
Once the flush system is introduced in the toilet, it will no longer require a
sweeper to clean it. Their disassociation from this task will open doors to
new opportunities for them (145–146).
Since the early twentieth century, the Parayar Dalit community of Tamil
Nadu has faced many challenges and struggled to reform their sense of self
and identity. Tamil Dalit writings are influenced by many popular leaders
like Pundit Iyothee Thass and Rettaimalai Srinivasan. They ran their own
magazines, namely, Tamizhan (1907–1914) and Paraiyan (1893–1900),
respectively, and established a voice of their own. Thass emphasized Bud‑
dhist views, whereas Srinivasan wanted equal participation and represen‑
tation of Dalits in the Indian political system. Some other prominent Tamil
Dalit writers are Bama Faustina Soosairaj, Imayam, KA Gunasekaran,
P Sivakami, and Azhagiya Periyavan, while important Tamil Dalit leaders
include Dr K Krishnasamy, Thol Thirumavalavan, and Athiyaman.
BR Ambedkar and EVR Periyar have made significant contributions to‑
wards revolutionizing the Dalit sense of self and identity. Ambedkar was a
strong advocate for Dalit rights and emphasized education as an effective
and powerful instrument for improving their situations and uplifting the
community. Periyar was one of the torchbearers vouching for an egalitar‑
ian society since British Indian days. One of Bama’s novels, Manusi (mean‑
ing a woman), originally written in Tamil in 2017 and yet to be translated
into English, is fabricated around an imaginary conversation between Je‑
sus Christ and Ambedkar. Here the protagonist, Rasaathi, requests both
Jesus Christ and Ambedkar to offer advice and ways in which the Dalits
can attain freedom. To this, Ambedkar replies that both of them have al‑
ready shared their ideologies with the world. Ambedkar further adds that
many other writers have been writing, and many continue to write. Shar‑
ing their ideology through the written word is very important and will
eventually bring about the required changes.
 Introduction 5

The works and intellectual ideas of Ambedkar, the principal draughts‑

man of India’s Constitution, serve as the foundation for contemporary
Dalit publications. Writing by Dalits is inextricably linked to Dalit lib‑
eration struggles across the nation. In addition to English poems, short
­stories, and novels, this genre of literature also established a place in
Marathi literature in the 1960s and afterwards in Hindi, Tamil, and Ma‑
layalam. In both English and other Indian languages, Dalit literature is a
significant genre. It is literature about India’s underprivileged castes and
classes. ­Today, its usage suggests socially suppressed caste groups in India.
Finding a place in society, finding one’s place within the Dalit community,
and the Dalits’ particular status are all topics that Dalit literature tries to
bring to light. Bama has spoken at length about the challenges faced by
the Dalits, such as caste discrimination, gender bias, lack of identity, lack
of access to natural resources, and a definite lack of education. This book
aims to highlight Bama’s contributions to Dalit writing, with references
from other Dalit writers to engage in a meaningful discussion about the
so‑called lower caste, their identity, language, and marginalisation.

Bama Faustina Soosairaj

Faustina Mary Fatima Rani, popularly known as Bama, rose to fame ow‑
ing to her first novel, Karukku (1992). She is the first distinguished Dalit
woman writer to write in Tamil and her works have been translated into
English, French, and many Indian languages. Bama was born in Puthu‑
patty near Madurai in 1958. Her father, Soosairaj, worked in the Indian
army, and her mother, Sebasthiamma, was an agricultural labourer. Born
into a Parayar Christian family, her grandfather was the first to embrace
Christianity. Bama’s brother, Raj Gauthaman, another famous Dalit
writer, introduced her to the world of books. Bama has stated in interviews
that her favourite writers are Rabindranath Tagore and Khalil Gibran.
She also read Tamil writers like D Jayakantan, Akhilan, C Mani, and Na
Parthasarthy.
Born into a very humble background, parentage, and ancestry (econom‑
ically weak Catholic agricultural labourers of the Parayar community),
Bama had to overcome many obstacles to acquire an education. She com‑
pleted her primary education in the village and later moved out to study
further. After college, Bama became a school teacher and taught under‑
privileged Dalit girls. At 26, she took her vows as a nun. She went against
her family and friends to join the Christian Order. After seven years of
working as a nun in the Holy Order, Bama realized that she could not re‑
ally do much for the people of her community. It was disconcertingly hurt‑
ful to witness caste‑based discrimination inside the Order as well. Even
leaving the Holy Order was itself a struggle, as Bama had to go against the
6 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

Christian authorities, which also meant a life of greater struggle outside

the Convent. The ill‑treatment, oppressive injustice, and prejudices of the
social system, which she personally faced too, greatly disillusioned her,
and that found manifestation in her first two well‑known novels, Karukku
(1992) and Sangati (1994). Bama chose not to marry and have a family
because she wanted to work for the welfare of her community.
In reality, Bama had very little money to live on her own when Karukku
was written. She sought help from a friend because her family disapproved
of her for attending the Convent and afterwards for leaving it, and they
were not available to help when she needed them most. Her misery did
not end with the publication of her first novel, Karukku, as she was also
ostracized for six months following its release. The people in her town
weren’t happy with how the book depicted them. Even if it seemed harsh,
it was the reality. However, Karukku received favourable reviews from
critics and is well‑read. It is also covered in the curriculum of a number of
organizations, schools, and colleges. Later, after two years in 1994, Bama
wrote her second novel, Sangati. This book centres on the plight of Dalit
women, who are frequently referred to as the double oppressed.1
Bama narrates the stories of women across three generations: her grand‑
mother, her mother, and girls of her age and younger. The stories serve as
a wake‑up call for the majority of individuals in the so‑called upper caste
society, who only have a cursory understanding of Dalit subjugation and
very little awareness of Dalit women’s lives. Bama continued to write and
address Dalit issues and struggles in her books, Sangati (1994) and Van‑
mam (2002), along with two collections of short stories: Kusumbukkaran
(1996) and Oru Tattvum Erumaiyum (2003).

Bama’s Writing Style

Bama’s writings have evolved over a period of three decades. In her most
famous work, Karukku, which also won the Crossword Award in Transla‑
tion (2001), she writes in first‑person narration. Other characters and their
experiences are either true or based on real events. This book is written
in a confessional style, does not follow timelines or sequence of events,
and uses categories such as work, play, recreation, or education. Her sec‑
ond novel, Sangati Events, elaborates upon the experiences of the Dalit
women in her community. The vital issue of identity is at the centre of the
compelling narratives in each of these books. Bama has drawn a personal
trajectory of her life intertwined with several incidents happening around
her. Her grandfather converted to Christianity, so they were recent con‑
verts. In Chapter 1 of this book, Bama’s journey of embracing Christian‑
ity is discussed at length. This journey also gave her a sense of freedom
and opened doors for her personal development. But later, it led to her
 Introduction 7

disillusionment with Christian values and ideals, and she sought solace in
her identity as a Dalit.
In her interview with Nirupama Dutt, an Indian journalist, poet and
translator, Bama shared her views on Dalit writings. In fact, Bama’s writ‑
ing style and language have been points of discussion among many critics.
Bama clearly differentiates between the terms Dalit Writing and Writing
about Dalits as separate categories, distinguishing mainly on who the au‑
thor is. If the author is a Dalit, then it would be called Dalit Writing, and
if the author is not a Dalit, it would be referred to as Writing about Dalits.
She also felt confident about her writings and the language she used (Dutt).
When Nirupama Dutt asked her about her “uninhibited language and
bold vocabulary,” Bama replied, “Some critics cried out that a woman
should not have used such coarse words. But I wrote the way people speak.
I didn’t force a literary language on myself” (Dutt). Bama has worked
with a singular focus on the emancipation of her community and her peo‑
ple. For this reason, she even chose to remain unmarried. She explained,
“The existing family system would not give me the space I needed to do
my kind of work. So, I chose to stay single. My ambition is to communi‑
cate the dreams and aspirations of my people, who have remained on the
fringes for centuries in Indian history” (Dutt). Her initial aim of becoming
a nun, her experience of being one, and then leaving the Order to teach
at a school in her village are all efforts directed towards making a differ‑
ence in the lives of her people. She has worked selflessly towards her goal,
and her life is truly an inspiration. She faced many difficult situations and
circumstances, but she did not let them deter her spirit. Her novels, short
stories, and teachings significantly contribute to the Tamil Parayar Dalit
history and literature.

Bama on Education
In terms of occupation, Bama’s grandmothers (maternal and paternal) and
her mother were agricultural labourers, and her father served in the In‑
dian army. In her own words, “If he had not joined the army, we would
never have had the regular income for education. Education also gave us
freedom to get away from the clutches of the landlords and lead our own
lives” (Dutt), Bama stated in an interview with Nirupama Dutt. Bama con‑
sidered herself among the fortunate ones who could attend school and
acquire a college degree. Her writing continually resonates with the role of
education, and she strongly promotes it in all her works.
Education is a primary theme in Karukku, Sangati, Vanmam, and even
in some of Bama’s short stories. Apart from the teachings of Jesus Christ,
Dr Bhim Rao Ambedkar, and EVR Periyar, Bama was inspired by her elder
brother, Raj Gauthaman, who is also a writer and introduced her to the
8 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

world of books. She was a sincere student and made many sacrifices to
attain a college degree. After completing her school education, her family
had little means to support her education, so a nun requested her mother
to sell her gold earrings to support her education. Bama shared the story
of her College Day celebration, where all the seniors were invited and the
dress code was a silk saree. Bama hid in the bathroom, saying, “There was
no money to throw away on a sari. So I hid in the bathroom until the party
was over” (Karukku 76). One of her Naicker friends told her she could
have easily asked anyone at home, but Bama felt ashamed in revealing that
no one in her family owned a silk sari. Despite these circumstances, Bama
managed to acquire a college degree.
The importance of education runs as an undercurrent through all her
novels. For Dalits, being educated is not only about acquiring a degree; it
also means an increased awareness of their rights and surroundings and
being informed of their place and position in society. Her novels trace a
history when only a few could provide education for their children, as in
Karukku and Sangati, to almost all Dalit families providing education to
their children—both girls and boys, as shown in Vanmam. Many of her
short stories, such as “The Yellow Butterfly,” “The Ichi Tree Monkey,”
and “Verdict,” are set in schools and have a female teacher as the pro‑
tagonist. Bama’s emphasis is not only on educating the young minds of her
society but also on logically establishing her argument to break stereotypes
and remove gender‑based and community‑based biases. She has written
about incidents involving ghosts and other superstitions prevalent in her
village, and in her short stories, she has built characters who fight against
superstition and logically negate many such beliefs. She has written elabo‑
ratively on the women of the Parayar Dalit community and the atrocities
they face in their routine life. For instance, to call out the ritual of celebrat‑
ing the first menstrual cycle of a girl, she describes Mariamma’s story and
explains the entire ritual carried out on such an event. To talk about the
deep‑rooted patriarchal set‑up, she has narrated Esakki’s story. She uses
female protagonists like Pachayamma, Mary, Parvathi, and Raakamma to
fight against caste‑based prejudice and disseminate the idea of standing up
for oneself. Her representations are of the weak and the underprivileged,
but the characters never seem to ask for sympathy but only seek an egalitar‑
ian society through their struggles and hardships. They are strong‑minded
people who have endured adversity only to emerge stronger. They have
continually worked to change their daily experiences and have never given
up despite unfavourable circumstances. In Bama’s narratives, we also see
a glimpse of the plight of the so‑called upper caste women. Their lives
are definitely more comfortable, but they also face gender bias in their
households.
 Introduction 9

In her stories, Bama has tried to touch upon the issue of mental health of
women because of the various problems existing in their lives. She has also
explained that, because Dalit women are loud‑mouthed, they suffer fewer
mental health issues compared to the so‑called upper‑caste women, who
suffer behind closed doors.
Bama’s writing also comprises a reiteration of the teachings of Ambed‑
kar and Periyar. In Vanmam, she often uses the slogan Ambedkar used
at the All India Depressed Classes Conference in July 1942 in Nagpur,
India: “Agitate, Educate, Organise” (Tandale). Vanmam also depicts the
transition of Dalits from powerless, dependent labourers to determined,
educated, aspiring candidates for political positions in the Panchayat and
state legislatures. Clearly, education has been an instrument for bringing
about change in their daily experiences and has, over time, shaped their
present notion of identity.

Role of Animals in Bama’s Narratives

In an interview, Bama stated,

Dalits have a deep, inseparable and almost familial relation with ani‑
mals, with nature without which Dalits become breathless. While the
dominating caste‑minded society excludes Dalits, nature embraces them
as its sons and daughters. Invariably you can see animals (cows, buffa‑
loes, oxen, bullocks which help them in their agricultural work) in most
of the Dalit villages. Dogs, cats, hens, goats, pigs and donkeys are their
friends. They name them, talk to them as they talk to any other human
beings; play with them, eat with them and sleep with them. (Bama,
Interview)

As readers, we can see frequent mentions of the different animals. Some‑

times they are referenced in a minor way, and sometimes they play a major
role. For instance, the short story “The Grazing Field” is about a boy
who worked at a meat shop and also owned a goat as a pet. Customers
would choose his goat, and the shop owner would argue with him to give
away his pet goat. Another story, “The Ichi Tree Monkey,” has monkeys
and pigs as central characters. “The Yellow Butterfly” encapsulates the
essence of budding and blossoming over time with the example of a but‑
terfly. “Man and Beast” has two cows, Lakshmi and Sarasu, as important
parts of the text. The bond that the so‑called lower caste people share with
the animals is adorable, friend‑like and one can see glimpses of compan‑
ionship. This aspect is noteworthy because animals make for an important
part of Dalit life and have a role in their routine activities. Additionally,
10 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

this highlights how Dalits feel closer to Nature and its elements. Nature
does not discriminate on the basis of caste, creed, gender, religion, or sex.
There is a bigger message that Bama emphasizes by sharing their camara‑
derie with animals.
For Bama, the issue of Dalit consciousness is of vital importance. She
defines it as, “Being aware of my /our/ inferiorized status which is imposed
on me by this caste‑ridden society and my inner urge to affirm and assert
my /our/ human dignity by my struggle to create a human society of lib‑
erty, fraternity and equality constitutes my Dalit Consciousness” (Bama,
Interview). Her texts are about identifying, accepting, and establishing a
Dalit identity. Her writings suggest that only through acceptance can one
bring about a change in their reality, and that running away from it would
only delay the process. She is a living example of contributing towards her
society and people and further motivating them to live with a strong sense
of self and identity.

Themes in Major Novels

Karukku is regarded by many critics as the first Dalit autobiography by
a Tamil woman. In this book, Bama narrates incidents from her life and
those of her community. She speaks mainly from her own experiences with
people from the upper castes. The events in the book are not arranged
chronologically and can be divided, for ease of discussion, into Bama’s
life as a young girl in school and college, then as a teacher, and finally in
the Holy Order. Bama’s faith in the Holy Order was primarily because
of her Convent education, which was supported by a nun. However, this
faith was shattered once she became an intricate part of the Order. She
survived situations of extreme bias and caste discrimination, and in the
process could do very little for the people of her caste. Karukku brings us
closer to the lives of Dalits, their everyday struggles, and makes available
their stories, which were suppressed owing to various reasons such as lack
of education, lack of expression through proper channels, as a suppressed
class, even alack of will to share their experiences.
Sangati is also an autobiographical text with the primary theme of the
struggles faced by Tamil Dalit women. This text is an important reser‑
voir of the stories of Dalit women, who faced a two‑fold oppression: one
from members of the upper caste and another from the male members of
their own community. The plight of these women is pitiable, and their
heart‑wrenching stories make the readers acknowledge a world where sur‑
vival was the basic question. Being from a subjugated class, they could
never voice their opinions and faced dual oppression, both inter‑ and intra‑
community. These women worked day and night to fulfil the demands
of their family, first as maiden girls handling household chores and their
 Introduction 11

siblings, and later, working in factories and fields to earn a livelihood.

Their husbands were often seen wasting away their time and money on
alcohol and poker. They never hesitated in beating their wives and shirked
from all household responsibilities. For the purpose of this research, a few
stories from Bama’s recently published anthologies Just One Word and the
Ichi Tree Monkey: New and Selected Stories have been analysed. These
are translations of her previously published stories in the Tamil antholo‑
gies Kusumbukkaran (1996) and Oru Tattvum Erumaiyum (2003). The
background of these stories is the lives of Dalits, their community, and
their everyday struggle to survive in a community dominated by the upper
castes. These socially powerful classes had oppressed the Dalits for a very
long period, and this is reflected in the extent to which the Dalits were
ill‑treated. The patriarchal order further diminished any hope of a peaceful
life for Dalit women. This anthology comprises fictitious stories, but they
are not far from reality.
Vanmam or Vendetta is a fictional work by Bama, but as she mentioned
in an interview, while the narration may be fictitious, the story is real. This
book centres around the lives of the two Dalit communities, the Parayars
and the Pallars. The primary difference between them is that the Parayar
community comprises Dalits who converted to Christianity, whereas the
majority of the Pallars remained Hindus. As Hindu Dalits, the Pallars were
listed in the Scheduled Castes and, therefore, could avail educational and
other government schemes and funding. The Parayars were helped mainly
by the Christian institutions and missionaries, who initially offered them
free education. Due to their extreme poverty at the time, skipping a day
of labour meant going without food. As a result, schooling was neglected.
Because of this, only the younger generation could attend school, and even
then, many lacked a formal education.
Bama’s third novel, Vanmam, is set in Kadampatti village near Madras,
focusing on two Dalit communities, the Parayars and the Pallars, who are
pitted against each other. The different religions they practised were used
as a weapon by the Naickers, the so‑called upper castes. Since both were
Hindu, the Naickers backed the Pallars. In reality, they did not have any
goodwill towards the Pallars. They just provided them with support to
give them the impression that they were superior to the Parayar caste,
and in doing so, the Pallars continued to serve the Naickers in the old ser‑
vile manner. Furthermore, the Naickers disliked the idea of more people
from the Parayar community getting educated because this led the Para‑
yars to refuse to consider the Naickers as a superior caste and to debate
among themselves how they, too, were just human beings. Bama mentions
a practice of offerings being made to the Naickers by older generations of
Parayars and Pallars in order to please their superior caste employers. This
tradition saw a change when the younger generation started considering
12 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

it unnecessary and stopped paying the offerings. The Naickers as a com‑

munity were frustrated with these changes and wanted to exercise their
control through demeaning rules, such as requiring people of the lower
castes to remain submissive and follow their orders; they should not enter
the streets of the Naickers or use their wells.
In 2008, when Vanmam was published, as opposed to Bama’s first
book, Karukku (1992), with a gap of more than a decade, the situation
had changed for the Dalits. They were educated, knew the government
rules and policies, and had good jobs that paid them enough to live in
better houses, eat and dress well. They could understand the conniv‑
ing ways in which the upper castes would divide the Dalit communities
and profit from the discord. In this book, Bama has discussed at length
the Dalit struggle and the discord between the two communities to the
extent that they were murdering innocent people based on caste differ‑
ences. The hatred and animosity between the two castes were tremen‑
dously heightened by the devious minds of the Naickers. There came
a time when the street occupied by the Parayars looked as lifeless as a
graveyard. They had all abandoned their homes to take shelter with their
people in the neighbouring villages due to the violence and killings. The
youngsters had to drop out of schools and colleges, and menfolk refused
to enter the village. Some women who could take refuge with their neigh‑
bouring village people fled too. The remaining stayed back and survived
with great difficulty. They earned their daily kanji2 by selling the milk of
their cows. Police support was for namesake, and after a point, no one
trusted them.
The localities and their demographic divisions are particularly elabo‑
rated in Vanmam, with three communities, i.e., the Parayars, the Pallars,
and the Naickers, living in different parts of the village. The streets where
the Naickers reside have been given a sacrosanct status, and the Pallars
and the Parayars only visit those streets when they have to work in a Nai‑
cker’s house or water their fields. The Pallars remain quite obedient to
their Naicker landlords, whereas in the Parayar community, the younger
generation, which has access to education and is studying in college, con‑
siders obedience to Naickers a form of servility and shuns it. This becomes
a point of distress for the Naickers, who worry about their status in the
society and wish to maintain their domineering position: “those boys from
the Christian Street have become very arrogant. Their parents used to be
like us… respectful towards the landlords” (31).
Bama has written at length about the various issues between the Para‑
yars and the Pallars. The Naickers, one of the so‑called upper‑caste com‑
munities, benefit from the conflicts among Dalits, and instead of resolving
the issues, they add to the existing strife. Bama highlights the importance
of community‑building and enhancing feelings of brotherhood among the
 Introduction 13

Dalit sub‑groups by bringing forth intra‑caste rivalry in this novel. She

reinforces the fact that the marginalized should come together and respect
each other to create a respectable place for themselves in the society. Bama
also expresses her views on education and explains how it serves the pur‑
pose of liberating the Dalit community. She views education as a tool for
resistance and achieving freedom whereby it provides a voice to the down‑
trodden section of society. Many characters in the novel seem to be aware
of the necessity of education and look at it largely as a means to regain
their self‑respect and dignity, with the best examples being the characters
Anthony, Saminathan, and Jayaraju.
It is interesting to note that Bama’s short stories abound with several
vivid characters. Most of the characters can make for small character stud‑
ies, with some centred on notable individuals. There’s Kisambukkaran,
the “Harum‑Scarum Saar” of the title, who fearlessly kills snakes, allows
sparrows to eat his father’s crops, and delights in tricking an old man
who is unnecessarily suspicious of his wife’s fidelity. Then there is Pon‑
nathayi, who leaves her husband to start her own business, and Malandi
Thatha, whose smiling exterior conceals a great deal of rage. There is also
Ammasi, whose great crime is to casually refer to a member of another
caste as “annachi,” or “brother.” Even though the stories do not focus on
bringing about a revolution, the conflicts shown are comparatively smaller
in magnitude, yet there is a constant urge for change.

Untouchable by Mulk Raj Anand

Bakha, the protagonist of the novel, is the eighteen‑year‑old son of Lakha,

the Jemadar of all the sweepers in the town and the cantonment. He was
a toilet cleaner and had also been working in the barracks of a British
regiment. As Mulk Raj Anand says, “He was caught by the glamour of
the ‘white man’s’ life” (2). He often thought about the “uncongeniality of
his home” (2) as he remained in awe of the ‘fashun’ (2) of the regiment
officials. He even used the blanket of the ‘gora’ (white men), which could
not keep him warm in the cold winter nights. His father would reprimand
him, “Take a quilt, spread a bedding on a string bed, and throw away that
blanket of the gora white men; you will die of cold in that thin cloth” (2).
The segregated colonies and unpleasant vicinities of the so‑called out‑
castes have typically been the location allocated to the sweepers, similar
to Bama’s description of the Parayar streets. Just like Bama’s Jayaraju,
Anand’s Bakha wishes to escape reality and dreams of finer belongings.
To Bakha, getting a used trouser or coat from the British regiment of‑
ficials would serve as a souvenir, similar to Jayaraju, who would prefer
a white shirt and trousers instead of the traditional “dhoti.” He would
even use a handkerchief to cover his nose, as the stench of the locality
14 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

was unbearable to him. Jayaraju was mocked by his friends for his antics,
and so was Bakha: “his father had been angry at his extravagance, and
the boys of the outcastes’ colony called him ‘Pilpali sahib’ (imitation sa‑
hib)” (4). Anand mentioned that Bakha was even ashamed of “the Indian
way of performing ablutions, all that gargling and spitting” because the
so‑called Tommies disliked it (10). In the same breath, Anand mentioned
how the Tommies would run naked to their bathtubs, and Bakha thought
it was ‘disgraceful’ (10), but at the same time, he felt that since they were
sahibs (bosses), whatever they did was ‘fashun’ (fashion) (11). Bakha tried
to imitate the goras even in his routine activities, like having a cup of tea
with his family,

his uncle had said that the goras didn’t enjoy the full flavour of the tea
because they did not blow on it. But Bakha considered that both his
uncle’s and his father’s spattering sips were natu (native) habits…..for
himself he accepted the custom of the Tommies and followed it implic‑
itly. (24)

Pyre by Perumal Murugan

In the translator’s note, Aniruddham Vasudevan, the translator of Pyre by

Perumal Murugan said,

This is a novel about caste and the resilient force that it is, but it is also
about how strangely vulnerable caste and its guardians seem to feel in
the face of love, and how it often seems to assert itself both in everyday
acts of discrimination as well as in moments of most unimaginable vio‑
lence. (xii)

In Pyre, Kumaresan, a man belonging to the poor section of society, mar‑

ries Saroja, who is from the so‑called lower caste. Kumaresan had left his
village to work in a town where he met Saroja and fell in love. They mar‑
ried against the wishes of Saroja’s father and brother. Once they reached
the village Kaanakkaadu, instead of receiving a hearty and warm welcome,
they were met with scrutinizing glances and penetrating eyes. Saroja’s face,
delicate, frail, and lighter skin tone, became a subject of their observation
and conversation. With her appearance, the villagers understood that she
did not belong to their caste, one of them said, “Can’t I tell by the face?…
this is not a face from our caste…does a face that wanders over fields and
rocks look like this? This is the face of someone who has not toiled, a
body that has not suffered summer’s heat” (12). The villagers, including
Kumaresan’s mother, could never accept Saroja as part of their life. They
continued with their taunts and verbal abuses till they found out that her
 Introduction 15

father was a leather tanner. This intensified their anger and intolerance,
and in Kumaresan’s absence, they set out to murder Saroja.

Akkarmashi or the Outcaste by Sharankumar Limbale

Sharankumar Limbale, in Akkarmashi, the Outcaste, presents an auto‑

biographical narrative. He has written about the atrocities faced by the
Mahars, a Dalit community in Maharashtra, India. He has written exten‑
sively about the issues faced by the Mahar Dalit women, and he has given
examples of his mother and grandmother, and has discussed the issue of
identity considering his lineage and upbringing. Limbale’s father was a
Lingayat (an upper‑caste man), his mother was a Mahar, and he was raised
by a Muslim, Mahmood Dastagir Jamadar, whom he referred to as his
grandfather, as Mahmood lived with his grandmother, Santamai. The caste
and religious conflicts are central to the narrative.

Joothan by Omprakash Valmiki

Omprakash Valmiki’s Joothan is about the chuhra community of Ut‑

tar Pradesh, who relied on the leftovers of the upper castes for their
meals. The title Joothan means “scraps” of leftover food. Valmiki further
describes it as

After the baratis (wedding guests) had eaten, the dirty pattals or
leaf‑plates were put in the Chuhras’ baskets, which they took home,
to save the Joothan sticking to them. The little pieces of pooris, bits
of sweetmeats, and a little bit of vegetable were enough to make them
happy. The Joothan was eaten with a lot of relish. (9)

They also saved the Joothan so they could eat during the rainy season;
“these dried up pooris were very useful during the hard days of the rainy
season” (9). Joothan was an integral part of their lives. Valmiki laments
the torturous conditions in which the chuhras had to survive: “When I
think about all those things today, thorns begin to prick my heart. What
sort of a life was that? After working hard day and night, the price of
our sweat was just Joothan. And yet no one had any grudges. Or shame.
Or repentance” (10).
Considering the references from Anand’s Untouchable, Omprakash
­Valmiki’s Joothan, Sharankumar Limbale’s Akkarmashi or the Outcaste,
Perumal Murugan’s Pyre, and Bama’s works, one can see what Arun
Prabha stated in the introduction to Joothan: “The transformation of the
stigmatized identity of these erstwhile untouchables to a self‑chosen iden‑
tity as Dalit is a story of collective struggle waged over centuries” (xi).
16 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

Theoretical Overview
A study of the available scholarly discourse on Dalit Literature indicates
that researchers have examined different aspects of Tamil Dalit writings.
Some critics have classified Dalit literature as atrocity literature, portraying
the insidious trauma and the psychological impact of their misery. A few
papers analyse the use of figurative devices such as synecdoche, irony, me‑
tonymy, paradox, and others in narratives. Some researchers have studied
the archetypal patterns in particular texts using the theories of myth and
archetypal criticism. Their research has highlighted the basic premises of
the theories with their application of concepts, such as Northrop Frye’s co‑
medic and tragic, Carl Jung’s archetypes and consciousness, and Barthes’
codes and signs. Some research has highlighted the power of the written
word when it comes to documenting history, especially the history of the
Dalits and their marginalisation. The existing research also discusses other
art forms like Dalit folklore and Indigenous dance forms. These have not
gained their due attention as they have been considered means of enter‑
tainment, and only a few have been analysed from a symbolic perspective.
Some papers also focus on issues of gender discrimination, casteism, and
identity conflict in Bama’s Karukku, Sangati, and Vanmam.
Percy Cohen, in his lecture delivered as the Malinowski Memorial Lec‑
ture at the London School of Economics and Political Science on 8th May
1969, highlighted various theories of myth and archetypal criticism. Co‑
hen speaks of myth as a cultural phenomenon, and therefore it would have
several interrelated functions. He also discusses the colloquial usage of
the word myth, which is often considered similar to a fantasy, fallacy,
or old wives’ tale (Cohen 337). The usage in the theoretical standpoint is
quite different altogether. Cohen elaborates on the characteristics of myth:
a myth is a story about events; the story has a sacred quality; the holy
communication is communicated in symbolic form; some of the events and
objects in the story don’t happen or don’t exist in the real world; the story
relates to origin or transformations in a dramatic way (337).
Cohen also critiques Malinowski’s theory, stating that despite holding
relevance in the field of myth, he has not given a proper explanation as
to why his theory was better than the ones he ousted. And may be for
this matter, Malinowski’s theory of myth has been replaced by that of
Lévi‑Strauss without any proper explanation. Cohen discusses both socio‑
logical and non‑sociological theories of myth in his lecture. He discusses
Frazer’s viewpoint that myth has a literal meaning and explains certain
phenomena. Tylor suggested that myths have “peculiar explanations.”
Tylor also believed that metaphors constituted the language of myth. He
also stated that metaphors were used by primitive man to understand and
communicate with the forces of the natural world. Cohen pointed out that
 Introduction 17

the weakness of these theories was in their lack of sufficient explanation of

myth’s social character, which is why certain myths are not only collective
in nature but also mark the identity of a particular social group (339).
Cohen then discussed how Cassirer’s grounded his theory in neo‑­Kantian
epistemology, stating that “myth is one way of using language for expres‑
sive purposes, through the symbolic devices of metonymy and synecdo‑
che” (339). Cassirer also believed that mythical thought is not aligned with
the scientific and the philosophical. But

it recognises that mythical thinking is a mode of symbolically structur‑

ing the world and that this like poetry or even ritual might be, at least
in part, an activity in its own right, and secondly, that myth is to be
treated as relating to the processes of the mind as projected onto the
world. (340)

In this sense, Cassirer’s theory antedates Carl Jung’s theory of psychoa‑

nalysis. Psychoanalytical theories of myth consider the origin of myth and
mythical themes in the unconscious. To explain the unconscious, Cohen
says,

the material of the unconscious is not on the tip of the conscious tongue;
it cannot readily be made conscious, except by using a theory which
firstly interprets the symbols of the unconscious in the language of con‑
sciousness and secondly unravels the process of condensation, displace‑
ment, splitting which are characteristic of it. (340)

Cohen further quotes Jung, “the universal characteristics of the collec‑

tive unconscious of mankind takes local forms which are expressed in the
varieties of myth” (340). Cohen then discusses the mythical theories of
Lévi‑Strauss at length. He suggests that the sociological theories of myth
are largely a reaction to the non‑sociological theories of myth.
It is worth noting that Jaydeep Sarangi’s interview with Bama offers crit‑
ical insights into the life, influences, and works of Bama. She answers some
very prominent questions about her caste and the caste‑based discrimina‑
tion she experienced since childhood. Bama stated that not only “from
womb to tomb” but even after death, caste would not leave them. “Edu‑
cation, employment, religion and marriage and everywhere” caste‑based
discrimination was practised. Speaking of the issue of the rape of Dalit
girls, Bama expressed her grief over the gang rape of a nineteen‑year‑old
Dalit girl whose body was brutally mutilated, and whose parents were not
allowed to see her face even for the last time. Bama reinstated that in many
incidents, Dalits were denied a dignified death. She also shared that, in her
opinion, Dalit women led a life worse than animals,
18 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

a Dalit woman, her body is treated as a bundle of flesh and blood with
no emotions, no dignity, no self‑esteem, no respect and no humanness.
In real life a Dalit woman’s body is a symbol of hard work, freedom,
dignity, throbbing with life and in harmony with nature and the cos‑
mos. In this way her body is different from others.

Bama also shared that despite being able to build a house in an urban area,
the so‑called upper‑caste people residing there do not acknowledge the fact
that Dalits can earn a decent livelihood and are not dependent on the up‑
per castes for their means of living. They try to maintain their supremacy
in inhuman ways. For instance, an upper‑caste woman continues to throw
dirty, stinking water in front of Bama’s house because she does not like her
living there. The interview ended on a note where Bama specified that if a
non‑Dalit writer were to write about Dalit issues, it would be considered
as writing about Dalits and not as Dalit writing.
In the book Who were the Shudras?, Ambedkar has highlighted the con‑
cept of Chaturvarnya—meaning the division of society into four classes,
namely, Brahmins (priests), Kshatriyas (soldiers), Vaishyas (traders), and
Shudras (menials) (5). Apart from these divisions, Chaturvarnya also pro‑
motes the “principle of graded inequality” to determine the relationship
between the four categories. Ambedkar also insists that because of the
Chaturvarnya system, the Shudras would face discomfitures and would
not be able to do much to change their plight. In this book, Ambedkar
argues that the Shudras were marred by the severe “Brahmanical laws that
they came to occupy a very low state in public life” (7). The effect was so
immense that the word Shudra, which stood for a particular community,
became synonymous with “low‑class people without civilization, without
culture, without respect and without position” (7). The primary questions
addressed in this book are: who were the Shudras, and how did they come
to be the fourth Varna of Indo‑Aryan society? (9).
Mapping Dalit Feminism: Towards an Intersectional Standpoint by
Anandita Pan focuses on the intersectional functionality of the two systems
of caste and gender. By the 1990s, the Indian feminist movement had raised
many concerns, such as women’s rights over their bodies, physical vio‑
lence, and anti‑patriarchal movements. This book highlights the sufferings
of Indian Dalit women from mainly three kinds of oppressions: gender‑
based, class‑based, and caste‑based. The gender‑based marginalisation
stands central to the patriarchal family set‑up. Class is often determined by
one’s financial standing and by the caste to which one belongs, particularly
the so‑called lower caste.
Numerous well‑known thinkers and their views are represented in the
field of archetypal critique. The following thinkers were chosen for the
purpose of this study:
 Introduction 19

Roland Barthes

Introduction to Myth and Myth Criticism

Roland Barthes, in Mythologies (1972), describes myth as a type of speech

and not just any type of speech. Myth, as Barthes states, represents the
mythical structure, which is the second level after the linguistic structure.
The signifier and the signified together make the sign, which acts as the
signifier to produce the chain of significations, representing myth at various
ideological, political, and semiological platforms. Language needs a special
condition in order to become myth. Myth is not an object, a concept, or
an idea; it is a mode of signification, a form. Every object can be defined
or spoken about in terms of language; therefore, it is open to appropria‑
tion by society. For example, Barthes refers to the poem “Tree” by Minou
Drouet, a child prodigy and poet at the time when Barthes was writing the
final chapter of his book Mythologies. In this poem, a tree, as described by
Drouet, is a “decorated tree adapted to a certain type of consumption, laden
with literary self‑ indulgence, revolt, images, in short, with a type of social
usage which is added to pure matter” (“Myth Today” 132). Objects, when
expressed through the language of myth or in mythical speech, either enjoy
that position for a while before disappearing, or attain the status of myth.
According to Barthes, in myth, there are two semiological systems:

a The linguistic sign, where the meaning is expressed through the sig‑
nifier (the acoustic and linguistic image) and the signified (the mental
concept).
b The metalanguage, because it is a second language in which one speaks
about the first language (Mythologies 138). For example, the word
“crown,” at the level of the sign, comes to symbolize power and author‑
ity. The crown then becomes symbolic of empire, territory, and king‑
dom at the level of mythical sign.

In various stories in Bama’s Just One Word, language has been used at the
second level of the mythical sign while speaking or referring to a Dalit.
These stories deploy metaphors to indicate circumstances, people, and
their reactions, which underline the Dalit ideology. For instance, in “Just
One Word,” the story from which the anthology takes its name, the boss,
who is a Dalit, is referred to as “that Maadasamy” by a subordinate, which
the former overhears and reacts to strongly (70). This incident, in fact, be‑
comes the pivot of the plot of the story. In another story, “The Verdict,”
students in primary classes also know that they should not mix with the
children living on “those” streets (15). Words such as “that,” “these peo‑
ple,” and “such people” were used to refer to the Dalits. The idea was to
20 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

seclude them from the so‑called upper castes through a derogatory m ­ anner
of describing them.
Roland Barthes’ book S/Z talks at length about his theory of the “Codes.”
To interpret a text, it is important that the reader decodes the text. Roland
Barthes, in S/Z (1970), suggests that codes create a network within the text,
and to make a comprehensive reading of a particular text, these codes must
be deciphered. Roland Barthes’ theory of five codes, as discussed in S/Z,
comprises the following codes: hermeneutic, semantic, symbolic, proairetic,
and cultural codes. The hermeneutic codes resort to solving an enigma
through a set of questions or propositions. Any mystery or uncertainty
associated with a character or situation comes to a “disclosure” through
the hermeneutemes (the “knots” or “kernels”) that are present throughout
the discourse. The semantic code and the symbolic code are quite close in
terms of their meanings. The semantic code deals with the connotative sug‑
gestions made through characters, situations, and language, whereas the
symbolic code focuses on the binary polarities conveyed, especially through
different words in a text. The proairetic code can be understood as various
‘sequences’ or patterns that are evident in the reading of the text. These
sequences, in an example mentioned by Barthes, are “stroll, murder, ren‑
dezvous” when reading crime fiction (19). The cultural code is also referred
to as the referential code (20). It pertains to those elements which share a
common knowledge of the world. Here, the reader focuses on the physical,
physiological, medical, psychological, literary, and historical properties of
characters in the story to identify common knowledge (21).

Carl Jung

Introduction to Archetypal Criticism

Carl Gustav Jung (1875–1961), the Swiss psychiatrist and psychotherapist

who founded analytical psychology, believed that the unconscious con‑
tains archetypes and primordial images, unlike the popular idea of the
unconscious as a collection of an individual’s experiences. Adam Adamski,
in his paper “Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious of Carl G. Jung
in the Light of Quantum Psychology,” writes that the collective uncon‑
scious is formed by instincts and archetypes, which are symbols, signs,
and patterns of behaviour, thinking, and experiencing that are physically
inherited from our ancestors. Adamski states, “Archetypes are the means
of action and may take the form of images, dreams, or they are a stimulus
to a specific action. Jung says that dreams are archetypal guidance and are
the wisdom of past generations” (565). An archetype can also be described
through an image, a theme, a symbol, an idea, a character type, or a plot
pattern. Jung speaks of primarily four types of archetypes in his book Four
Archetypes: Mother, Rebirth, Spirit, and Trickster.
 Introduction 21

Mother Archetype
In Four Archetypes, Jung states that any text refering to the mother as
a symbol comprises mother archetypes. Jung further explains that any
reference to a mother, grandmother, mother‑in‑law, or stepmother can be
studied as a mother archetype. It may also refer to remote ancestors, a
governess, or a caretaker. The mother, in a figurative sense, can also be
interpreted as or applied to a goddess‑like figure who arouses feelings of
devotion and wonder. Certain objects and institutions that evoke feelings
of devotion, for instance, the Church, university, city, country, heaven,
moon, earth, sea, or still waters, and sometimes the world, can be studied
as symbols of this archetype. Other symbols of fertility and fruitfulness
also fall under the mother archetype (15).

The Rebirth Archetype

In his book Four Archetypes, under the Rebirth Archetypes, Jung elaborates
on various types of rebirths as follows: (1) Metempsychosis, which involves
the transmigration of souls. According to this, only a continuity of karma
is certain, since one life may pass through different bodies and thus can
have multitudinous experiences and personalities. (2) Reincarnation is a
concept that again involves a continuity of personality, which is retained in
the human mind and memory. (3) Resurrection is a type in which the soul
is thought to be resurrected after death; there is a kind of re‑establishment.
This might lead to a change in personality of the resurrected being. (4) Re‑
birth is a type in which an individual undergoes rebirth within his/her own
lifespan. (5) Participation in the process of transformation is another type
in which the concerned person does not actually die but undergoes certain
processes that might change or reform their persona and identity (53–56).
Carl Jung has also elaborated on various symbols with reference to the
process of transformation and rebirth, for example, the Cave. It must be
noted that the cave is also a metaphor for the unconscious realm and,
therefore, cannot be considered part of the conscious mind (81). Another
symbol is that of the Fish, which Jung explains through the Biblical story
of Moses and Joshua. Jung also elaborates on the process of individuation
as the transformation of the individual psyche or the generation of the “I,”
or an ego‑consciousness, in an individual (86).

Spirit Archetype

The Phenomenology of the Spirit in Fairy Tales

This section discusses the third archetype, which is the Spirit as explained
in Four Archetypes. The presence of spirits, ghosts, and the occurrence of
supernatural incidents make for an interesting part of Bama’s narratives.
22 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

To comprehend the archetypal characters and patterns representing such

happenings in her novel, it becomes imperative to first understand the vari‑
ous dimensions accorded to the Spirit archetype.
Jung refers to the multiple meanings of the word ‘spirit’: “Spirit is the
principle that stands in opposition to matter” (102). Thus, an immaterial
substance or form of existence, such as God, can be referred to as spirit at
a universal level. In contrast to this point is the antithesis: spirit and nature.
Here the word spirit is used to signify the supernatural or anti‑­natural. Al‑
chemists thought of spirit as the “ligamentum animae et corporis,” trans‑
lated as the bond of soul and body. It is commonly believed that spirit
and psyche are essentially the same. Wundt considered spirit as “the inner
being, regardless of any connection with an outer being” (103). Many crit‑
ics restrict the meaning of spirit to certain psychic capacities, functions,
or qualities, such as the capacity to think and reason. Here, spirit means
a cumulative rational thought or intellect, including the will, memory, im‑
agination, creative power, and aspirations.
The word “spirited” refers to being versatile or creative in a colloquial
sense. Also, a hot‑headed person or someone in a state of rage is assumed
to be possessed by an evil spirit or a demon. Jung says that spirits or souls
of the dead “are of a subtle disposition like vapor or a smoke” (103).
In this sense, because of its volatile nature, the spirit of salt and ammonia
is alike.

Self‑representation of the Spirit and Dreams

Jung believed that spirits have a psychic manifestation and, therefore, are
archetypal in nature. Because of this, Jung has also analysed the concepts
of the father complex and spirits in one’s dreams. He stated that the pres‑
ence of a positive father complex in men is reflected in their willingness
to accept authority and a “willingness to bow down to spiritual dogmas”
(110). In women, it produces “spiritual aspirations and interests” (110).
In a study of his patients’ dreams, Jung concluded that the appear‑
ance of a father figure in a dream usually suggests some kind of guidance
or wise counsel. The wise old man is thus associated with spiritual fac‑
tors. Moreover, this character in a dream can be an animal, elf, dwarf,
or ghost. However, whether the spirit is morally good or not remains a
question. Jung also added that in situations where a person cannot find
solutions on their own, they may receive spiritual intervention in the form
of a spiritual figure who would either directly or indirectly advise, sug‑
gest, or guide.
According to Jung, “the old man thus represents knowledge, reflection,
insight, wisdom, cleverness and intuition on the one hand, and on the
other, moral qualities such as goodwill and readiness to help” (118).
 Introduction 23

Jung has also made references to Russian fairy tales to support his ideas.
He also stated that an old person who possesses some kind of supernatural
powers might be able to foresee the future of the protagonist and might
affect it in a negative manner too.

The Trickster Archetype

Jung gives examples of Mercurius, Tom Thumb, Stupid Hans, and Han‑
swurst to elaborate upon the Trickster archetype. Jung states that mythi‑
cal figures spring from inner psychic experiences, and so there is a direct
correlation. Certain examples from parapsychology3 can make one think
of tricksters. Ghosts or poltergeists, Jung says, “occur in the ambience
of pre‑adolescent children” and perform malicious tricks, sometimes even
appearing as animal forms. Jung sympathizes with the ghosts and polter‑
geists, for he associates their tendency to play tricks with their ongoing
sufferings in another realm. He highlights the art of the shamans, spiritu‑
alists, and medicine men as being close to trickery. He also added that,
until the beginning of the sixteenth century, certain festivals like the Fools’
Holiday were celebrated at the Church, where “even the older level of
consciousness could let itself rip… with all the wildness, wantonness and
irresponsibility of paganism” (162). However, there was a reappearance
of these medieval customs in Italian theatricals and comic tales. Jung men‑
tions that the figure of the trickster continued to appear in picaresque tales,
carnivals, revels, and magic rites of healing, and was made an essential part
of mythology. He refers to the trickster as a “psychologem and archetypal
psychic structure of extreme antiquity” (165). One of the prominent char‑
acteristics of a Trickster figure is that it represents unconsciousness, and
that could be a reason that he is deserted by humans, indicating that “he
has fallen from their level of consciousness” (169).
Jung also stated that the Trickster could also be represented as a
shape‑shifter in many art forms. Jung emphasized that the Trickster ar‑
chetype stood superior to human consciousness because of its superhuman
qualities, and at the same time, inferior to human consciousness because of
his/her unreason and unconsciousness. Jung also expressed the possibility
of the Trickster figure/shadow becoming a part of the repressed conscious‑
ness, just as some customs become mere vestiges because they were origi‑
nally cruel and obscene. Jung also mentioned the phrase “monkey‑tricks”
in his discussion of the trickster archetype. In the opinion of well‑educated
persons, the trickster is more of a metaphoric or figurative reference, and
therefore the usage differs. A civilized person considers unfortunate events
to be his/her fate playing jokes or tricks upon them (175).
It can be comprehended that Jung wanted to highlight the intrinsically
present primitive nature of any human being, whether he/she was civilized
24 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

or not. Jung stated that the Trickster archetype could be “a collective

shadow figure, a summation of all the inferior traits of character in indi‑
viduals” (177). And it is probable that this collective shadow can some‑
times emerge as a conscious aspect of an individual’s personality.

Northrop Frye’s Views on Archetypal Criticism

The Canadian literary critic and theorist Herman Northrop Frye (­1912–
1991), in his essays “Theories of Myth” and “The Archetypes of L ­ iterature,”
defines sign, symbol, and mythical images while relating all three to either
the cosmic world, the world occupied by humans, or the one inhabited
by animals. In Anatomy of Criticism (1957), Frye postulated that litera‑
ture associates the non‑human world of physical nature with the human
world by words, and the units of this association are analogy and identity,
which appear in the two figures of speech, the similes and the metaphors.
Regarding fiction, he states, “To sum up then: when we examine fiction
from the point of view of form, we can see four chief strands binding it
together, novel, confession, anatomy, and romance” (Frye 312). He further
elaborates on three elements that help in reading a text ­comprehensively:
(a) Meaning or the Dianoia, (b) Mythos or Narrative, and (c) Ethos or
Characterization. To study the archetypal and mythical elements in Bama’s
literary texts, the researcher will analyse these three elements in the light
of archetypal criticism.
Frye also advocates a difference in the way a symbol is interpreted in
connection with different genres. In the schema that he suggests for this
purpose, he identifies five different spheres, namely, human, animal, veg‑
etation, mineral, and water. While humans in the comedic world work
for the fulfilment of wishes, in the tragic world, they act in a tyrannical
way, leading to isolation and downfall. Animals are gentle and pastoral
in the comedic, while they are predatory in the tragic. Vegetation is rep‑
resented by formations like gardens, parks, and flowers in the comic; in
the tragic, it is present in the form of wild forests or barren land. Cit‑
ies, temples, precious stones, etc. represent the mineral sphere in comedic,
which is represented by deserts, ruins, and the like in the tragic. While the
sphere of water is present in the form of rivers in the comedic, it appears as
floods, seas, etc. in the tragic. So, the same spheres are to be interpreted in
­different ways and to different effects in the comedic and the tragic works,
respectively.
Frye acknowledges that his model is overly simple. He is also aware
that there are some neutral archetypes that are not as easily associated
with either the tragic or the comedic. But to make the examination of the
archetypes in relation to the genre in question more understandable, he has
made the concept very explicit.
 Introduction 25

Vladimir Propp

Introduction to Myth Criticism

Another theorist who has contributed immensely into the field of narra‑
tology is Vladimir Propp (1895–1970), a Russian Formalist critic who
worked on Russian folktales. His work is based on a study of his “corpus”
of a hundred tales, and he concluded that all these tales are constructed by
selecting items from a basic repertoire of thirty‑one “functions” (that is,
possible actions) (Barry 222). No tale contains all the items in his list, but
all the tales are constructed by selecting items from it. His much‑acclaimed
work, The Morphology of a Folktale (1928), is one of the touchstones for
understanding myth. He identified that “Five categories of elements define
not only the construction of a tale, but the tale as a whole” (222):

1 Functions of dramatis personae.

2 Conjunctive elements (ex machina, announcement of misfortune, chance
disclosure—mother calls hero loudly, etc.).
3 Motivations (reasons and aims of personages).
4 Forms of appearance of dramatis personae (the flying arrival of dragon,
chance meeting with donor).
5 Attributive elements or accessories (witch’s hut or her clay leg).

Such details add to the narrative patterns of writing and help the reader
gain a comprehensive understanding of the text. His functions make for
a syntagmatic4 type of structural analysis, as it involves breaking the nar‑
rative into various sections and analysing each element of the narrative
individually, keeping in mind the order of those elements.

Otto Rank
Rank (1834–1939) was an Austrian psychoanalyst and one of Sigmund
Freud’s closest colleagues for several years. In his famous work The Myth
of the Birth of the Hero (1909), he elaborated on the myth of the birth of
the hero. He enlisted several points, such as: the child of a distinguished
father, the father being a king, difficulty in conception, a prophecy warning
against the birth, the hero being surrendered to the water in a box, saved by
animals or lovely people, suckled by animals or a humble woman, the hero
giving up, the hero finding distinguished parents, being acknowledged by
people, and achieving high rank and position. Otto Rank also believed in
the psychological function of myth because of its symbolic nature. Rank’s
theoretical propositions can be applied by finding these traits in the myth
and analysing to what extent the narrative fits the structure. Also, familial
ties can be studied better through psychoanalysis.
26 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

Joseph Campbell
Campbell’s (1904–1987) most famous work, The Hero with a ­Thousand
Faces (1949), is a touchstone work on comparative mythology. In this
book, the author discusses the archetypal journeys of heroes in ­different
mythical stories of the world. Campbell was influenced by Carl Jung.
Campbell’s theory can be broadly understood in three main phases:
“­Departure,” where the hero leaves his home or comfort zone to face
challenges and temptations; “Initiation,” where there could be a symbolic
death or rebirth, or some kind of transformation; and “Return,” where
the hero returns with a boon, the reason he underwent the journey in the
first place. The Hero with a Thousand Faces has even influenced popular
culture.

Claude Lévi‑Strauss
Claude Lévi‑Strauss (1908–2009) was a French anthropologist and a lead‑
ing figure of structuralism (usually defined as the umbrella term for the
analysis of cultural systems in terms of relations among the different ele‑
ments, like mythical systems, kinship, etc.). Structuralism has influenced
many disciplines, including literature, comparative religion, philosophy,
and social sciences.
In his work Myth and Meaning: Cracking the Code of Culture, Lévi‑
Strauss says that of all the parts of religious anthropology, wherein all
religious practices and beliefs across cultures are studied, mythology is
one that has been much discussed and debated for a long time. Myth has
been widely interpreted as “a collective dream, as the outcome of an aes‑
thetic play, or as the basis of a ritual” (2). Strauss wonders why a society,
which is acquainted with empirical explanations, resorts to sophism and
platitudes when referring to myth.5 Many psychologists and anthropolo‑
gists have shifted the discussion from the natural and cosmological world
to psychological and sociological fields (2). He uses the story of the evil
grandmother as an example and claims that there are many social struc‑
tures and relationships that can be used to support an argument. If, how‑
ever, the information obtained is inconclusive, the use of mythology will
simply be seen as a means of venting one’s suppressed emotions. In order
to note that a meaning has been inferred in such circumstances, it is helpful
to apply a sophisticated dialectic.
In The Structural Study of Myth, Lévi Strauss recounts how linguists
were perplexed by the link between sound and meaning in a particular lan‑
guage, but the same sounds having different meanings in other languages.
This query was resolved by the finding that it is the combination of sounds
and not the sound itself that provides significant data. He further suggests
 Introduction 27

that for myth, “its substance does not lie in its style, its original music or
its syntax but in the story which it tells” (5). Strauss’s findings6 concluded
in the following paradigmatic structure can be:

Kadmos seeks Kadmos kills

his sister Europa the dragon.
ravished by Zeus.
The Spartoi kill Labdacos
each other. (means lame)
Oedipus marries Oedipus kills his Oedipus kills the Laios means
his mother Jocasta father Laios. Sphinx. left‑sided; Oedipus
means Swollen foot.
Antigone buries Eteocles kills his
her brother brother Polynices.
Polynices despite
prohibition.

Myth, like the rest of language, is made up of constituent units. These

constituent units presuppose the constituent units present in language
when analysed on other levels—namely, phonemes,7 morphemes,8 and
­sememes9—but they nevertheless differ from the latter in the same way
that the latter differ among themselves. They belong to a higher and more
complex order. For this reason, we call them the gross constituent units.

Some Sociological theorists and their standpoints:

Bronislaw Malinowski
Bronislaw Malinowski (1884–1942) was a Polish anthropologist and his
fieldwork was conducted in New Guinea and Northwest Melanesia, par‑
ticularly the Trobriand Islands of Melanesia. His theory is also directed
towards gaining a better understanding of human society, culture, and
human nature. There is a deep connection between the different classifi‑
cations of physical types and the cultural creativity of a race. He is the
founder of the “Functional School” of anthropology. He promulgated that
myth acts as a social charter. Myth plays an important role in determin‑
ing the various functions of a society. It determines the hierarchical layers
and roles, and why people live as they live—such as gender, economic,
and social functions. Culture is an important field of study for sociolo‑
gists, historians, and linguists. The study of language will be an important
ramification when studying the culture. David Hume, Adam Smith, Adam
Ferguson, and Edward Bernard Tylor have considered human primitive
societies as important places for the basis of study.
28 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

Malinowski’s functional approach also uses primitive societies as socio‑

cultural wholes, explaining each aspect of culture.
The Encyclopaedia of the Social Sciences (1931) quotes Malinowski as
saying that “Culture comprises inherited artifacts, goods, technical pro‑
cesses, ideas, habits and values” (623). Malinowski believes that culture
undoubtedly includes social organization. The definition of culture is very
similar to Tylor’s definition in this regard. In his work Anthropology, an
Introduction to the Study of Man and Civilization (1881) Tylor stated that
culture is “that complex whole which includes knowledge, belief, art, law,
morals, customs and all other capabilities and habits acquired by man as a
member of society” (Britannica).
Malinowski introduced the concept of examining the use or “function”
of the ideas, practices, conventions, and institutions that collectively com‑
prise the “whole” of culture. He related the concept of myth to the social,
political, and economic structures of the Trobriand Islands. He saw myths
as performed, realistic, and functional parts of culture. He also believed
that myths are merged with situations and are not isolated pieces of litera‑
ture; that is, they are texts merged with contexts. Malinowski also applied
the theory of psychoanalysis to the study of culture.
As Malinowski reported, in the Trobriand Islands, the natives referred
to the myths as liliu. These myths are often told when preparations for
a ritual are in progress and often retold on several occasions through‑
out the year. There is no stereotypical way of telling them; they are told
with all sincerity. They are considered sacred and are therefore respected;
“their main function is to serve as a justification of or a ‘charter’ for the
­rituals with which they are associated” (Bascom 165). This has resulted
in ­Malinowski’s significant contribution to understanding the function of
myth as a social charter. He says,

the myth comes into play when a rite, ceremony, or a social or moral
rule demands justification, warrant of antiquity, reality, and sanctity.
It is not of the nature of fiction, such as we read today in a novel, but
it is a living reality, believed to have once happened in primeval times,
and continuing ever since to influence the world and human destinies.
(Bascom 165)

Edward Burnett Tylor

Edward Burnett Tylor (1832–1917), in his book Primitive Culture, elabo‑
rates on the development of culture across generations. Culture remains
dependent on various theories like progression theory, degeneration the‑
ory, and development theory. Myths are a part of everyday life. The newer
generations carry forth existing myths, which evolve over time and are
 Introduction 29

passed down to their successors. Myth cannot remain as a frozen entity

of the past; it is rather ever‑evolving, sustaining on the community’s ex‑
periences as a whole, and remaining a part of the collective unconscious.
In Primitive Culture, Tylor stated, “Culture or Civilization, taken in its
wide ethnographic sense, is that complex whole which includes knowl‑
edge, belief, art, morals, law, custom, and any other capabilities and habits
acquired by man as a member of society” (1).
Tylor believed in the connection between the past and the present,
­ancestors and the present generation. He stated that historians “have aimed
at being more than mere chroniclers, have done their best to show not
merely succession, but connexion, among the events upon their record” (5).
Anyone disregarding this fact would merely reduce all history to an
­almanack (5).
Even a person’s physical traits are determined by their line of work and life
experiences and are passed down through the generations. The history of a
tribe or a sect permeates every aspect of their culture, way of life, and even
their physical appearance, including their skin tone. When their communities
are split along demographic lines to determine their caste‑based reach, access
to resources, and way of life, it has a significant psychological and emotional
impact on them. Tylor observed in his research on tribes in Dahome,

Look at the modern European peasant using his hatchet and his hoe,
see his food boiling or roasting over the log‑fire, observe the exact
place which beer holds in his calculation of happiness, hear his tale of
the ghost in the nearest haunted house, and of the farmer’s niece who
was bewitched with knots in her inside till she fell into fits and died.
If we choose out in this way things which have altered little in a long
course of centuries, we may draw a picture where there shall be scarce
a hand’s breadth difference between an English ploughman and a negro
of ­Central Africa. (7)

These community myths are passed down through generations, deter‑

mining their identity and culture. Edward Burnett Tylor also specifies the
­different classifications of myth.10
The researcher’s goal was to use a variety of sociological and non‑­
sociological theories of myth and archetypal criticism to identify the
­myriad archetypal components that have defined the identity of Tamil
Nadu’s Parayar Dalit group. The researcher has chosen the theories she
believes are best suited to the research problem because they cover a wide
range of concepts.
The objectives of writing this thesis are to enhance one’s knowledge
and skillfully analyse and appreciate the myriad archetypal elements that
resonate in Dalit writings. Bama, being a prominent writer of the Dalit
30 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

movement, has led the researcher to thoughtfully choose the texts Karukku,
Sangati, Vanmam, Just One Word, and Ichy Tree Monkey: New Selected
Stories. These works can be classified under both fiction and non‑fiction
texts. In these texts, the concepts of archetypes and myth have been ana‑
lysed through various forms of mythological texts, mythic theories, figures
of speech, images, codes, symbols, language, expression, behavioural pat‑
terns, and mythopoeic elements. A detailed understanding of these can be
achieved through the literature review. This area of research has given the
researcher an opportunity to read these Dalit renditions and analyse them
through the vivid theories of archetypes, myth, and folklore.
2 Archetypes in Dalit Writings
Bama and Others

This chapter examines some of the key archetypes identified by Carl Jung
and their representation in Bama’s works. In‑depth discussions of the four
primary archetypes—Rebirth, Mother, Spirit, and Trickster—are con‑
ducted in light of the different narratives and characters that Bama has
shared. In Karukku (1992), Bama speaks openly about her experiences
as a Dalit. She discusses at length the sufferings of Dalit and focuses on
the dreadful plight of Dalit girls and women. The translator of the book,
Lakshmi Holmstrom, discusses the meaning of the title, suggesting that it
refers to a double‑edged sword; also, because the Tamil word karu means
embryo or seed, the title means newness and freshness (Karukku vii). While
discussing the novel, Charu Mathur stated in her paper, “Narrativizing a
Social Movement”:

The narrative, like a double‑edged sword, aims to empower her peo‑

ple to cut through the shackles of a stifling system. As the first Tamil
autobiographical narrative, it also sows the seed of change and creates
a space of possibilities and potentialities for the subaltern community.
(Mathur 96)

In Sangati (1994), Bama draws attention to women’s issues and social tra‑
ditions like child marriage, dowry, and other ways of subjugating women.
These experiences have definitely shaped their identities. Bama started writ‑
ing when she was “in total sorrow of the loss of humanity” (Just One Word
Introduction xv). This chapter focuses on incidents from her seminal works,
Karukku (1992), Sangati (1994), Vanmam (2008), select stories from Just
One Word (2018), and Ichi Tree Monkey and New Selected Stories (2021),
to examine the concept of identity formation among the Parayar Dalits.
Some incidents from other Dalit writings have also been analysed.
Just One Word (2018) and Ichi Tree Monkey: New and Selected Stories
(2021) are anthologies, each comprising fifteen short stories written over
a period of twelve years, i.e., 2003–2015. These anthologies have been

DOI: 10.4324/9781003488927-2
32 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

translated into English by Malini Sheshadri and N Ravi Shankar, respec‑

tively. The stories primarily focus on the condition of the Dalits in Indian so‑
ciety. In the Introduction to Just One Word, Bama explains, “These stories
speak about emerging influences on the lives and consciousness of people”
(xvi). Before analysing the archetypes in the narratives of Tamil Dalit writer,
Bama Faustina Soosairaj, it is pertinent to gain an understanding of the
Parayar Dalit community and their sense of identity. Identity plays a crucial
role in determining the various archetypes that are a part of one’s life.
Bama’s Karukku has been acclaimed as the first Dalit autobiography
by a Tamil Dalit woman. In this novel, she uncovers various aspects of
her life, especially past events that were essentially parts of Dalit life and
needed to be told but were hidden under the cover of unheard voices. In
Cultural Identity and Diaspora, Stuart Hall uses the term, “‘Hidden histo‑
ries’ to talk about stories which have played a critical role in the emergence
of many of the most important social movements of our time – feminist,
anti‑colonial and anti‑racist” (224). Many Dalit writers, like Omprakash
Valmiki, Sharankumar Limbale, and Bama, have presented autobiographi‑
cal narratives in their writings. They have shared their own stories to speak
of the atrocities meted out by the so‑called lower caste. Dalits have been
historically oppressed, and irrespective of the provision of reservations in
schools, colleges, jobs, and promotions in India, only a small percentage of
them have been able to climb the social ladder financially.
Speaking of Dalit issues, Dalit identity has been a major concern and
central point of discussion for many Dalit writers. Jonathan Culler, in his
book A Short Introduction to Literary Theory, states: “Identification also
plays a role in the production of group identities. For members of histori‑
cally oppressed or marginalized groups, stories prompt identification with
a potential group and work to make the group a group by showing them
who or what they might be” (115). According to the Multidimensional
Poverty Index,11 66 percent of India’s Dalits are still poor. So, to under‑
stand the Dalit identity, one must first understand the term Dalit. Accord‑
ing to the 1972 manifesto of the Dalit Panthers, “All Scheduled Castes
and Scheduled Tribes, neo‑Buddhists, labourers, landless and destitute
peasants, women, and all those who have been exploited politically and
economically and in the name of religion are Dalits” (Sangati Introduction
xii). Keeping this definition in mind, the author will further her analysis
of Dalit writings by Bama and also take examples from other well‑known
writers of Dalit literature: Mulk Raj Anand, Sharankumar Limbale, Om‑
prakash Valmiki, and Perumal Murugan.

Dalit Identity: Past and Present

In this section, I will discuss the various experiences of the Parayars as nar‑
rated by Bama. These experiences are either the narrator’s own or those
 Archetypes in Dalit Writings 33

of someone she knew personally, an acquaintance, and sometimes they

applied to the entire community. In Karukku, Bama mentions that most
of the people from the Parayar Dalit community were landless agricultural
labourers. They would either work in the fields belonging to the members
of the upper‑caste communities or gather firewood and sell it to make a
living. The upper castes owned land, wells, and pump sets and led a com‑
fortable life. This had a direct effect on the type of food consumed by the
communities in concern. The Parayar Dalits would eat the cheapest fish
available, like silabi and kendai, while the upper castes would eat expen‑
sive varieties, like ayirai, keluti, and viral, which the Dalits couldn’t af‑
ford (3). While discussing the idea of identity formation, Jonathan Culler
considers both personal experiences in the present and past, and an indi‑
vidual’s social position as the two main factors that have a considerable
effect on one’s identity and its formation (108). The social standing of an
individual also reveals one’s exposure to education and the outside world.
Occupation determines one’s lifestyle, but it was demeaning to limit the
Dalits to a particular area and not let them use natural resources such as
ponds, lakes, and fish, which are invariably meant for public use. This
kind of discrimination based on caste affects the psyche of the whole com‑
munity, and such experiences harshly affect their sense of self and identity.
Names, of course, are an essential part of an individual’s identity. Jona‑
than Culler refers to Stuart Hall’s definition of identity as “the names we
give to the different ways we are positioned by, and position ourselves in,
the narratives of the past” (117). In Christianity, babies are baptized after
birth, that is, given a name in the church as part of the rituals performed by
the priest. But in the Parayar community, the names given to people, apart
from their baptismal names, were such: Murugan for Spring Pig, Kazhinja
for Leaky, Medenda for Floater, Kaakkaa for Crow, Uzhamki for Running
Nose, Kalkundaan for Boulder, Kaaman for Jack of All Trades, Bondan for
Snatcher, Vidvi for Idiot, and Naadoli for Wanderer (Karukku 9). Names
accorded based on a personality trait or physical feature highlight a section
of society that was close‑knit, social, and stereotypical in its perspectives.
Speaking of the attainment of knowledge that one is an untouchable,
Bama states that when she was in school, in third grade, she had already
“seen, felt, experienced and had been humiliated” by untouchability, even
when no one had really discussed it openly (Karukku 13). The humilia‑
tion of being a Dalit was one of the experiences she had already faced as a
school‑going child. In Akkarmashi (2003), Limbale shared the experience
of school‑going Mahar (a Dalit community of Maharashtra, India) chil‑
dren. He said that in the school, the Mahar children were given separate
spaces within the same classroom. The upper‑caste children sat in separate
sections: “further down the temple hall sat boys and girls from the cobbler
community, and then at the entrance sat we, the Mahar boys and girls.
Arjya, a Mang never sat with us.” Even in school, the Mahar children
34 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

would smear the floor and walls with cow dung paste on Saturdays (4). The
Mahars and their children were not allowed to enter the village temples:
“children are the flowers of God’s abode but not us” (4). Once, Limbale
sat with other boys in the class, but he was noticed by a servant of the
so‑called upper caste. The servant ran up to him, snatched his bag, and
slapped him (5). They were constantly reminded of their caste and their
place in society as designated by the so‑called upper caste.
In Joothan (2003), Omprakash Valmiki also presented an elaborate ac‑
count of untouchability being practiced in schools. He belonged to the
Chuhra community of Uttar Pradesh, India. They had a Christian called
Sewak Ram Masihi visiting them to teach the Chuhra children reading and
writing. The Chuhras were not allowed even in government schools (2).
After independence, the doors of the schools were open to them by law, but
the attitude of the so‑called upper caste had not changed: “I had to sit away
from the others in the class, that too on the floor…I had to sit way behind
everybody, right near the door. And the letters on the board from there
seemed faded” (3). The children of the so‑called upper‑caste community,
Tyagi, would tease him by calling him “Chuhre ka” and would sometimes
even beat him. Not only these Tyagi boys but even his teachers would pun‑
ish him for no specific reason. If they wore neat and clean clothes, they
would be mocked: “Abey, Chuhre ka, he has come in new clothes,” and if
they wore their old clothes, then they would be called out: “Abey, Chuhre
ka, get away from me, you stink” (3). The so‑called upper‑caste school boys
never bothered to remember their names and would refer to them deroga‑
tively by disrespectfully mentioning their caste each time they had to talk to
them. Under such circumstances, their sense of self was crushed, and they
battled with low confidence and self‑esteem. Valmiki writes, “This was an
absurd tormented life that made me introverted and irritable…All sorts of
stratagems were tried so that I would run away from the school and take up
the kind of work for which I was born” (3). These battles that were fought
almost every day made them question their identity and place in society.
In Untouchable (1935), Mulk Raj Anand shows in Bakha, a toilet
cleaner by birth, the curiosity to learn and get an education. But being a
Dalit, he could only dream of such things. He cannot even enter the resi‑
dential areas of the so‑called upper caste without a prior announcement.
His mere existence is limited to serving the upper caste because he has no
means of escaping his reality.
Psychologically, Dalits were marred, and it felt as if it were a sin to
be born into this particular community. Bama, in Karukku, narrates an
incident when a Dalit man was walking in a manner that she “wanted
to shriek with laughter,” only to realize later that he was carrying vedais
(a type of food) for a person of the Naicker (an upper caste) community
(Karukku 15). Despite the Dalits serving them, working in their fields,
 Archetypes in Dalit Writings 35

sowing, reaping, and harvesting their crops, the Naickers ill‑treated them
and practised untouchability to an inhuman level. They made them carry
their food packets by a string so that the food was not touched or rather
“polluted” by the Dalits. For the Naickers, the food was not polluted by
being dragged on a road but could be polluted if touched by a Parayar. Such
notions were rigidly held by the Naickers, and ultimately, the so‑called
lower‑caste people were left to suffer. Bama often thought, “What did it
mean when they called us Paraya? Had the name become that obscene?”
and would remind herself, “But we too are human beings” (Karukku 16).
If an individual is made to serve another in such demeaning ways, there
can hardly be any hope for an egalitarian society.
Bama felt strongly for herself and others in the Dalit community because
their identities were continuously defined by their experiences with the
people of the upper caste. They were always treated with contempt, and
even at their homes, there wasn’t mutual respect. They were all working
to make ends meet and, in a very mechanical manner, carried out their
daily activities. It is important to note how the experiences of individuals,
especially their past, frame them, and even though identities keep evolving
and are dynamic in nature, the past cannot be ignored in the present. In
fact, the past and present remain tightly knit in such communities. For the
members of a community, it is always the recent past that slides seamlessly
into the present. For instance, the narrator’s grandmother and her stories;
Bama’s childhood and adolescence; and later, her life at the convent.
Bama’s grandmother worked in the upper‑caste households. Even the
children of the house would call her by her name, “And this grandmother
like all other labourers, would call the little boy Ayya (Master), and run
about to do his bidding” (16). The revulsion and intolerance towards the
Parayars can also be seen in the way they were given drinking water while
working for the Naickers: “The Naicker women would pour out the wa‑
ter from a height of four feet, while Paatti and others received and drank it
with cupped hands held to their mouths” (Karukku 16). Bama recounted
that even as a young child, she had been aware of her status as an un‑
touchable. Societal mannerisms affected the psychology of the Dalits from
an early age and, as Bama recounts, it was ingrained in their minds that
they were born to serve upper‑caste people. As a small girl when Bama
confronted her grandmother, Paatti, the latter retorted, “These people are
the Maharajas (kings) who feed us our rice. Without them, how will we
survive? Haven’t they been upper caste from generation to generation,
and haven’t we been lower caste? Can we change this?” (Karukku 17).
This kind of acceptance can find its roots in the mythical stories of the
Parayar Dalit community, where it was considered completely normal
to serve the people of the upper‑caste as it is either their own doing or a
punishment by God.
36 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

Bama states in Karukku, “Everyone seemed to think Harijan children

were contemptible” (18). Bama shares an incident when she was humili‑
ated in front of all the other school children by the school headmaster, who
falsely accused her of stealing a coconut from a tree. “We cannot allow
you inside this school,” said the headmaster. Even the priest, on whose
permission she could resume school, at first said: “After all, you are from
the Cheri. You might have done it. You must have done it” (19). The star‑
tling fact remains that since childhood, they were exposed to atrocities and
prejudiced behaviour by one and all, whether students, teachers, or head‑
masters. Though they paid the same fee as the others, they were subjected
to harsh, torturous comments. In buses, people would not like to sit next
to them and would prefer to first enquire about their streets and would
change their seats if a Dalit was sitting next to them and was unwilling to
change his/her seat (20–21).
In Sangati, Bama reflects upon themes of girl child education, gender
discrimination, and the plight of women in her village. The book opens
with the following line: “If the third is a girl to behold, your courtyard will
fill with gold” (3). Though these sayings were popular, in reality a girl child
was never really welcomed. Superstitions revolved around the number at
which a girl or a boy was born. If a girl was an odd‑numbered child, she
was thought to be lucky; otherwise, not so much. In Bama’s grandmother
Velliamma Kizhvi’s time, women of the lower caste were not allowed to
wear a sari‑blouse (chattai). Bama was also instructed to wear a davani,
a half‑sari, by her grandmother even before she had entered ninth grade,
as her breasts looked fuller. Apparently, her teacher Lourdes Raj advised
Paatti to convey it to her: “Instead of teaching the pack of you, he looks at
you from the corner of his eye, and then comes to me with his advice” (9).
Paatti quite agreed with Lourdes Raj as she told Bama’s mother, “It doesn’t
look good for her to be sitting in a class with boys when her breasts have
grown as big as kilaikkai pods” (9). She also believed that girls should be
married off once they came of age: “As soon as she gets her periods, you
stop her from studying, hand her over to some fellow or the other, and
be at peace” (Sangati 9). Imposing dress codes is a means to create socio‑­
cultural divisions to make people of the marginalized sections of society
stand apart from those of the upper castes. This diminishes the slightest
opportunity for women to be treated respectfully, as they are judged at
every step, from the way they look and dress, to the way they speak, and
the menial jobs they perform for the upper caste landlords.
Identity for the Dalits did not just cater to their personal life, but it
affected them on a daily basis. Being from a lower caste, they were al‑
ways ill‑treated by the so‑ called upper castes. In Sangati, Bama shared
an incident that happened with Mariamma, a Dalit girl. Mariamma inad‑
vertently walked in Kumarasami Ayya’s fields to quench her thirst when
 Archetypes in Dalit Writings 37

she saw water running through an irrigation pump set. The proprietor,
Mundalaali, who happened to be in the pump‑shed at that moment, tried
to seize Mariamma’s hand and pulled her inside. Fortunately, she man‑
aged to escape. Kumarasami Ayya then went to the headman out of fear
of losing his reputation and narrated a false story about Mariamma and
Manikkam, a boy from the lower caste, “and that they were behaving in
a dirty way” in his fields (Sangati 20). Being a wealthy upper‑caste man,
the headman blindly believed him and called for a meeting of the village
folk. In the meeting, Mariamma and her family had to face public hu‑
miliation and had to pay a higher penalty compared to Manikkam. When
Mariamma tried to defend herself, “Ayya, I never did any of that. It is
the Mundalaali who tried to misbehave with me. But I escaped from him
and ran away” (23). Some men from the meeting shouted at her: “Do you
hear that? Slut of a girl! In order to get out of it, she promptly sticks all
the blame on the Mundalaali. These creatures will come and dig out your
eyes even when you are awake” (24). Apart from the mental torture this
young girl, Mariamma, was undergoing because of what happened in the
fields, she and her family were publicly humiliated, and Mariamma was
forced to fall on her knees and beg for Mundalaali’s forgiveness. She was
further slapped across the face by her father. Mariamma couldn’t sleep
a wink that night. She cried helplessly and had no hopes for the future.
Mariamma considered even committing suicide (27). Because of the pub‑
lic defamation, Mariamma was forcibly married off to Manikkam, and
her own father made that decision. Manikkam was a drunkard, and their
married life suffered a great deal because of that. It must be noted that
on another occasion, Mundalaali’s son also tried to molest a girl, and she
couldn’t even complain out of fear of further ill‑treatment at the hands of
the upper caste people (26).
This incident is clearly indicative of the atrocious behaviour of the upper‑
caste people and the helplessness of the members of the lower‑caste groups.
Incidents like these affect the entire society and reinforce the staunch caste
system. Most of the lower‑caste people had come to believe that being a
Dalit was their only identity and that, because of it, they were destined to
suffer at the hands of the upper‑caste groups.
Bama’s narratives reflect the pervasive effect such incidents have on an
individual’s identity formation. Since childhood, Dalits are aware of their
inferior position in society. One of the harshest ways they are made to re‑
alize it is through constant comparison with the members of the so‑called
upper caste. They are treated unfairly and cannot utilize natural resources
made accessible to everyone else. They “suffer the pain of caste discrimina‑
tion, untouchability, poverty and destitution” (Karukku 10). Their voices
are never heard and if occasion calls for them to speak, they are considered
dishonest and penalized for false accusations made against them. Bama’s
38 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

fragmented self and the distorted idea of identity are reflected in her nar‑
ration in Karukku, which is discontinuous, fragmented, and not chrono‑
logically arranged. Bama has spoken not only for herself but for the entire
community. Their identities, which have been majorly shaped by their ex‑
periences with the so‑called upper castes, must have definitely undergone a
noticeable change when Bama’s words reached out to them. Bama’s narra‑
tives have a purpose and have documented the development of the Parayar
Dalit community. As Santosh Gupta in her paper “Kancha Ilaiah’s Writ‑
ings: Perspectives of the ‘Other’ Within” states,

Dalit Bahujan writing aspires to move beyond the sagas of victimiza‑

tion to expressing their demands to be recognised as a meaningful and
productive diversity of the nation. They ask for their own space in the
nation’s identity as they also assert their contribution to the nation’s
construction. (Gupta 71)

Apart from embracing their identity as a Dalit, they have also become as‑
sertive about their rights and position in the society.
To interpret and understand the transformation in the Parayar Dalit
identity over a period of time, it is important for the reader to decode the
text. This decoding will be done with the help of theories by Roland Bar‑
thes as discussed in S/Z (1970). He suggests that codes create a network
within the text, and to make a comprehensive reading of a particular text,
these codes must be deciphered. Roland Barthes’ theory of The Five Codes
comprises the following: hermeneutic, semantic, symbolic, proairetic, and
cultural codes. The hermeneutic codes resort to solve an enigma through
a set of questions or propositions. Any mystery or uncertainty associated
with a character or situation comes to a “disclosure” through the herme‑
neutemes (the “knots” or “kernels”) that are present throughout the dis‑
course. The semantic code and the symbolic code are quite close in terms
of their meanings. The semantic code deals with the connotative sugges‑
tions made through characters, situations, and language, whereas the sym‑
bolic code focuses on the binary polarities conveyed especially through
different words in a text. The proairetic code can be understood as various
“sequences” or patterns that are evident in the reading of the text. These
sequences, for example, are “stroll, murder, rendezvous” when reading a
crime fiction (19). The cultural code is also referred to as the referential
code, wherein culture‑specific meanings are created throughout the text
(20). Barthes further adds, “the five codes create a kind of network, a
topos through which the entire text passes” (20). It pertains to those ele‑
ments that share a common knowledge of the world. Here, the reader fo‑
cuses on the “physical, physiological, medical, psychological, literary and
historical” properties of the characters in the story to identify a common
knowledge (21).
 Archetypes in Dalit Writings 39

Food as a Cultural Code

Food has been a symbol of one’s social standing and personal well‑being.
As stated by Bama in her narratives, the availability and access to proper
meals depend on one’s financial situation as well as caste. Given the ob‑
vious differences in the lives of the Dalits, eating well is a sign of being
from a wealthy household. Their regular meals comprise kanji and other
leftovers, so they yearn for a filling meal at least once a day. Food as a
symbol can be studied in the light of Roland Barthes’ theory of Codes. The
symbol of food has been analysed using the Barthesian cultural, semantic,
and symbolic codes. Gopal Guru, in his paper “Food as a Metaphor for
Cultural Hierarchies,” mentions the various ways in which food becomes
an essential part of one’s identity. He points out that this difference can be
understood in terms of “ontological differences” within the Dalit commu‑
nity itself. He remarks,

The upper castes have not only prescribed food for themselves, they
have designated foods for other castes as well. For example, in Manu’s
ritual strictures, Jhootan and the meat of dead cattle was prescribed to
the Untouchables as their staple foods…. The irony is that the Untouch‑
ables produce food grain but were denied the legitimate share of it. (11)

Bama discusses the kinds of fish the upper castes ate and the kinds acces‑
sible to them: “we mostly bought and cooked curries out of silebi kendai
and paambu kendai. Because that was the cheapest, we could get. The up‑
per castes bought and ate ayirai, keluti and viraal. We couldn’t afford to
pay that much for what we ate” (Karukku 3). She also discusses at length
the repercussions of fishing in ponds located in upper‑caste demographic
regions. Their fishing rods would be confiscated, and they would be abused
and humiliated in front of the entire village. When she was working in a
convent, it is through a description of food that she makes a distinction in
their vows of minimalistic living and their actual life inside the convent.
Bama comments, “The convent does not know the meaning of poverty.
There was always food of all kinds. By turns, at each meal there was meat,
fish or eggs” (Karukku 77). So, while they pledged “poverty, chastity and
obedience,” they lived a rather comfortable life (Karukku 113).
Bama studied up to class eight in her village and then joined a high school
in a neighbouring town (20). The hostel Warden‑Sister would make callous
remarks indicative of the social standing of the Dalit children: “Look at the
Cheri children! When they stay here, they eat their fill and look round as
potatoes. But look at the state in which they come back from home— just
skin and bone!” (Karukku 20). Food can be seen as a cultural code for
societal discrimination and a code depicting one’s social status. The physi‑
ological aspects of this code can be read throughout the text in terms of
40 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

Dalits’ inaccessibility to healthy food, their work as agricultural labourers,

and earning meagre wages, which are insufficient to feed their families and
themselves. Studies have shown that gender discrimination is a major cause
of food insecurity. Food and water are symbols of survival and continuity
of life. Once Bama questioned some women around her why a boy child is
never left to cry, but a girl child is left screeching and screaming. An elderly
woman replied, “Why, yes, after all tomorrow he’s the one who’ll fill a
mouth that’s desperate for food and water. You rear a girl child and give
her away into someone else’ hands. Is she the one who is going to look after
you in the end?” (31). Often in patriarchal societies, men are given more
importance than women, and so a boy child is fed and nurtured in the best
possible way, even when, in reality, it is the women who toil endlessly to
feed their families. Bama states: “the women, in any case, whatever work
they did, were paid less than the men. Even when they did the very same
work, they were paid less” (18). The diet depends on their gender, and the
Dalit women witness a lack of food, nutrition, and care right from their
childhood. In “Role of Social Protection in Food Security,” a study con‑
ducted in Karnataka among the SC, ST, and OBC communities reveals that
girls were aware that their parents cared less for them compared to their
brothers. This study further reveals that only 17% of parents in rural areas
support the idea that girls should be allowed to study as long as they wish
(Azeem Premji Foundation 2009). Activists are of the opinion that govern‑
ment policies should be more coordinated among different departments
and ministries and that there is a need to identify a lead agency that has the
mandate and the power to coordinate (10). So, food in many Dalit writings
can be taken as a semantic code where the type of food connotatively sug‑
gests the class divide, and it can be a symbolic code as well, as it highlights
the binary polarities of the upper caste and the lower castes.

Food as a Cultural Code in Vanmam

Food as a cultural code gains another mention in the ritual of odaiyaru
offering. It stands for the God‑like status accorded to the upper castes by
the servile lower castes. The odaiyaru offering is a tradition that has been
going on for generations, and only the youngest generation, which has had
the privilege of gaining a good education, has come to defy it: “The edu‑
cated ones stood firm and decided that their elders must not make offerings
like this anymore. At first, the older ones resisted and refused to stop the
practice, but even they gradually came to agree with the educated ones,
and the offerings stopped altogether” (Vanmam 7).
The God‑like status is also a Jungian archetype of God‑image given to
any character or community that has the power and authority to determine
the fate of others around them. In fact, the novel Vanmam can be broadly
 Archetypes in Dalit Writings 41

understood in terms of character archetypes: (1) The Ruler archetype and

(2) The Victim archetype. The ruler archetype applies to the upper castes,
and the lower castes, the Parayars and the Pallars, are the victims of their
many strategies to maintain their dominance over them.

Food as a Cultural and Symbolic Code in other Dalit Writings

In Mulk Raj Anand’s Untouchable, one comes across several instances

where the so‑called lower caste struggle to make ends meet, and arrang‑
ing a proper meal once a day is a major concern. Bakha’s story is heart‑­
wrenching and makes one question the ethics and principles of humanity.
Set in pre‑independent India, Bakha is a toilet cleaner, not by choice
but by birth. He is the son of a sweeper and therefore must become a
sweeper. He cleans the toilets in the army barracks and in the houses of
the so‑called upper castes. Untouchability is practised to an extent where
even the shadow of a Dalit is considered impure and therefore they are
required to announce their arrival each time they enter any residential area
other than their own. Once, Bakha was famished and after completing the
day’s labour, went to the street of the so‑called upper castes. He forgot to
announce his arrival and was only immersed in buying some jalebis for
himself. The jalebi‑seller rolled the packet of jalebis and tossed them at
Bakha, for if he came nearer his shop, it would be “polluted” from his
shadow. Bakha hungrily caught the packet and savoured a bite just when
an upper‑caste man started hurling abuses at him for “polluting him” (38).
Apparently, Bakha’s shadow touched the well‑suited man. This man, be‑
longing to the so‑called upper caste, created an uproar and gathered other
upper‑caste men around him. They all abused Bakha for not announcing
his arrival and for deviating from the norms that the so‑called lower castes
were supposed to follow. Bakha was scared and had no place to run when
the crowd was distracted by the arrival call of a tongawalla. Bakha felt
relieved as the crowd dispersed but scarcely had he imagined the suited
man’s next step. That so‑called upper‑caste man in his frustration and an‑
ger, slapped Bakha across his face.
When Bakha was slapped, he felt a surge of many emotions at once. In
his shocked and paralysed state of mind, he wanted to retaliate and, at
the same time, felt that he should have satiated his hunger before he met
this man,

My poor jalebis! I should have eaten them. But why couldn’t I say some‑
thing? Couldn’t I have joined my hands to him and then gone away?
The slap on my face! The coward!…that liar! …The cruel crowd! All
of them abused, abused, abused. Why are we always abused? … Be‑
cause we are sweepers. Because we touch dung. They hate dung. I hate
42 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

it too…For them I am a sweeper, sweeper‑ untouchable! Untouchable!

Untouchable! That’s the word! Untouchable! I am an Untouchable! (43)

There is not only a loss of self‑esteem but a cruel realization of one’s iden‑
tity from which there is no escape.
At once, we see the double whammy faced by the Dalits. They are
starved, deprived of both food and respect. Even buying jalebis with their
hard‑earned money does not ensure respectful treatment. Their identity is
determined at the time of their birth, and if they dare to deviate from the
set norms and patterns of behaviour expected of them, they are reminded
in the most inhumane way.
Omprakash Valmiki’s Joothan is about the Chuhra community of Uttar
Pradesh, who relied on the leftovers of the upper castes for their meals. The
title Joothan means “scraps” of leftover food. Valmiki further describes
it as

After the baratis had eaten, the dirty pattals or leaf‑plates were put in
the Chuhras’ baskets, which they took home, to save the Joothan stick‑
ing to them. The little pieces of pooris, bits of sweetmeats, and a little
bit of vegetable were enough to make them happy. The Joothan was
eaten with a lot of relish. (9)

They also saved the Joothan so they could eat during the rainy season,
“these dried up pooris were very useful during the hard days of the rainy
season” (9).
Joothan was an integral part of their lives. Valmiki laments the tor‑
mentous conditions in which the chuhras had to survive, “When I think
about all those things today, thorns begin to prick my heart. What sort
of a life was that? After working hard day and night, the price of our
sweat was just Joothan. And yet no one had any grudges. Or shame.
Or repentance” (10).
Another very agonizing incident shared by Valmiki is from his childhood.
It was the event of Sukhdev Singh Tyagi’s (Tyagi is an upper caste) daugh‑
ter’s wedding. Valmiki and his sister sat alongside their mother, who was
holding a basket to collect the Joothan. When all the guests had left, she
requested Sukhdev Singh Tyagi, “Chowdhriji, all of your guests have eaten
and gone…Please put something on the pattal for my children. They too
have waited for this day” (10). To this, Sukhdev Singh replied by pointing
at the “basket full of dirty pattals,” “You are taking a basketful of joothan.
And on top of that you want food for your children. Don’t forget your
place, Chuhri. Pick up your basket and get going” (11). Valmiki’s mother
could not bear this insult and retaliated by saying, “Pick it (basket) up and
put it inside your house. Feed it to the baratis tomorrow morning” (11).
 Archetypes in Dalit Writings 43

After that day, Valmiki’s mother never went back to Sukhdev’s house to
collect joothan.
Sharankumar Limbale has presented a distressing tale of hunger, pov‑
erty, and lack of basic resources for the so‑called lower caste, Mahars.
Food, like in many other Dalit narratives, serves as a Barthesian cultural/
referential code, where the type of food accessible to one determines their
position/social status. At the same time, food is a Barthesian symbolic code
for serving as the disparity between the privileged and underprivileged.
In his autobiographical narrative, Akkarmashi, The Outcaste, Lim‑
bale said, “I realized that God had made a mistake by endowing man
with a stomach” (8). He started by sharing an incident from his child‑
hood when they all went on a school picnic. When all the students
reached the picnic spot, the Mahars were made to sit separately from
the other students. The so‑called upper‑caste students and teachers oc‑
cupied seats under the banyan tree, and Limbale recalled, “even the tree
we sat under was tattered like us” (2). He also mentioned that the boys
and girls from the so‑called upper caste offered their food to the teachers
and at the same time wondered, “Dare I offer my chutney‑bhakari to my
teacher? Would he eat it?” (2). Also “the high caste girls from our vil‑
lage offered us their curry and bhakari without touching us” (3). Later,
the leftovers from the picnic were collected by the boys of the so‑called
upper caste and handed down to Mallya, a Mahar of the so‑called lower
caste: “Mallya carried the bundle of bhakari on his head and we, the
Mahar boys, followed him excitedly like hungry vultures” (3). Even in
school, discrimination was skin‑deep, and young minds were exposed
to it in all its crudity. Later, in class, the students were asked to write
an essay on their picnic. Limbale felt short of words in expressing his
thoughts and ideas, as all he could recall was feeling a sense of pity for
his caste members. While the so‑called upper‑caste boys and girls were
laughing and enjoying, the Mahars were focusing on the leftovers, sit‑
ting separately from the rest, and being called “a son of a bitch and a
beef‑eater” by the teacher (4).
Food was always an issue for the Mahars. They never had the luxury
of eating good quality food. For them, having some leftovers collected in
return for their work in the houses of the so‑called upper caste was a major
means of survival. His grandmother, Santamai, received kheer sometimes
from the houses of the upper caste for smearing the house with cow dung:
“we used to dry the kheer in the sun and make small lumps of it. Whenever
we were hungry, we chewed those lumps like tamarind pips” (9). Living
in acute poverty, the Mahars had to resort to dire actions to satiate their
hunger. Limbale shared another very distressing incident about his grand‑
mother selecting grains from dung to cook food for herself. Santamai col‑
lected cow dung from the houses of the so‑called upper caste. During the
44 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

harvest, “the cattle grazed in the fields and they passed undigested grains
of jowar in their dung” (10). Lumps of dung carrying “yellow and swol‑
len” grains would be picked by Santamai. She would then wash the dung
in river water, collecting the clean grains, which would then be dried in
the sun. These grains would then be ground into a powder, and this flour
would be used to make bhakaris by her. However, Santamai made these
bhakaris for herself and didn’t give them to her grandson. On one occa‑
sion, Limbale wanted to taste these bhakaris, and he even quarrelled with
her for his demand and managed to get his hands on a few,

I put a piece in my mouth and chewed it slowly. It stank of dung. As

I chewed it, I felt I was actually eating dung. It was difficult for me
to swallow it. Somehow forcing myself to gulp down, I returned the
remaining bhakaris to Santamai…I was confused because Santamai
showed no sense of nausea after eating such bhakaris. She gave no sign
of being assaulted by the stink. She just pushed it into her mouth and it
went down her stomach. (11)

The abject poverty had forced the Mahars to resort to living in inhumane
conditions, and Santamai’s habit of eating those stinking bhakaris is a
quiet submission to her fate.
Referring to their plight, Limbale mentioned that he felt like “his
stomach was like a way to the graveyard that continuously swallows the
dead…I always felt half‑fed. Whatever was given I ate greedily, and noth‑
ing was ever enough. Everyone in my house needed food so how could
I alone think of eating till I was full?” (3). Limbale also shared an inci‑
dent when he collected ten paise from a funeral procession, “as was the
custom, a handful of jowar and some coins were left at the spot where
the body had been placed temporarily” (12). Limbale even picked up the
jowar from the spot and ran off to his home, expecting to be patted on
the back, but instead he had to face Santamai’s wrath: “the moment she
saw me she took off her chappals and threw them at me. Somebody had
told her that I had touched the things connected with the body, and she
was very angry about it….Go and throw that jowar from the corpse into
the river” (12).
In Perumal Murugan’s Pyre, when Kumaresan brought Saroja to the vil‑
lage for the first time, she was exhausted from walking continuously in the
summer heat. She was also displeased with her new house, a thatched hut,
as she was used to living in a house with a brick‑tiled roof. She was over‑
whelmed by the questions of the villagers and their scrutinizing glances,
and she fainted. Kumaresan panicked, offered her some leftovers and
gruel, and asked her to drink it. She could only take a mouthful, as she felt
she would vomit if she consumed more (18).
 Archetypes in Dalit Writings 45

Gruel is one of the main components of the diet of the so‑called lower
caste. It is made from the excess water in which rice has been boiled, and
some salt is usually added to it. It is consumed with great enthusiasm.
Because of lack of proper food, gruel is a primary diet for these villagers.
Once Saroja rejected the gruel, Kumaresan was even more worried because
he knew “Saroja was used to eating rice everyday” (19). With just an in‑
stance of a love marriage between two people from different backgrounds,
one a lower caste girl and the other a poor village boy, Perumal Murugan
has subtly reflected upon the differences between them. Their lifestyle, food
habits, and even skin complexion became determinants of caste and status.
Saroja’s misery was not just being unacceptable among the villagers, but
she was also grappling to get acclimatized to huge changes in her lifestyle
and food. She was the subject of mockery of the village women, “yes, all
our bodies are withered, exposed to the elements. But hers is still golden.
Why don’t you (Kumaresan) wrap her around your neck!” (49).
Food, therefore, is one of the most important codes in Dalit narratives,
serving both functions of a symbolic code and a cultural code.

Water as an Archetype

Seda Arikan, in his paper, discusses Freud’s and Jung’s theories to elabo‑
rate on water as an archetype in many mythical texts. He gives examples
from the works of Jonathan Swift and Virginia Woolf, among others, to
highlight water as a significant archetype in literary works. Water can be
seen as an archetypal image of change, as the liquid can take any form and
shape. For instance, in Gulliver’s Travels, it was through the sea that Gul‑
liver reached an unknown island, marking a turning point in his life story
and experiences. As for Woolf, her stream‑of‑consciousness technique is
defined as “blending of mental processes in fictional characters” (Arikan
212). For Jung, water forms part of the collective unconscious. Water sym‑
bolism differs with the type of water being referred to in a particular con‑
text, such as still water, sweet water, deep water, or fast‑flowing water. As
Arikan further discusses, water has a dual nature—both as a life‑giver and
a taker of lives. So, there are two dimensions to water as a symbol, one
positive and the other negative.
Arikan quotes Kim Huggens to elaborate on the negative qualities
of water symbolism. Huggens relates them to “the themes of death,
destruction, fear, sorrow, separation” (211). This symbolic reference to
water as bringing about negative change is relected in Mariamma’s life,
as depicted in Sangati. She went into the fields to quench her thirst,
drawn by the free flow of water from the pumps. In this context, the
symbol can be seen as predicting a catastrophic change in her life. Apart
from extreme mental torture and physical assault (from her father),
46 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

she was forced to marry Manikkan, a drunkard, and consequently, her

whole life became miserable.
Another example can be the waters of the womb. As Dalit women un‑
dergo labour pains, their lives change, becoming more difficult as they are
responsible for taking care of their families, feeding, and nurturing them.
Referring again to the story of Kaatturaasa, one can relate the adverse
conditions in which women have to work during and after pregnancy.
Many women die during childbirth, and many others due to lack of care
and hygiene. Bama wonders, “How will their bodies stand if they keep on
bearing children? They don’t get proper food and drink. It’s the men who
fill themselves up in the home and in the shops” (36).
In Omprakash Valmiki’s Joothan, one can see both the ravaging and
nourishing aspects of water. The rainy season was detested by the Chuhras
for several reasons. The lanes in their locality would fill with mud, making
it difficult to walk. The mud would be mixed with pigs’ excrement and
would have an intolerable stench once the rains stopped. Walking in that
mud would result in itchy, reddish sores in between their toes. Also, flies
and mosquitoes would multiply during the rains. Despite taking all pos‑
sible precautions, the water in the well allocated to them would be filled
with long worms, and they invariably had to consume that water, as the
Chuhras were not allowed to use the wells of the so‑called upper‑caste
Tagas (19–20).
Apart from the lanes, their clay houses would be destroyed during the
heavy rains. Many homes would either have big holes in their ceilings which
would have to be filled with clay at that moment itself. Some houses would
be completely collapsed by the rain (20). Once, in 1962, a major portion of
Valmiki’s house’s ceiling collapsed, and others too lost their clay homes to
the rains. They all gathered and occupied Mamraj Taga’s (an upper caste)
baithak. With great difficulty eight or ten chulhas (stoves) could be set up for
all the basti (Chuhras) people. There was hardly anything to eat and Valmiki
reminisces, “Ma had boiled gram that night, with just salt for spice, and that
was all we got to eat that night” (22). He also stated in Joothan that

the rain had brought us to starvation’s door. Life had come to a stand‑
still. People were wandering all over the village, hoping to find some
grain so that they could light the stove and cook it…Pitaji (his father)
had also returned with empty hands. Hopelessness was writ large on his
face. Sagwa Pradhan (an upper caste man) had laid the condition for
giving grain: indenture a son on an annual lease and take as much grain
as you want. (22)

However, in such tumultuous times, it was the rice water that quenched
their hunger. Known colloquially as mar, it was the excess water in which
 Archetypes in Dalit Writings 47

the rice was boiled, “this mar or rice water was as good as milk to us…
thrown away by others, the mar was to us even more valuable than cow’s
milk” (22). The Chuhras relished mar and would often stand outside the
houses of the Tagas to receive some, “the taste for mar wasn’t brought
about because of some trend or fashion. It was due to want and starvation.
This thing that everyone discards was a means to quell our hunger” (23).

Victim and Scapegoat Archetypes

With references to rape myths in Greek mythology, such as the rape of Prin‑
cess Philomela by King Tereus of Thrace, Leda’s rape by Zeus, and the rape
of Aura by Zeus’s son, Dionysius, the authors of the paper “Blaming Beauty
for the Beast: A Jungian Explanation for the Persistence of Patriarchal Pat‑
terns” have concluded that patriarchal behaviour is a part of the collective
unconscious (8). Mariamma, a Dalit girl, was falsely accused by a land‑
owner, Kumarasami Mundalaali, of having an affair with another Dalit boy,
and that he himself had seen them “behaving indecently” on his farm. This
incident can also be seen as an archetypal image of the scapegoat. In real‑
ity, the landowner tried to molest Mariamma, and in fear of being exposed,
he blamed the innocent two. This incident not only employs the archetype
of the victim for Mariamma, as she was declared guilty and subjected to
extreme humiliation in front of the entire village, but it also projects the
archetypal images of patriarchal behaviours of control and dominance.
Mundalaali, being a rich upper‑caste man capable of employing Dalits
as agricultural labourers on his farm, was supported outright by the villag‑
ers. Another character, Mariamma’s father, is an example of an archetypal
image of patriarchal behaviour. He didn’t trust his daughter and rather
said, “Stubborn Slut! Look how she won’t move, however much she is
told” when Mariamma was instructed by the headman to “fall on your
knees immediately and beg forgiveness” (25). He later on married her off to
Manikkam, the same boy with whom she was falsely associated. Of course,
this affected Mariamma psychologically and influenced her entire life since
then. To analyse this incident from Barthes’ symbolic code point of view,
it exposes the binary polarities of the upper and lower castes. The upper
castes are a privileged class, and their word is sufficient to put an innocent
person on trial and alter her entire life. On the other hand, the lower castes
cannot voice their opinions and are themselves convinced of the position
accorded to them by the upper caste. While Mariamma was looking for
some support from the people of her own community, her father berated
her and hit her as hard as he could. The Dalit women who wanted to speak
in her favour were hushed down by Dalit men. Later, Bama questioned
Paatti for not defending Mariamma, but Paatti was quick to retort, “You
talk as if it’s all a game. Big woman, small woman, nonsense! Once you
48 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

are born a woman, can you go and confront a group of four or five men?”
Paatti continued, “From your ancestors’ times it has been agreed that what
the men say is right. Don’t you go dreaming that everything is going to
change just because you’ve learnt a few letters of the alphabet” (28–29).
Another instance that can be considered significant in this regard is that
of Thyaai, who happened to be the lightest‑skinned woman with beautiful
long hair, belonging to the so‑called lower caste in their village. She would
be frequently physically abused by her husband, and everyone around felt
helpless. Even if someone came forward to support her, her husband would
become more furious, saying “Who are you to speak for this munde? She’s
my wife. I can beat her or kill her if I wish” (Sangati 43). He would then ac‑
cuse her, “You common whore, you, any passing loafer will come in support
of you, you mother fucker’s daughter. You’ll go with ten men!” (43). Bama
also shared that her husband even cut off her hair and hung it outside the
house for passersby to look at and raise their questions. He would gladly
answer them, saying, “I cut her hair off to put down her pride” (43). When
Bama first learned about this incident, it had a profound impact on her.
These Dalit women did not even share the right to voice their opin‑
ions and were not treated or considered equal. Mala Mukherjee and Nidhi
Sadana in their paper “Status of Dalit Women in India” speak about the
marginalized and deprived condition of Dalit women, “In between societal
hierarchy and patriarchy… Dalit women stand as the lowest achievers in
the socio‑economic development process of the country” (7). According to
2011 census, the gender gap in literacy is quite noticeable across all social
groups. For SC male and female, the literacy rates are 64.21 per cent and
48.33 per cent, respectively. The data further suggests that the dropout
rate is higher in Dalit girls at the secondary level compared to boys. But
again, this gender gap can be seen across all social groups. Dr Ambedkar
believed in women’s empowerment to bring about the annihilation of the
caste system in India. Educating young girls is crucial to bringing positive
changes in their socio‑economic conditions (31–33).
Bama’s Paatti’s words are suggestive of a cultural code where it is deeply
ingrained in the psyche of Dalit women that they stand secondary to Dalit
men, and any expectation of equal treatment will go in vain. The women
are the subjugated gender, and one cannot alter this idea. Another point
of disparity is caste‑based discrimination. The two castes are treated dif‑
ferently. The privileged can get away with any misbehaviour, while the
subjugated suffer because they are born into a lower caste.

Culturally Embedded Symbolic References as Archetypes of Difference

in Gender

Bama recalls the time when she was growing up and had a fuller body
compared to other girls in her class. Her school teacher, Lourdes Raj,
 Archetypes in Dalit Writings 49

asked her grandmother to send Bama to school in a davani, which was

the school uniform for seniors. Bama showed her reluctance to wear it,
but Paatti insisted because she wanted her to cover herself properly and
not become the subject of men’s gaze. Here, the davani, or the uniform,
becomes symbolic of her coming of age, which has to be worn to cover her
body and not as part of school rules.
Another instance is the customary celebration of a girl’s coming of age
with the start of her menstrual cycle in the Paraya community: “During
this time, she was confined to this kuchulu (a hut‑like room inside the
house made up of palmyra fronds), she had to rub herself with turmeric
and have a bath everyday; wear freshly washed sari; and eat rice mixed
with gingelly oil at mealtimes” (15). Also, on the first day of menstrua‑
tion, some women would hold a sari in four folds around the girl and
pour water over her in turns, singing “choruses of ululations” (16). This
ritual would be carried out for sixteen days, and other women and girls
would visit this girl, bringing food and playing games like pallaanguzhi,
thaayam, or thattaangal. The girl was also supposed to hold an iron rod
or keep it close to herself to ward off any evil spirits. On the sixteenth day,
the kuchulu would be removed and burnt, and the girl could resume her
routine work. Here, menstruation becomes a topic of discussion not just
for the girl’s house but for the entire community. People are curious to
know if a girl has come of age or not and continuously pester the girl and
her family with personal remarks and questions. Once, Paatti said about
Mariamma, “People say all sorts of terrible things just because she hasn’t
come of age. The girl took on too much when she was so little, that’s why
she has wasted away” (Sangati 11). A biological process, when celebrated
through culture, becomes a symbol of prestige for girls and may become a
matter of public humiliation for girls if it also gets delayed.

What Are Archetypes?

Carl Gustav Jung (1875–1961), the Swiss psychiatrist and psychothera‑
pist who founded Analytical Psychology, believed that the unconscious
contains archetypes and primordial images. Adam Adamski, in his paper
“Archetypes and the collective unconscious of Carl G. Jung in the light of
quantum psychology,” stated that the collective unconscious is formed by
instincts and archetypes that are symbols, signs, and patterns of behav‑
iour, thinking, and experiencing, which are physically inherited from our
ancestors. Adamski states, “Archetypes are the means of action and may
take the form of images, dreams, or they are a stimulus to a specific ac‑
tion. Jung says that dreams are archetypal guidance and are the wisdom
of past generations” (565). He further states that an archetype can also be
described through an image, a theme, a symbol, an idea, a character type
or a plot pattern.
50 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

Carl Gustav Jung, in Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious (1959),

said that the parts of the collective unconscious manifest themselves in
the form of archetypes, and these archetypal images are then perceived
by the conscious mind (3). Archetypes include symbols, codes, characters,
and situations that represent universal patterns of human nature in most
cases and hence form part of the collective unconscious. By analysing these
archetypal patterns, one can examine the various ways in which Dalit
women were subjugated at both intra‑ and inter‑community levels. Carl
Jung in Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious specifically mentions
myth and fairy‑tale as “well‑known expression of the archetype” (5).
Jung, in The Concept of the Collective Unconscious, utilized a number
of synonyms while discussing the archetypes: “archaic remnants”, “pre‑­
existing forms,” “primordial images,” and “representation collectives.”
All these refer to the formless structures that serve as unconscious psy‑
chological elements of the human psyche (43). He believed that the per‑
sonal unconscious (one’s own repressed desires, dreams, and hopes) rests
upon the collective unconscious and called it “collective” because of its
universal nature, meaning the presence of contents and elements that are
present everywhere and in all individuals (“Archetypes of the Collective
Unconscious”, 3–4). These universal contents gain expression through
archetypes. Jung, in his essay Archetypes of the Collective Unconscious,
discusses the dichotomy of the conscious and unconscious realms. The
conscious realm is governed by the cerebrum, while the unconscious is
governed by the sympathetic nervous system. He also assigns it the meta‑
phor of heart where one hides their deep, dark desires and ambitions. As
one grows older, the light of consciousness becomes weaker, and the un‑
conscious surfaces. This, he calls the fear of the primitive, and various
means can be exercised to keep the unconscious under control. Jung men‑
tions exorcism as one such practice, which supposedly lifted the spells,
averted the evil omen, and purified the soul (22).

The Rebirth Archetype

For rebirth, Carl Jung has elaborated on the types of rebirths:
Metempsychosis involves the transmigration of souls: According to this
view, one life is prolonged in time by passing through different bodily exist‑
ences, and the continuity of personality is not guaranteed. Perhaps only the
continuity of karma is assured.
Reincarnation: This concept of rebirth necessarily implies the continuity
of personality. Here, the human personality is regarded as continuous and
accessible to memory.
Resurrection: This means the re‑establishment of human existence after
death. The change may be either essential or non‑essential. The former
 Archetypes in Dalit Writings 51

means the resurrected being is a different one, and the latter means that
only the general conditions of existence have changed.
Rebirth (French: renovatio): The fourth form concerns rebirth in the
strict sense, that is, rebirth within the span of individual life. This sug‑
gests any kind of renovation, renewal, or even improvement brought about
by magical means. It also means a renewal without any change of be‑
ing, where only the personality is renewed while retaining its essential na‑
ture. Jung further adds that the personality can be subjected to “healing,
strengthening or improvement,” So, any kind of bodily ills and ailments
can heal through rebirth ceremonies. Another aspect of this is a change in
the essential nature, which is called transmutation. For example, a trans‑
formation of a mortal into an immortal being, of a corporeal being into a
spiritual one, and of a human into a divine being. A well‑known example
of this is the ascension of Christ.
Participation in the process of transformation: In this process, one
does not directly undergo experiences of death or rebirth but is indirectly
subjected to processes, such as Mass, which transform the person as an
individual.
In Four Archetypes, Jung further enlists symbols directly related to the
process of transformation. He speaks of the “cave” as a “place of rebirth,
that secret cavity in which one is shut up in order to be incubated and
renewed” (81). The cave metaphorically refers to the darkness in oneself,
which is the realm of the unconscious and cannot be considered a part of
the conscious mind.
To consider the mythical story of Moses and Joshua, one can understand
that “fish” can be considered as a symbol of something belonging to the
“depth of the waters” and the “darkness of the shadow world.” It is defi‑
nitely a symbol of a “humble source of nourishment” (86). In the story,
the fish has been considered an element of the unconscious with which a
connection had been gained at a time and lost when they sat at the point
where the two seas meet. The fish probably went inside the sea. It is an ex‑
ample of the well‑known phrase “loss of soul” among the primitives. The
situation of losing their food also represents a motif recurrent in mythical
forms, i.e., “the failure to recognise a moment of crucial importance” (87).
In the story, it is neither Moses nor Joshua who is transformed, but the
forgotten fish. Where the fish disappears, there is the birthplace of Khidr.12
According to Carl Jung, the fish symbolizes the “nourishing influence of
unconscious contents which maintained a vitality of consciousness by a
continual influx of energy” (90) (for consciousness does not produce en‑
ergy on its own).
Carl Jung speaks of the process of individuation as “opus contra natu‑
ram,” i.e., a work against nature, “which creates a horror vacui (Latin
for—fear of empty spaces) in the collective layer and is only too likely to
52 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

collapse under the impact of the collective forces of the psyche” (96).13
Jung discusses the archetype of transformation or rebirth as mainly the
transformation of the individual psyche or the generation of the “I” or
ego‑consciousness in an individual. This archetype is evidently one that
predominates in Karukku. The manner in which the work is written illus‑
trates the narrator’s total dilemma. The story moves non‑chronologically
between her youth, adulthood, and her time at the Convent. It is writ‑
ten in a confessional mode and presents Bama’s “life as a process of self‑­
discovery” (Karukku xvii). Lakshmi Holmström uses the words ­“demotic”
and “colloquial” to define her writing style in the Introduction to Karukku.
She insists that the text requires an action similar to the one suggested by
Gayatri Spivak: “surrender to the special call of the text,” as it does not
call for leisure reading but is written with a purpose to change readers’
hearts and minds towards the Dalits (Karukku xx).
I would like to examine Bama’s journey using the Jungian Rebirth Ar‑
chetype. Among the types of rebirths, Carl Jung, in his book Four Arche‑
types (2003), listed primarily four types of archetypes— Rebirth, Mother,
Spirit, and Trickster. The rebirth archetype often includes the symbolic ref‑
erence to the Cave, as there remains an incubatory period when the person
or his/her persona is transformed.
Speaking of the narrator’s journey in Karukku, it can be observed that
her journey, as stated by Lakshmi Holmström in the Introduction, is that
of “a personal crisis and watershed in the author’s life which drives her
to make sense of her life as a woman, a Christian, and a Dalit” (xvi). She
further adds that, “the tension throughout Karukku is between the self
and community”; the narrator leaves one community (the religious order)
and affirms her belonging to another (a) Dalit community, particularly of
women) (xviii). While reading the novel, because there is no specific time‑
line and fixed pattern of narration, we come across details of Bama’s life
in disjointed fragments, which usually relate to the outpouring of feelings
she must have experienced while penning it down. But one can interpret
this pattern in terms of her journey. From being inspired by Christianity
and the belief system she acquired in her childhood, the faith continued un
til her college years. The devotion motivated her to embrace the Order and
become a nun. But her disillusionment with the convent led to her running
away from it and coming back to her world, in which being a Dalit was
the most dominating and defining part of her identity. Speaking of the
psychology of rebirth, one has to delve into the realm of “psychic reality,”
which is gained only through “personal statements” (Four Archetypes 57).
Because it cannot make for a tangible experience, one has to believe in its
psychic reality. Jung states, “Rebirth is an affirmation that must be counted
among the primordial affirmations of mankind. These primordial affirma‑
tions are based on what I call archetypes” (Four Archetypes 58). He has
 Archetypes in Dalit Writings 53

outlined the entire field of transformation experiences into two groups:

Experience of the Transcendence of Life14 and Subjective Transformation.
To this idea of the loss of soul, Jung has later elaborated on the mythi‑
cal story of Joshua and Moses. Here, Joshua stands for the fish. It is quite
surprising to note that, as in mythology, we read about the loss of fish or
the loss of substantial food material; similarly, in the mythical stories of
the Parayar Dalit community, we read about the story15 of caste as a gift
of God which the Parayar man collected in an Ottu (the Tamil word for
a vessel open at both ends). In this story, the Parayar man could not suc‑
cessfully carry the reward of the upper caste given by God and lost it. This
kind of loss represents a ‘loss of soul’ and in daily life, it means reaching a
low point in one’s life, which, as Jung puts, “it manifests itself in a general
Malaise” (61). When Bama started writing Karukku, her state of mind can
be captured from the following lines:

Today, I am like a mongrel, wandering about a permanent job, nor a

regular means to find clothes, food, and a safe place to live. I share the
same difficulties and struggles that all Dalit poor experience. I share to
some extent the poverty of the Dalits who toil far more painfully through
fierce heat and beating rain, yet live out their lives in their huts with noth‑
ing but gruel and water. Those who labour are the poorest of the poor
Dalits. But those who reap the rewards are the wealthy, the upper castes.
This continues to happen in my village to this day. (Karukku 78–79)

Analysing this pattern in the present context, we have the narrator’s story
at our disposal. Bama had led a life of struggle since birth. Being a Para‑
yar was not restricted to the knowledge of belonging to a so‑called lower
caste. It meant facing a life full of experiences and a lifestyle that continu‑
ally reminded them of their inferior status. As Bama puts it, “When I was
studying in the third class, I hadn’t yet heard people speak openly of un‑
touchability. But I had already seen, felt, experienced and been humiliated
by what it is” (Karukku 13).
To study the process of embracing Christian values and principles in her
life, I have divided the process into the subsections: Rituals, Making Con‑
fessions, and Devotion as Profession.

Embracing Christianity
Rituals

Bama’s grandfather was the first in the family to embrace Christianity.

So, in terms of following a particular religion, the family was in its nas‑
cent stages. Bama was becoming familiar with her surroundings, family,
54 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

caste, community, and acquiring a semblance of her identity from it all.

She attended a convent school for her primary education, where she was
taught Christian faith and beliefs. The nuns at the school ensured that
all the children developed a strong faith in God and, to quite an extent,
also induced a fear of God in the students. This fear was a part of their
upbringing, ingrained in the lesson of obedience. There is one particular
story that Bama has shared to show how fear was perpetuated down the
system. It is the story of the appearance of “Our Lady” (Mother Mary or
the mother of Jesus). It so happened that a parish priest was on his way to
a nearby village in his bullock cart. He was on the way through the forest
when night fell, and the bullocks suddenly stopped moving ahead. Despite
the cartman’s efforts, the bullocks wouldn’t move an inch. The narrator
has further elaborated on the eerie settings of the place: “it was a lonely
place, with no sound nor trace of human beings. It was dense with trees.
They heard the incessant buzz of bees. Both priest and cart man were ter‑
rified in their hearts. The priest fell asleep, repeating the rosary to himself”
(Karukku 92–93).
At midnight, the Mother of God visited the priest in his dream and ordered
him to build a church for her in that place. The priest suddenly woke up
and asked, “Mother, where should I build it?” No longer had he asked than
he saw her standing at a “little distance from where the cart had stopped,
in all her grace and beauty” (93), and then she vanished into the air. In the
morning, everything came back to normalcy. The bullocks moved, and the
priest told the cartman about his dream. Together, they set about build‑
ing a church, in the construction of which Bama’s father also participated.
This place is known as Chinnamalai, little mountain. The entire picture
of the bullocks coming to a halt and everything remaining stagnant, the
priest with his rosary, and the fearful cartman reminds one of the stagnant
pictures painted by ST Coleridge in “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.” It
was again a sinful occurrence in which the Mariner and his shipmates were
punished for killing the auspicious bird, the albatross: “Day after day, day
after day, we stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon
a painted ocean. Water, water, everywhere, and all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, everywhere, Nor any drop to drink” (Olson 4).
It was therefore urgent to work in accordance with the vision that the
priest had, and his dream had to be turned into a reality. The church was
constructed, and a pusai (pooja) would be organized on the first Friday of
every month. This pusai at Chinnamalai has since become a part of the
tradition for the Parayar Dalits. The ritual would be celebrated with great
zeal and enthusiasm. Since Chinnamalai was located outside the village,
the students would have to walk approximately six miles to reach the Ch‑
innamalai Church. So, they would set off on Thursday evening with some
packed home‑cooked meals and some pocket money. After reaching it,
 Archetypes in Dalit Writings 55

we would sit down and eat some of the food that we had brought. We
would keep the rest for the next morning. Then we would spread our
cloths on the church floor and sleep right there…there were hills all
about us. They were so beautiful. And the air always felt fresh, with a
fine breeze blowing. (94)

In the small hours of Friday morning, many people would arrive by bus.
The pusai would be followed by singing hymns near the statue of the cruci‑
fied Christ. The crowd would then disperse as they put their offerings into
the collection box. Bama and other students would finish the remaining
meals in their boxes and march bare foot towards their homes. The school
would usually give a holiday on the day of returning from the little moun‑
tain. Apart from the Chinnamalai pusai, there would be a Chinnamalai
festival in May. It would be grand and attended by many, even by people
from the neighbouring villages: “The flag was raised nine days before the
festival, and the celebration took place on the ninth day in the evening and
on the tenth day” (95). The celebration would entail cooking roosters,
goats, pigs, and calves. For the small children, receiving new clothes, feast‑
ing, riding in the cart, eating snacks, and buying icons and bangles were
important parts of the festival, which they enjoyed the most.
Bama also mentions how Easter would be celebrated with great zeal and
enthusiasm. It was again a festival that brought many people together. The
process of induction into a religion was carried out in a way that influ‑
enced the lives of the people and became a part of their tradition and ritu‑
als. The younger generation developed a strong faith in God because their
childhood activities revolved around these occasions. They looked forward
to all of them but more to the Chinnamalai festival because of the gifts of
clothes, bangles, and the feast they would receive.

Making Confessions

In Karukku, Bama recalls how, even before making her First Commun‑
ion,16 they were all taught how to make confessions. They were asked to
repeat the confession,

‘I praise the Lord Omnipotent. Bless me Saami, for I have sinned. It is a

week since I made my last confession. I lied four times; I stole five times;
I have not obeyed my elders; I was daydreaming in church. I repent
these and those sins that I have forgotten, Saami.’ This was always the
formula. (84)

By giving them certain statements to utter in the confession room, even

though the children did not really understand the meaning or the reasons
56 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

for confessing, they were introduced to the practice of making confessions

by the Church. The crucial part of the statements is that most of them have
a negative connotation, suggestive of bias towards people belonging to the
so‑called lower caste.

Devotion as Profession

Bama was so influenced by religious practices that she wanted to devote

herself to the service of God and join the religious order as a nun. There
were occasions when her family disapproved of her decision, but she went
against their will because her calling was very strong. This was also be‑
cause she sought to serve the people of her own community, and she saw
this as one definite way (as she thought at the time) to help her community
grow and move ahead. She was inspired by some nuns she had met in her
school, whose myriad stories of their sacrifices for the poor she had heard
all through her childhood and adolescence, “I had a deeply held wish in my
heart to become a nun like them and give myself to God” (101).
The students’ faith and fear were so staunch that once, when they found
a skeleton behind the old church during their handwork class while shovel‑
ling out the earth from the pits, they thought the skeleton was of a priest.
So, each one took some bones or teeth from it and started worshipping it
“because this was the skeleton of a priest, if we took it and kept it as a
relic, it would enable us to study well” (89). Only later, when their families
discussed it, did they realize it might have been the skeleton of a man who
used to work in the priest’s kitchen. Even then, as Bama says, “I had placed
such devotion on those teeth. I even had some fear that it might be a sin if
I threw them out… Annan, my older brother, took the lot and flung them
on the rubbish heap” (89).
After graduation, Bama joined a school as a teacher, but she could not sup‑
press her desire to become a nun. Her interest motivated her to read both the
Old Testament and the New Testament. This opened her eyes towards the
actuality of the sacrifices that Jesus had made. She realized that “there is a
great deal of difference between this Jesus and the Jesus who is made known
through daily pieties” (104). She further stated that they were taught that
“God is loving, kind, gentle, one who forgives sinners, patient, tender, hum‑
ble, obedient. Nobody ever insisted that God is just, righteous, is angered by
injustices, opposes falsehood, never countenances inequality” (104).

Disillusionment
Bama’s faith only grew stronger in Christianity, and she entered the
convent to become a nun. Family opposition did not deter her will, and
she finally became part of the Order. But once there, she realized, “all
 Archetypes in Dalit Writings 57

the children came from wealthy families. The Convent too was a well‑
endowed one. And the Jesus they worshipped there was a wealthy Jesus.
There seemed to be no connection between God and the suffering poor”
(106). Keeping in view Jung’s theory, this period acted as the “cave”
where an individual undergoes a change of personality because of the
surroundings and circumstances. The cave also refers to the darkness of
the unconscious mind, and therefore, when in the cave, an individual can
come to several realizations and gain a sense of consciousness when he/
she emerges from it. After many years of practising and developing im‑
mense faith in Christianity, Bama was now in a situation her conscious
mind had never seen or experienced. She had moments of great doubt and
wished to alter her situation. Her purpose in becoming a nun was to serve
the people of the underprivileged lower castes, but it was defeated as she
felt the focus of the convent remained more on the well‑off castes than the
needy. Even their vows, comprising the three tenets of poverty, chastity,
and obedience, became “means of control and enslavement17…inside the
Convent I could not see even the traces and tracks of poverty. We could
only go round and round always within our luxurious cages, trapped in
comfort” (113).
Bama felt that untouchability was practised even inside the cConvent.
Mainly the rich studied and dominated in those schools, and poor children
were allowed admission as a token gesture only. The rich would often
complain, “We don’t want to sit next to these ones, they are dark‑skinned,
they are poor, they are ugly, they don’t wear nice clothes.
Even in a play or a dance performance the rich children didn’t want to
put on the costume of the poor” (112). She wanted to point out these dis‑
crepancies in the behaviour of everyone towards the so‑called lower caste
students but could not voice it,

Nobody was allowed to think differently or speak differently. We had to

accept only what our Superior told us, as if it were God‑given Scripture.
If you didn’t accept it or spoke differently, then that was the end of you.
They said there was something wrong about your childhood…and up‑
bringing…and there was some fatal flaw in your family. (114)

By doing so, they tried to dictate their thoughts and emotions, as Bama
states: “…they wanted you to be destroyed utterly and remade in a new
form” (115). Even their transfers within the convent were announced as
if decreed by God. Bama recalled that she was asked to move five times
within a month and all this was done and guided by “Spiritus Sanctus”
(116). She could no longer associate herself with the people at the convent
as they criticized and looked down upon the poor Dalit children, “Catholic
nuns and priests are told that if they take Dalit children, their standards
58 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

will fall. They marginalize all of us Dalits as being of poor quality” (119).
All this and more led to Bama’s drastic decision of leaving the convent.
Once she was back to her world and village, she felt lost. She didn’t
feel confident and was “afraid of everyone and everything. I feel awkward
and strange about going anywhere. The task of finding a job seems mon‑
strously difficult”18 (118). She realized what it meant to remain hungry and
suffer illness in solitude, to walk outside without protection and appropri‑
ate clothes. To live without position, status, money, or authority. But this
phase only strengthened her identity of being a Dalit. She stated that, “al‑
though it is hard to make a living, yet I am truly happy to live with a whole
and honest mind…I can breathe once again, independently and at ease,
like a dish that has at last returned to the water, after having been flung
outside and suffered distress” (121). This phase resulted in the emergence
of a new consciousness—that of being a Dalit and not associated with the
religion anymore. The dark depths of the unconscious mind, which never
allowed her to see herself as entirely Dalit but more as a Christian, gave
way to the consciousness of being only and entirely Dalit.

Mother Archetype
The mother archetype is another Jungian archetype that is extensively
featured in Bama’s stories. The women of the Parayar Dalit community
frequently appear in Bama’s short story collections and autobiographical
novels. Bama has shared their stories, which are accounts of their experi‑
ences, struggles, pain, suffering, heartbreaks, and resiliency.
For the mother archetype, Jung says that any text which refers to the
mother as a symbol comprises mother archetypes. Here, he also elaborates
on the mother‑complex. The mother archetype refers to any reference to
a mother, grandmother, stepmother, or mother‑in‑law. It also refers to re‑
mote ancestors, governesses, or caretakers. The mother, in a figurative
sense, can be taken to represent a goddess, arousing feelings of devotion
and awe. Certain objects and things that evoke feelings of devotion, such as
the Church, University, city, country, heaven, earth, sea, still waters, and
sometimes the world or the moon, can be studied as symbols of this ar‑
chetype. Other symbols of fertility and fruitfulness fall under the mother
archetype. Vessel‑shaped flowers like rose and lotus, as well as cook‑
ing vessels like ovens and hollow objects are studied under the mother
archetype.
The following characters represent the mother archetype in Bama’s
narratives:

a. Grandmother, Paatti: She represents an archetypal image of an old woman

rooted in her culture, traditions, and ancestry. She is portrayed as a pow‑
erful woman who supports the expectant mothers in her neighbourhood.
 Archetypes in Dalit Writings 59

She oversees the community’s female farm labourers and assigns tasks
and wages to the workers in accordance with instructions from the land‑
owners. She treated the male children of the home more lovingly and
believed that young girls should be married off right at the beginning of
their menstrual cycle. She embodies the stereotype of traditional, elderly
women who uphold the patriarchal structure of society: “My Paatti too
was no exception in all this. She cared for her grandsons much more
than she cared for us” (Sangati 7). Bama’s grandmothers both worked
as “servants for Naicker families… They woke up early to rush to the
houses of the Naickers to sweep out the cowshed, collect up the dung
and dirt, and then bring home the left‑over rice and curry from the previ‑
ous evening” (16). They worked hard to contribute to their households.
They sacrificed their self‑respect to make the lives of others better, “af‑
ter she had finished all her filthy chores…the Naicker lady came out
with her leftovers, leaned out from some distance and tipped them into
Paatti’s vessel…her vessel it seemed must not touch Paatti’s, it would be
polluted” (16). She herself would tolerate this kind of ill‑treatment, but
if any of her children were the target of the Naickers’ misbehaviour, she
would stand up for them. Bama shared an incident in Karukku about
Paatti’s grandson who ingenuously told a Naicker that he was a Para‑
yar from Cheri Street, and the Naicker made a fuss about it with Paatti
the following day: “How dare your grandson talk to me so arrogantly?”
(17). Paatti simply replied, “See, Ayya, he’s an educated lad; these college
boys will talk like that” (17). Due to her age and experience, she was
aware of the hardships faced by the so‑called lower‑caste society, but she
also sought to shield and rescue her children from caste prejudice.
b. Saminathan’s mother: There is a minor character in Vanmam or Ven‑
detta who is the mother of one of the protagonists. She is Saminathan’s
mother and is introduced right in the beginning of the novel. She is
shown as carrying out her daily chores in the village when she happened
to receive a letter from her son, Saminathan. Being illiterate, she rushes to
the chavady, where an old man would usually rest. She requested him
to read the contents of the letter as she herself couldn’t. The old man
obliged, and she was thrilled to hear that her son would be visiting her
soon during his vacations. It is then that she said,
It is according to God’s plan, maama. It’s not in our hands. After all,
he who plants the sapling will surely water it and care for it, won’t
he? Somehow, beyond our means, we’ve managed to educate him to
this level. It would be good if he gets a job. (2)
Her words clearly reflect her thankfulness towards God for helping
them educate their son, and despite the hardships, they managed to
send Saminathan to a college. The self‑sacrificing nature of the mother
to help her child to move forward in life can be observed here.
60 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

She is an archetypal woman, representative of many such women in

the Parayar Dalit community who sacrificed immensely to provide an
education for their children. She was also initially reluctant to support
her son’s efforts to bring a reform in their community but later appreci‑
ated and supported him. She also represents the ideology of Parayar
Dalit women who are not very hopeful about their situation and try to
placate themselves instead of trying to bring changes to their plight. It
is, however, not at all surprising, considering their history and experi‑
ences, that they prefer to keep quiet rather than seek justice.
c Some women of the Parayar Community: In Karukku, Bama shares an
incident when the Parayar community and the Chaaliyar community
were rivals. The reason for this rivalry was that the Chaaliyar commu‑
nity had opened a school near the cemetery where the Parayars buried
their dead. Now they wanted to expand the school boundaries, which
meant that the cemetery had to be demolished: “Those Chaaliyar fel‑
lows had planned that if they could claim the cemetery by provoking
a fight, if need be, then it could become part of the playground or gar‑
dens of their school. So, there were constant fisticuffs and skirmishes
between our two communities” (29). This rivalry took an ugly turn
when some men from the Chaaliyar community stabbed a Parayar man.
But he survived so the Parayars did not retaliate to the extent they had
thought, “if you are truly men of our caste, you’ll kill ten men in place
of the one they took, and garland them with their guts” (31). But a few
days later, some Parayar men beat up a Chaaliyar man, and they, in
turn, registered a complaint at the police station. But the complaint was
exaggerated as,
they (Parayar) went into the Chaaliyar settlement and vandalized
their school, their houses, and their temple. They threw stones and
broke all the tiles of their roofs. They say we dragged their women
out and dishonoured them, and that we entered their houses and
looted their property. (32)
After some days, another fight broke out between the two communities.
But this time, the policemen were hiding in the Chaaliyar settlement
when the Parayar men were throwing stones at them. There came a
moment when not a single man from the Chaaliyar side was throwing
stones, and the Parayars thought they had won. But only then the po‑
licemen emerged and “rounded up all the men whom they found there
and beat them black and blue” (34). The children and women ran as
fast as they could to reach their houses. And in a few hours, not a single
man could be seen, as many were caught by the police and the remain‑
ing went into hiding.
 Archetypes in Dalit Writings 61

Apparently, the police were the so‑called “Reserve Police” arranged

by the Chaaliyar folk from Sivakasi. They were treating them to sheep
meat, and in return, they were catching hold of the Parayar men: “…
so without counting the cost they are slaughtering sheep at the rate of
two a day and feasting the police. Do we have such means? Here we are
struggling just for this watery gruel. So how will the police or the gov‑
ernment be on our side?” (36). In such tumultuous times, the women of
the Parayar community didn’t lose heart or hope and geared up to fight
it out. From the next day onwards, they did both their own work as well
as the work usually done by the men.
These women carried on with the daily chores and also took care of
the men who were in hiding. They took gruel to the men hiding in the
woods, updated them with the recent happenings, and went on. And so,
the women managed on their own, even without their men’s earnings.
The police invaded the houses where they suspected the men could be
hiding and kept a close watch on the women. “But the women managed
to hide and save their men” (39). The behaviour of the police towards
the women was deplorable, unkind, and even torturous when the police
went to the extent of hitting some women in their bellies. The language
they used to converse with these women was obscene and abusive; “…
(they) told them that since their husbands were away, they should be
ready to entertain the police at night, winked at them, and shoved their
guns against their bodies” (40).
Later, the case was heard in court, and all the men were moved to the
Madurai jail. The women didn’t have enough money, so they divided
it among themselves and decided to collect the money. In these circum‑
stances, a small boy died. The women prepared for his burial and dug
the grave, while some of them went to bring his father: “they would
make him wear the sari, disguise himself as a woman, cover his head,
and pretend to be a mourner attending the funeral” (42). The women
showed great strength and stood united in the face of this mishap. They
protected the children and survived through the tough times. They en‑
sured that their men were safe in hiding and provided them with food,
as they went on with the torturous behaviour of the police.
d Masamai and Santamai of Akkarmashi: For Limbale, his mother and
grandmother made several sacrifices to provide food and shelter for
him and their other children. From keeping aside, the jowar received
as alms to prepare bhakari for Limbale and eating bhakari made of
jowar picked from the cow dung, to being kept by the upper‑caste men
only in the hopes of receiving some financial help from them to feed
their children, both Santamai and Masamai are examples of arche‑
typal mothers.
62 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

The Trickster Archetype and the Spirit Archetype

The Phenomenology of the Spirit in Fairy Tales

In Four Archetypes, Jung refers to the multiple meanings of the word

“spirit.” “Spirit is the principle that stands in opposition to matter” (102).
So, an immaterial substance or form of existence, i.e., God, can be re‑
ferred to as a spirit at a universal level. Contradictory to this point is the
antithesis: spirit and nature. Here, the word spirit is used for supernatural
or anti‑natural. The alchemists thought of the spirit as the “ligamentum
animae et corporis.” It is commonly believed that spirit and psyche are es‑
sentially the same. Wundt considered spirit as “the inner being, regardless
of any connection with an outer being” (103). Many critics restrict the
meaning of spirit to certain psychic capacities, functions, or qualities, such
as the capacity to think and reason. So here, spirit means a cumulative of
rational thought or intellect including the will, memory, imagination, crea‑
tive power, and aspirations motivated by ideals (103). Colloquially, the
word spirited means versatile and full of ideas. Sometimes, a hot‑tempered
person is said to be possessed by a devil or that an evil spirit has entered
into him (104).

Self‑representation of the Spirit and Dreams

According to Carl Jung, the psychic manifestation of the spirit indicates

that they are of an archetypal nature. For this purpose, Jung has studied
the roles of the father complex and spiritual characters in one’s dreams. In
men, a positive father complex produces the readiness to accept authority
and a “willingness to bow down to spiritual dogmas” (110). In women, it
produces “spiritual aspirations and interests.”
Jung studies his patients’ behaviour and dreams to conclude that in
dreams it is always the father figure who advises, prohibits, or gives any
sort of wise counsel. So, the figure of the wise old man symbolizes the
spiritual factor. And this part can be played by an animal, ghost (some‑
one dead), or a grotesque figure; women often see dwarf forms in their
dreams. Now, whether the spirit figures are morally good or not remains
a question. Jung says that “the archetype of a spirit in the shape of a man,
Hobgoblin or animal always appears in a situation where insight, under‑
standing, good advice, determination, planning etc. are needed but cannot
be mustered on one’s own resources” (112).
According to Jung, “the old man represents knowledge, reflection, insight,
wisdom, cleverness and intuition on the one hand and on the other moral
qualities such as goodwill and readiness to help” (118). In a Russian fairy
tale, the unconscious has been referred to as the “king of the forest,” indeed
a metaphor for green vegetation, which connects with water and woods.
 Archetypes in Dalit Writings 63

Jung makes another important point while trying to decipher the meaning
of dwarfs and other old men in dreams: “this liking for diminutives on the
one hand and for the superlatives‑giants, etc. on the other is connected
with the queer uncertainty of spatial and temporal relations in the uncon‑
scious” (121).
Taking the example of an Estonian fairytale of the step‑daughter and the
biological daughter, Jung highlights that sometimes old man archetypes con‑
nect with god‑like charms. All archetypes have positive and slightly negative
aspects of meaning attached to them, and most of them are neutral. Through
another example, Jung suggests that an old person who possesses subliminal
knowledge and can sometimes foresee events may bring some sort of dis‑
comfort to the protagonist to lead him on a path of fortune that awaits him/
her; “it is quite possible for a superior, though subliminal, foreknowledge of
fate to contrive some annoying incident for the sole purpose of bullying our
Simple Simon of an ego consciousness into the way he should go, which for
sheer stupidity he would never have found by himself” (124–125).

The Trickster Archetype

For the trickster archetype, Jung discusses the typical trickster figure of Mer‑
curius: “his sly jokes and malicious pranks, his powers as a shape‑shifter,
his dual nature, half animal, half divine, his exposure to all kinds of tor‑
tures and ultimately his figure of a saviour” (160). He cites the examples
of Tom Thumb, Stupid Hans, or the buffoon‑like Hanswurst. Jung fur‑
ther writes, “all mythical figures correspond to inner psychic experiences
and originally sprang from them,” so sometimes there are examples from
parapsychology that remind one of tricksters. Ghosts or poltergeists, Jung
states, “occur in the ambience of pre‑adolescent children” and perform
malicious tricks and sometimes even appear as animal forms. Jung sym‑
pathizes with their condition of being “a soul in hell” and considers their
tricks as a motif for “subjective suffering” (160). He highlights shamans and
medicine men to suggest that their art is sometimes close to trickery,
and to become a medicine man, one undergoes so much “agony of body
and soul that permanent psychic injuries may result” (161). Certain church
festivals, like the Fools’ Holiday, were celebrated where “even the older
level of consciousness could let itself rip… with all the wildness, wanton‑
ness and irresponsibility of paganism.” These customs, however, died out
by the beginning of the sixteenth century (162). These medieval customs
reappeared in Italian theatricals and comic tales. Jung mentions that the
figure of the trickster continued to be there in picaresque tales, carnivals,
revels, magic rites of healing, and was made an essential part of mythol‑
ogy. He refers to the trickster as a “psychologem and archetypal psychic
structure of extreme antiquity” (165).
64 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

Jung, later in his discussion on the trickster archetype, accords it the

word “shadow.” He says, “on the civilised level, it is regarded as a per‑
sonal ‘gaffe’, ‘slip’, ‘faux‑pas’ which are then chalked up as defects of the
conscious personality” (168). Jung refers to the psychologist Radin’s trick‑
ster cycle. Here, the shadow is in its pure mythological form, which points
back to a much earlier stage of consciousness where confrontation with
oneself was not possible, as one’s consciousness was at a comparatively
lower level; “it was possible only when the attainment of a newer and
higher level of consciousness enabled him to look back on a lower and in‑
ferior state” (168). One of the trickster’s chief characteristics, which stands
prominent is that it represents unconsciousness, and that could be a reason
that he is deserted by humans, indicating that “he has fallen from their
level of consciousness” (169).
Jung also says that the trickster represents the creator in his shape‑shifting
role as both a woman and a man. Jung emphasizes that the trickster arche‑
type stands superior to human consciousness because of its super‑human
qualities, and at the same time, inferior to human consciousness because
of his unreason and unconsciousness. Jung highlights the possibility of the
trickster figure/shadow of becoming a part of repressed consciousness just
like some customs become mere vestiges because of their originally being
cruel and obscene. The term “monkey tricks” best explains the situation.
The civilized man only remembers the trickster figuratively and metaphori‑
cally, and therefore sometimes refers to it as fate playing cruel jokes upon
him. Jung quotes Radin: “viewed psychologically, it might be contended
that the history of civilization is largely the account of the attempts of man
to forget his transformation from an animal into a human being” (175).
Basically, Jung has asserted his point that even though people are civi‑
lized, they are still inwardly primitive. Jung sums up the trickster archetype
as “a collective shadow figure, a summation of all the inferior traits of
character in individuals” (177). And sometimes the collective figure, even
if repressed, can construct itself out of the individual shadow, as it is a
component of personality.
In Bama’s narratives, there is frequent mention of incidents involving
peys or ghosts. In many of these incidents, an underlying motive of the
characters is to preach a lesson of moral significance, which leads to defin‑
ing these situations under the Jungian trickster archetype. There is an obvi‑
ous overlap between the spirit and the trickster archetypes. It can be seen
in almost all of Bama’s works—Karukku, Sangati, Vanmam, and some
short stories.
In Karukku, one reads about the story of Bondan‑Maama, where the
name Bondan means to steal. His chief means of livelihood was stealing.
He would steal “limes, coconuts and mangoes from the landowning fami‑
lies’ gardens and groves” (5) and would sell them later. All the stories
 Archetypes in Dalit Writings 65

about his stealing have been supplied with the presence of either a ghost or
a group of peys (the ayyangatchi troupe). It is hilarious to note how these
stories are about a certain man who is no longer a part of the village. The
children of the Parayar community grew up listening to his stories of steal‑
ing but, at the same time, were in complete awe and horror at the presence
of a ghost in it. These can be considered as fables19 to inculcate morality
among the community children, at the same time, making the trickster an
anomaly and outside the boundaries of social acceptance. Bondan has not
only stolen fruits from the houses of the so‑called upper castes but also
stolen the offerings and the bell of the Muniyaandi temple. This led to a
serious commotion, as the Muniyaandi devil would then roam the streets
demanding that his offerings and bell be returned: “Return my offering
to me, put back my bell, otherwise I will burn down this entire street un‑
til nothing is left but ashes” (5). Bondan was then forced to return the
money and the bell, and “after that the Devil never came down our street
again” (5). These stories are simply communicated from person to person.
The character of Bondan Maama is not real and was never actually seen
around.
Once, he climbed a coconut palm tree to pluck some coconuts, but as he
tried to move upwards, “a strange form slid down its trunk from above”
(5). It was nothing but a pey tormenting him because of which he imme‑
diately climbed down the tree and ran off (5). There is another such story
where, after he stole a sackful of mangoes, the caretaker chased him. To
escape, he decided to jump into a nearby well. Once he was there, a cobra
spread its hood, slithered its way towards Bondan to bite him. But he
managed to keep the cobra at bay and reached home safely with the stolen
mangoes (6). And as told by the elders in the village, he even tricked the
ayyangatchi troupe, which comprised several peys, both big and small,
who came along with lighted torches (6).
The persona of Bondan Maama is undoubtedly one who plays with and
manipulates spirits. He stole, but he also had to scare the ghosts off. In
addition to the moral lessons that these tales emphasize, there is also a
sense of intrigue and the paranormal presence of ghosts or spirits. An‑
other character whose story can be categorized under the overlapping of
the spirit and the trickster archetype is Esakki. In Chapter 5 of Sangati,
Bama outlines many incidents where the villagers were haunted and pos‑
sessed by peys (ghosts) and narrates the story of Esakki. The text refers
not only to the superstitious beliefs of being haunted by peys but also to
the grave matter of honour killing. Esakki, an upper‑caste woman, fell in
love with a vanaan (belonging to the lower caste). Because Esakki’s family
was against this union, the lovers eloped to another town and got married.
When Esakki was pregnant, her seven brothers visited her, and she was
beguiled by their words of love and concern. Later that day, the brothers
66 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

brutally killed Esakki. “They sliced open her stomach, took out the baby,
twisted its neck, and killed it’” (50–54). It was rumoured that the ghost
of Esakki would haunt the neighbourhood. Bama asked Paatti why only
women from their caste were possessed and why the peys would stay away
from men: “And even among women, I never heard of upper‑caste women
becoming possessed or dancing in frenzy” (57–58).
In Just One Word, Bama, with the help of short stories, highlights vari‑
ous Dalit issues that have eventually led to identity formation either in the
characters or for the community as a whole. Though they are presented as
fiction, these stories poignantly recount the atrocities experienced by the
men, women, and children of the oppressed classes. In “Grazing Fields,”
a Dalit boy, Yellamma, raises his voice against the buyers who always eye
his pet goat and, in doing so, gains the wrath of his employer. Though
he bought the goat he could not assert complete ownership and has to
justify his reasons for not parting with it. Superstitious reasons are easily
believed over one’s emotional needs. In one such instance, when buyers
wanted his goat, he screamed at them, saying, “Why do you fellows keep
picking out my goat? Why did you turn up here? What have you been
discussing? …Who do you think I am? You gutter dogs! Just take a step
closer and see what you get from me” (10). Yellamma, a Dalit, justified
his absurd behaviour of warding off the buyers by tricking everyone into
believing that he was possessed by a spirit. So, if his goat was to be saved
from the buyers, he had to pretend to be possessed by a supposed greater
power, i.e., the spirits.
Another short story, “The Ancharamanippoo Tree,” elaborates on
casteism and sends across a bigger message through the use of the spirit
archetype. The story is about a small village, Ulattharappatti, where ghost
stories were prevalent, and people huddled together to listen to them when
narrated by Paul Raj Thatha. He would never narrate a story on demand,
but a certain moment would arise within him when he would sit below the
ancharamanippoo tree, translated as the five‑thirty flower tree, which grew
to the west of the village. He chose that as the stage for his narration. Kids
had grown up listening to his stories. Many would be scared at just the
sight of him, as if he himself were a ghost (133). The narrator of the story
had grown up listening to Paul Raj’s stories. One day, he went cycling to
a nearby village and was scolded by his parents for going so far. He later
told his mother about his trip but she said, “there was a ghost on the lone
palm tree by the side of the road”. The narrator thought to himself that he
found none when he rode by. The very next day, Paul Raj Thatha narrated
the story of the ghost he met there (135).
Paul Raj narrated the story as follows: on a new moon day, he went to
work beyond the Chathuragiri Hills to the north. His mother wanted him
to rear a good milch cow, so he hired a bicycle and set out to look for one.
On his journey back, it was already dark. Fortunately, he could see clearly
 Archetypes in Dalit Writings 67

because of the headlight on the cycle. Then suddenly, “there was the figure
of a woman with a baby in her arms standing in front of me. As I rode
on, the woman always remained in front at a constant distance. She was
neither receding nor coming towards me!” (137). He then continued to
pedal as fast as possible without letting fear grip him. But despite pedalling
fast, the cycle moved slowly, as if he carried a lot of weight. So, to check,
he turned back and, to his horror, saw the woman with the baby sitting
on the carrier of his cycle (138). But he didn’t lose courage and continued
pedalling. The moment he reached the fields of an upper‑caste landlord,
Chandrashekar Ayya, he heard “the sound of someone falling into the well
nearby and at the same time the weight was lifted off the cycle” (138).
Later, when he reached home, he shared the incident with his mother. She
told him that “the daughter of the owner of that field, who was pregnant,
had fallen into that well and died” (139). When the villagers probed him to
answer their questions why she didn’t touch him, he said, “all dark things
are ghosts. God and ghosts, they are within our control” (139). Paul Raj
Thatha ensured that even in the scariest stories he conveyed a deeper mes‑
sage. Here, too, he wanted that villagers should be courageous and, even
in such situations, not to fear the unknown.
In another story that he shared; he saw a group of around fifty men stand‑
ing near the Kolaram village. So he asked an old man about this group,
which was engaged in a discussion at an unearthly hour, around midnight.
The old man replied, “That’s a gathering of ghosts. Many years ago, when
there was a caste war in the area, many people were hacked to death. The
ones who died gather like this sometimes on the rock. To see them speak,
cry and roam around sighing is a sorry sight” (140). Here, he exposes the
horrors his community members had been subjected to, and even though
they see these ghosts, more than a frightful sight, it’s a pitiable one.
A third story shared by Paul Raj Thatha is about a Dalit girl being pos‑
sessed by a spirit. Paul Raj Thatha was approached by a few village men
who told him about their village girl being possessed by the spirit of an
upper‑caste boy. He had died in an accident. He was drunk while driving
a two‑wheeler when he hit a tractor owned by a so‑called lower‑ caste
man. He died on the spot, and since then his spirit had been possessing a
girl. And so, Paul Raj, along with some village men, went to see the girl,
Saroja. Only her grandma would ask her, “Ayya, is it proper, what you are
doing? We are coolies and surviving by doing labour in your fields. And
you have come and possessed a girl from our village! What can we do? We
don’t have any wealth. Please tell us what you desire, Sami” (142). Appar‑
ently, the ghost who had possessed Saroja spoke, “I don’t need anything
grand. Buy a quarter whiskey and bring it here. I will go away” (142).
As soon as the girl’s father brought the whiskey, she gulped it all down.
Everyone was stunned, but Thatha stood there smiling. Saroja’s grandma
again said, “Look at your caste and status, Saami! How could you leave
68 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

all your caste people and come and possess a lower caste girl like this?”
After further insistence, Saroja shouted in a male voice, “Don’t talk about
caste! Only those who are alive have caste, ghosts don’t have caste!” (142).
In this story, Paul Raj Thatha’s character is that of a trickster who intel‑
ligently tells ghost stories, carrying an underlying deeper message. Even
when Saroja demanded whiskey, Paul Raj Thatha stood there “smiling”
because he knew it was not a spirit but the girl fulfilling her demands
through the spirit, meanwhile also suggesting that ghosts have no caste and
that these barriers of caste are man‑made, and that beyond this physical
realm there exists a free world.
Bama’s narration of several incidents of Dalit women suffering at the
hands of their husbands, children, and employers makes one wonder
about their difficult situation. Such incidents affect their psyche and lead
to a shattered sense of self. These women are not able to generate the
strength from within to fight against their oppressors (58–59). This opens
another dimension of the fragmented identities of Dalit women who face
“double oppression”20 from the upper castes and patriarchal order within
their community. Women might be forced to trick their way through such
staunch patriarchal societies, and therefore the role of peys or spirits be‑
comes significant. In a society where the majority are illiterate, it is easier
to believe in the supernatural than to see the real. Ghosts and spirits be‑
come elements that even men are scared of. Dalit women like Saroja, who
have been tortured and tormented, either give in to the immense psycho‑
logical pressures and suffer from illnesses like hysteria or act possessed to
gain relief from the harsh realties of their day‑to‑day lives.

Trickster/Spirit Archetype in Other Dalit Writings

Spirit Archetype in Sharankumar Limbale’s Akkarmashi

Limbale has shared several instances of Mahar women being possessed by

ghosts. His grandmother, when possessed, would screech in a shrill voice.
“Santamai’s shrill shrieks were horrible. Dada would remove bits of soil
plaster from the wall and put a mark on her forehead like the holy ash
from the temple. After that Santamai would slowly return to normal” (33).
So, every year, the village suffered an epidemic of cholera, and the vil‑
lagers believed that it was due to the curse of the goddess, Mariai. Several
rituals were performed, including sacrificing a male buffalo to appease the
goddess. Some doctors would visit the village during cholera outbreaks
to vaccinate the population, but Santamai “would smear our foreheads
with ash from the clay stove or dust scrapped from the wall and prayed to
the goddess”. Their neighbour Parshya’s father, Lakhubaap, knew black
magic; “he gave sacred ash to the possessed and gave Talisman on them”.
 Archetypes in Dalit Writings 69

Their belief in the spirits and ghosts was so immense that any untoward in‑
cident would be blamed on them. Limbale shared that once his sister Nagi
was hit by a stone because people in those days would throw stones at the
Maharwada, but it was assumed that “someone must be performing black
magic and that was why stones came hurtling at us. Santamai would abuse
everyone because it is said that such abuse afflicts the one who performs
black magic” (48).

Spirit Archetype in Murugan’s Pyre

In Pyre, Kumaresan, a man belonging to the poor section of society, mar‑

ries Saroja, who is from the so‑called lower caste. Kumaresan had left his
village to work in a town where he met Saroja and fell in love. They got
married as opposed to the wishes of Saroja’s father and brother. Once they
reached the village of Kaanakkaadu, instead of receiving a hearty and warm
welcome, they were received with scrutinizing glances and penetrating eyes.
Because of a difference in their caste, many women in the village, including
Marayi, Kumaresan’s mother, accused Saroja of performing black magic on
Kumaresan that led him to marry her; “What did you do to bewitch my
son? How many men have you done this to?” (16). Because of the many
hindrances in their married life, some people suggested some superstitious
reasons behind their problems: “they say that marriages made in Pangunie
will perish. Pangunie weddings are not good for the man’s life” (54).
Kumaresan’s father, Velayyan, was also considered to have fallen prey to
a ghost that resided near the well around their house. Kumaresan was only
two at the time when Velayyan passed away. He was very hardworking;
he would wake up early in the morning and fetch four or five cartloads of
compost from Kundroor for his chili plantation. He would help Marayi take
care of their child and with household chores as well. As was his routine, he
drew water from the well and irrigated the fields with the help of his bull‑
ocks. On the day of his death, while “Velayyan was tying the bullock to the
bamboo poles, they protested and retreated, and Velayyan fell into the well”
(92). It remains a mystery how Velayyan could have fallen into the well, as
he was a strong man and could have balanced himself. Everyone thought
that it was some ghost that frightened the bullock, causing Velayyan to trip
into the well as he was trying to control them; “the rumour that one of the
Velayyan’s ancestors had committed suicide at the spot and that his ghost
was still wandering in the area began making the rounds” (93).

Spirit Archetype in Joothan by Omprakash Valmiki

Om Prakash Valmiki has written accounts of ghosts, spirits, and their

presence in the Basti (the village community). There, “if anyone feels sick
70 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

just a bit, a bhagat (sorcerer) would be called instead of a doctor” (26).

It was believed that these sorcerers could become possessed by gods/god‑
desses who would then come to the rescue of the sufferer and drive away
any spirit tormenting them; “often this sorcerer possessed by the god
would talk about the influence of some ghost or the spirit and would act
as though he was catching it” (26). In exchange, the gods and goddesses
were offered pigs, roosters, rams, and liquor (26). These ceremonies would
be performed at night. The sorcerer would be accompanied by a drummer
and two or three singers. Through singing and beating the drum, the god/
goddess would be invited to enter the bhagat’s body, and once he was
possessed, he would start swaying. Valmiki further shared that those vis‑
iting spirits were called pawn (40). Two spirits, namely Kalwa and Hari
Singh, were considered very special and were worshipped most widely.
On every occasion, whether a celebration or a mourning, worshipping
these gods was of utmost importance. If anyone forgot, it was considered
a bad omen, and that “something terrible might happen to them” (41).
However, to Valmiki, the sorcerer came across as a pretender, and much
to the dismay of his father, he would avoid being a part of such ceremonies
where a bhagat would be invited. All the people in the basti revered the
bhagat and his ways of warding off evil spirits; “children were forbidden
to come out of the house as soon as it got dark. Everybody felt as though
ghosts were hovering over” (42). He also mentioned that “whereas I re‑
jected the existence of ghosts rationally, deep inside I was culturally con‑
ditioned to fear them”. He shared a personal experience of a time when he
went to Dehradun and got sick with dysentery. It took a very long time for
him to recover, and while he was in the village during the holidays, he often
had stomach cramps. After trying a couple of quacks, his condition did
not improve and in the meantime, his distant brother‑in‑law from Kendki
visited them. He was a bhagat. When his father shared about his ill health,
his brother‑in‑law said

Why do you bother about doctors and medicines… he has become pos‑
sessed by a spirit. Soon the ceremony of warding off the spirit started
and his brother‑in‑law squatted on the floor and began swaying and
mumbling some frightening sounds. He then made from a piece of
cloth and hit Valmiki with it. He kept whipping Valmiki till he shouted,
“he will kill me if you don’t stop him, I don’t have any spirit stick‑
ing to me.” (43). With this suddenly the bhagat became normal, he
stopped swaying and soon he left for his village. Valmiki also laments
that many villagers have fallen prey to the tactics of the bhagat and
ultimately lost their lives. His brothers Jagdeesh and Sukhbir suffered
some illness because a bhagat was called for his treatment and not a
doctor. (43)
 Archetypes in Dalit Writings 71

The Archetypes of the Oppressor and the Oppressed (victim)

Mariamma represents the archetypal image of a victim and an oppressed

woman. Bama’s friend, whom she mentioned in Sangati, comes across as a
helpless figure who takes care of the house, her siblings, and works exten‑
sively for her family. She is falsely accused of promiscuous behaviour (by a
landowner) and is unfairly treated by society and her father. She is thought
of as a sinner or an adultress, who is boycotted by society on grounds of
immorality and therefore deserves the worst.
Mariamma’s father, Samudrakani, on the other hand, is representative
of the male archetypal image of patriarchy. He got his daughter married
to the boy with whom the landowner had accused her to be involved with.
Samudrakani did not care if the boy was a drunkard or if his daughter was
speaking the truth. For him, if his daughter’s reputation was soiled, she
had to suffer the consequences for the sake of her family and her siblings.
In the same story, the landowner becomes the archetype of an oppressor.
Being in a domineering position, he could exercise his influence and ruin
an innocent’s life. He never regretted or felt apologetic for his behaviour,
which affected a Dalit girl’s life in ways unthinkable and unbearable: “Be‑
cause of some upper caste man’s foolishness, she was made the scapegoat,
and her whole life was destroyed” (Sangati 42). Both Mariamma’s father
and the landowner come across as archetypal patriarchal figures who act
as oppressors in Mariamma’s life. They humiliate the girl, exercise their
influence, and control the lives of others.
The Parayar community as a whole comes across as an archetype of
the victim because of the treatment meted out to them even by authorities
whose foremost responsibility was to ensure the safety of the public. An
example of this can be seen in Karukku and Vanmam. When the Parayars
were struggling to save their cemetery, the Chaliyaars were unreasonably
supported by the police. The men of the Parayar community were all ar‑
rested and beaten up by the so‑called saviours. There are many such in‑
stances shared by Bama in her book. The harsh and prejudiced treatment
they received from members of the upper castes hampered their sense of
self, and Bama often wondered, “What did it mean when they called us
Paraya? Had the name become that obscene?” and would remind herself,
“But we too are human beings” (Karukku 16).21

Examples of the Oppressor and the Oppressed Archetypes

from other Dalit Writings
Pyre: Saroja, a Lower Caste

In the translator’s note, Aniruddham Vasudevan, the translator of Pyre by

Perumal Murugan, said,
72 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

This is a novel about caste and the resilient force that it is, but it is also
about how strangely vulnerable caste and its guardians seem to feel in
the face of love, and how it often seems to assert itself both in everyday
acts of discrimination as well as in moments of most unimaginable vio‑
lence. (xii)

In Pyre, Kumaresan, a man belonging to the poor section of society, mar‑

ries Saroja, who belongs to the so‑called lower caste. Kumaresan had left
his village to work in a town, where he met Saroja and fell in love. They
got married as opposed to the wishes of Saroja’s father and brother. Once
they reached the village of Kaanakkaadu, they were met with several ques‑
tions, mostly about the girl’s caste and background. The villagers were
poor farmers but did not belong to the so‑called lower caste. Saroja, even
though with a fairer complexion and a slender body, was not well‑received
by them because of the marked distinction in their caste. As the novel
progresses, readers can only sympathize with the newlyweds as they re‑
ceive only backlash from all members of their society, including Kumare‑
san’s family. Kumaresan’s mother would often break into a dirge over her
lost reputation for losing a son to a girl of another caste. His maternal
grandfather behaved rather violently, slapping and thrashing Kumaresan
for marrying Saroja. Even when he met his maternal uncles at a common
acquaintance’s wedding, they were insolent and insulted Kumaresan and
Saroja in front of the entire gathering. Saroja slowly reached a state of ut‑
ter distress and despair. She would keep herself caged within the quarters
of the hut so that she would not have to face the taunts of passersby. In this
story, the oppressors are the entire village community, and the oppressed
are Kumaresan and Saroja.
As the festival at the Kattupatti Mariyaayi temple approached, the vil‑
lage council decided that Kumaresan and his mother, Marayi, could not
participate in the festival as they had polluted the village by bringing in a
girl from another caste. They even excommunicated them from society and
treated them as outcasts. Once it was confirmed that Saroja was from a
lower caste, as her father was a leather tanner, the villagers became furious
and could not tolerate her presence amongst them. They plotted to murder
her, and despite Saroja’s every effort to survive, the bush in which she hid
was set on fire.

Limbale’s The Outcaste: Mahar Community

Sharankumar Limbale, in The Outcaste, has written about the pitiable

condition of his mother, Masamai, and his grandmother, Santamai, ow‑
ing to the regressive nature of a society dominated by the rules of the
so‑called upper caste. Limbale belonged to the Mahar community, which
 Archetypes in Dalit Writings 73

is considered a lower caste. They resided in Maraharwada, which was

frequented by men of the so‑called upper caste. These men would pick
up fair‑skinned or fairly good‑looking Mahar women and keep them.
Limbale’s mother was kept by an upper‑caste Patil called Hanmanta, and
Sharankumar was, in fact, born out of that relationship. Later, Masamai
was a keep to another Patil, called Kaka, with whom she had six daugh‑
ters. Despite their father being an upper caste, these children never gained
the status of upper caste. They belonged to the lower caste, and among the
lower caste people, they were considered bastards. Limbale also shared an
incident in which he had to write his father’s name on a school application
form, but because he wrote the name of an upper caste man, the village
Sarpanch refused to sign it. The Sarpanch wanted to protect Hanmanta be‑
cause he belonged to an upper caste (58–59). In a state of distress, Limbale
wrote, “The sarpanch was in a real fix about how to identify me. But I too
was a human being. What else did I have except a human body? But a man
is recognized in this world by his religion, caste, or his father. I had neither
a father’s name nor any religion, nor a caste. I had no inherited identity at
all (59). There was a constant struggle for identity and the lack of a clear
identity made their lives further miserable. The so‑called upper caste, on
one hand, practised untouchability, and on the other, did not mind keeping
so‑called lower caste women and fathering children with them. Not only
did these women live as outcasts from their society, but their children were
also branded as “bastards.”

Untouchable: Sweepers

In Untouchable by Mulk Raj Anand, one can find multiple incidents of vio‑
lence against the so‑called lower castes. Bakha, the protagonist, belonged to
the so‑called lower‑caste community of sweepers. Written in pre‑independent
India, the novel highlights the inhuman treatment meted out to them since
birth. Being toilet cleaners, even the shadow of the sweepers was considered
impure. They had to announce their arrival so that the so‑called upper castes
could be warned and save themselves from being polluted by their shadows.
Bakha and other sweepers, along with their families, are the oppressed, while
characters such as the members of the British regiment, except Charat Singh,
the well‑suited man in the street, and the vendor who threw a packet of
jalebis at Bakha so that he would not have to come near his shop are exam‑
ples of the oppressors in this novel. Apart from incidents of violence against
the so‑called lower castes, the practitioner of the ideology of discrimination
can also be considered oppressive.
Just as Mariamma in Bama’s Sangati was falsely accused of seducing an
upper‑caste landlord, similarly, in Untouchable, Bakha’s sister, Sohini, is
falsely accused of touching a Brahmin priest near the temple courtyard.
74 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

She was cleaning the lavatory of his house when he came there, “and
when I (Sohini) was bending down to work, he came and held me by my
breasts” (54). The moment Sohini shouted for help, he started shouting
louder, “polluted, polluted, polluted” (53). The other priests and people
in the temple gathered around them and started hurling abuses at Sohini,
meanwhile showing their utmost sympathy for the Brahmin priest, for he
had been defiled (53–54).

Joothan Chuhra Community

The members of the Chuhra community depended on the so‑called up‑

per caste for their food and survival. Valmiki has also written about the
wage‑less payments made to the Chuhras for their work for the so‑called
upper caste. They were paid some grain, such as jowar, to compensate
for their work. Often, extreme circumstances of poverty led the Chuhras
to wait outside the houses of the so‑called upper caste to receive some
joothan or leftovers. The Chuhras were an oppressed community, and the
oppressor archetype is realized in members of the so‑called upper caste,
such as Sukhdev Singh Tyagi, who insulted Valmiki’s mother when she sat
outside in hopes of receiving some leftovers from his daughter’s wedding.
The so‑called upper caste denied them admission to schools and practised
untouchability towards them,

Untouchability was so rampant that while it was considered all right to

touch dogs and cats or cows and buffaloes, if one happened to touch a
Chuhra, one got contaminated or polluted. The Chuhras were not seen
as human. They were simply things for use. Their utility lasted until the
work was done. Use them and then throw them away. (2)

The so‑called upper caste maintained their hegemony through such op‑
pressive acts.
3 Dalit Writings
A Structural Analysis

The Hero with a Thousand Faces (1949) is Joseph Campbell’s masterpiece.

It has been one of the touchstone works when we speak about mythology.
He has touched the common nerve that runs through the kingdoms and
their survival, as depicted in various mythological texts. One such point
of concern is the characteristics of the ruler. For instance, if the king is a
good human being and wishes for the well‑being of his subjects, then the
nation flourishes, there is a good harvest, and people rejoice and live har‑
moniously; but if the king is affected by any of the sins, like sloth, envy,
gluttony, or greed, then the nation suffers. There can be famine or drought,
and wars.
Campbell has borrowed the term monomyth, which was coined by
James Joyce, and used it to represent the profound connection between the
much‑acclaimed heroic stories and the lives of human beings: “the mys‑
terious energy for inspirations, revelations, and actions in heroic stories
worldwide is also universally found in human beings”21 (29). It outlines
the journeys of the hero(s) who have a greater purpose in life. Their jour‑
ney not only influences or shapes their own individual lives but also affects
the society around them or the community to which they belong.
It is worth noting that Dalit writings mostly comprise Dalit anguish
and suffering and have, therefore, been studied under various genres like
atrocity literature, trauma studies, and life writings. It is difficult to trace
a progression in character development, as their state of affairs remains
quite similar throughout the book, and the characters continue on a simi‑
lar path that brings disharmony and embitterment. In Mulk Raj Anand’s
Untouchable, the sheer hopelessness of a (bhangi) sweeper’s life culminates
only in a hope for a foreign system of flushing that can be installed in the
toilets, which might result in a change of occupation for them and, hence,
the perception of them being ‘unclean and polluted’ (146). Omprakash
Valmiki’s Joothan takes one through the conditions of the Chuhra Dalit
community, who rely completely on the so‑called upper castes for their
food supply. They receive minuscule amounts of food for their work, as

DOI: 10.4324/9781003488927-3
76 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

they are engaged in wage‑less labour, or they must collect leftovers from
the houses of the upper castes. Joothan is a heart‑wrenching narrative of the
atrocities borne by the Chuhra community. Limbale’s Akkarmashi or The
Outcaste is about the Mahar Dalit community, who have been excom‑
municated from society and placed on the city outskirts. In Pyre, one can
observe the struggle put up by Saroja and Kumaresan to sustain their love,
but in the end, it’s smothered by the flames of intolerance, as the villagers
set fire to the bush where Saroja was hiding. As opposed to these books, we
see growth in Bama’s characters, and her stories are not merely about op‑
pression but about Dalit resilience and defiance. Considering the references
from Anand’s Untouchable, Omprakash Valmiki’s Joothan, Sharankumar
Limbale’s Akkarmashi, and Perumal Murugan’s Pyre, in Bama’s works,
one can see what Arun Prabha stated in the introduction to Joothan: “The
transformation of the stigmatized identity of these erstwhile untouchables
to a self‑chosen identity as Dalit is a story of the collective struggle waged
over centuries” (xi).
Bama’s Vanmam is an exemplary addition to the corpus of Dalit litera‑
ture, where the search for Dalit identity, their place in society, and their
future has been an integral part of their journey. This quest has been ana‑
lysed using Campbell’s monomyth and Propp’s functions.
The primary focus of this chapter is to study and analyse the individual
growth and overall journey of the protagonists in Vanmam. Both Jayaraju
and Saminathan belong to the Parayar Dalit Christian community, and the
story is set in the Kandampatti village of Tamil Nadu. Through these char‑
acters, Bama has voiced their opinions and highlighted the issues of the
Parayars. The interesting part about these characters and the generation
they represent is that they are well‑educated and informed. In the novel,
both protagonists are pursuing undergraduate degrees, and the majority
of these young men in the village have been fortunate to attend regular
classes at schools and travel to other cities to upgrade their education.
This marks an important shift in their routine lives compared to the older
generations and their limited access to education. Such experiences have
given them confidence and emboldened their sense of self. This generation
of youngsters, both men and women, is willing to take the necessary steps
to bring about certain reforms in their community that will bring them
long‑term benefits.
This attitude of the younger generation led to the revolutionizing of both
inter‑community and intra‑community dynamics. Bama has listed four fac‑
tors that are determined at the time of birth in the “Author’s Note” section
of the novel: “Wealth, Power, Social Standing and Status” (vii).
These elements are established at the time of one’s birth into a particular
caste. She has underlined that the sense of helplessness that comes with
being born a Dalit may be overcome by strengthening one’s self‑esteem,
 Dalit Writings 77

which must be done primarily through education, cooperation with other

Dalit communities, and eventually, fighting for one’s rights and honour:
“Marginalized people, those who have been pushed to the very edges of
society, have to put aside their internal enmities if they are to reclaim their
self‑respect and their rightful place in society” (Author’s Note, vii).
Dr BR Ambedkar has been one of the most influential figures in shap‑
ing Dalit ideology and literature. Bama has followed his teachings and in‑
cluded them in her writings. In the Introduction: Bama in Context, a quote
by Dr BR Ambedkar is mentioned: “Caste to be real can exist only by
disintegrating a group. The genius of caste is to divide and disintegrate.”
In the words above, Bama makes it clear that her goal is to make the
case that intra‑community hatred needs to stop because it only makes the
upper caste more powerful and places them in a superior position over
the Dalits. One could argue that this is an example of a community‑level
divide‑and‑conquer strategy, in which Hindu Naickers prevent the Dalits
from uniting by provoking conflicts among them based on religious issues.
The word “Vanmam” or “Vendetta” in the book’s title refers to revenge,
which also underlies all of the events that occurred in the Kandampatti vil‑
lage, the backdrop for this story. Bama lists numerous instances that gave
rise to this sense of vengeance. In the Author’s Note, Bama also defines the
term “vendetta” as,

Vendetta has many faces and takes many forms. It is seen in the way hu‑
man relationships are broken and cast aside; the indifference and lack of
concern; killing people with words or with silence; mocking those from
weaker sections of society; denying basic humanity to those caught in
the trap of poverty. (vii)

Vendetta also manifests itself in the actual murdering of members of other

societies out of absolute intolerance, in addition to indifference, insolence,
and making fun of others. Due to the Parayars’ beef consumption and the
fact that the Pallar Dalit Hindu community shared the same religion as
the upper‑caste Naickers, they felt superior to the Parayar Dalit Christian
community. Even between the two marginalized communities, basic needs
like food and religious beliefs become a source of contention. The Naick‑
ers frequently incite their conflicts because the mutual animosity between
the Parayars and the Pallars benefited them politically and socially, giving
them an advantage.
The author has drawn parallels between the journeys of the protagonists
and the journey of the hero as described by Campbell in his monomyth.
For this purpose, a simplified version of the monomyth in the form of a
table, as given by Vivian Asimos,22 has been utilized. My observations are
as follows:
78 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

As Vivian Asimos puts it, this “call to adventure…could be accidental,

or divinely planned.” If the call comes from outside the character, this
character is called, “the herald.” This phase basically throws light on the
main characters and readers get a glimpse of the protagonists who will
lead the story of the novel. This “hero” is then given a greater purpose.23
This purpose is usually bigger than his personal needs and demands. In
Vanmam, we see the emergence of two protagonists, Saminathan and
Jayaraju. Both of them were in Kandampatti village at the same time for
their summer vacations. For Saminathan, the event of his uncle Marrassu’s
murder becomes the trigger point to make changes in their situation, while
Jayaraju seeks to reform the community and contribute to its upliftment.
Refusal of the Call: According to Vivian Asimos, “the hero fails, for
one reason or another, to answer the call; fails to assume the life role nec‑
essary.” Joseph Campbell speaks of this phase as more representative of
actual life than the myths themselves. In routine life, one tends to turn a
deaf ear to something that is not of personal interest. “The myths and folk
tales of the whole world make clear that the refusal is essentially a refusal
to give up what one takes to be one’s own interest” (55). In Vanmam, the
protagonists have their own college degrees to pursue after their summer
vacations, and as such might just withdraw from their past, as bringing
long‑cherished reforms is a herculean task. Apart from this, both of them
have different reasons for not having an interest initially. Saminathan has
limited resources, and therefore, thinking of making huge changes only
seems like a distant dream. On the other hand, Jayaraju does not want to
associate himself with other members of the Parayar community and con‑
siders himself superior to them.

Supernatural Aid
Vivian Asimos defines it as: “First encounter is a protective figure, one who
provides amulets or powers to assist the hero in their journey (typically is
present in stories where the hero has answered the call).” Joseph Campbell
has elaborated it as,

One has only to know and trust, and the ageless guardians will appear.
Having responded to his own call, and continuing to follow courageously
as the consequences unfold, the hero finds all the forces of the uncon‑
scious at his side. Mother Nature herself supports the mighty task. And
in so far as the hero’s act coincides with that for which his society itself is
ready, he seems to ride on the great rhythm of the historical process. (59)

In this part, the hero is motivated by an outside force to pursue his

destined or planned path. In a way, the hero is supported by conscious
 Dalit Writings 79

forces, showing that the hero is divinely selected to bring about signifi‑
cant changes through his journey. In Vanmam, the outside forces emerge
in the form of support from their community members, who together
form a Kazhani Arts Troupe. This helps build them the confidence they
need at this hour to make an attempt at implementing their ideas. Also,
Jayaraju’s support is a surprise, as he never wanted to associate him‑
self with the other boys of the Parayar community. The Kazhani Arts
Troupe brings the two heroes, Saminathan and Jayaraju, together on a
common mission.
Crossing the First Threshold: According to Vivian Asimos, this “marks
the crossing from the ordinary comfort before the adventure to one of the
unknown. Typically, there is a threshold guardian.” Joseph Campbell pre‑
sents many mythical stories wherein the hero faces a powerful enemy be‑
fore emerging victorious from that situation. Although in Vanmam, there
are many such moments of short victories, one obstacle the heroes suc‑
cessfully conquered is managing the dates, which were clashing with the
free movie event organized by the upper‑caste Naickers for the lower‑caste
communities, Parayars and Pallars. As a ritual, on the religious festival
dates of the Parayars, the Hindus would organize a free movie show to
keep them from celebrating their own rituals. But this time, the Kazhani
Arts Troupe decided to celebrate their festival in their own way, rather
than going for the free movie show. This was a big, decisive break and even
a cultural shift from the existing norms.
Belly of the Whale: Here, as Vivian Asimos puts it, “The hero does
not conquer the world of the unknown, but is swallowed into the
­unknown, and would appear to have died. The threshold is a form of self‑­
annihilation.”24 This can also be considered as going back to the roots to
understand oneself better. In Vanmam, Saminathan discussed with the vil‑
lage elders where the problem existed and why the two Dalit communities
were constantly at loggerheads. It is going back to one’s roots to find the
problem and the solution. Jayaraju also embraced his identity as that of
a Dalit boy whose surroundings and friends remained the same while he
grew up. He was more comfortable wearing the clothes that the men of his
community wore, a dhoti, bathing in the well with his friends, and using
the same soap. As readers, we see a huge change in Jayaraju’s behaviour
in his moving back to his roots, embracing Dalit identity, and rekindling
old friendships.
Taking the research further into the next phase of Initiation, the first
subphase under Initiation is The Road of Trials. According to Vivian Asi‑
mos, here, “The hero must go through a succession of trials; sometimes
travel to underworld.” Campbell has classified it as the “favourite phase
of the myth adventure. It has produced a world literature of miraculous
tests and ordeals” (89).
80 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

Their trials began with the inter‑group rivalry between the Parayars and
the Pallars, which culminated in the gruesome killings of members of other
communities. The Parayars had installed a statue of Ambedkar at the bus
stop on their side of the village, and the Pallars too made their contribu‑
tion to the funds collected for the same. But meanwhile, small incidents
kept happening that triggered the rivalry between the two Dalit groups.
These small incidents included a Parayar boy, Chinnappan, who stole a
mango from the orchard owned by a Naicker, Kitnasamy. Apparently, the
young boy was beaten badly by the Pallar men who were keeping watch at
the orchard. But at the police station, when the inspector asked about his
wounds, the Pallars said that the Naicker had only given him two slaps.
The representatives of both communities (Nattamais) did not register a
complaint against the Naicker and decided to sort it out among themselves.
The Pallars were furious about being called to the Parayar street because
of the complaint made at the police station by the Parayar men. Later on,
they conducted a meeting for their own community members at the Pallar
street. Here their youngsters Kalimuthu and Sundarraju, both of whom had
jobs outside the village, took charge of the meeting, and Sundarraju stated,

the Parayars are inferior to us, and always will be. We are not untoucha‑
bles, we are of royal descent. We are not Dalits. We are now Devendra
Kula Vellalars or Mallars. Not Pallars. So, we must not have any kind
of contact or communication with those low Dalit Parayars. They don’t
have our valour. We must get together with our own caste people from
all the surrounding villages, and make sure these Parayars don’t raise
their heads. (78)

To support this idea, they all decided to put up a flagpole near the Ambed‑
kar statue and withdraw their donation from Ambedkar’s statue. While
this idea was being executed, the wire at the flagpole became the point of
discord. It was touching Ambedkar’s statue, much to the dismay of the
Parayars. One evening, a Parayar boy, Sesurathnam, secretly went to the
bus station and cut the wire, then informed the Parayars of his deed.
Now, the Pallars, who were furious and further egged on by the Naickers,
strategized to avenge this against the Parayars. They asked their women and
children to pack their bags and move to the neighbouring villages, while the
old people could move to the chavady. They decided to murder Sesurathnam
in the same week. They thought daytime would be best for this, as the Para‑
yar street men would be off to work. They started keeping track of Sesu‑
rathnam’s movements and stocked aruvals and crude bombs in some of their
houses. The Parayars were absolutely clueless about this plan. The Pallar
men caught Sesurathnam at a tea stall on their side of the street and immedi‑
ately went after him. They stabbed him to death. The chaos that followed his
 Dalit Writings 81

murder immediately turned into a riot between the two groups, who went on
rampant killing of anyone from the other community. By the time the police‑
men arrived on the streets, the menfolk of both streets had fled.
The streets of the Parayar community were deserted, and only the
women and children could be spotted around. The police went looking for
the men who were in hiding and were often tipped off by the Pallars. No
one could have imagined the state of the Parayars, and even more so, the
events that led to it. The road of trials also comprised the brutal treatment
meted out to the women of the Parayar community at the hands of the
police. The children were left unattended as their fathers went into hiding,
and women were forcibly put behind bars. The college‑going men, led by
Saminathan, Jayaraju, and Anthony, devised ways of getting back to their
village, as children could not go to school, women could not go out to
work, and their routine life came to a striking halt.
The following is a more detailed description of the trials undergone by
Saminathan and Jayaraju:
Saminathan and Jayaraju are the two main characters who fight to alter
the Naickers’ hierarchical placement in positions of authority throughout
society. Their archetypal path, which Joseph Campbell examined in terms
of the monomyth pattern, reveals the different obstacles they must over‑
come before achieving their objectives. One character that Bama uses to
illustrate the inability to accept one’s own family, origin, and identity after
having the chance to leave that location is Jayaraju. During his break, he
returned from college and began asking for directions to his house as if he
had forgotten how to get there. He then wiped his face with a handker‑
chief, placed it on the chavadi, and took a seat. He made it clear by his
gestures that the smell in the area affected him. His actions became the
subject of conversation among other Parayars, who criticized and derided
him for them,

I went up to him and asked loudly, ‘Eley, you son of a waster, so you’ve
already forgotten the days when you used to play and fall and roll in
this very mud, have you? You miserable wretch! To ask me the way to
R.C. Street…what cheek! Think of those days when you used to run
around here with your bare bottom unwashed. And you’re talking of
smells, eh…’. (24)

Due to his sense of superiority over the members of his community, Jayaraju
didn’t want to interact with them or sit with them. Jayaraju “didn’t move
much with the other boys, but kept to himself” (24). He was teased by
other boys for keeping aloof and for wearing “trousers, shirt and sandals
all the time” (24). He was engaged with his work at the village church.
He would read the prayer, “he had a loud voice…good lung power. His
82 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

words rang out clearly. He would teach children songs” (24). The sarcastic
remarks of others never bothered him because “he was of an easy‑going
nature” (25). He was skilled at coordinating sizable prayer gatherings and
uniting people. On the occasion of Pongal, “he went door to door and col‑
lected donations” (25). He never took a bath with the boys who used to
be his mates when they bathed next to Seenivasan Naicker’s well. Jayaraju
despised those from his own community who bathed collectively: “If I
were to go and have a bath with them …that will be the limit! Everyone
rubbing the same soap on themselves…chee! … Dirty filthy fellows” (32).
Saminathan was working to find a solution to bring the Pallars and the
Parayars together in the meantime. The upper‑caste communities would
host free film screenings on Christmas, New Year’s, and other Mother
Mary feast days. Saminathan saw this as a deliberate attempt by the Nai‑
ckers to prevent the Parayars from engaging in the rituals associated with
Christian holiday festivities. He then turned to Jayaraju for advice at that
moment. They hoped that if their communities could hold special gath‑
erings to honour their role models and deities—such as Ambedkar, Im‑
manuel Sekaram, and Rettaimalai Srinivasan—their community members
would refrain from attending the free film screenings.
This is how the two main characters came to work together to establish
their local festivities and rituals. This signified the beginning of their jour‑
ney to challenge the upper castes’ dominance of the current situation and
to make their voices and presence noticed. The Kazhani Arts Troupe was
founded by the Parayar boys when they came together. When Jayaraju was
chosen as president by a unanimous vote, he felt elated, “as if he had been
hailed as the second Ambedkar,” as all grabbed and hoisted him on their
shoulders and “went around the statue before setting him down again” (37).
A number of activities were announced, including Pattimanram, a popu‑
lar form of public discussion on mythological or modern issues, and they
selected “The Caste System as being encouraged by society or by family?”
among other topics. The Arts Troupe members inspired several young peo‑
ple in their neighbourhood to join, and together they revitalized their com‑
munity. They painted the chavady white and cleaned the streets. To keep the
surroundings clean, they also installed tap water in the chavady’s restrooms
and asked everyone to bathe there. The older generation was pleased that
they could afford to provide their children an education because it was as‑
sisting them in making crucial decisions. Their sense of pride in the younger
generation increased as a result of these changes in their neighbourhood
and their demographically assigned position: “Only because these educated
fellows did something about it, our village has improved so much” (48).
These young men faced the obstacles head‑on because of their mindset.
For instance, the church had a picture of Kamaraj hanging because the
Nadars25 looked up to him, but it did not have a picture of Ambedkar, who
 Dalit Writings 83

was the equivalent of God for the Parayars: “He (the priest) flatly refused.
We ourselves took the Kamaraj picture off the wall and put it down. That
became a big issue and the people from Nadar street started coming to
support the priest…” (58). These disagreements served as subtle catalysts
for their current mental state. They believed that neither the Naickers nor
the government apparatus was on their side. The Pallars had the favour
of both because they were Hindus by religion. When Chinnappan, son of
Sevanu from the Parayar group, was physically assaulted by Pallars for
stealing a mango from the orchard while a Pallar was on watch, it added
fuel to the fire in the already tense relations between the two communities.
When the Parayar Street naattamai (leader/representative) met with the
Pallar Street naattamai, the situation worsened: “Just look at the condition
of this boy’s face. Did he steal whole boxes of mangoes and sell them? Just
a mango from the ground because he was hungry… and that is such a big
sin?” (71). This incident rekindled conversations about intercommunity
conflict and how, in the past, in similar circumstances, the priest and police
did not stand up for the Parayar community, as “the policemen will take
the side of people who have money. We have nobody on our side” (72).
“Once before, remember… when there was a problem… it was this same
priest who was the first to run away from the village” (72).
These youngsters had to show their mettle if they wanted the support
of their neighbouring villages. Anthony, one of the Parayar boys, travelled
from village to village with other young boys to raise money to install
an Ambedkar statue in their street. On the day of the inauguration, ‘when
the Ambedkar statue was unveiled… the Parayars street naattamai said,

When these young educated fellows came to me and said they wanted
to put up a statue of our Ayya, I confess I was rather anxious. Because
I didn’t know whether I could take the word of these inexperienced
boys. But how much information they have, how much intelligence,
how much good sense now I can see all this!. (60)

Slowly, the community and the villagers started developing faith in these
youngsters and acknowledged their capabilities.
Anthony, a Parayar, reaffirmed Ambedkar’s beliefs during his speech at
the statue’s unveiling, ‘“Educate! Organize! Agitate!” That was the great
Ambedkar’s magic slogan. We must all get an education. We should be
aware of social realities. We must realize how society has marginalized us
and discriminated against us. And, having realized that, we must unite and
fight the injustice’ (61). He further quoted Ambedkar, “‘Arise and face the
new dawn. Don’t remain docile. You have been born to rule, to live like
human beings’…Let us follow in the footsteps of our revolutionary leader
Ambedkar” (61).
84 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

On the other hand, the Pallars wanted to establish their upper hand and
so they convened a meeting among themselves to discuss what should be
done next. Their meeting was presided over by Kalimuthu and Sundarraju,
who claimed, “The Parayars are inferior to us, and always will be. We are
not untouchables, we are of royal descent. We are not Dalits. We are now
Devendra Kula Vellalars or Mallars. Not Pallars” (77–78). The Pallars
wanted to demonstrate to the Parayars that they were not untouchables,
so they decided to place their own flagpole next to Ambedkar’s statue (78).
Later on, in order to prevent a wire from the flagpole from getting too close
to the Ambedkar statue, Sesurathnam, a Parayar, cut it. This enraged the
Pallars, who were then further incited by the Naickers, “How arrogant
they are to lay a hand on the wire you people have put there! Don’t let
them get away with this. It’s either you or them now!” (80).
Sesurathnam was mercilessly slain by the Pallars. His passing sparked a
string of killings by both communities against male members of the other.
Both the Pallar and Parayar communities’ male members hid in surround‑
ing towns and villages. While this was going on, the women continued
to take care of the children and provide food for the few men who were
hiding. Without any justification, the police detained and imprisoned the
Parayar women. Despite being tortured, they persisted, “Whatever the po‑
lice tried, the women managed to get around it. Already anxious about the
whereabouts of their men, they were even more upset by the police harass‑
ment. None of the children could go back to school” (123). Saminathan,
Jayaraju, and others were unable to attend their colleges for seven to eight
months. (123). Twenty males from each neighbourhood had to turn them‑
selves in, according to a police demand, for rapprochement. Both com‑
munities had to come together and put their grudges aside to resume their
regular lives. Therefore, no one presented any evidence against the other
in the murder trials. To the dismay of the Naickers, the entire experience
helped them realize that their strength was in their solidarity, which also
inspired them to run in the panchayat elections, “What sort of fellows are
these? After so much killing…so much wandering like refugees…they’re
supposed to be uniting again. Shameless fellows! …In the panchayat elec‑
tions… they’re also going to contest” (132). They decided that “let the
coming generations at least live without quarrels and fights, riots, and ven‑
dettas. Let them get along with one another. With this goal in mind, the
people of Kandampatti are today working to keep the peace” (135). Their
triumph in the panchayat elections gave them the assurance they needed to
live honourably and respectably.
The next sub‑phase is The Meeting with the Goddess. According to Viv‑
ian Asimos, this part can be explained as, “The ultimate adventure is a
mystical marriage; a figure who is the incarnation of the promise of perfec‑
tion.” Campbell has categorized both the benevolent and the evil aspects
 Dalit Writings 85

of many women in a man’s life.26 For the purpose of this research, we see
the nourishing and protective side of the mythological figure of the Uni‑
versal Mother, a term used by Campbell to speak of the lovable feminine
aspects (104). The Parayar Dalit women were hailed as goddesses as they
carried on with supplying food to their men in hiding. Not only did they
single‑handedly manage to survive in those tough times, but they even bur‑
ied their dead by digging the graves themselves. Being daily wage earners,
they hardly had enough money to buy food, yet they helped each other and
stood for their community and fought for their rights.
The next sub‑phase in Campbell’s monomyth is that of The Woman as
Temptress. Vivian Asimos describes it as “Sometimes the meeting with the
goddess is less pleasant—the woman can also be the temptress to the hero,
trying to get him off his track.” However, this sub‑phase has no similarity
to any part described in Vanmam.
We then come to the next sub‑phase, which is Atonement with the Fa‑
ther/Abyss. Vivian Asimos has described it as, “The hero must confront or
be initiated by whatever holds ultimate power. Often this is a father or a
father figure. This is the great battle.” As Campbell says in this stage, the
hero either has to overcome his father or reconcile with him.27 In Vanmam,
Nattamai are the respectful leaders and father‑figures for the community,
whom the community people trust and seek out for advice in difficult sit‑
uations. Naattamai must be informed of the various happenings at the
community level. So, both the Pallars and the Parayars approached their
respective naattamai to resolve the conflict they were facing. The whole
chaotic situation reached a solution when they all surrendered to the de‑
cision made by the naattamais. The heroes were initiated into building a
better relationship with the other community members and had to move
ahead from their past acts of vengeance.
Apotheosis: According to Vivian Asimos, in this subphase, “a great re‑
alization is achieved. The hero is now resolved and ready to take on even
more difficult parts of the adventure”.28 The even more difficult part of the
adventure was to establish their members in positions of power so that
atrocities by both the upper‑caste Naickers, the Hindu Dalit community, the
Pallars, and the police could be stopped. This was the ultimate aim of the
protagonists too. So, Saminathan, Jayaraju, and their close friend Anthony
started spreading awareness among both the Pallars and the Parayars
about the Ambedkarite ideology and how they should obtain and occupy
positions of power in order to change their destiny. This move was going
to affect their identity and improve their self‑esteem.
The Ultimate Boon: Vivian Asimos defines it as, “The boon is the whole
goal of the quest, what the hero went on the journey for in the first place.”
As Campbell also suggests, the hero emerges victoriously and accom‑
plishes the objectives for which he initiated the journey. In Vanmam, the
86 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

protagonists Saminathan and Jayaraju set the goal of uniting the two com‑
munities, the Parayars and the Pallars, and their second goal was to place
themselves in positions of power. They had successfully achieved both.
Taking the research into the third phase of the monomyth, i.e., The
Return, the first sub‑phase under The Return is Refusal of the Return. As
Vivian Asimos puts it, “After achieving great bliss and enlightenment, the
hero may not want to return to the mundane and the ordinary world he
came from.” Joseph Campbell also provides a dubious view to this saying
that the hero may ideally return but choose not to.
This point is inversely proportional to Bama’s portrayal of the protago‑
nists’ state of mind. They were rather happy to achieve their goals and go
back to their routine lives. They were more than willing to resume their
daily chores, and the students just wanted to go back to their colleges to
complete their degrees.
The next two subphases, The Magic Flight and The Crossing of the
Return Threshold, have been explained by Vivian Asimos as, “Sometimes,
the return is troubled with a need to escape. This can be in the form of a
great pursuit,” and “The hero returns home and must find a new place in
his old world. The hero is also trying to figure out how to share his wisdom
with the rest of the world,” respectively. Both of these subphases are inap‑
plicable to Bama’s Vanmam.
Master of the Two Worlds: This subphase is, as Vivian Asimos explains,
“The hero’s journey has given the hero the ability to feel comfortable in
both the material and the spiritual worlds.” Joseph Campbell talks at
length about the Jesus Christ and Krishna‑Arjuna conversations in this
subphase.29
In Vanmam, regaining a sense of identity and self‑respect builds confi‑
dence among the two Dalit communities, who were earlier completely de‑
pendent on the Naickers. Education has given them the material freedom,
and it was made possible because of the Christian missionaries and the
opportunities they gave them to further their education. The Dalits derived
their spiritual strength from their revolutionary leaders like Dr BR Ambed‑
kar, Immanuel Sekaram, and Rettaimalai Srinivasan. It was their teachings
that made them take a stand for themselves. Symbolically too, the whole
issue started when Ambedkar’s statue was set up, and in turn, the Pallars
established a flagpole commemorating their leader.
Freedom to Live: Vivian Asimos explains it as, “Mastery leads to the
freedom from the fear of death.”30 In Vanman, the sense of achievement
emboldens their faith in their own community and gives them the freedom
to live life on their terms and not as slaves to the Naickers. Here, death
can be considered as the death of the spirit and the desire to reform their
identity. They have successfully taken steps that will definitely go a long
way in Dalit history.
 Dalit Writings 87

Bama’s Reiteration of the Ambedkarite Ideology

Ambedkar’s vision of Dalit emancipation and upliftment was embraced by
the Parayar Dalit community. The distinctions between the Gandhian and
Ambedkarite methods of rejecting untouchability are extensively discussed
by Ramchandra Guha in Makers of Modern India (2010). Ambedkar
disagreed with Gandhi’s approach, which mainly involved spreading his
message to the public while abstaining from adopting satyagraha tactics
against the Hindus for fear of alienating them. A Harijan, Seva Sangh, was
established by Gandhi to serve the needs of the Harijans. Ambedkar com‑
pared the Sangh’s operations to those of Bhishma from the Mahabharata
and Kacha from the conflict between the Devas and Rakshasas. In the
name of helping others, they each offered clever justifications for eventu‑
ally advancing their personal agendas. Ambedkar’s main complaint was
that numerous Untouchables had requested to be on the governing board,
but the Sangh was managed by Caste Hindus only (220).
A very similar concern has been raised in Mulk Raj Anand’s Untouch‑
able, published in 1935. Anand’s novel presents a critique of Gandhi’s
views and ideas on untouchability. His diplomatic speeches attracted the
untouchables and, at the same time, kept up with his Hindu vote bank:
“Gandhi is a humbug…He is a fool. He is a hypocrite. In one breath he
says he wants to abolish untouchability, in the other he asserts that he is an
orthodox Hindu” (141). The effect that Gandhi had on the masses through
his speeches was immense. When Bakha heard Gandhi’s speech where he
said, “I love scavenging. In my ashram an eighteen‑year‑old Brahmin lad is
doing a scavenger’s work, in order to teach the ashram scavenger cleanli‑
ness” (138), he felt thrilled at the idea of becoming the ashram sweeper.
Further, when Gandhi said, “I do not want to be reborn. But if I have to
be reborn, I should wish to be reborn as an Untouchable, so that I may
share their sorrows, sufferings and the affronts levelled at them.” Bakha
felt ecstatic that Gandhi wished to be reborn as nothing but an Untouch‑
able, as if someone was finally feeling their pain (138). Gandhi continued
to urge the untouchables in the crowd surrounding him that their service
is to clean Hindu society and that, to fulfil their purpose of purifying the
lives of others, they must first cultivate habits of cleanliness, quit drinking
and gambling.

They claim to be Hindus. They read the scriptures. If, therefore, the
Hindus oppress them, they should understand that the fault does not
lie in the Hindu religion, but in those who profess it…I know that the
Hindus are not sinful by nature…They are sunk in ignorance. All public
wells, temples, roads, schools, sanatoriums must be declared open to
the Untouchables. (138–139)
88 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

It is quite surprising that the note on which Gandhi started his speech was
that the government tried “to alienate the so‑called Untouchables from
Hinduism by giving them a separate legal and political status” (136) and
that he was there to speak keeping in mind that the so‑called Untouchables
were Hindus and therefore should not be separated by the foreign regime.
After the speech, as the people dispersed, there came a young poet, Iqbal
Nath Sarshar accompanied by Mr RN Bashir, a barrister. They discussed
among themselves the various nuances of Gandhi’s speech. The poet said,

We must destroy caste, we must destroy the inequalities of birth and

unalterable vocations. We must recognize an equality of rights, privi‑
leges and opportunities for everyone. The Mahatma didn’t say so, but
the legal and sociological basis of caste having been broken down by
the British‑Indian penal code, which recognizes the rights of every man
before a court, caste is now mainly governed by profession. When the
sweepers change their profession, they will no longer remain Untoucha‑
bles. (145–146)

He further elaborated that this notion could soon be achievable after the
introduction of the machine: “the flush system…the sweepers can be free
from the stigma of untouchability and assume the dignity of status that is
their right as useful members of a casteless and classless society” (146).
Bakha was quite swept away by Gandhi’s speech, so he stood there quite
confused, realizing that because of Gandhian ideas, he might have to clean
the toilets all his life. Therefore, accepting the machine seemed a better
idea, ensuring a better future for them. So, as much as the Untouchables
loved Gandhi’s sympathies for them, his speeches were mere words, ensur‑
ing the continuity of the caste system and not promising any “annihilation
of caste” or a change in caste‑related occupations.
Bama expresses a similar concern for the Dalits through the novel’s cen‑
tral characters, Saminathan and Jayaraju. Both protagonists have separate
journeys, but they share the same end goal—achieving emancipation for
the Dalits in their society. They want the upper caste, the Naickers, to lose
their monopoly, and they want members of the Dalit community, whether
Parayar or Pallar, to take over important posts, including those in the pan‑
chayat. By assuming these leadership posts that dealt with the myriad so‑
cial and economic challenges facing the Dalits, the upper caste preserved
its dominance over the so‑called lower castes.
Saminathan and Jayaraju’s archetypal journeys in Vanmam provide in‑
sight into the central theme of the majority of Dalit battles, which revolves
around Dalit identity and consciousness. In her paper, “The Heroine’s/
Hero’s Journey—A Call for Transformation? Transformative Learning, Ar‑
chetypal Patterns, and Embodied Knowing/Learning,” Daniela Lehner says,
 Dalit Writings 89

The heroine/hero’s journey is based on Campbell’s mythological work,

Hero with a Thousand Faces which was published in 1949. He said
that the hero/ heroine’s archetypical journey is that of one who fol‑
lows her/his call often initiated by a crisis or desire and embarks on
a journey filled with dangerous adventures and challenges. Finally re‑
turning to the known environment as a gifted person. Gifted with new
insights, inspirations, perspectives and potentials for the community.
(89–90)

The protagonists of Vanmam also set out on a similar journey, one that
was prompted by an identity crisis and drove them into a series of fights to
assert themselves and avoid being cast aside. There was definitely a desire
to be respected. Winning the panchayat elections and assuming leadership
positions was one guaranteed way to do this. Kaalimuthu of the Pallar
Street spoke these words at the conclusion of the book, when Kaalaiyan
of the Pallar Street won the panchayat elections and was elected President:
“The Dalit voice must resonate in the state legislatures and the national
parliament” (134).
Ramchandra Guha expanded on the ideological disagreements be‑
tween Ambedkar and Gandhi in Makers of Modern India, where the
fundamental debate was the distribution of power to Dalits. Bama brings
up this topic in Vanmam, right in Chapter 1, when the younger Dalits
of the Parayar community, who have attended college, seek to obtain
positions that offer them power instead of making them subordinates to
the upper caste Naickers. Speaking of the conflictual status between the
Dalit communities and the upper caste Naickers, the following were the
major factors:

a An older generation of Dalits revered and regarded the Naickers as dei‑

ties. As an example, consider the odaiyaru offering.
b The Dalit groups’ dependency on the Naickers, primarily for employ‑
ment. The Parayars and the Pallars were mainly agricultural labourers
employed by the Naickers. In addition to planting and harvesting crops
in fields owned by the Naickers, the Parayars’ and Pallars’ main job at
night was to keep watch over the Naicker fields.

Naickers favoured the Pallars over the Parayars because they were fellow
Hindus, just like them, and because the Parayar community had access to
education, which caused them to question the decisions their Naicker lead‑
ers made for them and other sycophantic Dalit behaviour towards Naick‑
ers. Ramchandra Guha expanded on the ideological differences between
Ambedkar and Gandhi in Makers of Modern India, where the fundamen‑
tal debate was the distribution of power to Dalits. The younger Dalits of
90 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

the Parayar community, who have completed college, seek occupations

that offer them power rather than making them subordinates to the upper
caste Naickers, a problem that Bama raises in Vanmam. Kancha Ilaiah, in
his book, Post‑Hindu India, states,

The tensions between the lower and the upper castes are leading to
clashes on an everyday basis. On one hand, the spiritual and political
aspirations of historically deprived castes and communities are increas‑
ing, leading to the expansion of spiritually democratic religions like
Christianity, Buddhism and Islam. (ix)

Being a Christian was not just a matter of religion, but it also gave them
the access to education, which made them aware of their surroundings,
their fights and struggles:

At one time, they were starving without even gruel, and now look at
their power! And their clothes! Even better than what our children wear.
When they’re at the bus stand, we can’t even tell who they are. Also,
both the men and the women of their caste are getting educated. All this
is coming from their religion. We can’t let these fellows go on like this.
The Pallars are better, at least they’re still respectful towards us,

said Jagannathan, a Naicker (18–19).

The incident that became the cause of discord between the two Dalit com‑
munities was triggered by a Naicker, Palanivelu, who instigated the Pallar,
Karuppusamy, against the Parayar, Marraasu. Karuppusamy used to watch
Palanivelu’s fields at night, and Marraasu would water the neighbouring fields
at the same time. It was because of Palanivelu’s support that Karuppusamy
went to the extent of murdering him, and later on, the murder was covered up
with his help, and even the police did not take any action against the Pallars:
“Judge for yourself…who killed your uncle Marraasu? It was a Pallar. Or
whom did he act? For himself? No, for his master Palani Naicker.” Because
the Parayars were Christians, that too irritated them. So, they would stir up
the fights between them and instigate the Pallars by telling them, “Look you
and we are Hindus, and we Hindus must stick together”’ (15). Another issue
that Bama has brought up in this work is the state apparatus’s failure to give
them (the Dalits) constitutional protections. She has attempted to demon‑
strate, through the persona of Palanivelu, that the word of the upper caste
matters and that the fact that he could compel the police to remain silent
regarding such grave concerns is a very disconcerting situation for the Dalits.
As readers, we learn about these instances when Saminathan went
around the village asking the elderly about the reasons for the conflict
between the two Dalit groups. We also get to know how, before the murder
of Marraasu, the two communities
 Dalit Writings 91

had been getting reasonably well together. During Christmas and New
Year, games would be organized in the Parayar streets, and Pallars
would join in and play. Similarly, during the Pongal festival, when com‑
petitions were organized in the Pallar streets, the Parayars would go
there and participate. (16)

The Following Observations Have Been Drawn from the

Comparison of Vanmam to Campbell’s Monomyth
Through this book, Bama bringsd up a very important issue. The main
problem is the distribution of power to the so‑called lower castes, a con‑
cept that is consistent with Ambedkar’s philosophy. Saminathan and
Jayaraju, the two main characters, unite to fight for the rights of the Dalits
despite having very different attitudes toward their community and them‑
selves. Saminathan began the process of reforming Dalit identity by first
going back to the atrocities of the past that gave their identity its current
form. As for Jayaraju, he felt ashamed of his community and did not want
to be associated with it. The Dalit identity was changed as a result of their
journey—from the conception of the idea of unifying the two communi‑
ties, the Pallars and the Parayars, to achieving their aim of electing a Dalit
to the position of panchayat president. The various elements of Campbell’s
monomyth, which essentially dictate the hero’s (or heroes’) path towards
his (their) aims, are to a large part fulfilled by Vanmam.
Note: The table showing the journeys of the protagonists, Saminathan
and Jayaraju, is given in the appendix.
Vladimir Propp, in his Morphology of the Folktale (1928), has enlisted
thirty‑one functions. This work was translated in 1958 and has affected
many genres of art, cinema, and literature. The thirty‑one functions that he
proposed for the structural analyses of folktales have been applied to many
works of fiction and different kinds of narratives. In this chapter, I intend
to analyse to what extent Bama’s narrative, Vanmam, fulfils the functions
as given by Propp. Earlier in this chapter, we have analysed to what extent
Vanmam fits the structure of Joseph Campbell’s monomyth. The idea be‑
hind this is to carry out a mythical analysis of one of Bama’s narratives and
observe the extent to which these structures and formats hold true for this
particular novel. The functions address different aspects of a story, such as
characters, plot, situations, and circumstances. That is why these functions
have been considered time and again by many authors for the structural
analysis of any kind of narrative or for studying narratology.
The term “morphology” has been borrowed from botany, where it stud‑
ies the relationship of different parts of a plant with each other. With a sim‑
ilar intention of studying fairytale narratives, Propp used this term in the
title of his book. For the purpose of this book, Propp researched more than
a hundred fairy tales to conclude that many tales follow a similar structure.
92 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

He had a strong faith in morphological analyses and believed that through

a “correct morphological study… If we are incapable of breaking the tale
into its components, we will not be able to make a correct comparison.
And if we do not know how to compare, then how can we throw light
upon, for instance, Indo‑Egyptian relationships, or upon the relationships
of the Greek fable to the Indian, etc.?” (15).
Propp has defined functions as, “Function is understood as an act of a
character, defined from the point of view of its significance for the course
of the action” (Propp, 1968, p. 21). Propp’s structural model is based on
the following criteria:
I. Functions of characters serve as stable, constant elements in a tale,
independent of how and by whom they are fulfilled. They constitute the
fundamental components of a tale. II. The number of functions known to
the fairy tale is limited. III. The sequence of functions is always identical.
IV. All fairy tales are of one type in regard to their structure (Dogra 411).
The following is the list of thirty‑one functions that Propp has proposed:

1 One of the members of a family absents himself from home: Samina‑

than is in Kandampatti village to spend his summer vacation. Another
protagonist, Jayaraju, and other college‑going young men are there for
the same reason. Saminathan learns about the reasons behind his uncle
Marrassu’s death from an old man who sat at the chavady. The mur‑
der of Marrassu motivates Saminathan to take a step towards resolving
matters between the two communities in order to maintain cordial rela‑
tions for the future.
2 An interdiction (that is, a prohibition) is addressed to the hero: The
hero here is told that avenging his death is not a possibility, but bring‑
ing back old relations between the two communities is the need of the
hour. Achieving that looks like a mammoth task. He is told to focus on
his education and get a job.
3 The interdiction is violated: Saminathan, the hero, does not listen to his
family but further plans how to bring the two communities together. He
involves Jayaraju and others to form a group.
4 The villain makes an attempt at reconnaissance: Saminathan, Jayaraju,
together with Anthony and others, formed the Kazhani Arts Troupe.
They decided to give importance to their own festivals and rituals in
order to perpetuate feelings of brotherhood and bring unity between the
two Dalit communities. The dominating, upper‑caste Naickers do not
want this to happen, as unity between both groups would lessen their
importance. Also, the Naickers practised divide and rule between the
two groups, who were both Dalits but practised different religions. So,
on religious grounds, they would create rifts between them. Even when
the Parayars went on to organize their events and involved Pallars in
 Dalit Writings 93

them, they would spark conflicts. For instance, when the Parayars were
successful in establishing a statue of Ambedkar at the bus stop, a Para‑
yar was beaten ruthlessly for stealing a mango from the orchard owned
by a Naicker. The Naicker, Kitnasamy, was upset about the mango be‑
ing stolen, but in actuality, it was the Pallars, who were responsible for
keeping a watch over the orchard and who had beaten the Parayar boy.
This issue further fumed and resulted in the Pallars withdrawing their
funding from Ambedkar’s statue and putting up their own flagpole be‑
side it. A thing as small as the wire on the flagpole reignited the flames
of rivalry. A Parayar, Sesurathnam, was disappointed with the way the
Pallars had tied the wire around the post, as it was touching Ambed‑
kar’s statue. He went secretly to cut it off, after which he informed the
Parayars. The Naickers “egged” the Pallars, who were already furious,
“How arrogant they are to lay a hand on the wire you people have put
there! Don’t let them get away with this. It’s either you or them now!”
(80). This incident marks the emergence of another villain in the novel,
which is the Pallars.
5 The villain receives information about his victim: The Pallars were
raging with fury and wanted to take revenge for cutting the wire. They
planned on murdering Sesurathnam. Their strategy included sending
their women and children to nearby villages so that even if the Parayars
retaliated, they could be safe. The elderly would go to the chavady,
and the men would look for an opportunity when Sesurathnam could
be caught and killed. They asked the younger men of their commu‑
nity to keep a check on the movements of the Parayars, especially
Sesurathnam.
6 The villain attempts to deceive his victim in order to take possession of
him or his belongings: The members of the Parayar Dalit community
had no indication of this strategy being deployed against them by the
Pallars and went on with their routine tasks. This was also part of the
plan: the Parayars should have no idea and be deceived into believing
that, despite the wire being cut, the relations between the two communi‑
ties remained cordial.
7 The victim submits to deception and thereby unwittingly helps his en‑
emy: Even though the entire Parayar community was the victim, more
specifically, in this case, Sesurathnam comes across as the prime target
of the Pallars and therefore as the victim in this situation. “it was a
Wednesday…he had no coolie‑work, and so he stayed home….he de‑
cided to go to the bazaar and have some tea. So, he took a few other fel‑
lows with him and set off” (81). The plan involved the Pallars patiently
await Sesurathnam to come to their side of the streets. The victim, being
unaware of the whole situation, naively walks into the Pallar streets
only to be deceived by them.
94 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

8 The villain causes harm or injury to a member of a family, or 8a. One

member of a family either lacks something or desires to have some‑
thing: A Pallar, Karuppusamy, spotted him and informed the other
men of his community. “The unsuspecting Sesurathnam was standing
at the tea stall, waiting for his tea to be made. Without warning, Ka‑
limuthu raised his aruval and aimed at Sesurathnam’s head” (81). He
tried to escape but was caught and hacked to death.
9 Misfortune or lack is made known; the hero is approached with a re‑
quest or command; he is allowed to go or he is dispatched: Once Sesu‑
rathnam is killed, the news of his murder spreads like wildfire and creates
chaos and a frenzied situation. All the young Parayar men, including the
protagonists, go into hiding. Both sides engage in rampant killings of
anyone from the other community. There is bloodshed all around; the
Parayar women help their men to hide and safeguard themselves and
their children by restricting their movement to their own streets.
10 The seeker (that is, the hero in “questor” mode) agrees to or decides on
counteraction: After being in hiding for many days, the protagonists,
Saminathan and Jayaraju, are not only worried about their people but
also about their education. The school‑going children are also con‑
fined to their homes, and the college students cannot return to their
institutes.
11 The hero leaves home: This part has already been achieved as the hero,
along with other community members, goes into hiding.
12 The hero is tested, interrogated, attacked, etc., which prepares the way
for his receiving either a magical agent or helper: When the situation
arises, the immediate magical agent/s are the Parayar Dalit women.
They emerge as caretakers, protectors, and breadwinners for the en‑
tire time the men are in hiding. They not only manage to help their
men remain hidden from the Pallars, Naickers, and the police but also
provide them with food on a daily basis. They are beaten unabashedly
by the police, but none of them disclose the whereabouts of the men.
They cannot work in the fields of the Naickers to earn their daily wages
because they would have to cross the Pallar streets, but they manage to
live only on cow’s milk, milking their own cows and sharing the milk
with other women of the streets. The protagonists receive this help at
the most critical moment in their lives.
13 The hero reacts to the actions of the future donor: Here, the naatta‑
mais can be considered future donors. It is through them that a conclu‑
sion can be reached and normal life can be resumed.
14 The hero acquires the use of a magical agent (that is, an object, an
animal, etc.): In this situation of crisis, when the Parayar men have to
be in hiding in order to save themselves, and the Parayar women carry
on with daily chores along with feeding themselves and their children,
 Dalit Writings 95

a solution needs to be reached. The protagonists decide that they must

seek the help of their Naattamai (leader) in order to restore peace.
They all ask their naattamais to talk and negotiate the terms of settle‑
ment among themselves.
The naattamais of the Parayars and the Pallars meet and decide that
neither side will press charges against anyone from the opposite com‑
munity. They agree to resume their work and carry on with their lives
without disturbing each other.
15 The hero is transferred, delivered, or led to the whereabouts of an
object of search: This part does not apply to the situations raised in
Vanmam.
16 The hero and the villain join in direct combat: The direct combat be‑
tween the hero and the villain happens when the two Dalit communi‑
ties join hands post the gruesome killings. They decide that, in order to
achieve some sense of respect and status in society, they need to occupy
positions of power. This made them and the Naickers come face to face
for the panchayat elections.
17 The hero is branded: The Dalit representative, Kaalaiyan of the Pallar
street, wins the panchayat elections,
today our brother, Kaalaiyan has become President. This is our first
victory…from now on, our two castes must live in friendship, with‑
put quarrels and fights. Its not enough that we have won in this
Panchayat election. The Dalit voice must resonate in the state legis‑
latures and in the national parliament.
(134)
18 The villain is defeated: The Naickers have been clearly defeated. The
defeat does not only mean in terms of the panchayat position but their
whole ideology of divide and rule has been defeated.
19 The initial misfortune or lack is liquidated.
20 The hero returns.
21 The hero is pursued.
22 Rescue of the hero from pursuit.
23 The hero, unrecognized, arrives home or in another country.
24 A false hero presents unfounded claims.
25 A difficult task is proposed to the hero.
26 The task is resolved: The initial task undertaken by the protagonists
Saminathan and Jayaraju of uniting the two Dalit communities is thus
achieved. They not only stand in solidarity but also emerge victorious
in the panchayat elections.
27 The hero is recognized: They are now considered emerging forces with
the will of representing themselves further in the state legislatures and
parliament.
96 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

28 The false hero or villain is exposed: The Parayars and Pallars have re‑
alized their true potential and reiterated the Ambedkarite ideology on
their first victory: “As Ambedkar, the champion of the downtrodden,
said, we must capture the levers of government power. Let this be the
first step towards that goal” (134). The Naickers could not come to
terms to this reality and
were still full of negative remarks….all this unity will last only for a
few days. Just wait and see what happens…old habits die hard…it’ll
be the same story again. All the stabbing and killing will start again.
These fellows can’t keep from fighting, they said mockingly. (135)
29 The hero is given a new appearance: The Parayars and Pallars started
respecting and appreciating each other. They celebrated their festivals,
Christmas, Easter, and Pongal, together, “let the coming generations
at least live without quarrels and fights, riots, and vendetta. Let them
get along with one another. With this goal in mind, the people of Kan‑
dampatti are today working to keep the peace” (135).
30 The villain is punished.
31 The hero is married and ascends the throne.

From the above analysis, one can deduce that, to a great extent, the func‑
tions proposed by Vladimir Propp hold true for Vanmam. Out of thirty‑one
functions, the first fourteen functions apply directly. The fifteenth func‑
tion does not apply in the present context, following which many other
functions like the sixteenth, seventeenth, eighteenth, twenty‑sixth, twenty‑
seventh, twenty‑eighth, and twenty‑ninth, are applicable in the narrative.
It must also be noted that all functions applicable are in the sequential
order given by Propp. No order or chain of events has been broken.
4 Social Inclusivity/Exclusivity
of the Dalit Communities

Landscape and Mythology

Many Dalit writers have highlighted the issue of space faced by the
so‑called lower castes in their writings. Bama has spoken at length about
this issue faced by the Parayars of the Kandampatti village in Tamil Nadu.
Bama witnessed oppression from birth: oppression both intra‑ and inter‑­
communities. Being a Dalit always placed them on the margins, and being
a Christian further separated them from the Hindu Dalits, the Pallars. In
Karukku, Bama states that Dalits were prohibited from entering temples
located in the hills, where people from the upper caste community, the Na‑
ickers31, resided. While describing the place where she lived, she presents a
detailed outline of the demographic divisions that existed. Hills and ponds
were named after the upper caste community. There were hills such as
Vattala Vitthaaam, named after a member of the Naicker community who
owned fields there, Baathraang Kulam (named for the priests or Podagar
who lived nearby), Aiyar Kulam (pond of the Aiyars), and Poder Kulam
(probably also named for the Podagar). In the text, Bama refers to people
of her caste as “most of our people” and the people from the upper caste
as “better‑off castes” (Karukku 1–2). These divisions made the whole con‑
cept of social exclusion of Dalits from the upper castes even more marked.
There are several examples of exclusion from the community at large, such
as when they would try to get the fresh catch from ponds owned by the
upper castes, and if they were caught, their fish and rods would be confis‑
cated as if they were engaging in illegal activity (3). These divisions of the
land and access to natural resources by the upper castes under the guise of
ownership further embittered Dalit communities.
The bias seemed to lead nowhere for the underprivileged class. Bama re‑
counts an incident in Karukku, when the two communities, the Chaaliyar
community and the Parayar community, could not see eye to eye because
the Chaaliyar people wanted to sabotage the cemetery of the Parayar com‑
munity. The upper caste had other cemeteries, but the Parayar commu‑
nity had been burying their dead in that particular cemetery, which was

DOI: 10.4324/9781003488927-4
98 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

adjacent to a Chaaliyar school. The Chaaliyars wanted to occupy that land

and build a playground for their school. The struggle to retain a place to
bury their dead soon turned into an ugly fight between the Parayas and
Chaaliyars, where even the police supported the Chaaliyars, for it was one
of the lower castes but hierarchically in a higher position than the Para‑
yars (29–37). Such experiences create a sense of distrust in the administra‑
tive system, which is supposed to protect and treat all members of society
equally. In such perilous conditions, one can only imagine the impact the
entire cemetery issue had on the men, women, and children of the Parayar
community.
In Mulk Raj Anand’s Untouchable, Bakha and his sister are sweepers
by virtue of their birth. They clean the toilets of the so‑called upper castes
and often wait outside their houses in hopes of receiving some food. Bakha
received a piece of bread from a lady of the so‑called upper caste, but in a
very disrespectful manner. She threw the bread at him from the top of her
house so that she wouldn’t have to come into contact with his shadow. On
the same day, a pundit tried to molest Bakha’s sister, Sohini, and when she
resisted, he created a scene by shouting “Polluted, Polluted” (71). When
Bakha shared these terrible incidents with his father, he only said, “They
are our superiors. One word of theirs is sufficient to overbalance all that
we might say before the police. They are our masters. We must respect
them and do as they tell us” (71).
Anand has highlighted this aspect of servility running through their gen‑
erations. Bakha is often mocked for his love and enchantment with the
so‑called upper castes and their way of life. Charat Singh, a Hindu upper
caste officer, is kind towards Bakha and expresses his affection by asking
him about his well‑being. Once Bakha was wearing a uniform, Charat
Singh remarked, “You are becoming a gentleman, ohe Bakhya! Where did
you get that uniform?… Bakha was shy, knowing he had no right to in‑
dulge in such luxuries as aping the high‑caste people. He humbly mumbled:
‘Huzoor (my lord), it is all your blessing’” (8). After this conversation,
Charat Singh offered Bakha his hockey stick if he visited him that after‑
noon. Bakha felt ecstatic. Anand says, “Charat Singh’s generous promise
had called forth that trait of servility in Bakha which he had inherited from
his forefathers, the weakness, of the downtrodden, the helplessness of the
poor and the indigent, suddenly receiving help, the passive contentment
of the bottom dog suddenly illuminated by the prospect of fulfilment of a
secret and long‑cherished desire. He saluted his benefactor and bent down
to his work again” (9).
In Omprakash Valmiki’s Joothan, we see the dependency of the Chuhras
on the so‑called upper castes for their food and survival. They wait outside
the houses of the so‑called upper castes to receive some leftovers. Limbale
has also highlighted the aspect of wage‑less labour. In Maharwada, the
 Social Inclusivity/Exclusivity of the Dalit Communities 99

so‑called upper caste would give food or Jowar in lieu of the work done by
the so‑called lower caste: “On Pola day… some received six measures of
Jowar, others got four yet others might receive only two” (13). The work
allotted demanded physical strength. For instance, they were involved in
smearing the community hall with dung paste, lighting the village street
lamps, and removing the carcasses of animals.
One of the primary tasks done by Mahars of Maharwada was removing
the carcasses of animals. Limbale also pointed out the hypocritical stance
of the so‑called upper caste. He resonated with Ambedkar’s opinion that
Hindus consider cows as mothers only while they are alive and provide
milk. He said that Hindus considered cows as their mothers: “A human
mother is cremated, but when a cow dies they need a Mahar to dispose it
off” (14). The owner of the dead animal would contract Mahars to remove
the carcass. Doing so would not only fetch Mahars some meat but would
also earn them some Jowar from the owner.
In Joothan, Omprakash Valmiki shared that it was the responsibility of
the Chuhras to remove the carcass of any dead animal. The so‑called upper
caste would call them to take away the dead cattle, and they would not
be paid for it. It was work assumed to be done by them, and the Chuhras
would gladly do it because the animal skin could fetch them some money,
and sometimes, they would even consume its meat: “The disposal of a
dead animal is a very difficult operation…for this very hard work, the only
recompense is curses…what a cruel society we live in where hard labour
has no value. There is a conspiracy to keep us in perpetual poverty… one
hide would fetch twenty to twenty‑five rupees. After paying the wages of
the helpers and the traveling expenses, one barely got ten to fifteen rupees
in hand. But even those ten or fifteen rupees seemed a big sum in those days
of hardship” (34).
Govind Sadashiv Ghurye, an Indian professor of Sociology, in his book
Caste and Race in India (2011) states, “A close study of the names of
the various minor units, the so‑called sub‑castes, within the major groups
reveals the fact that the basis of distinction leading to the exclusive mark‑
ing off of these groups were first territorial or jurisdictional separateness”
(189). On similar lines, we have another example, out of many, where
Bama narrates her brother’s encounter with a Naicker man while he was
on his way back from a library. Her brother was asked on which street he
lived because street names could reveal the location of one’s house, which
was a way to determine one’s social standing in the staunch hierarchy of
society that even followed caste‑based geographic divisions. He sharply re‑
plied, “I am a Paraya from the Cheri Street. Naicker was furious” (Karukku
17). In Untouchable, Bakha often received his food in this manner. In Pyre,
Saroja was given water in a lead tumbler, as opposed to a steel glass used
for others. The people from the so‑called lower castes were not permitted
100 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

even in the localities inhabited by the upper castes. Even while issuing
books from the library, they were looked down upon with contempt (17).
These incidents reveal how their everyday life was governed by the norms
set by the privileged class, and they were answerable for where they went,
the streets they walked on, and for visiting public places.
Mythical stories have played a huge role in determining the treatment
meted out to the so‑called lower caste communities. Both Brahmanical
and Dalit myths focus on issues like origin, occupation, crime, and pun‑
ishment. These myths have seeped down the generations and are reflected
in the everyday life of the Dalits. These myths justify the social exclusion
of the so‑called lower castes for reasons such as eating beef, stealing, and
relegating them to the margins as outcasts as a result of the “karma” or
actions in their previous birth. This phenomenon has been studied using
Levi‑Strauss’ concepts of implicit mythology.
In this chapter, my primary focus is on the formation of Parayar Dalit
identity and psyche as a consequence of their subjugation and subjection to
such geographical and demographical boundaries. To analyse these issues
revolving around the identity of the Parayar Dalits, it is pertinent to exam‑
ine how history has placed them in mythical stories and folklore. I will be
discussing several myths available in detail in this chapter. As Malinowski
has stated,

how deeply the sacred tradition, the myth, enters into human pursuits
and how strongly it controls their moral and social behaviour…an
intimate connection exists between the word, the mythos, the sacred
tales of a tribe on the one hand and their ritual acts, their moral deeds,
their social organization, and even their practical activities on the other.
(Malinowski 11)

Implicit mythology caters to the broader ideas that unite experience and
history, i.e., lived reality and myths. The two factors, namely, memory
and mythology, become intricately linked when one analyses the histo‑
ricity and the present tradition existing in a landscape. “The distinction
between mythology and memory” is the basis of analysis or can be consid‑
ered an analytical tool to “make sense of the spatial and temporal same‑
ness and unity” among the members of the Parayar Dalit community. The
present‑day image of the landscape is dominated by images of oppression
and in short, shows the dominant position of the so‑called upper castes.
The mythology, which lies in the action with respect to the explicit myths
and which caters to the experiences of individuals and community par‑
ticipation, builds the collective consciousness of the Parayars and is re‑
ferred to as implicit mythology. This implicit mythology can be studied
by understanding the locations and places in the landscape occupied or
frequented by the so‑called lower caste. So, in this respect, the fields where
 Social Inclusivity/Exclusivity of the Dalit Communities 101

the Parayars work as agricultural labourers or as watchmen, the chavady,

which is the meeting point for the Parayars, and the Parayar streets al‑
together become representative images of the implicit mythology. Bama
recounts her personal and community experiences, and as Barry Schwartz
states, “Recollection of the past is an active, constructive process, not a
simple matter of retrieving information. To remember is to place a part
of the past in the service of conceptions and needs of the present” (374).
Therefore, Dalit narratives are not just mere recollections or an outpouring
of feelings but are “the shared understandings, conceptualizations and rep‑
resentations of past events generally considered to be vital in the forging of
the group identity… and these should be considered mythical” (Schwartz).
This is true for Bama’s narratives as well. Her narratives are an impor‑
tant part of Dalit historical representation, and the locale and landscape are
crucial parts of their history of marginalisation. The chavady, streets, and
fields are places where memory and mythology interact. Understanding these
interactions and deciphering the meanings embedded in them will shed light
on the process of their identity formation and various aspects of this iden‑
tity. The establishment of the statue of Ambedkar and the organization of
events relevant to their rituals and culture become points at which the Dalits
embrace their identity and celebrate it rather than feeling anger about it.
Embracing the identity also means developing a sense of self‑esteem and
taking pride in one’s community. Such events become registers of sacred
history, as “it lifts from an ordinary historical sequence those extraordinary
events which embody our deepest and most fundamental values” (Schwartz
377). This statue or a concrete memorial site then has many functions, such
as a ground of commemoration, a transmitter of history, and a place of
­education—all contributing factors to the process of identity formation. I
have also analysed this concept of socio‑cultural and mythical linkage later in
this chapter, specifically utilizing Lévi‑Strauss’s theory of implicit mythology.
The following are some mythical stories of the Parayar Dalit communi‑
ties as collected by many ethnologists and anthropologists and compiled
by Robert Deleige in his paper, “The Myths of Origin of the Indian Un‑
touchables.” These mythical stories have penetrated the Dalit conscious‑
ness, and many Dalit writers like Bama, Mulk Raj Anand, Sharankumar
Limbale, Omprakash Valmiki, and Perumal Murugan, have captured them
in their writings.

Myth One
In the beginning, there were two brothers who were poor. Then they went to‑
gether to pray to God. God asked them to remove the carcass of a dead cow.
The elder brother answered: ‘Een thambi pappaan’ (my younger brother will do
it) but understood: ‘een thambi paapaan’ (my younger brother is a brahman);
since that very day, the younger brother became Brahman (paappaan) and the
102 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

elder brother became a Paraiyar. All castes originate from these two brothers.
(Deliège 536)

Deliège makes an interesting observation about the untouchables, noting

that “economically poor and living in dire poverty, their inferior status is
explained by the permanent ritual impurity explained by their association
with death and organic pollution” (Deliège 535).

Myth One Version Two

Two brothers went to a temple to conduct a ceremony of prayer (Jabbam). On
their way, they found the remains of a dead cow. As the younger brother was
weak and tired, the elder proposed to remove the carcass himself. The peo‑
ple present told him that he should rather conduct the prayer session, but he
answered: ‘Een, Thambi Pappaan’. These people understood that his younger
brother was a Brahman (Paappan). To thank him for his work, God blessed him
and made him a Paraiyar. Whereas the younger brother became a Brahman.
(Deliège 537)

Myth One, Version Three

“A man had five sons. He always asked the elder to work for him, to fetch
water, etc., but the latter always refused and said: ‘Een, Thambi Pappaan’.
The father understood that the younger brother was a Brahmin, and the
elder became the Paraiyar” (Deliège 537).
In all versions of myth one, it is clear that both Brahmin and Parayar
have originated from the same father and are therefore brothers. The idea
of placing them as blood relatives clearly shows that both have similar sta‑
tus and rights. What makes a Brahmin different from a Parayar is primarily
his occupation. In all versions, we see that the one who removes the carcass
of the dead animal becomes a Parayar. The idea that a person’s identity
is defined by their employment is a Brahmanical one. As Sagarika Ghose
writes in her paper, “The Dalit in India,”

The Dalit’s pariahness begins with the Untouchable castes becoming

associated with those groups specializing in “impure” tasks, such as
cleaning out waste, skinning cattle, working in leather, butchery, fishing,
and super‑vising cremations. Leather workers, washermen, scavengers,
undertakers, toilet cleaners, toddy tappers, sweepers and rural laborers
were polluted because of their work. Their role in the caste‑based eco‑
nomic system meant that the modern dalits descended from the profes‑
sionals of impure tasks, are heirs to centuries‑old filth, professionally as
well as psychologically. (89)
 Social Inclusivity/Exclusivity of the Dalit Communities 103

Thus, much as in Myth One, Versions One and Two, it may be a misin‑
terpretation or wilful assistance, as in Version Three of Myth One, but
whoever removes the decaying carcass or places himself in a subordinate
position to serve others is regarded as a Parayar. In simple terms, the one
who serves is the Parayar, and the one who enjoys a privileged position is
the Brahmin.
In Karukku and Sangati, Bama has shown this servile attitude of the Par‑
ayars as being ingrained in them through the character of her grandmother.
She always insisted that the so‑called upper castes must be honored and
respected, especially through their work. By serving them, they are all do‑
ing their so‑called duties. Giving a God‑like status to them and doing all
sorts of menial jobs for them is part of their lifestyle and upbringing. Any
kind of deviation would be met with resentment, not only from the Naick‑
ers but also from the elders of the Parayar community.

Myth Two
“Two brothers were the Pusaris (priests) in a Mariamman temple. The el‑
der brother decided to fast and to observe a vow of silence. He wanted his
younger brother to watch over the temple. So, he said to the people ‘Nan
parrayan, Tampi parpar’, translated as ‘I am the drum person’, ‘younger
brother is the priest’” (Deliège 537).
Here, it can be seen that a further ramification of the types of jobs suit‑
able for Parayars and Brahmins is provided through another mythical
story. Out of the two, the elder brother willingly decides to observe a vow
of silence and declares himself a drum person, thus not fit to be a priest.
In Vanmam, it is pointed out that even though the Parayars converted to
Christianity, they had a Parayar priest in their church. A priest from the
upper caste would not visit their church. One part of the story remains the
same, i.e., both Brahmin and Parayar have the same roots.
Only recently, in August 2022, the Tamil Nadu government banned the
occupation of Thandora (drum‑beating) reserved solely for the Dalit com‑
munities. In Tamil Nadu, the Parayars would carry out the Thandora prac‑
tice; in Andhra Pradesh, Karnataka, and Telangana, the Madigas performed
it; and in Odisha, the Dombo community was engaged in drum‑beating.
As stated in The Federal by Dalit researcher Stalin Rajangam:

There is a strong relation between the division of labour and the prevail‑
ing caste system. Dr Ambedkar said that the caste system is not merely
a division of labourers, quite different from a division of labour; it is a
hierarchy in which the labourers are graded one above the other. The
division of labour is nothing but continuing one’s traditional occupa‑
tion. (Kumar)
104 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

He further quoted Iyothee Thass, a Dalit icon, who said that clubbing peo‑
ple together according to their occupations has given untouchability “le‑
gitimacy and antiqueness.” “That was how jobs like burying dead cows,
cleaning the drainage, announcing deaths, and manual scavenging became
‘services’ being rendered by Dalits” (Kumar).

Myth Three
“There were two Brahman brothers (Annan and Tampi). Annan went to
the temple every day to conduct pooja. A cow came from Intira Lokam
(heaven), and after cooking Pongal rice and other offerings, Annan would
take one drop of blood from the cow for worship (Irattappali, blood sac‑
rifice). The cow would then go away. Every day he went to the temple
and brought back Pongal rice for his wife and younger brother. One day,
a rumor spread, and a villager told Tampi: “Your brother is eating beef in
the temple and only bringing you rice Piracaatam.”

Tampi told his brother’s pregnant wife and asked her to tell her husband
to bring them a little beef next time. When her husband returned, she told
him: ‘you were eating beef, yet I am pregnant and you are only bring‑
ing Piracaatam to me. If you don’t give me any beef, I will kill myself’.
Annan, who had, in fact never eaten any beef, was worried, thinking a
woman’s word must be obeyed. He therefore went to the temple and cut
a piece of flesh from the cow. The cow died. Tampi, seeing what hap‑
pened hid and refused to eat beef. Villagers held a panchayat and said to
Annan: ‘since you killed the cow, you must take it away and eat it. you
are untouchable, you beefeater. Go away from the village’. When leaving
the village, Annan met a man: ‘where are you going, Swami?’, he said. ‘It
is my bad time, I am going’, Annan replied. ‘If you go, who will look af‑
ter the temple?’ Annan replied with a pun: ‘Koyil Velai tampi paappaan’
(Tampi will see the temple work or Paappaan = Brahman). (Deliège 538)

In this story, the food habits of the so‑called lower caste are discussed. Since
time immemorial, the status of the cow has been considered sacred. In this
particular story, the cow would visit from the Intira Lokam, i.e., heaven.
When cow blood is used for worshipping the Gods, then it is not considered
immoral. It is considered as a part of the ritual. But when the same cow is
killed by Annan, it becomes an act symbolizing impurity. He is punished
by setting the boundaries of his existence outside the village, and he can
consume beef because he is an untouchable. The term “beefeater” has an
extremely negative connotation. He is shunned by the village, as everyone
feels repulsed by him for eating meat. The ideas of food, space, and ritual
are all interlinked when it comes to defining the castes.
 Social Inclusivity/Exclusivity of the Dalit Communities 105

In The Outcaste/Akkarmashi, Limbale shared that during the month

when animals died, they had enough to eat, but other months passed
with great difficulty. On such days, the Mahars either poisoned cattle be‑
longing to the so‑called upper caste or stole a cow/buffalo from a distant
village and slaughtered it at night: “Nankunna and Pralhadbap went to a
distant village to steal a buffalo and we spent the whole night in slaugh‑
tering and cutting up the animal. In the morning, meat was cooked in
every house” (14).
Speaking of another Dalit community, the Wadaars, Limbale mentioned
that his grandmother would hide her cat whenever the Wadaars visited
their village because they were known to eat cats. With time Limbale and
others of his age

developed an aversion to dead animals and detested those who ate their
flesh. This hatred spread like an epidemic among our gang of boys.
When an animal was skinned, we pissed on it through soil and dung so
that no one would eat the meat. Even so, Keramai used to carry off the
meat and used to wash and cook it. (19)

In the introduction to Joothan, Arun Mukherjee mentions Ambedkar’s

viewpoint on the creation of a so‑called outcaste. Ambedkar believed it
to be a strategic move by the Brahmins to establish their hegemonic rule
over others, especially the Buddhists. Earlier, Kshatriyas would sacrifice
animals, including cows while performing rituals, and the Brahmins would
help them in carrying out these religious ceremonies. Later,

Brahmins began practicing untouchability against beefeaters after they

themselves stopped sacrificing cows and eating beef to win an ideo‑
logical battle against the Buddhists. The latter were preaching against
yagnas and animal sacrifice, thereby winning over the cultivators and
traders who were greatly inconvenienced by Brahmins and Kshatriyas
who snatched away their cattle for ritual sacrifices without payment,
as their entitlement. Ambedkar speculates that in order to regain the
allegiance of the trading and the farming classes, the Brahmins not only
gave up animal sacrifices but went one step further than the Buddhists
and banned the killing of cows and the eating of flesh altogether. (xvi)

Ambedkar referred to those people belonging to the so‑called lower caste,

who as a service to the savarna villagers, removed the dead cows as “Broken
People” (xvii). They ate the flesh of the dead cows, and so technically, they
were not violating any law against cow slaughter. Ambedkar said, “These
beef‑eaters were outside the four varna system. They lived outside the vil‑
lages settled by the savarnas, i.e. those within the varna system” (vxii).
106 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

Ambedkar sympathized with them for he believed that these people “were
remnants of conquered and fragmented tribes who settled outside the sa‑
varna villages and survived by performing the most degraded tasks for the
sarvanas” (xvii).
Mukherjee also believed that these people were declared “ritually im‑
pure” and kept outside the social and spatial boundaries of the so‑called
upper caste,

One touching a Chandala (untouchable)…should bathe with one’s

clothes on…To touch, talk with or even to look at a chandala made one
undergo penance…For touching an Aryan woman a chandala was fined
one hundred panas, and for adultery with her a shavapaca (untouch‑
able) was sentenced to death. (xvii)

Bama has spoken about the concept of spatial inclusivity/exclusivity in

Karukku, Sangati, Vanmam, and even her short stories. I will be discussing
her works at length:

Concept of Space and Parayar Dalit Community

In Vanmam, the primary conflict is religious differences between two Dalit
communities, the Pallars and the Parayars of Kandampatti village in Tamil
Nadu. A majority of the Pallars followed Hinduis, while a majority of the
Parayars followed Christianity. The upper castes, the Naickers, fuelled reli‑
gious discord among them to maintain their hold over these two Dalit com‑
munities. The commotion only led to revengeful and cold‑blooded murders
committed by members of both communities. Educated young men like
Saminathan and Jayaraju of the Parayar community were aware that the
seed of discord was sown by the Naickers. Through these characters, Bama
has attempts to focus on education as a tool to revolutionize the contempo‑
rary socio‑political scenario for the Parayar Dalits of Kandampatti village.
In the Introduction to Vanmam, Bama specifically suggests that the
book must be read from the point of view of geography, demography, and
cultural boundaries. According to cultural anthropologists Bronislaw Ma‑
linowski and Franz Boas, any community gains its stories from its experi‑
ences. These experiences include their way of living, upbringing, settings,
locality, and various other tangible and intangible aspects. Malinowski’s
essay Myth in Primitive Psychology is famous for developing the argument
of myth as a social charter. Among other arguments, Bronislaw Malinow‑
ski emphasizes the

immediacy and ‘living reality’ of myth as well as its discursive and

pragmatic (hence dialogical) qualities (that is, the recitation of myths
 Social Inclusivity/Exclusivity of the Dalit Communities 107

as speech events)… Malinowski was undoubtedly correct to look at the

place of myth in legitimating particular forms of social organization
and loci of power or interest and the contestation this inevitably brings.
Myth becomes a language of legal argument. (Driberg and Malinowski)

Another anthropologist, Edward Burnett Tylor, shares similar ideas.32

There are many factors that determine the lifestyle choices of a commu‑
nity, including education and occupation. However, language, demogra‑
phy, and culture have immense effects on the determination of the Dalit
identity, and these factors also trace their development as a community.
Many Dalit writers share this sociological standpoint.33 As Bama herself
has laid particular emphasis on the aspect of cultural and demographic di‑
visions in the Introduction to Vanmam, it certainly becomes a researcher’s
responsibility to analyse this issue experienced by the Parayar Dalits and
its impact on their lives. In doing so, my purpose is to highlight Dalit myths
and the ideologies that frame them.

The Setting of the Novel

We see the continuation of myth three in the locality divisions of Kan‑
dampatti village in Tamil Nadu, where Bama’s Vanmam or Vendetta is
based. The village is demographically divided, with its three communities,
i.e., the Parayars, the Pallars, and the Naickers living in different parts
of the village. The streets where the Naickers, the so‑called upper castes,
reside have been given a sacrosanct status. The Pallars and the Parayars
only visit these streets when they have to work in a Naicker’s house, water
the fields owned by the Naickers, or watch over their orchards. They also
have to cross these streets while paying a visit to their Church. Through
the textual space in Vanmam, the concept of space in the Parayar Dalit
community of Tamil Nadu is discussed. The two Dalit communities, the
Pallars and the Parayars, share the adjoining streets, while the upper castes
reside in streets located a few kilometers away from theirs. Demography
perpetuates the cultural divide existing between the lower castes and the
upper castes. The Pallars remain quite obedient to their Naicker landlords
compared to the Parayar community. In the novel, this obedience has been
linked at many times to the Pallars identifying themselves as Hindus. The
younger generation of the Parayar community who had access to educa‑
tion and were studying in colleges considered obedience to Naickers as a
form of servility and began to shun it. This had become a point of distress
for the Naickers who were worried about their status in the society and
wished to maintain their domineering position at any cost; “those boys
from the Christian Street have become very arrogant. Their parents used
to be like us…respectful towards the landlords. Now these young fellows
108 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

are raising their heads…they’re turning everything upside down. Not one
of them will do as he is told” (31).
The geographical boundary was a huge gap for the Parayars to fill before
they could reach closer to the Naickers. Here, being closer does not neces‑
sarily mean in proximity but in their mutual relationships. In Vanmam, a
site of public resource becomes the centre of fueling the already existing
discord. It is the village well located in the Naicker streets, which became
the site of commotion.
The well belonged to the Naickers, who did not like the Parayars bath‑
ing in it or using it. The commotion started when the young Parayar boys
who were pursuing a degree in college in the cities came to the village for
their vacation. At that time, as they wanted to spend time together, they
would go to the well to take a bath. Sreenivasan, an upper caste Naicker,
could not tolerate them bathing in his well and demanded that they (the
Parayars) should not use his well water (30). The underlying meaning sug‑
gested was that if they used the same water, the well would be polluted and
would not be fit for use by the people of the upper caste.
In Karukku, we see these kinds of spatial boundaries and discrimination
throughout the novel. The novel starts with a description of the landscape
and the village. In addition, the Naickers’ tyrannical rule just begins here,
as evidenced by the fact that the hills, mountains, and even ponds bear
their names. They have not only named natural resources after themselves
but have also become their owners. The so‑called lower castes are not al‑
lowed to walk on their streets, use their ponds to fish, or even step in their
fields without permission. These geographical boundaries are to be fol‑
lowed strictly, otherwise there are serious consequences for the Parayars.
An example is from the story “Chilli Powder,” where the lady belonging
to the upper caste threw chilli in the eyes of a Parayar woman who was
found in her field without permission (Bama, “Chilli Powder”). Another
example is from Karukku, which is about a Parayar man whom the nar‑
rator thought was acting funny but later got to know that he was made
to drag his food packet by a string because he was carrying the food for
a Naicker. So even if the food packet is dragged on a street, it is preferred
over being touched by a Parayar. These kinds of public insults, which were
based on the geographical borders created by the upper castes and made
mandatory to follow, came across as demographic barriers that affected
Dalit’s sense of respect and identity.
In Vanmam, Bama further mentions spaces such as “fields” and
“chavady” as politicized and laden with meanings of demarcation, pa‑
tronization, and subjugation. The Dalit generations have been working
as agricultural labourers under the Naickers for generations, and this is
embossed in their minds from childhood. They see their parents and grand‑
parents at the mercy of Naickers. This has affected their psyche, and they
see themselves as dependent on upper castes for their survival.
 Social Inclusivity/Exclusivity of the Dalit Communities 109

The chavady is the place where village elders of only Dalit communities
hold their meetings. It is a kind of raised stage‑like platform made of stone.
The chavady meetings are conducted by both Pallars and Parayars on their
individual chavady. The chavady is simply a marketplace/community hall,
but a politically vibrant meeting place. It is also the place where the vil‑
lage panchayat (a village governing institute in Indian villages), under the
headship of different caste‑heads, meets and takes important decisions.
The fields,34 as Bama says, are symbolic of upper‑caste ownership and
lower‑caste work for sowing, reaping, and harvesting. They also watch
their fields at night to protect them from wild animals. She further empha‑
sized the cultural formations of an “oor or village,” which happen owing
to the culture of the street, field, and chavady. This idea is quite similar
to Kancha Ilaiah’s ideas on the formation of the community ideology. In
Why Am I Not a Hindu? Ilaiah says, “day‑to‑day experiences of the Dalit‑
bahujan castes is the most authentic way in which the deconstruction and
reconstruction of history can take place” (xii). The sociological theories
insist on the construction of myth through a lived reality, and here I would
like to merge this reality with the existing myths of pushing the Parayar
Dalits to the margins.

Myth Four
At the origin of the world, there was nothing, absolutely no life, but one
woman, Aadi (which means origin). In her want for a husband, she built
a sacrificial fire, and from there emerged a handsome man, who then mar‑
ried Aadi. This handsome man was Iswaran (Shiva). As the story goes, the
couple led a blissful

marital life and were blessed with four children. But now the Gods
planned the creation of castes. And under this plan, the Iswaran and
Aadi’s four children who were now adults were asked to cook beef. The
eldest brother volunteered to cook it. During cooking, a piece fell on the
ground from the pot. He thought it would put him in a bad spot and
so he tried to hide it under a heap of ashes. Doing this, he was caught
by other siblings who then started blaming him for stealing food and
called him a Paraiyan. Later, he was forced to leave the house and live
separately. (Deliège 539)

An act of theft or stealing is, of course, considered anti‑social and illegal.

But at the same time, anyone can do it irrespective of caste or religion. In
this particular story, one can see an act of stealing even a piece of food
within family results in the elder brother being ousted. But another point
that must be observed is that he is called a Paraiyan before being thrown
out. This is ripping an entire community off its self‑respect and portraying
110 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

them as thieves who would steal to fulfil their wishes. This kind of a mind‑
set that has been created and passed down through mythical stories has
an everlasting impact. For instance, in Karukku, Bama narrates an inci‑
dent where many students on their way to home from school try to throw
stones at a coconut tree to get one; but out of all, the narrator is caught
and suspended from the school. The narrator is called out in the assembly
the next day, and the headmaster insults her by saying, “You have shown
us your true nature as a Parayar…” (19). She was ultimately allowed to re‑
sume her classes when she begged a priest to help her in this regard. In the
incident where Mariamma is caught drinking water from the landowner’s
pump, the Parayar girl Mariamma is again treated as a thief and publicly
humiliated and beaten by her father.
Another character in Karukku, Bondan mama, is based on someone who
would go to the extent of stealing temple offerings to satiate his hunger.
The short story “Chilly Powder” is about how a Parayar woman, who had
entered a Naicker’s field, was caught, and the landlady threw chilli powder
into her eyes to teach her a lesson.
In such cases, we see that a community’s identity is majorly first framed
and then formed. It is not the identity they project but one that is conceived
for them. They have been the subject of a created identity, but in Vanmam,
one can see how they are trying to break from the shackles of their existing
identity and forge a new one. What Bama does in Karukku is her indi‑
vidual journey of rejecting the identity of a Dalit to embrace the identity of
being a Christian and then coming back to embrace her identity as that of
a Dalit. In Vanmam, that is done at a community level.
In Akkarmashi, Limbale also shares an incident where his sister, Vani,
was caught stealing a banana from a fruit vendor. The vendor hit her with
his chappal in a crowded market, drawing everyone at the scene. Vani was
crying profusely, and later, as she was starving, she couldn’t help but pick
up banana skins from the street and eat them,

we knew we shouldn’t steal but then how could we feed ourselves? Who
steals out of habit? The poor steal for the sake of hunger. If they had enough
to eat, would they steal? Black‑marketeers become leaders, whereas those
who are driven to steal by hunger are considered criminals. (21)

Myth Five
This mythical story is taken from an article, “Behind Poverty: The Social
Formation in a Tamil Village” by Djurfeldt and Lindberg; it has been one
of the stories compiled for the purpose of research by Robert Deliège.

Once upon a time, a group of people belonging to different castes were

out fishing in a tank. Among them was a Harijan. While they were
 Social Inclusivity/Exclusivity of the Dalit Communities 111

fishing Isvaran, i.e. Siva, suddenly appeared before then. He promised

each of them a gift. But before they would get it, they were all asked to
put on a sacred thread. So, they did. Our Harijan was fishing with an
ottu that day. An ottu is a cone‑shaped basket, open at both ends. When
they had put on the thread, God asked them all to line up and receive
the gift. They all got their gifts and wrapped them up in pieces of cloth
and carried them safely away except our foolish Paraiya who held out
his ottu forgetting that it was open at both ends. When home he looked
in his ottu for the gift God had given him but to his grief he found it
empty. He felt very sad and brooded over his bad luck. That is how our
Paraiya lost his gift from God. And even today the saying goes: ‘vangi‑
nado, suttal vittant’ i.e., an ottu is like a human body, mouth at one end
and anus at another. Our Paraiya received his gift from God through
the mouth of the ottu and lost through the bottom of it. (Deliège 543)

Here, the idea of belonging to an upper caste or lower caste is considered as

decided by God and not mankind. It is given the place of a gift from God and
the one who could not take care of the so‑called gift lost the right to be in the
upper caste and was therefore a lower‑caste untouchable. Another point in‑
troduced here is that of the sacred thread. It is a cotton thread worn in three
loops. Each loop symbolizes a cleansing of thought, words, and action. The
Sacred Thread ceremony is a ceremony for boys in some Hindu communities
to confirm they are of an age to take on religious responsibility. So, according
to the myth, those who could receive the gift had to first put on the sacred
thread and then receive it. The Harijan is therefore not fit to wear the sacred
thread, as he could not carry the gift given by God properly and is therefore
a lower caste because of his own doing (karma). In previous myths too, the
point is quite similar—that one’s doing result in their becoming a Parayar.
Robert Deliège traces these myths which he considers popular because
they legitimize an inferior status (of the Dalits) (533). In his research on
the Dalits of Tamil Nadu, he quoted an incident by Gough, who was
conducting research in the Tanjore district of Tamil Nadu. While sitting
in the Adi‑Dravida Street, she questioned a group of Pallars on their ideas
about death, duty, destiny, and rebirth of the soul. She further asked if
they knew where the soul would go after death, as the Brahminical no‑
tion holds that “if people do their duty well in this life, their souls will be
born next time in a higher caste” (534). An elder from the Pallar group
scoffed at this and said, “Brahmans say anything. Their heads go round
and round!” (Deliège 534). This shows the difference in the ideological
viewpoints of the Brahmins and the Parayars. The Parayars may not be
able to live comfortably due to a lack of resources, employment oppor‑
tunities, and poverty, but they maintain their identity as Dalits in the
highest regard. They do not wish to transcend any community thresholds
in hopes of living a better life or serving the Brahmins to become one in
112 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

their next life. While they embrace their surroundings and social circle,
they aspire to a more egalitarian society.
In the Introduction to Joothan by Omprakash Valmiki, Arun Mukherjee
writes about the role of staunch rituals and traditions in creating a section
of people called untouchables. She mentions the sacred thread ceremony
or the upanayana, which is at the core of the chaturvarna or the four‑fold
caste system comprising Brahmins, Kshatriyas, Vaishyas, and Shudras. Un‑
der this ritual, the Shudras were denied practicing the upanayana and so
the ones who practised it received the status of dwija or twice born. After
undergoing this ritual, they could study the Vedas. So, access to the Hindu
scriptures was also denied to them, and their roles were then limited to
serving the varnas whose status was above them.
Getting an education was also a concern for the so‑called lower caste
people. As mentioned in Chapter 2, as stated by Arun Prabha in her In‑
troduction to Joothan, the sacred thread ceremony or upanayana gave
the status of dwija or twice born to all except Shudras. Others could
then study the Vedas, but Shudras were denied access to it. Bama has
portrayed a world where the Parayars, being converted to Christians,
gain access to missionary schools, but in Anand’s Untouchable (1935),
readers realize the depravity faced by the outcastes. They did not even
have the right to enter the streets where the so‑called upper caste re‑
sided. Their shadows were considered impure, and they were supposed
to announce their arrival in the streets, by means of which they could
alert the members of the upper caste in those streets to keep their safe
distance from them and their shadows. In such a situation, they could
not even think of sharing the same school compound and classes where
the children of the so‑called upper caste studied. The prospect of getting
an education and going to school always excited Bakha. “The anxiety
of going to school! How beautiful it felt! How nice it must be to be
able to read and write!” (30). Soon he realized that he could not avail a
school education because he was a sweeper’s son, “parents of the other
children would not allow their sons to be contaminated by the touch
of the low‑caste man’s sons” (30–31). Omprakash Valmiki shares his
own experience of attending school. Being from the lower‑caste Chuhra
community, he was insulted, humiliated, and harassed for attending the
school, which the so‑called upper‑caste children attended. Valmiki has
portrayed a post‑independence situation where the government laws and
policies shun caste‑based discrimination, but the prejudiced minds of the
so‑called upper caste cannot be changed, and they still follow untouch‑
ability. Valmiki was made to sweep the school courtyard even during
class hours. When his father got to know of this discrimination, he furi‑
ously screamed, “Who is that teacher, that progeny of Dronacharya, who
forces my son to sweep?” (6). This made the school headmaster furious,
 Social Inclusivity/Exclusivity of the Dalit Communities 113

and he asked them to leave, “The Chuhra wants him educated…Go, go…
Otherwise I will have your bones broken” (6). However, Valmiki’s father
did not give up and requested the village Pradhan, Tyagi, to help them.
Tyagi assured them that Valmiki could attend the school. A basic human
right, when placed through the portals of customs and rituals, becomes a
luxury only accessible to the privileged. The so‑called lower caste suffers
at the hands of fate and society.

Myth Six
Before beef had become a prohibited food, Mahamuni was left to watch a pot of
meat cooking. None other than the divine cow Tripad Gayatri was in the stew.
When a piece of flesh fell out, Mahamuni, rather than return it to the pot, ate it.
Discovered in his delinquency by the gods, he was penalized by being required,
along with his descendants, to eat the flesh of dead cows. (Deliège 545)

Robert Deliege insists that the prohibition on eating meat has been a delib‑
erate imposition to harm the untouchables. As the cooking was in process,
it means it was meant to be eaten. But the intervention by a divine power
commanding Mahamuni to eat the “flesh of dead cows” connects the idea
of eating beef as something improper and associated with a punishment
for an act that made God furious. The so‑called lower castes had no fields
of their own. The streets they were given had small patches fit to grow
small amounts of millet, as it needed less water. Their access to water was
also limited, which meant they had to rely on the flesh of dead cows in
order to survive. Their food is also categorized as anti‑god and therefore
anti‑Hindu. In myth three and myth six, we see a close connection between
cows and the Gods. Also, we see how God decides to cast aside anyone
who consumes beef as impure.
The mythical stories about Parayar Dalits have been a part of the com‑
munity stories for a long time now. All of these stories bring forth the
reasons why Parayars are untouchables. These stories also share that both
Parayars and Brahmins were brothers and blood relatives. It is only a
coincidental fall in destiny that results in one being declared a Parayar.
Mostly, it is a punishment for lowly work like removing the corpse of dead
animals, serving others, and stealing. Apart from this, the consumption of
beef is another contributing factor to their fall. In defining what a Parayar
or a low caste is, these stories have also ensured to define what Brahmins
are. So basically, one who does not do any lowly work, does not consume
beef, and wears the sacred thread is a Brahmin.
The Dalit history of social inclusion and exclusion can be traced back to
some Hindu religious scriptures as well; for instance, Manusmriti, Manava
Dharmashastra, or the Laws of Manu. In this, Manu observes,
114 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

one occupation only the lord prescribed to the Shudra, to serve meekly
even these (other) castes’…that, even if Shudra is made free from the
services of a master one should not consider this as his absolute freedom
from slavery, because servitude remains in him as integral part of his na‑
ture or it is one of his basic tendencies to serve others from which none
can actually disassociate him. (www.wisdomlib.org)

Sagarika Ghose cited Harrison in her paper “The Dalits of India,” “Yet the
Dalit as pariah played a crucial role in allowing the upper castes a monop‑
oly on education and in certain pure trades. Because of the divine sanction
for eternal serfdom, the denial of education, and thus opportunities for
advancement, upper castes were able to successfully eliminate masses of
people from the competitive economy that developed under colonial rule.”
She also mentioned about the Bhakti movements and its popular Bhakti
saints, Kabir and Mirabai, who shunned the practice of untouchability in
their poems. As Kabir writes,

It’s all one skin and bone,

one piss and shit,
one blood, one meat.
From one drop, a universe.
Who’s a Brahmin? Who’s shudra?
(91)

This stands true for the Parayar Dalits and the Pallars as well. In Bama’s
narratives, these two communities remain subjugated by the so‑called up‑
per caste Naickers, the primary reason being that their means of earning a
livelihood remain dependent upon them. The previous generations of the
lower‑castes Dalits did all the menial jobs assigned to them. Later on, the
Naickers would not work on their own fields and would lease them out to
these people to sow, harvest, rotate crops, and sell the produce for meagre
salaries.

The Parayars toiled hard day and night to turn even barren land into
fertile fields…They sowed, harvested, rotated crops, sold the produce,
and slowly improved their economic condition. They even took paddy
fields on lease, grew rice crops whenever there was water in the irriga‑
tion channels, and reaped good harvests. But the Pallars did not take
farmlands on lease or toil in the fields to the same extent that the Para‑
yars did. (Vanmam 6)

Their wages had a direct impact on the kind of food consumed by the Dal‑
its. Food is an important part of the narrative, for Bama has mentioned it
 Social Inclusivity/Exclusivity of the Dalit Communities 115

in her first book Karukku, Sangati, and in Vanmam too. In Vanmam, the
first mention is when Kuttiyamma came back from school and had some
leftover Koozhu (3). Koozhu is a porridge made from fermenting millet.35
The lower caste never had much land to grow their crops, and millet could
be easily grown in narrow stretches of land and in dry weather. So, it
formed a major part of their diet. Then, we read about how Kuttiyama
convinced her father to give her one rupee so that she could buy mangoes
which were chewed by the squirrels. Occupation or one’s means of liv‑
ing determines their lifestyle, of which food is an essential part. Here, I
am talking about the Parayar Dalit community to which Bama herself be‑
longed. According to the cultural anthropologists Malinowski and Franz
Boas, any community gains its stories from its experiences, which is also
one of the prominent aspects of the concept of implicit mythology.
Some other Dalit experiences include the stories of one of the protago‑
nists, Saminathan. It is mentioned in Vanmam that during Saminathan’s
grandparents’ time, the Parayars “were the lowest of the low.” They did
all sorts of menial jobs assigned to them and mostly worked in the land‑
owners’ houses. “They brought home only stale kanji and pickle to stay
alive” (6). “Kanji is a thin gruel made of rice or other cereals; sometimes
just the starchy water drained from cooked rice” (138). By the time of
Saminathan’s parents’ generation, the Naickers leased their farms to the
lower castes who “sowed different kinds of grams, pulses, lentils, oilseeds
and groundnuts” for them. Apart from the excessive hard work required
to sow, reap, and harvest a crop, there was the lurking fear of wild animals
like “jackals, boar, poisonous snakes, wolves, guars, black monkeys and
sometimes herds of elephants” (7). The Parayar men didn’t sleep a wink to
guard the fields of the Naickers, meanwhile the Naickers enjoyed the har‑
vest in their comfortable homes. The Pallars, who were Dalits too, did not
work as hard as the Parayars and therefore, even in terms of education, the
Parayars were ahead; many had sent their children for college education.
With the change in their occupations, their standard of living has changed,
and with engaging themselves in professions like tailors, lawyers, masons,
plumbers, drivers, conductors, teachers, policemen, and others, their life is
less dependent on the Naickers (Bama 7).
The entire community’s myths are informed by their experiences, which
include the demographic and cultural differences imposed on the so‑called
lower castes by the upper castes. Myths are found in the stories of the peo‑
ple, which inform their lifestyle and identity. Malinowski elaborates on this,
giving the example of new settlers and how their community myths carry
on wherever they go, and these do influence even everyday activities. For
example, when a party arrives at some distant village, they will be told not
only the legendary historical tales, but above all the mythological charter
of that community, its magical proficiencies, its occupational character, its
116 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

rank, and place in totemic organization. He continues: “Should there arise

land quarrels, encroachment in magical matters, fishing rights, or other
privileges the testimony of myth would be referred to” (Malinowski 50).
Castes carry their work and their occupation with them, and that is how
they are defined at a particular place. Bama has given utmost importance
to occupational, food, and demographic details in her books Karukku,
Sangati, and Vanmam. It is through these that we come to know of the
myths of a community long marginalized and suppressed under the rules
of the so‑called upper castes. Their experiences as the marginalized do not
change much over a span of almost two decades, i.e., from 1992 to 2008.
Over these years, there have been several changes which have affected the
community’s experiences, their stories, and myths. These changes resonate
with their ideology.36

Some similarities and differences between Parayar Dalit myths and Brahmanical
stories

Similarities Occupation Symbols Habits Punishment Differences

in all the in Parayar
Parayar stories and
stories Brahmanical
stories

Same Fish Caste was

Bloodline (ottu) created by
God and
therefore, the
caste‑based
discrimination
is justifiable.
Two Dead Shudra and
brothers cow Gods were
against each
other (Tusli‑
Vivah Myth)
Job Cutting off the Brahmin and
difference: thumb, not Shudra cannot
removing allowed in study in the
corpse, the gurukul, same Gurukul
serving Tulsi even or by same
the others if married teachers.
is placed
outside the
house.
Temple Stealing Deceitful
food behaviour
of the
upper‑caste is

(Continued)
 Social Inclusivity/Exclusivity of the Dalit Communities 117

(Continued)

Similarities Occupation Symbols Habits Punishment Differences

in all the in Parayar
Parayar stories and
stories Brahmanical
stories
justified (Lord
Vishnu tricked
Vrinda) but
zero tolerance
towards
lower castes.
Eklavya’s idol
worship is not
awarded but
punished.
Doing Acting Declared
puja in a privileged Parayar,
temple and Outcasted.
entitled
Eating beef Eat beef now or
flesh of dead
cow

Hindu Myths That Established the Marginalized Position

of the So‑Called Lower Castes
1 Tulsi Vivah
2 Eklavya
3 Karn

Tulsi, originally known as Vrinda, was a staunch devotee of Lord Vishnu.

When Narad, a celestial follower of Lord Vishnu, paid her a visit, he real‑
ized that she was going to be the mother of very strong sons. In those times,
there was enmity between the Shudras and the Gods, and the Shudras
never accepted their authority. So, Narad told her about the great powers
of Vishnu, and being a young child, she accepted the idol of Vishnu and
started worshipping him. Despite her father’s disapproval, she continued
to worship him. Later, she was married off to Jalandar, the son of a Shudra
king. Apart from being a devotee, her virtuosity was her strength. Because
of this, her husband never lost any war. The Gods did not want a Shudra
to rule, and therefore, Lord Vishnu, disguised as Jalandar, appeared before
her and took her to bed. Once her virtue was lost, Jalandar was killed, and
his head fell in her lap. Horrified, she accused Lord Vishnu of deceit and
treachery. But at that moment, Lord Vishnu blessed her: “you will eternally
be a sowbhagyawati.37 You will get married to your husband Jalandar every
118 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

year. People will marry you to a round nut representing your husband.
Nobody will call you a widow.” Since then, Tulsi has been worshipped, but
being a Shudra, she is placed outside the house (Baby Kamble 146).
Eklavya was the son of a nishada King, Hiranyadhanus, who belonged
to a hunter tribe.38 Despite not belonging to one of the main castes, Eklavya
aspired to become a great archer. To master the skill of archery, he visited
Guru Dronacharya, who was the greatest teacher of the art of archery
and the science of warfare in the kingdom. But his father did not seem too
eager about this decision because they were Shudras belonging to the hunt‑
ing tribe. But Eklavya wanted to meet Guru Dronacharya and reached his
Gurukul. Being the royal teacher of the Pandavas and the Kauravas, Guru
Dronacharya was busy instructing Arjuna. Eklavya bowed and touched
the sage’s feet, while Drona was surprised and asked who he was. After
listening to Eklavya’s introduction, Dronacharya said, “Eklavya, if you are
a nishada hunter then you are a Shudra, the lowest caste in the kingdom.
I am a Brahmin, the highest of castes. All my students are Kshatriyas, the
warrior caste. I cannot teach a Shudra boy” (“The Story of Eklavya and
Dronacharya – Indian Mythology for Kids”). Even Arjuna said, “How dare
you expect to be taught by him. Leave the Gurukul now.” Eklavya, who
was hurt and humiliated, left the Gurukul at once and went back to the
forest. He built a mud statue of Guru Dronacharya and decided to practice
archery faithfully in front of this idol. One day, while he was practising, a
dog started barking continuously, which irritated Eklavya. He fired seven
arrows into the dog’s mouth in a way that stopped it from barking with‑
out causing any injury. Thus, the dog roamed and reached the Pandavas,
who were practising with Guru Dronacharya in the forest. Amazed at the
sight of the dog, Drona realized that only a very skillful archer could do
this. They set out looking for him and found that it was Eklavya. When
Dronacharya inquired about his teacher, Eklavya showed the mud idol
and said it was Guru Dronacharya himself. Arjuna was furious because he
thought that Eklavya would beat him in archery, and even Dronacharya
realized that Eklavya was more skilled than Arjuna. Being a Shudra hunter,
Eklavya was more competent than the Kshatriya prince, which put him in
a tough predicament. For this reason, Dronacharya instructed him to am‑
putate his right thumb and present it as an offering (Guru Dakshina). But
Eklavya did not disobey and immediately cut off his thumb.
Another instance of caste‑based discrimination in the Indian epic Ma‑
habharata is that of Karn, who was considered a Shudra as he was raised
by a charioteer. He was born to an unmarried princess, Kunti,39 who had
to give away the child to protect her reputation. Karn was also refused by
Dronacharya, who told him to “stick to your caste duties” and not show
interest in the science of warfare. Even later when he showcased his skills
in the archery competition, the Pandavas did not approve of him. Even
 Social Inclusivity/Exclusivity of the Dalit Communities 119

tough Duryodhana befriended him, he remained an outsider, a suta‑putra,

son of a charioteer. At the svayambara,40 Draupadi did not let him partici‑
pate as he was from a low caste, and therefore not even fit to contend in
the contest arranged for her marriage.
The stories of Shriya Chandaluni, Dasia Bauri, and Shabari establish
that the Hindu Gods and Hinduism does not believe in any casteism and
follow untouchability. But the everyday reality is very different from these
stories.41
The Hindu mythological stories also perpetrate the caste‑based margin‑
alisation. The Brahminical society had its own way to maintain their he‑
gemony. They strategically focused on excluding the so‑called lower caste
people by not giving them access to same opportunities, resources. Even if
one had the ability and skill then placing them in precarious situations that
demand sacrifice or/and punishment.

Explicit Myths of the Madiga Dalit Community

In Dalit mythology, there are several stories about the origin of Chamars
or Madigas. They are the first representatives of mankind. They trace their
origin to the Hindu deity Lord Narayan, who is believed to have existed
long before the earth and its beings came into existence. Narayan’s prime‑
val creation was Jambhavant, from whose perspiration came Adi Shakti,
the creator of three eggs, from which came Brahma, Vishnu, and Mahesha.
Brahma then created ten sages, the earliest progenitors of mankind. And
from one of these sages, named Chapala, came the Madigas.
Another story is that Narayan’s primeval creation, Jambhavant, had
seven sons. Brahma killed one of his sons, Heppu Muni, to create the earth
from a mixture of his blood and water; he killed another son, Jala Muni,
to create water; and he killed the third, Ghata Muni, to create the moun‑
tains. Then Brahma made blood from Rakta Muni, milk from Pala Muni,
and the colour indigo from Neela Muni. Finally, from Gava Muni came
the Madigas.
Another story about the origin of Madigas revolves around other Hindu
deities, Parvathi and Parmeshwar. As they were strolling in the country‑
side, Parvathi became “unclean,”as she started menstruating. She left
her menstrual clothes under a tree, and from those clothes originated
Chinnaya. Goddess Parvathi and God Parmeshwar gave him the duty of
tending to their divine cow named Kamadhenu. When Chinnaya tasted
Kamadhenu’s milk, he found it so delicious that he felt its meat would be
even more delicious. In his temptation, he killed the divine cow and was
then unable to get rid off the carcass. Lord Shiva (Parmeshwar) then called
out to Jambhavant as “Maha digira,” translated as “the great one come
down,” and hence the name Mahadiga or Madiga. Jambhavant, on Lord
120 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

Shiva’s command, lifted the dead body, cut it into pieces, and Chinnaya
cooked the beef. Shiva then invited other Gods to the feast. As Chinnaya
was blowing down the effervescence, he mistakenly spat into the cooking
vessel. This angered Lord Shiva who then called off the feast and punished
both Chinnaya and Jambhavant for their negligence. So, the ancestors of
Jambhavant became Madigas, and Chinnaya’s became Malas.
Another version of the same story is quite similar. The Gods asked
Jambhavant to distribute the meat of Kamadhenu into two heaps, one for
eating and the other from which they would again resurrect Kamadhenu.
However, Jambhavant kept both heaps for cooking. Meanwhile, Chinnaya
dropped a piece from the cooking vessel onto the ground, cleaned it off the
mud, and put it back. The negligence on the part of both Jambhavant and
Chinnaya was not tolerated by the Gods, and they punished them both.
Jambhavant was cursed that in Kaliyugam, his descendants would lead a
degraded life, earning their livelihood by handling dead cattle. So, his de‑
scendants, i.e., Madigas/Chamars became leather workers, while Chinnaya
was cursed that his descendants, i.e., Malas, would sweep the village lanes.
Another mythical story is about the Gods seeking help from Jambhavant
and calling out to him as “Tata, maha digi ra,” translated as “the great
Mahadigira.” His descendants were then called Madigas. Jambhava, a
sage, was questioned by Isvara (Shiva) about being always late to the Di‑
vine Court. The sage reasoned that in fulfilling the wants and needs of
his children, he would get late. To solve this issue, Isvara gifted him a Di‑
vine cow, Kamdhenu, which could magically fulfil all their wishes. A few
days later, another sage, Sankya, visited Jambhava’s house, where he was
greeted by his son, Yugamuni, as Jambhava was still at court. After relish‑
ing the delicious meal provided by the cow, Sankya was tempted to taste its
flesh. Sankya killed the cow and insisted that Yugamuni partake in its flesh.
When Jambhava returned from Isvara’s court, he found his son and Sankya
eating the flesh of the sacred cow. He became upset and took the offenders
to Isvara for judgement. The two offenders stood outside the court, near
the door. Isvara cursed them to become Chandals, or outcastes. Sankya’s
descendants came to be known as Holeyas, and Yugamuni’s as Madigas.
Another myth similar to this is that Jambhavant owned a Divine cow
that fulfilled all his desires and wants. One day, a neighbouring king vis‑
ited him. To honour the great king, Jambhavant prayed to the cow that
the king’s desires be fulfilled. And, in no time did the king’s desires come
true. Impressed by the gesture, the king requested that Jambhavant give
him the cow. When he refused to do so, the king waged war against Jamb‑
havant but lost. Again, he ordered his men to attack the palace. But this
time, the Divine Cow cursed him and burnt him into ashes. The king’s son
then came dressed as a pauper to seek revenge. He successfully persuaded
Jambhavant’s son to kill the cow and then both of them could enjoy a
heavenly feast. On knowing the deeds of his son, Jambhavant took both
 Social Inclusivity/Exclusivity of the Dalit Communities 121

the offenders to Shiva’s court. They stood outside the court as they feared
Shiva’s wrath. Shiva cursed them to become Chandal or untouchable.
Note: the ones standing next to the right of the door become Mala and
the left becomes Madiga.
Another myth is about a king who prayed to be blessed with a daughter
and to answer his prayers, the Gods sent his way a golden parrot. The
parrot perched onto an anthill and suddenly disappeared. The king was
disappointed and got the anthill excavated. He was rewarded for his hard
work, and from there came out his divinely beautiful daughter, who came
to be worshipped as Matangi. It must be noted that the Madigas call them‑
selves “Matangi Makkalu or children of Matangi or Durga, who is their
goddess” (HISTORY).
Another mythical story is from the epic Ramayana. Jambavant is de‑
scribed as having a bearlike form and is portrayed as a wise, courageous,
and experienced general in the monkey army. In some parts of Telangana,
there is a tradition that suggests a connection between the Madigas and
Jambavant. During the festival of Holi, some Madigas even dress up as
bears and go around the village in a procession.
In another story, Kamdhenu, the Divine Cow, yielded a lot of milk,
which was reserved only for consumption by the Devas (Gods). Vella‑
manu, a Madiga boy, wanted to taste the milk of the Divine Cow and was
advised by Adi Jambuvudu to abstain from it. Vellamanu was, however,
successful in stealing some milk. After tasting the milk, he was tempted to
taste the cow’s flesh. Upon hearing this, Kamdhenu died. The Devas cut
the carcass into four parts and gave one part to Adi Jambuvudu. But they
then thought of bringing the cow back to life by combining all the parts.
All others put their parts back, but “Vellamanu had already cut a bit of the
flesh and boiled it and breathed on it,” and when the animal was brought
back to life, its chin sank, as that part of the flesh had been defiled. “And
this led to the sinking of the Madigas in the social scale” (HISTORY).
The Madiga/Chamaar Dalit mythical stories centre around the common
thread that their origin is directly from God himself/herself. They are part
of the first creations of this world, like rivers, mountains, and themselves.
In this idea, they also stand similar to Gandhian coinage for Dalits, Hari‑
jans, meaning the children of God. It is interesting to note that none of their
stories purports the Brahmanical idea of Gods being against the Shudras
(Tulsi‑Vivah) or the idea of Brahmanical superiority from the very beginning
of life on earth. Quite like Parayar Dalit mythical stories, the Madiga myths
place them in high regard. According to Madiga myths, the Madigas were
the most superior of all and were directly associated with God Narayan for
their birth. Other stories suggest that Gods trusted them and would often
seek their help in matters of the court. This idea is quite similar to the Brah‑
manical one, where the Brahmins are considered to have originated from the
head and therefore are known for their intelligence and wise counsel.
122 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

Similar to Parayar Dalit myths, Madiga myths also support the idea that
misdeeds like stealing, being unhygienic, and unintentionally consuming
beef have led to their downfall. Some stories also suggest that beef was
even consumed by Gods, which is also mentioned in the Parayar Dalit
myths. The stories where the cow has been killed and feasted upon directly
relegate them to being outcastes. Once someone is an outcaste, they are
placed outside the locality inhabited by the rest; allowed to eat the meat of
the dead animals and considered unfit for society, i.e., they can potentially
defile society with their presence. As part of their punishment, they are
cursed that their generations will take birth as untouchables. Also, there
is an element of serving but only the God and no other people. This idea
of cooking the meals for God or carrying out his orders is essential to be
understood accurately. The Brahmanical text Manusmriti suggests that the
Shudras must serve the so‑called upper caste, whereas the Madiga Dalit
myths suggest they only served God and not commoners.

Topic Madiga Myth Parayar Myth Brahmanical Myth

Origin Originated from Both Brahmins They were born from

God, and and Parayars God’s (Brahma’s) head,
literally the were born as and Dalits are avarna
children of brothers. (not originating from
God. any part of Brahma).
Narayan created
Brahma,
and one of
Brahma’s sons
(Jambhavant)
was a Madiga.
Occupation Serving and Serves the other. They serve Gods (as
helping God. priests in temple), and
the Dalits are meant to
serve them.
Crime Stealing, being Stealing, Cow is a sacred animal
unhygienic, killing, and and therefore, meant
killing, and consuming to be worshipped.
consuming cow cow meat. Considered as
meat. “mother” but after
death, a Chammar/
Madiga carries the
dead body.
Punishment Outcasted and Outcasted, can According to their
the generations eat meat of stories, the Dalits are
will be born as dead animals. suffering because of
untouchables. their deeds, and they
are not twice‑born like
the so‑called upper
caste.
 Social Inclusivity/Exclusivity of the Dalit Communities 123

Dalit Viewpoint by Kancha Iliaha

Speaking of the spatial restrictions and boundaries, Ilaiah writes that,

the Dalit wadas (areas) were supposed to remain only on the eastern
edge of the village society because it was believed the winds that blow
from the western side of the village should pass over the Brahmanic
castes and move on to the rest of the village before it touches the Dalit
wada. (25)

Such restrictions were implemented by the Brahmins to maintain their

dominance in the society.
The Dalit literature aims at establishing the Dalit viewpoints, which have
been put forth differently and from a Brahmanical stance. Ilaiah states,

The Dalit press dissects the social process by inverting language, order,
hierarchy, sparing none, even those who consider themselves progres‑
sive and revolutionary…all knowledge systems‑ literary, cultural, or of
the social and physical sciences‑ are being restructured. The social layer
that had been marked as ‘polluted’ is being highlighted as scientific and
socially useful, while the so‑called ‘pure’ is being reconstructed as un‑
skilled, parasitic, anti‑social, and anti‑national. (27)

He also asserts that Brahmanical narratives present Dalits as “incapable

of producing great ideas of society, economy, culture and politics” (27).
Such ideas have been rooted deeply in the consciousness of the so‑called
upper castes, as Dalits led lives of limited resources, and Brahmins ensured
they had no access to education or religious scriptures and limited their
access to the cities by confining them to the outskirts. Contemporary Dalit
writings reflect that the Dalits are capable of constructing a society and
flourishing in every aspect of life.
Kancha Ilaiah discusses elaboratively the contributions of the Dalitba‑
hujans to society. He vouches for their community‑building and survival
strategies. He strongly claims that the Chamars or the leather tanners,
who are often considered “impure,” as their work is to remove the carcass
of animals, have saved the society from several diseases that could have
spread if they had not cleaned the villages of the dead bodies of the ani‑
mals. Despite their service to the so‑called upper caste, they are not given
their share of respect and are treated in an inhumane manner; “they must
be rewarded for their labour and sense of cleanliness” (29).
He further establishes that Dalitbahujan are capable of bringing scien‑
tific discoveries about food and daily utility products because they have a
vast knowledge of the terrain and acute information about the landscape.
So, instead of relegating them to the margins as uncultured, uneducated,
124 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

and uncivilized, they should be respected and taken seriously for their
work and effort. Kancha Ilaiah discusses at great length the Chamar
community’s ability to change animal skin to leather. In the Hindu socio‑
cultural myths, leather is considered impure because it is derived from the
skin of dead animals, and therefore those who engage in this task are also
considered “unclean” (31). Ilaiah asserts,

Rural civil society had always been a synthesis of agrarian produc‑

tion and village‑centred industrial production, and the culture and art
forms that had grown around these two productive processes. These
techno‑economic and science‑oriented attitudes seem to have had their
origin in the act of peeling off of the skin from the carcass and convert‑
ing it into leather. (31)

He further emphasizes that the Madigas/Chamars engaged in verifying

their knowledge as opposed to Brahmins, who offered water, ghee, and
other foods to gods with “no verification of what is happening to the of‑
fered substances” (33). The Madigas used ingredients like salt, bark, and
lime to turn wet animal skin into leather, and that without these ingredi‑
ents the skin would rot (33). In those days, the caste system denied the
Madigas access to education, and therefore, they could not wrjte down
their discoveries and formulas, and so their knowledge and inventions
were passed down as orature (33). He also insists that the labs of these
Chamars were the open fields where they learnet to skillfully peel off the
skin from dead animals without tampering with it. Through their experi‑
ments, they know that this “salted skin is to be dipped into the powdered
mixture of the bark of the tangedu plant…with each passing day, the skin
absorbs some of the chemical content in the tangedu water and begins to
stiffen into leather” (34). The Brahmanical bodies of knowledge could not
objectively view this, and Kancha Ilaiah says that “due to the anti‑science
ethos of Hinduism, human beings who managed this process were labelled
as untouchables, condemned to social isolation and subjected to untold
misery and indignities” (34).
As Ilaiah presents his views on Brahmanical hegemonic ways, he also
labelled their philosophy as “the most superstitious philosophy.” Accord‑
ing to the Madiga myths, the dead comes to “serve the living by making
their body or parts of that body a usuable commodity” as opposed to
Brahmanical notions of treating dead as potential carriers of evil spirits,
and anyone that touches the dead can then invite the ghost of the dead in
their house (35).
In 2008, when Vanmam was published, as opposed to Bama’s first
book, Karukku (1992), with a gap of more than a decade, the situation
had changed for the Dalits. They were educated, knew the government
 Social Inclusivity/Exclusivity of the Dalit Communities 125

rules and policies, had good jobs which paid them enough to live in bet‑
ter houses, eat and dress well. They could understand the conniving ways
in which the upper castes would divide the Dalit communities and profit
from the discord. In this book, Bama has discussed at length the Dalit
struggle, the hostility between the two communities to the extent that they
were murdering innocent people based on caste difference. The hatred and
animosity between the two castes were tremendously heightened by the
devious strategies of the Naickers. There came a time when the streets that
were occupied by the Parayars looked as lifeless as a graveyard. They had
all run to take shelter with their people in the neighbouring villages because
of the violence and killings. Many children had to drop out from schools
and colleges, and menfolk refused to enter the village. Some women who
could take refuge with their neighboring village people fled. The remaining
stayed back and barely survived. They earned their daily kanji by selling
the milk of their cows. Police support was for namesake, and after a point,
no one trusted them.
Myths are, therefore, a part of the inter‑community and intra‑community
experiences and relationships. To understand Dalit psyche, identity, and
ideology, one needs to visit the Dalit villages and their homes to under‑
stand the difference in their way of living and those of the upper castes.
It cannot be analysed considering a common or a shared history in terms
of politics and reforms. Everyday life and lifestyle were influenced by the
demographic divisions, and geographical location has to be taken into con‑
sideration when understanding Dalit history. These stories are part of the
community’s collective unconscious and cannot be overlooked, as they have
shaped their sense of self and identity.
From the above table, it can be observed that there are certain common‑
alities in all the myths taken for the purpose of this research. The origins
of the Parayars and Brahmins are from the same father, and as a result of
which they are related by blood. Some event, such as either consuming
beef, stealing food, removing
the corpse of the dead cow, or killing the cow, results in their downfall,
and as punishment, they are relegated as Parayars and outcasted. In the
Hindu mythology, cow is considered a sacred animal, and killing it would
lead to a definite punishment. It is, however, considered an impure act to
remove the carcass of a dead cow, and one who does it, so is referred to
as a Paraiyar.
The stories also put the Brahmins in a superior position, where they
act entitled to the so‑called upper caste. In one such mythical story, the
caste system is portrayed as God‑made, with God giving the gift of being
in an upper caste to everyone. But it is the Parayar’s fault that he couldn’t
keep it. This is explained using the symbol of a fish, which happens to
be a source of nourishment and even the accessibility of the types of fish
126 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

depends on one’s social status. The Parayars did not have adequate equip‑
ment to carry the gift and so chose an ottu to put it in. But only later did he
realize that the ottu has both a mouth and an anus, and so the gift of caste
slipped away of his own doing.
It can also be noted from the stories that the occupation thus taken de‑
termines the caste. For instance, the Brahmin is one who conducts puja in
a temple, and a Parayar is one who engages in removing corpses, cooking
beef, and serving others. A Brahmin by virtue of his caste is entitled to re‑
fuse to do any so‑called impure work. Two sacred elements figure in these
mythical stories: temple and a cow. One story also states that there was a
time when eating beef was not considered a sign of a low caste, and even
Mahamunis would cook and consume it. But the same story also mentions
that Mahamuni was punished by the Gods and told to eat the meat of a
dead cow for survival. Food, rituals, culture, and space together play out
an important role in the mythical stories. These stories have only extended
over time, and even the shadow of a Dalit came to be considered a sign
of bad luck and impurity. Karukku and Sangati elaborate on the various
dimensions of these extended meanings. But Vanman presents a narrative
where the Parayars are trying to break these established myths and move
towards a more comprehensive and egalitarian society.

Explicit Myth and Implicit Mythology in the Parayar

Dalit Streets
Vivian Asimos referes to Lévi‑Strauss’ concept of explicit myth: For Lévi‑
Strauss, explicit myth consisted of stories and narratives, both oral and
written. Implicit myth, in contrast, is ritual action. He sees explicit myth
as complete, while implicit myth is fragmentary” (Asimos 88). Jonathan
Miles Watson defines the concept of implicit mythology as “the narrativi‑
zation that both accompanies and contextualizes ritual action, as well as
being the trace of that ritual action. Moreover, I take implicit mythology
to be operating where there is material and action that is tumescent with
meaning” (Miles‑Watson 32). Vivian Asimos further adds to this, “The
implicit myth’s emphasis on more personalized experience is what often
gives the more explicit myth personal connection and emotional interest,
and so the two are tied together” (Asimos 90).
An important question arises at this point, which is: how the existing
myths have shaped the Parayar community so far and the life they are liv‑
ing. To what extent have they deviated, or what changes have come that
might change the discourse of narratives in future.
The setting shows to what extent is marginalisation exercised till date.
The researcher would also like to analyse how the Parayar Dalit commu‑
nity has dealt with this kind of discrimination and how the community has
raised its children.
 Social Inclusivity/Exclusivity of the Dalit Communities 127

If we look at the Parayar streets, or the cheri streets, they are embedded
with the stories of those who have lived there for generations. The upper
castes look at those streets with disgust, whereas for the so‑called lower
castes, it is their home. The stench in that area is nothing to be ashamed
of; rather those who criticize it and look down upon the streets are mocked
for not accepting and embracing it, as this place is an essential part of de‑
fining and framing their identity. Some characters like Jayaraju who is one
of the two protagonists, shirk away from identifying themselves with those
living on that street. When Jayaraju came to the village during his summer
vacations, he kept asking the people around the way to his street, “Hello,
which is the way to R.C. Street?” (22). The people who witnessed this
behaviour mocked him while sitting in the chavady, Irulaandi Thatha who
had been lying in the chavady lifted his head and remarked, “when one
learns to write a few words, one can’t even remember way to one’s own
home, it seems. If you snatch away his dark glasses and give him a couple
of thumps on his bum, he will automatically remember the way home”
(23). Jayaraju continued to further even ask a Naicker who was sitting on
his scooter the way to R.C. Street. Those around were now surprised, and
one of them said, “Isn’t he the son of our Nanamma? The way he’s asking
for directions, it seems as though he is new to the place…” (23). One of
the Parayars followed him to be certain that he was just pretending. Once
Jayaraju was in his street, he straight up went to his house and opened the
front door, left his bag inside and proceeded towards the chavady. He held
a handkerchief to his nose and fanned his hand in front of his nose as he
commented, “What a stink…what a stink!” (23). This became the most
discussed topic in the R.C. Street and everyone mocked the boy, “All that’s
fine, he’s good boy all right. But he’s so full of false pride, that’s what we
cannot stand about him…” (24).
Apart from the inhabitants of those streets, the way those streets are
referred to by the upper caste people in itself speaks of a history. The Dalit
experience has always been a kind of a relative experience, and when we
study it, we cannot ignore the way they were treated by the people of the
upper caste. The streets were despised to such an extent that one born
there is not fit to walk on the streets where the upper castes reside. Bama’s
first book, Karukku, lucidly showed the various aspects of the Parayar
community, with their locality and streets playing an important part. In
Sangati also, we see clear examples of prejudices based on their locality. In
Bama’s short stories too, we see a frequent mention of the Parayar streets.
The marginalisation of the Parayar community was exercised at the fol‑
lowing levels:

1 Social
2 Cultural
3 Demographic and geographic
128 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

Socially, we come across many examples and the one that is often talked
about by Bama is the Pongal festival. It is specifically the ritual of odai‑
yaru offerings on every Pongal festival. The Pallars and Parayars took
“offerings of a rooster, one or two large pumpkins, four‑five stalks of
sugarcane, and a measure of rice. This was the typical odaiyaru offer‑
ing” (7). A community that could not afford to eat regular healthy meals
would make such a grand gesture to please the landlords and remain in
their good books, which did not actually extend beyond getting some
work on their fields. The young Parayar boys who were then in col‑
lege raised an objection to such rituals and wanted to put an end to it.
They thought these were gestures of servility, “they thought it humiliat‑
ing to take so many things for the landlords and then have to stand at
a distance and reach for a mere morsel of Pongal from them” (7). The
Parayars ultimately stopped this practice of “making harvest offerings to
their landlords,” and Pallars followed suit. This only angered the Naick‑
ers more. The Parayar streets had been witness to several years of servil‑
ity, but now they were witnessing a change in one of the most important
rituals of the community.
Culturally, the boundaries are strictly drawn. It is, however, interesting
to note that in Vanmam, the Pallars and the Parayars are invited to cul‑
tural programs organized by the upper caste people specifically on Christ‑
mas and on birthday of Mother Mary. This can be seen as a diplomatic
move not to allow them to engage in their ritualistic activities but making
them realize the efforts the people in power make for them. This is, in
fact, quite ironic considering their everyday behaviour towards the lower
caste people, especially towards the Parayars, as most of them practised
Christianity.
In Vanmam, we see a shift in this routine as the young men of the Para‑
yar community sought to organize their own intra‑community events in
their own streets. These young men clubbed together and formed a group
called the “Kazhani Arts Troupe.” They started making some significant
changes to their locality. They cleaned the area near Ambedkar’s statue
and put a tube light in front of it. They put some plants around the statue
and planted two neem saplings in every street and asked the boys in those
streets to look after them once the group members go back to their col‑
leges after the vacation. They cleaned all the streets and whitewashed the
chavady. Then they sought to resolve the water tap situation in that lo‑
cality. Their clothes were being washed there, people bathed there and
collected the drinking water too from it, which was quite unhygienic.
They decided that they would clean up the two bathing rooms near the
well, one each for men and women, and would install a motor to supply
the water in them. They further decided that it would be made manda‑
tory for everyone to bathe inside those bathrooms only (46–47). Parayars
 Social Inclusivity/Exclusivity of the Dalit Communities 129

felt a great sense of pride and happiness with all these changes and ea‑
gerly waited to participate in the several events like the dance compe‑
titions, debate, and others: “look at the streets. Are they the way they
used to be? Really, we have to praise our boys a lot” (48). These streets
have witnessed the changes that have happened over the years and are
an important part of their demographic history. Some past actions, which
are now done differently, have been witnessed by these streets and their
inhabitants.
The researcher would like to implement the concept of implicit mythol‑
ogy here. There are certain terms that stand closely connected to implicit
mythology. For instance, according to Jonathan Miles Watson, in his
study of Shimla, what is already a part of the Cathedral Church remains
as standard implicit mythology, and the changes that have happened there
itself are the vernacular implicit mythology. On similar lines, one can study
the Parayar streets as represented in Karukku and Sangati, as opposed to
the changes elaborated in Vanmam.
Prof. Watson, in his paper “The Cathedral on the Ridge and the Implicit
Mythology of the Shimla Hills,” suggests that “the vernacular implicit my‑
thology is in keeping with Lévi‑Strauss’ examples from small scale socie‑
ties, whereas the standardized implicit mythology is a logical development
of Lévi‑Strauss’ thought when applied to an international religious organiza‑
tion” (11).
When we think of this in terms of demographic division of society on
religious lines, the significance of streets becomes clear. At a larger scale,
marginalization was practised throughout most parts of India. Speaking of
the Parayar Dalit community in Tamil Nadu, in the Kandampatti village,
the fields and chavady are important parts of the demography, further de‑
termining the inter‑community and intra‑community dynamics.
The streets also become symbolic of the changes the Parayar community has
witnessed over a span of almost two decades, ever since Karukku came out.
One can see that the Parayars were more aware of their rights and surround‑
ings because the younger generation who had an access to college education
was against the idea of serving the so‑called upper castes. The so‑called lower
caste people were helplessly dependent on the Naickers. But the younger gen‑
eration wanted a respectful behaviour towards them, rather than considering
it their hard luck and destiny, and accepting all sorts of ill‑treatment meted
to them. The Parayar streets are geographically and mythologically central to
the Dalit narrative. To trace the journey of the residents of the Parayar Dal‑
its, the researcher would like to compare the treatment meted out to them as
described in Karukku and Sangati, and the changes one can note in Vanmam,
which have happened gradually over a period of many years. In the introduc‑
tory passages of the book, it is made clear that even though Vanmam is a
fictional narrative, it is based on true incidents.
130 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

Can We De‑Construct the Dalit Myths by Changing

the Longstanding Customs and Rituals?
The aforementioned examples demonstrate how the implicit myth has
been manifesting in line with the explicit narrative. Additionally, the ex‑
plicit myth is expanded to create the individual and community experi‑
ences, in addition to being enacted. The intention and participation of the
young Parayar Dalits further probe into the realm of implicit mythology,
as discussed by Jonathan Miles Watson in his paper “The Cathedral on the
Ridge and the Implicit Mythology of the Shimla Hills,” where he discusses
the concept of implicit mythology by Lévi‑Strauss.42 The attempt of chang‑
ing the existing narrative to mould their ‘lived reality’ is part of the implicit
mythology, as also suggested by Prof. Watson. He contrasted the thoughts
formed later, after learning about the experiences of the residents and dev‑
otees of the Christ Church Cathedral, with his initial impressions of the
sacred place. Landscape becomes an important place of action to examine
the way implicit mythology has been incorporated through explicit myths.
A closer analysis also depicts how the implicit mythology has undergone
changes overtime. To consider the changes in action as performed by the
younger generation of the Parayar Dalit community, distinct from their
parents’ generation, the following observations have been drawn:

1 Utilizing the sources for public use.

2 Walking in the streets where the Naickers reside.
3 Getting an access to education.
4 Breaking away from the established rituals.
5 Creating their own groups to come together to celebrate their festivals.
6 Standing in elections and occupying positions of power.

Christ Church Cathedral is the arena for social anchoring through his‑
torical rupture because emotionally charged, reflexive implicit mythol‑
ogy, is interwoven with vernacular implicit mythology,43 thus blending
the memories of the individual with the collective memories of the land‑
scape in a satisfying way. (13)

Similarly, the Parayar streets have been witness to the growth of the Par‑
ayar Dalit community. The streets, the chavady and their cattle grazing
fields have been an integral part of their life. The researcher is not attempt‑
ing to make the Parayar streets sacred in the sense to give the sacredness
to the space that Ayodhya has gained. But for those who have been born
and brought up there, the land and space are a sacred. It is not something
to be looked down upon; rather, the actions happened over there make it
a space for reflexive implicit mythology: “The utility of the term implicit
 Social Inclusivity/Exclusivity of the Dalit Communities 131

mythology becomes manifest: the unity that the term conjures accurately
captures the way that emotion, place, memory and space are unified in the
lived experience of any individual” (13).
We have so far discussed that Parayar streets stand central to the mythic
spiral. Also, it can be considered a site invoking the idea of implicit my‑
thology. Jonathan Miles Watson in his paper states that for Shimlites, the
word ghost stands for apparition as well as the past, often referred to by
the usage of the term bhoot. The ghosts of the past are all around the Para‑
yar Dalit streets if we see it from the point of view of the present genera‑
tion. For them, ghosts are related to the spatial memory and most of which
was determined by the so‑called upper castes Naickers. So, the explicit
myth is the written, scripted story, while the implicit is the participation,
performance, and experience.
The following observations can be drawn from the Parayar Dalit myths
and Brahmanical myths. Some observations are from the existing explicit
myths of the Parayar Dalit community.
According to some of these stories, same bloodline is shared by the
Brahmins and the Parayars, and therefore they are two brothers and their
families are tied by blood. On the contrary, Brahmanical myths shun this
idea. Some stories emphasize that the caste was created by God, and there‑
fore, caste‑based discrimination is justified. This opinion is also reflected in
the Brahmanical stories. Another idea shared in both Parayar Dalit mythi‑
cal stories and Brahmanical stories is that the one who serves is the Para‑
yar, and the one being served is the Brahmin. So, works like removing the
carcass of dead animals and even serving water to others are attributed to
Parayars. Some behavioural characteristics stand as prominent distinguish‑
ing elements, such as the lower caste people would engage in stealing food,
or some kind of theft; on the other hand, the deceitful behaviour of the
privileged class is justified. The type of food consumed is considered vital
in determining their caste, especially consuming beef relegates them to be‑
ing belonging to lower caste. Also, the punishment meted out to those who
steal or eat beef is rather severe, such as being declared outcaste. Other
form of punishment involves derogatory treatment like not being allowed
to enter the temples and being bound to leave the village.
The following are observations on how the explicit myth has played
out in performance and as ‘lived reality’ for the Parayars: In their life as
depicted in Bama’s narratives, a major difference is that the so‑called up‑
per caste Naickers do not consider the Parayars as arising from the same
bloodline, and therefore, any word or kind of relation is shunned. Even the
Parayars have a servile attitude towards the so‑called upper caste. Apart
from their dependency on them for work, another reason for their sub‑
missive nature is that the older generations have taught them to be re‑
spectful towards the Naickers. The idea of the creation of caste by God is
132 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

considered true and is ingrained even in the minds of the Parayars. There
are several examples that prove the Parayars consider themselves inferior
to the privileged castes and incorporate these values, even passing them on
to their younger generations.
Parayars and Pallars are chiefly agricultural labourers, and they mostly
work on the Naicker fields as labourers or as watchmen guarding their
orchards from wild animals. The myth has clearly extended in terms of
how it is played out. The so‑called lower caste is serving the upper castes.
The Naickers only enjoy the final reap of the harvested crop, while till‑
ing, sowing, irrigating the fields, and cutting the crops are all part of the
Naicker’s job.
Regarding the aspect of punishment, the so‑called lower caste people
reside in separate streets and use separate wells and ponds. In fact, this
aspect has played out at various levels in Bama’s earlier books Karukku
and Sangati. There are several examples that stand as testimony to the fact
that the Naickers could get their way out of their misbehaviour, whereas
the Parayars would be punished, which included public humiliation and
ostracization.
Speaking of punishment for eating beef as mentioned in mythical stories:
Of course, beef remains a part of the diet of Parayars as they are Chris‑
tians by religion. Apart from occasional consumption of beef, the Parayars
cannot afford proper, regular, healthy meals. Their diet mostly comprises
Kuzhu (rice water) and millets.
The changes in the lived‑reality aspect can be studied as vernacular im‑
plicit mythology. There are changes, as mentioned by Bama in Vanmam.
The primary change is in their level of education. Since the previous gener‑
ation of lower caste people managed to send their children to schools and
colleges, there has been a shift in the way of thinking of the present genera‑
tion, and they have made considerable attempts to break away from their
servile attitude towards the so‑called upper caste people. For example, they
have done away with the ritual of odaiyaru offerings, which were made on
Pongal. They have started using the natural water resources, which they
were denied earlier. They also have learnt to speak up for themselves and
do not hesitate to voice their opinions in front of Naickers. The young men
Saminathan, Jayaraju, Anthony, and others engage in activities to uplift
their community and educate their people. They also won the panchayat
elections and looked forward to participating in State Legislative elections.
This has been a turning point for them. Since the beginning, they have
been subjugated and pushed to the margins. Holding positions of power is
a huge victory and a big leap towards reforming their reality, experiences,
and hence, reforming their identity.
 Social Inclusivity/Exclusivity of the Dalit Communities 133

As far as reflexive implicit mythology is concerned, one can assert that

moving away from their established patterns of behaviour, which involved
public humiliations, trauma, hurt, feeling disrespected, and helplessmess,
has brought positive changes in their sense of self and strengthened their
self‑esteem. All these changes, which are helping them evolve as a com‑
munity, have shaped and reformed their identity. They are now confident,
assertive, and united as Dalits.
5 The Language of Marginalisation
in Dalit Narratives

Arundhati Roy, in the Introduction “The Doctor and the Saint,” to

Annihilation of Caste takes the readers back to her childhood, where
she witnessed caste‑based discrimination. She spoke about the ‘Paraiyan’
church, where ‘Paraiyan’ priests preached to an ‘Untouchable’ congrega‑
tion. She further mentioned that caste was implied in the names of the
people, in the way they referred to each other, in their occupations, and in
their clothes. Caste would determine alliances such as marriages and was
even reflected in their day‑to‑day language.
Kancha Ilaiah, in Why I am Not a Hindu, elaborates on several reasons
as to why the Dalit narratives must be analysed from the point of view
of their language.44 He shares that children begin to experience language
primarily through names,

Children’s experience of language begins with fixing the names of

things—birds, animals, trees, insects, everything that is around them.
Every tree, every insect, every living and non‑living being bears a name.
Many of these things do not have words for them in ‘standard’ Brah‑
minical language. (6)

The role of language cannot be undermined when studying Dalit texts and
other writings. Language is a means of expression and conveys one’s sen‑
timents, thoughts, ideas, and messages. Dalit narratives have been ques‑
tioned for their use of colloquial language as opposed to the language used
in mainstream Indian writings in English. Bama has particularly stated in
her interviews that her writing represents her community and her people,
and therefore also adheres to way they would usually communicate; any de‑
viation from it would be a “misrepresentation.” The language in which the
so‑called upper‑caste and lower‑caste people interact carries multiple mean‑
ings, which is suggestive of the uneasy relationship between the communities.
Bama asserted, “Brahminical language does not understand our ways
of making‑up new names. These names are not taught through the written

DOI: 10.4324/9781003488927-5
 The Language of Marginalisation in Dalit Narratives 135

word but are orally repeated in communication, that is use‑based” (6).

Names, of course, are an essential part of an individual’s identity. Jonathan
Culler refers to Stuart Hall’s definition of identity as “the names we give to
the different ways we are positioned by, and position ourselves in, the nar‑
ratives of the past” (117). In Christianity, babies are baptized after birth,
i.e., given a name in the church as part of the rituals performed by the
priest. But as Bama writes about the Parayar community, the names given
to people apart from their baptismal names were such as: Murugan for
Spring Pig, Kazhinja for Leaky, Medenda for Floater, Kaakkaa for Crow,
Uzhamki for Running Nose, Kalkundaan for Boulder, Kaaman for Jack of
all trades, Bondan for Snatcher, Vidvi for Idiot, and Naadoli for Wanderer
(Karukku 9). Names accorded based on a trait or physical feature high‑
light a section of society that was close‑knit, social, and stereotypical in its
perspectives.
Kancha Ilaiah has also insisted that Dalit consciousness can be studied
by analysing literary texts for their language and expression:

Each caste has built its own special consciousness. As individuals we

acquire a consciousness of ourselves, our environment, our production
and procreation…Further language here is a social instrument of com‑
munication and of the expression of that particular consciousness. (6)

Speaking of the dominant position of the upper castes, Ilaiah states, “A

class which is so brazenly casteist in theory and practice is also brazenly
silent about its inhumanity in its literary texts” (55). The daily conversa‑
tional dialogues between the upper caste and lower caste become impor‑
tant to analyse, as they carry metaphoric meanings signalling the tension
between the communities. In the introduction to Just One Word, Bama
states,

The short stories in this collection document the emerging influences on

the lives and consciousness of people. The Mandal Commission may
not have noticed outbursts of caste feelings in Tamil Nadu, but the in‑
ternalized caste sentiments that socialize children–pervasive in schools–­
practiced in our government offices, and clearly obvious in the new
urban reformulations are perhaps subtler and therefore deeper. (xvi)

This is to add that the language in the stories not only highlights the
­inter‑community dynamics but also intra‑community relationships, opin‑
ions, and ideology. The language also provides meaningful insight into the
socio‑cultural and routine life of the Parayars.
In order to analyse the language, one can apply Roland Barthes’ theory
of myth criticism, and for that, one also needs to understand the Barthesian
136 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

definition of the term “connotation.” What an element connotes can be

classified under one of the five codes. Apart from this, one can also es‑
tablish the mythical meaning that the signifier attains at the second level,
which is metalanguage. In S/Z, Roland Barthes defines at length the differ‑
ence between denotative and connotative meanings of language. Barthes
starts by talking about the difference between readerly and writerly texts.
He emphasizes the Nietzschean concept of interpretation to see and read
between the lines and derive meanings from within the texts: “To interpret
a text is not to give it a meaning, but on the contrary to appreciate what
plural constitutes it” (5). He further adds that to interpret these polyse‑
mous texts, one can use a modest instrument called connotation (6). Bar‑
thes uses the definition given by the Danish linguist and semiotician, Louis
Hjelmslev. According to Hjelmslev, “Connotation is a secondary meaning,
whose signifier is itself constituted by a sign or system of primary significa‑
tion, which is denotation” (6–7).
Barthes considers connotation as an apparatus that must be applied to
all readerly texts, or else one would be abolishing the differential value of
the texts. It is a kind of typological instrument: “Connotation is the way
into the polysemy of the classic text” (8). He further adds, “Connotations
are meanings which are neither in the dictionary nor in the grammar of the
language in which the text is written” (8).
The signifier will represent “brief, contiguous fragments,” which will be
called lexias, as they are the units of reading. The lexia can sometimes be
words, and sometimes several sentences (13). Barthes proposed that one
is not setting forth the criticism of a text with this approach but adding
various dimensions (psychological, psychoanalytical, thematic, historical,
structural) that come under the umbrella term of “plurality” (4).
When one is referring to archetypes or archetypal patterns, every small
unit of a readerly text becomes a lexia, which can be grouped into one of
the five codes as given by Barthes. Structural analysis of the text becomes
crucial to understand patterns, setting, characters, language, and, overall,
the plurality of the text. By conducting an archetypal analysis, one at‑
tempts a dissection of the text to understand the various elements that
constitute it. According to Barthes, all the textual signifiers can be grouped
under five major codes.45
In “The Doctor and the Saint,” Arundhati Roy makes a very interest‑
ing observation when she discusses the ghastly incident faced by Surekha
Bhotmange. Roy stated,

because she was Dalit and had no right to aspire to a good life…the
villagers would not allow Surekha’s family to irrigate their fields with
water from canal, or draw water from the public well. They tried to
build a public road through her land, when she protested, they drove
 The Language of Marginalisation in Dalit Narratives 137

their bullock carts through their fields. They led their cattle loose to feed
on her standing crop. (19)

The village panchayat denied them permission to get an electricity connec‑

tion or even to renovate their thatched mud hut into a brick house. The
police never paid any attention to Surekha’s complaints. Arundhati stated
that around “seventy incensed villagers, men and women” (19) attacked
the Bhotmanges’ house. Surekha’s husband was in the fields at that time,
and so he happened to see them coming and fled from the spot to call the
police. Meanwhile, Surekha, her daughter Priyanka, and two boys were
dragged out of the house. The boys were ordered to rape their mother and
sister, and when they refused, their genitals were mutilated. All four were
then lynched. “The dead bodies were dumped in a nearby canal” (19). The
torture did not end with this, the dead were also denied fair and equal jus‑
tice. The case was never treated as one of caste discrimination.
Arundhati Roy states this by drawing a comparison between Malala
Yousafzai and Surekha Bhotmange. When Malala was shot, she received
the best medical treatment possible and survived miraculously: “The US
President and the Secretary of State sent messages of support and solidar‑
ity. Madonna dedicated a song to her. Angelina Jolie wrote an article about
her. Malala was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize; she was on the cover
of Time” (18). Apart from all this, acknowledgement of her act and fight
came from various corners of the world. Unlike Surekha’s fight, which was
not even acknowledged in her own place and society.
Bama has insisted that the way Dalit issues are treated needs attention
at the administrative level too. She has given several examples through
her short stories where Dalits do not have a say in their own lives, and in
many situations, they become easy victims of the ruthless behaviour of the
upper‑caste people. Bama’s short stories revolve around such incidents of
discrimination that happen on a daily basis, but hardly any are reported.
Sometimes the language becomes a barrier, and sometimes the Dalits be‑
come victims of untoward situations as they are the weakest section of
society. In fact, their primary struggle is that of survival. When caught in
such situations, they are publicly humiliated, beaten ruthlessly, and the
state machinery provides no support to them.
Bama’s Just One Word and Ichi Tree Monkey: New and Selected Sto‑
ries are a collection of fifteen short stories that have been written over a
period of twelve years, i.e., 2003–2015. The anthologies first came out in
2018 and 2021, respectively, in their English translation by Malini She‑
shadri and N. Ravi Shanker. The stories primarily focus on the condition
of the Dalits in Indian society. In the Introduction to Just One Word, Bama
explains, “these stories speak about emerging influences on the lives and
consciousness of people” (xvi). The researcher has chosen six short stories
138 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

for analysis, each highlighting a different aspect of Dalit life. These stories
will be primarily analysed using Roland Barthes’ concept of connotation
and the theory of codes to interpret signifiers in a readerly text.

Introduction to Myth and Myth Criticism

Roland Barthes, in Mythologies (1972), describes myth as a type of speech
and not any type of speech. Myth, as Barthes states, represents the mythi‑
cal structure, which is the second level after the linguistic structure. The
signifier and the signified together make the sign, which acts as the signi‑
fier to produce the chain of significations, representing myth at various
ideological, political, and semiological platforms. Language needs a special
condition in order to become a myth. Myth is not an object, a concept, or
an idea; it is a mode of signification, a form. Every object can be defined
or spoken about in terms of language; therefore, it is open to appropria‑
tion by society. For example, Barthes refers to the poem “Tree” by Minou
Drouet, a child prodigy and poet at the time when Barthes was writing the
final chapter of his book Mythologies. In this poem, a tree as described
by Drouet is a “decorated tree adapted to a certain type of consumption,
laden with literary self‑indulgence, revolt, images, in short with a type of
social usage which is added to pure matter” (“Myth Today” 132). Objects,
when expressed through the language of myth or in mythical speech, either
enjoy that position for a while before disappearing or attain the status of
myth.
According to Barthes, in Myth, there are two semiological systems:

1 The linguistic sign, where the meaning is expressed through the sig‑
nifier (the acoustic and linguistic image) and the signified (the mental
concept).
2 The metalanguage, because it is a second language in which one speaks
about the first language (Mythologies 138). For example, the word
crown, at the level of the sign, comes to symbolize power and authority.
The crown then becomes symbolic of empire, territory, and kingdom at
the level of the mythical sign.

Signifier (I) Example: Crown Signified (I)

Sign: Crown (Signifier II) Signified (II): Power, Authority

Mythical Sign: Empire, Territory, Kingdom.
 The Language of Marginalisation in Dalit Narratives 139

In various stories in Bama’s Just One Word, language has been used at the
second level of mythical sign when speaking or referring to a Dalit. These
stories deploy metaphors to indicate circumstances, people, and their re‑
actions, which affect the Dalit ideology and determine their identity. For
instance, in “Just One Word” (64), the story from which the anthology
takes its name, Maadasamy, the boss, is a Dalit. The story starts at a point
when it is already six months post his transfer to the Chennai office. He
implemented rules like reporting to the office on time and meeting daily
work deadlines, else the employees had to work extra hours. This resulted
in increased productivity overall. Also, “he was dead against bribery and
corruption” (65). His family was in Bombay, and in these past months, he
had not paid a single visit to his home because of the workload. He was
a tough taskmaster and quite disciplined. He practised what he preached.
But his rules did not sit well with Sundari, who had been working in that
particular office for past twenty years. Being resentful of Maadasamy’s
reforms, she said, “I have seen so many such officers come and go…I am
due to retire next year… why do I have to go through such torture at
this stage?” (65). Her irritation led to her confrontation with Maadasamy,
where Maadasamy suggested to her that she could opt for voluntary retire‑
ment if she was uncomfortable doing the office work like other employ‑
ees. Sundari was clearly very upset, and sometime later, when Maadasamy
called her desk and asked her to bring a particular file, she passed on the
instruction to a peon and said, “Ey, Kuppusamy, take this file to that…
Maadasamy’s room” (66). Her frustration culminated in her uttering just
one word, “that” for Maadasamy. This conversation was overheard by
Maadasamy, who was still on the phone line. This incident, in fact, became
the pivot of the plot of the story. Maadasamy was very upset when he
heard Sundari refer to him in this manner. He decided to confront her and
called her into his cabin. Once there, he referred to her as Sundari instead
of his usual mannerism of calling her “Madam,” as she was senior by age.
Sundari at once realized that her disrespectful behaviour had resulted in
this, in turn. She tried to defend herself by blatantly lying about the inci‑
dent: “Sir, believe me… I didn’t say it. That fellow Kuppusamy made up
all these false stories about me, Sir. Would I ever say anything disparaging
about my superior officer?” (67). Maadasamy retorted, “You did say it,
Sundari. I didn’t hear it from anyone else, I heard it myself…this is my first
and last warning. Now go back to your seat” (67).
It must be noted that in India referring to the so‑called lower castes
by any demeaning names or gestures is an offence punishable in accord‑
ance with the law. A simple word like “that” became indicative of disgust
and intolerance towards a senior who was just doing his job but belonged
to a so‑called lower caste. Such words become symbolic at the level of
signs, and they basically come across as demeaning and disrespectful not
140 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

only towards an individual but also towards the community. That is why
Maadasamy gave Sundari a final warning before taking any strict action
against her.
Another short story, “The Verdict,” begins with a sense of excitement
among the students of classes three, four, and five, as they would be go‑
ing to watch the movie Baby’s Day Out at the cinema hall in the nearby
village of Oothukottai the next day. Apart from bringing five rupees and
showing up in their school uniforms, students were asked to wear slippers
if they owned a pair and bring their own water bottles. The following day,
the students arrived on time and marched off their way to Oothukottai. It
was three kilometres away. Even if it was an English movie, they were all
thrilled to reach the cinema hall. After the movie, they

stepped out into the blazing sunlight and started back, their steps drag‑
ging…many of the children were not wearing slippers; the midday sun
scorched the soles of their feet. And then there was the overpowering
parching thirst…the water bottles had long been emptied in the cinema
hall itself. (13)

On their way back, they halted in Pallathur village to drink some water from
the wayside water pump. Mahalakshmi from class three stood in the queue
to fill up her bottle and was about to drink from it just when her elder sister,
Vijayalakshmi, who was in class five, smacked her on the back and yelled,
“You’re going to drink water from the tap in this village street? I’ll report you
to Appa, and see what a beating you’ll get!” (14). Feeling helpless, Mahalak‑
shmi started crying. Mary, a teacher accompanying the children, consoled
her and inquired about her unhappy state. Shanthi, another student, told her
that Mahalakshmi was not allowed to drink water from the pump and that
she was thirsty. Mary was surprised and wanted to know further. Shanthi
replied, “Because it’s the tap on that street. Teacher…that cheri street. Their
father will beat them if they drink water from the tap there” (15). Mary
was shocked to realize that the caste discrimination was being practised at
that young age. Later, she asked Vijayalakshmi, “What will happen if you
drink water from that cheri street in the village? Isn’t that also good water?
Why did you stop your sister?” To which Vijayalakshmi replied, “Teacher,
that is what we have been told at home. Don’t mix with the children who
live in those streets. Don’t accept anything to eat from them. Don’t even go
anywhere near there” (15). Perturbed, Mary went and discussed the incident
with the school headmaster. He asked the girls to report to his office. There,
he explained to them, “What’s wrong with drinking water from cheri taps?
Only in cheri homes you shouldn’t drink water. You have been told by your
parents that you must not drink water even from cheri taps. Is it? All right,
no problem, go back to your classrooms” (16).
 The Language of Marginalisation in Dalit Narratives 141

Mary was unhappy with the way the headmaster dealt with the issue.
His attitude was no different from others. It was disconcerting to see the
students in primary classes also practised untouchability. They were told
not to be friendly with the children living on “those” streets (15). These
commonly used words such as “that,” “these people,” “such people,”
along with the specific tone of the speaker get transformed into signs rep‑
resenting social stigma. The idea of using such expressions is to seclude the
lower caste people from the upper caste through a derogatory manner of
description.
In another story, “Man and Beast” (87), the signification takes the form
of an analogy of behaviour between animals and their owners. In Malligai
Nagar, people from cities had bought land and constructed their houses. It is
a story representative of the contemporary times when the geographic bor‑
ders have collapsed and demographic boundaries cannot be hegemonized by
the so‑called upper castes. Sharing the neighbourhood, the two cow own‑
ers, Rangarajan and Arumugam, fought over the vacant plot in which they
would send their respective cows, Sarasu and Lakshmi, for grazing. Times
have changed, but Arumugam’s attitude has not changed any bit towards
the other castes. He thinks that his cow, Lakshmi, is superior to other cows
as Lakshmi is owned by him, i.e., a member of the upper caste and there‑
fore, must be the only one grazing in that vacant plot. He pelts stones at
other people’s cows and cattle if they are found grazing in the same plot.
The intolerance is to such an extent that Arumugam had untied Ran‑
garajan’s cow, which was grazing there. This resulted in an altercation
between them. Rangarajan belonged to the so‑called lower caste, and his
cow Sarasu was of a high pedigree. Being of a high pedigree, everyone
knew that Sarasu would yield ten litres at each milking, which Rangarajan
would sell to the cooperative society. Arumugam was convinced that he
took the right decision of untying the cow as “if his cow and our cow are
tied in the same plot, their tie‑ropes could get entangled…then the ani‑
mals may collide with each other. You know our Lakshmi is pregnant…
anything could happen” (92). The cows always had affinity towards each
other, but Arumugam’s primary concern is that their ropes should not get
entangled, and the cows must not touch each other.
After the argument between Rangarajan and Arumugam, there was a
period of an interlude when no such issue was raised, and their cows con‑
tinued grazing in the same plot. Gradually, the cows, Sarasu and Lakshmi,
had become close companions. When Sarasu was done with grazing, she
would walk up to Lakshmi and start licking her lovingly. Lakshmi would
lie back and revel in the affectionate attention (93). The message that the
narrator is trying to convey is that the animals can easily mingle well, but
the human beings divide themselves on the basis of caste, creed, colour,
sex, and religion.
142 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

Arumugam could not tolerate that the cow belonging to Rangarajan

should even touch his cow and wanted to maintain the geographic suprem‑
acy, as they had done in the earlier days. Even when the two families are
living in the same locality, the bias does not seem to end. Even when Sarasu
was of a high pedigree and Lakshmi was not, the animals could mingle
well, but Lakshmi’s owner wanted to keep an upper hand just because he
was from a hierarchically placed higher caste. Later also, when Sarasu gave
birth to a male calf and Lakshmi gave birth to a female calf, Arumugam’s
wife said, “God has punished him by giving his cow a male calf—just what
he deserves. He has rewarded our virtue by giving Lakshmi a female calf.
The calf is such a pretty colour too….as for that fellow’s calf…black as
Kali” (93). We can clearly see the sense of superiority that Arumugam’s
wife felt over their cow giving birth to a female calf. It is a reiteration of the
Brahmanical viewpoint that the Shudra must serve the Brahmins in order
to be born into a higher caste in their next birth; i.e., it is their karma for
which they are punished and relegated to being the lower caste.
The intolerance is not restricted to words but culminates in the grue‑
some killing of Sarasu’s calf. One evening, Arumugam had tied Lakshmi
for grazing in that plot and had to get her back in an hour. But he fell
asleep and was woken up by a neighbour who wanted to buy some milk.
He rushed to get Lakshmi but saw Sarasu’s calf standing next to Lakshmi
while they grazed in that plot. His blood rushed to his head, as he flung
a stone at the calf aiming its head. He thought to himself, “Maybe the
wretched beast had drunk up all the milk from my precious Lakshmi”
(96). When he told his wife, she said, “Our cow giving her milk to that
fellow’s calf? Impossible. I’ll kill that wretched calf on the spot if he dares
to feed from our Lakshmi” (96). Later, the calf was found dead. The cow,
a scared animal according to the Brahmins but because it belonged to a
lower caste person, the cow was also now a lower caste or a “wretched
beast.” The hatred towards the lower caste is to such an extent that they
did not mind committing the sin of killing the sacred animal according to
Hindu scriptures (97). A Brahmin killing a cow is, in itself, a bigger irony.
Another short story, “Pongal,” from Bama’s collection titled The Ichi
Tree Monkey: New and Selected Stories, translated by N Ravi Shankar,
highlights the hegemonized control of the so‑called upper caste through
celebrating long cherished traditions in rural areas. One such tradition, the
odaiyaru offerings, becomes a point of discord between Madasami and his
middle son, Esakkimuthu. Esakkimuthu had the privilege of studying past
tenth unlike Madasami’s other sons. He was against the odaiyaru offerings,
which comprised “a big pumpkin, sugarcanes, a bunch of bananas, around
four measures of rice and bird meat” (7–8). He rather wished for a whole‑
some meal for themselves, “Why do we have to take all this to the landlord?
If we made curry with them, we would have a hearty meal for once, at
 The Language of Marginalisation in Dalit Narratives 143

least” (9). Esakkimuthu’s request was quite genuine, considering the food
they used to eat. But his mother’s reply was nothing but shocking, “We can‑
not change our customs. How will the landlord feel? They are people who
have tasted good things, so they alone should eat them. When have we ever
tasted them?” (9). This shows the extent of their subjugation. They have
reached a point in their life when they no longer feel they have any right or
privilege to eat food that was meant for the upper castes. This becomes in‑
grained in their minds and is further passed down through generations who
continue to live in a state of lack. This definitely becomes a part of the Dalit
psyche, which, over generations, has become a part of their consciousness.
Here, the tradition of odaiyaru offerings becomes a Barthesian referential
code, carrying the connotative meaning of subjugation and inferiority. Even
though it seems impractical to carry on with such a tradition, the Dalit
communities do this to please the upper castes. In doing so, they are able
to maintain a harmonious relationship with the dominant caste, which also
employs them as agricultural labourers in their fields and farms.
Esakkimuthu’s mother’s belief that the upper‑caste people deserve to eat
good food and that they should go ahead with the custom of making the
odaiyaru offerings is reminiscent of Bama’s grandmother words: “These
people are the Maharajas (kings) who feed us our rice. Without them, how
will we survive? Haven’t they been upper caste from generation to genera‑
tion, and haven’t we been lower caste? Can we change this?” (Karukku
17). These ritualistic references are symbolic of the subjugation of lower
caste in a society dominated by the upper caste.
The next story will discuss in detail how the so‑called upper castes can
get away with any behaviour towards the so‑called lower castes, while
the lower‑caste Parayars have to even use their words wisely, keeping in
mind the inter‑community dynamics. The Tamil word Annachi means el‑
der brother. This simple word, which only shows respect for the older one,
can put a Dalit boy in trouble and even call for panchayat meetings—an
unusual occurrence.
The word “Annachi” denotes that one considers the other as their elder
brother and, out of respect, would address them as Annachi. But the con‑
notative meaning of the word, or the word when taken at the second level
of metalanguage stood for a term that only blood relations can use for one
another. Here, by blood relations, another underlying meaning is brought
to the fore, which is that Dalits are considered impure; therefore, when
they use such a respectful word, it becomes degrading, leading even the vil‑
lage panchayat has to call a meeting. The headman makes it clear that the
lower caste people cannot use words suggesting any familial ties to refer
to the upper caste.
This story is about a twenty‑year‑old young man named Ammasi. The
elders of the village did not like him, but the youngsters worshipped him.
144 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

The reason behind this was his headstrong personality and logically driven
arguments. Once, while he was travelling by bus, he managed with much
difficulty to get a seat. But Chandrashekhar, an upper caste landlord for
whom Ammasi’s father worked, was also looking for a seat on the same
bus. So, Chandrashekhar expected Ammasi to vacate the seat for him, and
the conversation that followed was:
“Elai…Are you not the son of that Madasami?” “Sure, I am the son of
Madasami.” “Elai…Haven’t you recognized me?”
When Ammasi told him that he knows him very well, Chandrashekhar
got very upset and said, “Still sitting, even after recognizing me! Get up, let
me sit…Is it right for you to keep sitting while your Ayya is standing, not
paying him due respect?”
“Did you say Ayya? My Ayya is ploughing your field at this very mo‑
ment. When did you become my Ayya?” The landlord got so furious,
and he warned Ammasi by saying, “Elai… are you trying to act big in
front of the landlord who measures out the grain to you? You don’t seem
to have the smallest amount of your father’s loyalty. When the landlord
comes all the Pallars and Parayas stand up in respect” (15–16).
Later, in the same story, Ammasi is put to trial in a village panchayat
gathering. The reason being he addressed an upper caste landlord using
the word “Annachi,” which means elder brother. In response, he had to
bear abuse hurled at him, “What did you say? Annachi? You keep saying
Annachi? Who is Annachi, da? To whom am I Annachi, da? A Parayar
motherfucker dares to call me Annachi?” The final verdict was given by
the headman who said, “Till today, among Pallars and Parayas, has any‑
one ever addressed Naickers as blood relatives? Born yesterday, and you
come up with some damn fool argument? Wasn’t it wrong to address him
as Annachi?” (20).
It is also interesting to note that the same upper‑caste landlord, while
asking the same Dalit boy, Ammasi, to vacate the bus seat for him, told him
that he was his ayya. The Tamil word ayya means father. But here, it con‑
notatively suggested that he was someone in authority over Ammasi and
could give him orders, which he is supposed to carry out like an obedient
son. The story ends with a strong message as Ammasi courageously asserts
that all men are the same. Creating social discrimination where even re‑
spectful words are taken as offensive shows the importance of language in
a community where one caste dominates over the other. The metaphorical
expressions become significant as a result, and their meanings collectively
reflect the extent to which Dalits faced marginalization. Many conclusions
can be drawn from this story.

i The upper castes can use any language and get away with it.
ii The lower castes are punished for using respectful language if it sug‑
gests any kind of familiarity or blood relation.
 The Language of Marginalisation in Dalit Narratives 145

iii Prejudice runs within the village, and the whole village supports the
Naickers, irrespective of the situation or issue raised.
iv Language is heavily laden with metaphoric meanings or connotations.
A simple, respectful word like Annachi can call for a village panchayat
meeting, whereas, the upper caste can use abusive language and other
words hinting at their superiority and powerful stature in the society,
and the lower castes are supposed to keep quiet about it.

In another short story “Rich Girl,” Kaliyamma is a Dalit woman who is

struggling to feed her family. Her elder daughter attended school, while
Kaliyamma carried her baby to work because she could not make ends
meet without a day’s labour. Mothalali, the landlord on whose fields Ka‑
liyamma worked, would yell at her for bringing the baby to work along
with her, “ask your elder daughter to take care of it, what great thing is
she going to achieve by studying?” (48). The meaning is quite simple to
understand, but the connotative suggestions made here apply not only to
Kaliyamma’s daughter, but for the entire Parayar community. The land‑
lord meant that even by sending their children to school, their lives really
cannot change. The Dalit communities, such as the Parayars and Pallars,
remained dependent on landlords for their daily wages. It also suggested
that for those who cannot afford a day’s meal without working on the
farms, sending their children to school is a waste of time and money. This
also suggests a hopelessness felt by both the parents and the children of the
Parayar Dalit community. Bama emphasizes time and again that educa‑
tion has been instrumental in changing their social condition. The Dalits
became aware and informed about their rights, and, therefore, tried to
educate their children. Attending school on a regular basis was, in fact, a
recent change in their lifestyle, dating back only a few years.
Another story, “Wailing” from the anthology Just One Word, focuses
on the sorrowful plight of the women in Salem district of Tamil Nadu.
The story is set in Salem district, where incidents of female infanticide had
reportedly stopped only six months ago but have started to reappear. The
narrative is told from the viewpoint of Mallika, who was travelling by bus
and reading an article on female infanticide in a newspaper. Just then, the
bus came to a halt, and a young man of about eighteen carried his heavily
pregnant wife in his arms and laid her on a seat. Three other women, wear‑
ing ear studs and necklaces, alighted after them. Looking at their appear‑
ances, Mallika thought to herself, “They seem to be quite well off” (137).
The pregnant woman, who might have been only sixteen or seventeen,
was shrieking with pain, and her husband, Murugan, was sobbing. One of
the women who had accompanied them asked Murugan to tell the driver
to go a little faster. Mallika peeped in to comprehend the situation when
she witnessed the dreadful sight of a pool of blood around the pregnant
woman. She and the others moved to the rear part of the bus, vacating the
146 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

seats near the pregnant woman and her family. The speed of the bus was
also quite alarming, and it came to a halt in front of the Chingleput Hos‑
pital. Murugan, who rushed to lift his wife, was interrupted by the woman
in whose lap the pregnant woman had her head. “Eley, Muruga, don’t
lift her. You can’t lift her now. She has given birth already” (138). He was
further told to ask the driver to take the bus inside the hospital grounds as
they couldn’t get down before the umbilical cord was severed.
All the passengers had alighted from the bus except Mallika. She ob‑
served that more women climbed into the bus and everyone just asked,
“Girl or boy?” (140). She thought to herself, how did it matter whether
it was a girl or a boy; rather, they could have been happy that, in such
circumstances, the child was born safely. She wondered, “What will they
do if it’s a girl? Kill it? But why do mothers do that…maybe because they
don’t want their daughters, their own flesh and blood, to suffer the hard‑
ships they themselves have gone through?” Just then, a nurse in a white
sari entered, “You think your daughter is the only patient here?…Pah! the
way you talk! You could have hired a taxi and brought her well in time and
admitted her. Aren’t you mothers yourselves?” (141).
The nurse cut the umbilical cord and showed that it was a girl child so
that no one could blame them later that a boy child was born, and that it
had been swapped with a girl child. Murugan’s mother said, “They are tell‑
ing us we should have hired a taxi just for giving birth to this girl? Thank
goodness we came only by bus” (141). The nurse shouted at the woman
who had just delivered, “Why are you still lying there? Get up and come
to the ward” (141). Mallika, who was very upset with the whole incident,
turned and said to one of the women who had accompanied the couple,
“Amma, instead of going through such a hard time on the bus, you could
have brought her in a taxi, couldn’t you?” The woman retorted,

Oh shut up. Don’t stir up our resentment further. At least if it had been
a boy, we could have arranged a taxi…we could have arranged every‑
thing else needed. For her to deliver this girl this is enough. If she’d had
the wretched child at home, we could have avoided all the expenses of
nurse and ayah and this and that. (142)

It is not one family, but a community ideology that has been spoken about
in this story.
At the beginning of the story, we are introduced to the alarming issue
of female infanticide in Salem district. Apart from the backdrop of patri‑
archy, we also see a strong matriarchal presence that supports the ideas of
patriarchy. The women have no empathy for the one undergoing labour
pains, and in fact, no one cared to take her to the hospital in time. All that
mattered was whether she had given birth to a male child or not. The kind
 The Language of Marginalisation in Dalit Narratives 147

of treatment meted out to a woman who has just given birth challenged
all human sensitivities. Through Mallika, the readers also gain an under‑
standing that Murugan and his family were quite rich. Even in well‑to‑do
families, if women were treated like this, then one could not expect much
from the poor. The successful birth of a healthy child is in itself a blessing,
but the sex of the child determines its destiny and that of its mother, too. It
is only through the different non‑verbal communicative gestures and dia‑
logues conveyed in the story that we comprehend the plight of a woman in
a household. The story clearly highlights the position of women in the Sa‑
lem district, but the dialogues further give us an insight into the psyche of
the women of the same family. Changes in the situation of women become
a far cry when their own sex does not support the cause. The language is
clearly indicative of discrimination and hatred for a girl child.
These depictions are not very different from those shared by Bama in
Sangati and Karukku. Although they appear to be an upper‑caste family,
they nonetheless hold onto patriarchal beliefs in their minds. Bama stated
that the so‑called upper‑caste women face many mental problems because
their feelings and sentiments remain bottled up. There are several instances
of women undergoing hysteria because of repressed desires, which are in‑
terpreted as being possessed by a spirit. Bama has drawn our attention to
the overall condition of women in that particular region, both among the
upper and lower castes.
In another short story, “Stereotype,” a school teacher, Kalaivani, comes
across Ashok, a student studying in class four. His younger sister, Swetha,
was crying to go home early when Kalaivani asked Ashok to come to her
class to console her. But instead, he also wanted to go early and started
crying. He wanted to go home early because he wanted to take care of
his mother. Kalaivani was confused and asked him the reasons behind his
behaviour, as he had already been studying in that school for the past four
years. Ashok repeated that he wanted to go home, help his mother, and
take care of her. Kalaivani told him that his mother could take care of her‑
self and that if he really wanted to help, then he should study properly and
get a well‑paying job. But Ashok still insisted and blurted, “No, Teacher.
I should be with my mother now. Or else, my mother will go to work with
other men and become spoiled” (122). In a patriarchal society, this inci‑
dent shows the loss of childhood. A little boy grows up believing that be‑
cause he will become a man, he may assert his authority as the head of the
household and comfortably disobey his mother. Kalaivani was dumbstruck
and instructed Ashok to bring his mother to school the following day.
When Kalaivani met Ashok’s mother, she reported Ashok’s use of disre‑
spectful words for his mother. Ashok’s mother couldn’t hold back her tears
and told Kalaivani that her husband, who had passed away the previous
month, would physically and verbally abuse her after drinking alcohol,
148 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

and the children had been affected by his behaviour. Kalaivani understood
the situation and told Ashok that his mother could protect herself and that
“she was a grown‑up and no‑one could do anything to her” (124), so she
would then go off to work. To this, Ashok howled angrily and said, “I may
be a small child, but I am a man!” (124).
Just like “Wailing,” this story also speaks volumes about the oppressed
life of many Dalit women. The patriarchal set‑up has its roots so deeply en‑
graved in a family that it has affected a child’s psychology. Ashok has not
only come to disrespect his mother but also believes that he is the “man”
of the house, and therefore, women were under his control. The word man
is representative of not a gender but of patriarchal households and the
domineering attitude of men.
Another story, “Harum‑Scarum Saar” from The Ichi Tree Monkey:
New and Selected Stories, revolves primarily around a Parayar named
Puthiyamuthu. Because of his rebellious nature and his habit of playing
pranks on the people around him, he is referred to as Kusumbukkaran
(meaning prankster) in his village, Chinnakaruvelampatti. The narrator
shares the details of his childhood, the mischief he would get into, and
his prankster ways. He had studied till class five at school but did not
continue his education further. He would also involve himself in killing
large cobras, garden lizards, and such. When he had grown up and had
raised his own family, he would be lovingly called Kusumbukkaran Mama
(uncle) by the children of the village. He used to work at Ramasami Ayya’s
fields as a daily wage earner. Once he finished the paddy transplanting and
ridge‑levelling work on his field, he went to Ramasami Ayya’s house to
collect his daily wages. But the landlord instead told him, “Ennale, have
you come to get your wages? Go and feed the cattle in the cowshed first,
then come back” (33). Puthiyamuthu did as he was told and went back
to get his wages. Again, the landlord didn’t give him his wage, instead or‑
dered him, “Now go and get some money from Amma and buy five kilos
of paruthikottai and two kilos of kambu—the milch cows need it” (33).
Puthiyamuthu was furious by that time, but he managed to control his
anger and went to shop the items the landlord had asked for. When he got
back, Ramasami Ayya for the third time avoided giving him his wages and
instructed him, “Elai, I sent two spades to the carpenter, Thangavelu, to fix
the handles. See if he has finished with them” (33). By that time, Puthiy‑
amuthu was raging with anger, but he went to bring the spades back from
the carpenter. The landlord was surprised that he got the spades back and
started thinking, “Oh, have you brought them? What shall we do now?”
At that moment, Puthiyamuthu, who was provoked and resentful of the
hard time his landlord was giving him for his daily wages uttered, “Now?
Go, bring your wife here—we’ll take turns bedding her” (34). Ramasami
was horrified and stood still as if he “had seen a ghost” (34).
 The Language of Marginalisation in Dalit Narratives 149

The incident brings our attention to the privileged behaviour exercised

by the so‑called upper‑caste people. They felt absolutely comfortable in
troubling the lower‑ caste people who were just doing their work to earn a
living. But the people from the so‑called lower caste were taken advantage
of, and many situations led to such bitter arguments. The language used by
the landlord is clearly indicative of his sense of superiority and privileged
position. He went about giving instructions and orders to Puthiyamuthu
with the confidence that the latter should carry on with these extra duties
as he was from the lower caste. Puthiyamuthu was an agricultural labourer
on Ramasami’s fields and therefore came to the landlord’s house to collect
his daily wage. Despite that, he went about doing Ramasami’s bidding. It
was when he realized that, apart from demanding extra work, Ramasami
had a sadistic satisfaction in giving him orders that Puthiyamuthu could
no longer hold back his anger and frustration, and uttered words that were
beyond the landlord’s imagination. The indignation is evident in Puthiy‑
amuthu’s words, and apart from that, his response was unexpected, which
startled the landlord, as the lower caste were not supposed to retaliate.
Bama has brought the element of retaliation as a part of an awakening of
Dalit consciousness. This kind of behaviour is a big step towards reforming
the existing subservient mannerisms of serving the so‑called upper caste.
The short story “Chilli Powder” centres around the conflict between
an upper‑caste woman, Gangamma, and a so‑called lower‑caste woman,
Pachayamma. Gangamma was wealthy as she possessed fields and orchards.
She was described by the narrator as: “An ugly figure, with a paunch like
a swollen toad stuck to a coconut leaf” (35). It was well‑known that Bal‑
arama Naicker’s son, Jaaggannatha Naicker, had married her because she
was wealthy. After several years of their marriage, she gave birth to a
baby girl, who after attaining puberty was married off to a distant town.
Pachayammavisited Gangamma, who lived in a “palatial bungalow with
a ground floor and a first floor” (36), twice a year and would unfailingly
“gather up whatever rice, grains and beans she could lay her hands on and
cart off” (35–36).
Pachayamma, who belongs to the lower caste, on the other hand, is a
figure of abject destitution, belonging to a so‑called lower caste. She barely
managed to have kanji (rice water) to survive and would often go to sleep
on an empty stomach. No one in the village dared to enter Gangamma’s
fields, but Pachayamma not only frequently cut grass from there but also
boasted about it in her street. Once, she was caught by Gangamma, but
she managed to flee from there. The next time Gangamma saw her cutting
grass from her fields, she stealthily went inside her home and got some chilli
powder. She quietly came up to the ridge where Pachayamma was sitting to
cut the grass. Gangamma hurled abuses at her and, without any hesitation,
threw chilli powder in Pachayamma’s eyes. Pachayamma screamed with
150 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

pain and, with burning eyes, shouted at Gangamma, “Chi! Can you be
called a woman? Throwing chilli powder in my eyes just for cutting grass
that grows on its own? Is there such a harvest of fruits and vegetables here
that we will come and steal them?” (38). Later, everyone in Pachayamma’s
street was talking about the incident. Everyone blamed Pachayamma for
going into Gangamma’s fields to cut the grass despite knowing the kind of
person she was. To them too, Pachayamma retorted, “Where else can we
go and cut grass if not in the fields and orchards of landowners? Where else
do we go for grass to feed the cattle we survive on? As if she owns some
special kind of special fields that no one else in the world has!” (39).
Gangamma’s inhuman gesture of throwing chilli powder into the eyes
of Pachayamma, who was just cutting grass and not plucking any fruits or
vegetables, comes across as quite shocking and shows the extent of hatred
the so‑called upper caste people have towards the lower caste. Her gesture
is symbolic of intolerance towards the so‑called lower caste people. She did
not hesitate to take such a step, which draws attention to the privileged
attitude of the upper caste. Even other lower caste people blamed Pachay‑
amma instead of supporting her because they knew their words held no
importance. Keeping themselves at the mercy of the landowners was a
way of life for them. The story, however, did not end there. Pachayamma
and other women would often call Gangamma molagappodi, which means
chilli powder, whenever they would see her or cross her home. One such
day, Gangamma shouted at Pachayamma, “Yendi, stinking whore‑widow!
How dare you talk like this? She’s so poor she has next to nothing to
wear, but look how the donkey speaks! Brazen bitch!” (40). The women,
including Pachayamma, were quick to gather around Gangamma. Feeling
trapped, Gangamma quickly ran away from there.
A few weeks later, after this incident, the women of the so‑called lower
caste were returning after collecting some weeds from a forest near the
village. On the way Pachayamma said, “No work, no wages! Don’t know
what I’m going to cook a meal with today. What kind of life is this! You
get kanji only if you work! Otherwise, you just drink some water and go
to sleep” (41). In this kind of desperate situation, Pachayamma plucked
some cotton pods from a field en route. Other women followed suit. On
their way, they even plucked some pods from Gangamma’s plantation.
Gangamma witnessed this and quickly called a police inspector and some
policemen. The inspector was Gangamma’s acquaintance, as he was a ten‑
ant in her brother’s house. Pachayamma and the other women were caught
off guard. They were accused of frequently stealing from other people’s
plantations. They tried to speak in their defence, but all in vain. All the
women were “loaded on Gangamma’s tractor and taken to the police sta‑
tion” (43). One of the women, Veerayi, blamed Pachayamma for the em‑
barrassment of being taken to the police station. Pachayamma retorted,
 The Language of Marginalisation in Dalit Narratives 151

“Are we stealing so we can build tiled houses for ourselves? Are we going
to make jewellery for our necks and ears? We steal because that is the only
way we will not starve…we don’t have a single coin on us today” (43). She
continued, “Even when there is work and we get paid, we can have only
broken‑rice kanji and rasam. Today I thought I would sell the cotton and
buy some dried fish for a curry…” (43). The state of acute poverty had
forced them to steal and survive. A good meal is like a dream, and to fulfil
it, they went ahead with stealing cotton from others’ fields.
At the police station, they were told to pay a fine of ten rupees each. All
the women objected to this and told them that they did not have a penny,
even to buy some food. They were finally released with a warning of never
repeating that mistake. Once the women were back in the village, everyone
gossiped about the consequences of their stealing. Pachayamma’s husband
yelled at her, “Etha, do you have any brains? If you have to steal, steal
without getting caught. You’ve been to the station and back for the sake
of some stupid cotton. Idiot woman!” (46). In her defence, Pachayamma
asked him if he could name one woman from their street who had never
stolen anything. The altercation only grew more serious, which included
resentful remarks about Pachayamma’s parents. Pachayamma retorted
that these days, “if we don’t speak up, they’ll come and fart right in our
faces, Aama” (47) and left the home to get some ragi flour on credit from a
nearby shop to cook some kali. Pachayamma is a rebellious person who is
rebelling against the set norms of the society at large. The so‑called lower
caste has to remain within their boundaries, both geographic and behav‑
ioural, in their interactions with the upper caste. Any transgression leads
to dire consequences.
Apart from highlighting the inter‑community dynamics, this story also
depicts the sad condition of lower‑caste women. Their own community
does not support them entirely and fails to see the larger picture. They
did not steal to enjoy material goods, but they stole to buy a day’s meal.
Stealing is not the right way to go about it, but, at the same time, it is
heartbreaking to see the inhumane treatment meted out to them, first at the
hands of the so‑called upper caste, then the police, and later in their own
street and homes. The privileged continue to enjoy a good life with the
support from the state machinery, and the destitute struggle to make ends
meet. Even in the mythical stories of both Parayars and Brahmins, stealing
is a behavioural trait accorded to the lower caste and subjects the thief to
serious punishments.
In “Those Days,” the narrator, Masanam Thatha, begins by highlighting
the difference in attitude of the Parayars towards the so‑called Naickers
as opposed to the present times. For instance, in those days, if landlords
entered the Parayar streets, the Parayar men would stand up respectfully.
Those smoking would quickly hide their beedis (locally made cigarettes),
152 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

whereas in these days, even if the landlord approaches, their men will light
up the cigarette in front of them and hold their heads high and blow out
the smoke, puff after puff (57). Thatha then came across a tailoring shop
owned by Marimuthu and said, “In those days did anyone tailor clothes
like this? All the men were doing village work. But now no one does that.
That’s how it was those days. Who goes now?” (57). Marimuthu was curi‑
ous to know about the village work Thatha mentioned. Thatha explained
that, back then, if a cow died in the street, the lower‑caste men would have
to carry the body and bury it. If someone died, then the people from the
lower caste would also circulate the news of death from house to house.
Additionally, they would beat the drums in the houses where someone
had died. They would also carry the dead body for cremation. He further
added that the lower‑caste people would be given only one rupee for beat‑
ing the drum the whole day. Now, no one would be able to cheat them like
they had done in those days. He also felt really surprised that they would
drink koozhu (porridge made from millet) from the hands of the upper
caste people or collect it in their pots or bowls as if they were dogs.
Thatha was then reminded of a recent incident where a lower‑caste man
named Paniyaramuthu went for a shave. He took the landlord’s permis‑
sion before leaving but got late to reach back. The landlord asked him the
reason of his delay. To this, Paniyaramuthu replied, “I got delayed at the
shop.” “Got delayed at the shop? You went for a shave, le?” He again said,
“Aama! The barber’s shop was crowded, that’s why I was late” (58). The
landlord expressed his disappointment at his visiting the barber’s shop and
said, “Why couldn’t you just go to the barber on your street and get shaved
under the neem tree, as usual?” Paniyaramuthu replied that he wanted to
try a barber shop and so chose the one opposite the Sarada Hotel. The
landlord could not control his distress and uttered, “What! That’s the shop
I go to myself! You went and sat on the same chair as me?” Paniyaramuthu
argued back saying, “Ei! So, what if I did? I also pay cash. If you pay cash,
you can sit. If I pay cash, I can sit. I paid cash, so I sat down” (59).
The landlord’s dialogues are heavily marked with tones of disapproval,
annoyance, and irritation. He cannot come to terms with the fact that
Paniyamuthu could actually have the courage to visit a shop frequented by
the so‑called upper caste people. Paniyamuthu reasoned it out by saying he
could afford a shave from the shop. But it was not only about the money; it
was more about the practice of untouchability. The landlord was shocked
that Paniyamuthu, who belonged to a lower caste, sat on the same chair as
he would because he went to the same shop.
After all this, Thatha said aloud to himself, “Those days, our people
lived a life that was worse than dogs” (59). Velusami, who happened
to listen to Thatha’s musings, added that getting educated has been to
their benefit, as it has made them aware. They discussed how, earlier,
 The Language of Marginalisation in Dalit Narratives 153

even during voting, they would be instructed by the upper caste men to
“stamp here, stamp there,” and now representatives of different political
parties would visit them at their homes requesting votes. Farmers would
easily give a sackful of things for one rupee to the buyers, which no
farmer would do today.
Velusami reminded Thatha of an incident that happened only a few days
ago, where an upper caste landlord, Maruthappan, had been tied to a tree
by the so‑called lower caste. The landlord had molested a girl from the
lower caste and was caught by the people who demanded justice. When
some people from Maruthappan’s street arrived at the spot in some time,
Thatha demanded that the landlord must marry the girl from their com‑
munity to resolve the issue. All the people from the so‑called lower caste
supported his idea. However, Maruthappan’s street people said, “How
can that be? Look at your caste and look at ours. What is your status
and what is ours? Is this a workable solution? Take five or ten thousand
and untie him” (62). At this, Thatha retaliated and shouted at them, “So,
only now you think about caste and status and all that? He didn’t think
about caste when he touched her! You think we are stupid?” (62). The
girl herself came forward to refuse tying the knot with Maruthappan as
she didn’t want “to live as a wife with this animal” (62). Finally, the issue
was settled by Maruthappan’s allocation of two acres of his land to the
girl. The whole incident is a sarcastic commentary on the shrewd means of
the so‑called upper caste to always maintain their supremacy. The irony
is that the so‑called upper caste men can molest a lower caste girl but can‑
not marry her, as she is an untouchable. It also indicates that people of the
lower caste are now aware of their rights and assert themselves when their
rights are encroached upon by people of the upper caste.
“Those Days” highlights that the Dalits would remain silent even when
their women were ill‑treated at the hands of upper‑caste men in the past, but
now the lower‑caste people are educated and aware of their rights. So, they
choose to protest against anyone who misbehaves with their girls/women.
They ensure that the women of their community are treated respectfully,
and if not, they will not remain silent. The words “Those Days” symbolize
a Dalit past from which they have made considerable progress and wish to
continue making positive changes in their lives and community.
In Sangati, Bama shared a similar incident where a girl named Mari‑
amma was molested by an upper caste landlord. To keep himself on the
safer side, the landlord went and accused the girl of indulging in inappro‑
priate behaviour with a boy of her community in his fields. A Panchayat
meeting was called, and Mariamma’s family was not only humiliated pub‑
licly, but she was also married off to the boy whom the landlord had as‑
sociated her with. The word of the upper caste was enough to ruin the life
of a girl belonging to a lower caste.
154 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

In “The Ichi Tree Monkey,” the story is told from Parvathi’s point of
view. She is a teacher in a village where there was an Ichi tree on which
a family of monkeys resided. On her way to school, when passing by the
tree, she would halt and observe the monkeys with the school children.
Some kids would call out “Rama, Rama,” and the monkeys would come
rushing down to collect the food given to them. People around would won‑
der how the monkeys knew their names, but later Parvathi realized that
they came down looking for food. The monkeys would scare off the spar‑
rows from their tree and create mayhem. But this privileged state only
lasted for a while. The other day, Parvathi saw the kids throwing stones at
the monkeys because they had stolen a packet of two kilos of sugar from
a passer‑by’s hands. She looked up and saw some monkeys gulping down
sugar from a yellow packet. She proceeded to her school, wondering why
the kids seemed to have lost respect for the monkeys.
After a few days, when Parvathi came across the tree on her way, she
could not spot any monkey there. Apparently, the kids chased them away
since they stole the sugar packet. Soon enough, she saw a monkey riding
on the back of a pig. But again, the kids went after them with stones in
their hands. On her way back, she got preoccupied thinking about how the
animals involved—the monkeys and the pigs— must be conversing about
this incident.
The monkeys would be complaining that until recently the children
had been respecting them, but now they were throwing stones and call‑
ing them “monkey, monkey” instead of “Rama, Rama.” The pig would
have laughed and said, “Well, aren’t you a monkey? Then why mind being
called one?” (114). The monkey would have responded that if the kids had
always called them monkey, it wouldn’t have been hurtful, but because
they were earlier called Rama, it hurt to be called a monkey. The pig would
have reminded the monkey that the humans lost their respect for them
because they stole some food. The monkey would have become furious
on hearing the pig’s response and would have retorted, “Did they call me
‘Rama’ for no reason? Do you know how my ancestor helped their Lord
Rama? Why do you think they call us Anjaneyar and worship us?” (114).
The pig instead would have responded, “My grandmother used to tell
me how the Lord once took our form” (115). The monkey would have
interrupted the pig with laughter and claps, saying, “Don’t talk such non‑
sense to anyone else! They’ll make mince‑meat out of you!” (115). The
pig would have felt annoyed and asked the monkey if only they could talk
about their respectful status. The monkey would have said, “You mean you
and I are equal? Don’t talk rubbish” (115). The pig would have asserted
that, in fact, the pigs have a “higher” place than monkeys, as the Lord had
taken their form, while the monkeys had only helped the Lord. The mon‑
key would have finally agreed with the pig but would have reminded him
 The Language of Marginalisation in Dalit Narratives 155

that the pigs “don’t get the esteem and respect” they receive from people
because “you (they) roam around in garbage mounds, eating foul stuff.
You (they) also don’t look presentable or dignified. They (humans) simply
can’t bear the sight of you, especially your snouty face!” (116).
The pig would have reprimanded the monkey saying,

…you are just like the humans. They are the ones bothered about dark
skin, fair skin, beauty, ugliness, purity and impurity. Shame! They even
make distinctions among themselves as male and female and fight with
each other. By speaking like them you have exposed your vile nature. (116)

The monkey must have felt upset about being associated with the humans
and said, “Look, you can abuse me all you want, but don’t connect me
to those humans. That makes me furious. We are not like them” (116).
Finally, the monkey and the pig would have reconciled and taken pity on
the humans, their life, and the perpetual sadness and worry in their lives.
The story thus concluded with Parvathy’s coming back to real life from her
imagination, where the monkey and the pig were joined by other pigs and
monkeys as they went out playing together.
This short story is laden with many symbolic references. At the level of sig‑
nification, the pig represents a Dalit, while the monkey symbolizes a Hindu.

Signifier (I) Example: Pig Signified (I)

🐖🐖🐖🐖🐖🐖
Sign: Pig (Signifier II) Signified (II): Animal, Pork
Mythical Sign: not respected, ill‑treated

At the level of signification, in this story the pigs symbolically represent the
so‑called lower caste people, while the monkeys symbolically represent
the so‑called upper caste. The pig tries to bring to light the rarely acknowl‑
edged and lesser‑known mythical story of Lord Vishnu’s reincarnation as
a pig. On the other hand, the mythical story of the Ramayana is known in
every Hindu household, and the whole narrative is so famous that many
adaptations of it are available in both print and electronic media.

Signifier (I) Example: Monkey Signified (I)

🐒🐒🐒🐒🐒🐒
Sign: Monkey (Signifier II) Signified (II): Sacred animal
Mythical Sign: Helpers of Lord Rama (Ramayana), worshipped as Lord Hanuman
156 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

The monkey took pride in his respected position as opposed to the pig’s
place in human society. The monkey even reminded the pig that if someone
heard him speaking highly of himself, he might be chopped up for pork,
whereas the monkey is fed fruits and biscuits and lovingly called Rama,
Rama. The pig missed this opportunity to remind the monkey how, in real‑
ity, he could be closer to humans, as he supports the idea of discrimination,
just like the humans who discriminate on various grounds such as caste,
colour, sex, region, and religion.
“The Ichi Tree Monkey” also resonates with the opinions upheld in the
Parayar Dalit mythical stories. In some such stories, one who steals is de‑
clared a Parayar and ostracized. Similarly, the monkeys were fed lovingly
as they are considered sacred animals, but the moment a monkey stole the
sugar packet, he became a “thief,” and the kids started throwing stones
at them, ultimately driving them away from the Ichi Tree. Narrated from
Parvathi’s point of view, the idea of humanity and an egalitarian society is
at the core of this story.
In another short story, “Single,” Illamalli was five or six years old, a
“carefree girl, chubby and round like a pumpkin, with good features” be‑
longing to the so‑called lower caste (125). Her parents were daily‑wagers,
and she looked after her little brother, did all the chores of the house, col‑
lected water from a public tap to store at her house, and gathered firewood.
The people of her street would often wonder, “This girl drinks only kanji
like the other kids, from a mud pot, then how is she so buxom, as if she
has already reached puberty?” (125). Some would try to link her healthy
physique to her mother’s and grandmother’s. Some would say, “If she took
a bath every day and made up her face, she would look like an upper‑caste
girl” (126). And many would agree that this girl would have many suitors
when she came of age. Illamalli’s mother was always grateful to the Al‑
mighty for such healthy children and longed to give them a better life.
The areas where the village women and girls would go to defecate were
close to their streets. The pigs would often fight among themselves to eat
from the mounds of shit in those areas. One day, Illamalli, along with other
girls, went there to defecate. The girls were busy talking when a “huge pig”
(127) came from behind and pushed Illamalli. She got scared and threw a
stone at it to scare the pig away. The pig got furious and attacked Illamalli.
She was not wearing a top, “so the flesh on her right breast was torn badly.
Blood began to gush from it” (127). Her parents were in the fields, so
some people from her street took her to a doctor who referred her case to
another one in the city. There was a lot of blood loss, and finally, the doc‑
tor gave her an injection, cut off the flesh that was hanging from her chest,
and bandaged the wound. Now there remained only a scar on the right
side, and no sign of a breast could be seen. After some years, only her left
breast grew, and there was a scar on the right side. “Eventually, everyone
 The Language of Marginalisation in Dalit Narratives 157

had started calling her ‘Single’. Her name, Illamalli, simply vanished, only
‘Single’ remained” (129).
Some more years later, “other girls her age had all married and had kids”
(129) but no one wanted to marry Single. It was very distressing for her par‑
ents and herself, but by the time she was thirty years old, she had resigned
herself to her fate. She bought a cow, which became her only companion,
and everyone called it “Single’s cow” (130). One day, to collect some grass
to feed the cow, Single went on the western side of the village, and as she
was cutting some grass with the sickle, the landlord, Naikker, came to watch
her. He taunted her, “What’s this, Single? You’ve come alone to cut grass?”
(130). Single angrily told the landlord not to call her by that name, and that
only the people of her street could call her ‘Single’: “who are you to call me
so? Say that name again and you will regret it” (130). The landlord further
instigated her as he said, “So what will you do if I call you so? Even if you
have only a single one, the one you have is pretty good” (130). He didn’t
stop at just mouthing these vile words but went ahead and “put his arm
around her” (130). Despite Single’s efforts to push him away, he wouldn’t
leave her. In that moment, Single lifted her sickle to slash the landlord’s
hand, but the sickle pierced his eye instead. The landlord dropped to the
ground as he screamed in pain, and Single ran away from there. She came
to her street, where people supported her. Soon, the news of the incident of
landlord Naikkar’s becoming single‑eyed spread throughout the entire vil‑
lage, and from then onwards, no one called Illamalli “Single” again (131).
The word “Single” took many meanings and also resulted in Illamalli’s
tiff with the landlord. The landlord’s behaviour is, of course, that of a
person exercising a privileged position. The initial argument between the
landlord and Illamalli took place against the backdrop of inter‑community
dynamics. Illamalli did not like to be called “Single,” but when the land‑
lord called her by that name, she clearly told him that people of her com‑
munity might call her by any name, but not people from the upper caste.
The name was, of course, a derogatory reference to her amputated breast
but had meant more than that. The amputation led to a complete reversal
of fate for her. It was a constant reminder of what her life could have been
and what it was not. It was hurtful to bear the scar. But it in no way meant
that the landlord could make inappropriate advances at her. It was with
her community and her people that she shared her sense of belonging.
It is interesting to note that when the landlord lost his eye and him‑
self became ‘Single’ with one eye because he infuriated Illamalli, everyone
stopped calling her “Single.” This is also suggestive of Bama’s continuous
appeal to her people that one has to take a stand for oneself, and only then
can one expect to be respected.
In Murugan’s Pyre, when Kumaresan and Saroja went to Kumaresan’s
maternal grandparents’ house, they were treated disrespectfully. They were
158 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

asked to remain on the veranda and not enter the house, or else they would
pollute it. Kumaresan’s Appucchi hit him and called him ‘an ungrateful
donkey” for marrying a girl from another caste. His aunts scrutinized Sa‑
roja, who was sitting with her head bowed, and said, “Look at her!… She
was not ashamed to elope with a man, but she is feeling shy now” (101).
Another aunt added that “if the people in Kattuppatti had any regard for
their honour, they would have chased this donkey away by now.” Then
another one reprimanded Kumaresan for bringing disgrace to the family
by marrying a girl from another caste,

How dare you come here! At least your Appucchi stopped with a few
beatings. If your uncles were here, they’d have chopped off your legs!…
Couldn’t you find a girl in our village, from within our caste? We can’t
even face our people. You have shamed us all. If your uncles see you
now, they will hack you to death. (101–102)

One of the aunts also snapped at Saroja, saying, “Look at her, standing
in her new sari. She’d probably cast her magic on everyone, this witch!
Couldn’t she find a man in her own town?” (103). Kumaresan, in his con‑
fused and shocked state of mind, could only say to himself, “Have I done
anything wrong?” (103).
Later, again, at a common acquaintance, Chellakka’s daughters’ coming‑
of‑age gathering, Kumaresan’s uncles insulted the newlywed couple. One
of his uncles said, “She looks like she would trip over a blade of grass. He
has come here dragging this orphaned dog. Who invited him? At the mere
mention of food, all these dogs turn up with their tongues hanging about”
(166). The damage caused by these hurtful words was immeasurable. The
words “battered her (Saroja) like rocks,” and Kumaresan stood shocked.
His uncles continued to torment the couple with their words, “The village
has ostracized them. Yet here they are, strolling about as a couple!… He is
still enchanted by this new girl and his new job. Once it all sours, he will
come back to us, begging” (167).
In Akkarmashi, Sharankumar Limbale has shared several incidents right
from school, when the Mahars were derogatorily referred to as “Mahar!”
instead of their names. He has also shared an experience, where in school,
they went for a class picnic. The Mahar and Mala boys and girls sat sepa‑
rately, and the so‑called upper‑caste students sat together with teachers
while eating. The boys of the upper caste then collected the leftovers and
handed the bag to a Mahar boy. The next day, their class teacher asked
them to write an essay on the picnic, and all Limbale could think of was
the discrimination they faced, especially how their teacher referred to them
as “son of a bitch and beefeater” (4).
The use of language is reflective of one’s social standing. In Mulk Raj
Anand’s Untouchable, Sohini, Bakha’s sister, stood in the queue with the
 The Language of Marginalisation in Dalit Narratives 159

other members of the outcaste, in “the fresh young form…(her) full breasts
with their dark beads of nipples stood out,” which definitely caught the
Pundit’s attention, who was there to oblige a handful of outcastes when
they begged him, “Oh, Maharaj! Maharaj! Won’t you draw us some water,
please? We beg you. We have been waiting here a long time, we will be
grateful” (18). When he spotted Sohini, he did not care about the queue
and obliged her. In doing so, Sohini gained the jealous and spiteful glances
of those in the queue.
Among the outcastes, Gulabo was a washerwoman and hierarchically
above the sweepers. Being an outcaste herself, Gulabo considered herself to
be superior to Sohini because Sohini was a sweeper’s daughter. As sweepers
cleaned the toilets, their job was the most menial one. They faced discrimi‑
nation at several levels. Even within the community of outcastes, they were
considered the lowest of the low. After seeing Sohini in the same queue as
theirs, Gulabo addressed her as “Bitch” and “Prostitute.” She further said,
“You eater of dung and drinker of urine! You bitch of a sweeper woman”
(17). She did not stop at this; instead, she rushed towards her with an up‑
raised arm. Waziro, a weaver’s wife, stopped her (17). Other outcaste com‑
munities also considered it their right to ill‑treat them and didn’t hesitate in
showing their outward gestures of disgust and disapproval.
Once when Bakha was complaining to his father about the discrimina‑
tion the sweepers faced, his father spoke of the kindness of their “mas‑
ters.” He shared an incident when Bakha was just a child and had been
sick. He had fallen unconscious when his father took him to the doctor,
Hakim Sahib (Sir). Being untouchable, he stood outside Hakim’s house
and shouted, requesting the passers‑by to extend some help. The so‑called
upper‑caste visitors to the doctor’s house would curse him away, “Keep
away, keep away…don’t come riding on me. Do you want me to have
another bath this morning? Hakim has to attend to us people who go to
offices first…you have nothing to do all day. Come another time or wait”
(72–73). Bakha’s father shared his painful predicament where despite hav‑
ing his hard‑earned money, he could not buy medicines for his son. It
seemed as if Bakha would die any moment, and he rushed home so that his
wife could see her son’s face one last time; “they told me they would soon
bring you down on the floor” (72). According to the Hindu customs, the
dying are laid to rest on the earth, as it is believed that one comes from the
earth and to the earth, one returns.
Lakha did not give up and rushed back to Hakim’s house, falling at
Hakim’s feet, pleading to save his son. The moment he did that, there was
an uproar, and people started shouting and dispersing, “Bhangi (sweeper)
Bhangi!” as Hakim’s feet had been polluted by his touch. Hakim furiously
screamed, “Chandal! (low‑caste) by whose orders have you come here?
And then you join hands and hold my feet and say you will become my
slave for ever. You have polluted hundreds of rupees worth of medicine.
160 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

Will you pay for it?” (73). At that moment, Bakha’s father cried and said,
“Maharaj, Great One, I forgot. Your shoe on my head…I can’t compen‑
sate for the medicines. I can only serve you. Will you come and give some
medicine to my child? He is on his death‑bed!” (73). Hakim, still in the
shock of being defiled, exclaimed, “Have you ever received medicine from
here that you come rushing in?” Lakha pleaded further, “Sarkar (Sir) be
compassionate at this time, another time you can even take my life. Only
save my child. All night I have been rocking him in my arms, thinking that
if he survives the night, I shall come and fetch the medicine from you with
the rising of the sun.” Hakim was moved by this and was about to write
the prescription when Lakha’s brother came to inform him, “Oye Lakha!
Ohe lakha! The boy is passing away!” (73). With this, Lakha rushed to his
home, and in some time, there was a knock at the door. “Hakim ji himself
(had) come to grace our house…he felt your pulse and saved your life”
(73). As Lakha narrated this incident to Nakha, he asserted that, “They
are really kind. We must realise that it is religion which prevents them from
touching us.” Anand makes a very interesting comment here. He says, “He
had never throughout his narrative renounced his deep‑rooted sense of
inferiority and the docile acceptance of the laws of fate” (74).
There is indeed a sense of resignation to one’s fate. The language of
subjugation is quite evident, and it is also the language used to please the
so‑called upper caste. The doctor, Hakim, was not moved by Lakha’s situa‑
tion but became convinced after listening to his sugar‑coated words, which
showed his servility and desperation.
There is another incident in Untouchable where the role of language
becomes significant. Once, when Bakha bought some jalebis from a vendor
in the residential area of the so‑called upper caste, he forgot to announce
his arrival. The vendor threw the packet at him so that he would not have
to come close to the shop. Just as he started eating a jalebi from the packet,
an upper‑caste man, clad in a dhoti and shirt, yelled, “Keep to your side
of the road, you, low‑caste vermin!… Why don’t you call, you swine, and
announce your approach! Do you know you have touched me and defiled
me, you cockeyed son of a bow‑legged scorpion! Now I will have to go
and take a bath to purify myself” (38). Apparently, Bakha’s shadow had
fallen on him and defiled him. It was also Bakha’s fault because he did not
announce his arrival. The moment the man shouted, Bakha felt “paralysed
with fear,” and fear, servility, and humility gripped his soul. The man con‑
tinued, “You swine, you dog, why didn’t you shout and warn me of your
approach!… Dirty dog! Son of a bitch! The offspring of a pig!” (38–39).
A few men gathered around and formed a circle around Bakha. He
wanted to break the circle and run away, but then he thought that if he
pushed through, he would defile many others. One after the other, they all
took turns hurling abuses at Bakha. The so‑called upper‑caste man who
 The Language of Marginalisation in Dalit Narratives 161

was defiled by Bakha’s shadow could not come to terms with this. All
these abuses and public humiliation did not comfort his ego, so he finally
satiated his ego by slapping Bakha, “I will have to bathe now and purify
myself anyhow. Well, take this for your damned irresponsibility, you son
of a swine! And the tonga‑wallah heard a sharp, clear slap through the air”
(41). Here, the verbal abuse culminated in physical abuse. Fear‑stricken
Bakha could not say a word in his defence, and his servitude resulted in
him being physically abused. The crowd gathered in support of their fellow
upper‑caste man, and breaking free from that place seemed a daunting task
to Bakha, who surrendered to his fate.

Joothan
Omprakash Valmiki shared an incident when he was studying at Barla
Inter College, Barla. During the physical education classes, the teacher,
Phool Singh Tyagi, would terrorize the students with his hot temper and
vulgar tongue. He would punish the students for small mistakes; for ex‑
ample, if someone moved a bit when he entered the class, he would make
them squat in the rooster position. Once, in class, Valmiki’s cousin, Surjan
Singh, was standing behind him, and his friend, Ram Singh, the son of a
washerman, stood in front of him. When Phool Singh entered the class,
Ram Singh asked some students, who were up to mischief, to behave them‑
selves. Phool Singh thought that Ram Singh was up to mischief, and he
shouted, “Abey, Kala Daroga (Black low‑caste), stand up straight or else
I will make you crooked with my stick” (47). The other students laughed
as Ram Singh felt embarrassed and humiliated. Then, out of nowhere,
Phool Singh suddenly started kicking and slapping Valmiki’s cousin, Sur‑
jan Singh. Phool Singh said, “Abey, brother‑in‑law, progeny of a Chuhra,
let me know when you die. You think you are a hero. Today I am going
to draw oil from your tresses” (47). He kept on kicking Surjan Singh who
had fallen on the floor and whose entire body had turned pale and blue.
The incident left indelible marks in Valmiki’s mind. He would shiver with
terror thinking about that day. The only reason Valmiki could understand
behind that cruelty was Surjan Singh’s sense of superiority, which exuded
from his clothing and manners: “He had lived in Dehradun right from his
childhood. His manners and dress were not only different, but superior.
They all minded that. Teachers and class fellows, they all disliked him for
that. How dared he be superior to them when he was born in a Chuhra
home?” (48).
Valmiki’s parents supported his education and wanted him to make use of
it to bring reforms. He was also a sincere and intelligent student. But inside
the classroom, he was scared to ask his doubts because the teachers would
taunt him, “Look at this Chuhre ka, pretending to be a Brahmin” (62).
162 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

Another incident that Valmiki cannot forget is from his school in grade
seven. Their math teacher, Brajpal Singh, announced in class that if anyone
had any doubts in maths, they could visit him on Sundays at his home.
Before the exam, Valmiki went to his house to seek his help. As soon as he
saw Valmiki, he said, “Put your books on the ledge. There is some wheat
in this cannister. Go get it ground. By then I will be free” (56). Valmiki car‑
ried the heavy cannister to the mill and returned with the ground flour. But
by that time, Brajpal Singh had already left. He kept waiting for him, but it
was of no use. He finally returned home and asked his friend to help him.
He also decided that he would never seek his teachers’ help again, as they
only spoke big words but carried a biased opinion about the lower castes.
When Valmiki was in tenth grade, a man called Fauz Singh Tyagi be‑
longing to the so‑called upper caste, came to Valmiki’s home whilst he was
preparing for his tenth board examinations. He called out, “Abey, Chuhre
ka, what are you doing?… Study at night…come with me. I have to sow
cane” (57). Despite refusing to do so, he dragged Valmiki by his elbow to
the fields. He threatened him to do the work, and Valmiki could not help
but spend all his morning sowing cane. Fauz’s mother brought lunch for
him and the other boys working there. This was a kind of compensation for
their unpaid labour. Everyone was given “two rotis and a piece of pickle in
a manner people don’t use even with a beggar” (57). Valmiki, who stood
watching all this from a distance, refused to take the “proffered rotis.” Fauz
shouted at him, “Abey Chuhre ke… Just because he has learnt to read a lit‑
tle he has gotten above himself… Abey, don’t forget who you are…” (57).
All the stories taken up for this chapter highlight the role of language,
sometimes specific words in the context of the Parayar Dalit community
and others. The words, dialogues, and speech become symbolic of Dalit
subjugation. The conversations between the so‑called upper caste and the
lower caste are often suggestive of discrimination, prejudice, intolerance,
and sometimes hatred, which affect the Dalit ideology, psyche, and iden‑
tity. The inter‑community dialogues result in many distasteful arguments
and are instigative in nature. The lower caste people are usually at the re‑
ceiving end of disrespectful language, but there is a clear difference in their
submissive ways earlier, as can be seen in the stories of Anand, Limbale,
Valmiki, and Murugan, as opposed to those of Bama, there is an expres‑
sion of defiance in their language now.
This has been a much‑awaited state for the Dalits. It can be seen as a
progression in their life and lifestyle. Education has been time and again
emphasized as an important instrument of their growth. It has helped them
gain a better sense of self and improved their self‑esteem. Being aware has
resulted in their taking a stand in places where earlier they would just
endure and not retaliate.
6 Conclusion

The book is a comprehensive study of the various factors affecting the

Dalit sense of self, identity, and psyche. This is an attempt to make a mi‑
nor yet significant contribution to the field of Dalit literature. Through
an archetypal analysis, a deeper understanding of the various Dalit com‑
munity myths, symbols, rituals, festivities, people, and surroundings can
be obtained. The book primarily centres around the everyday issues of
the Parayar Dalit community of Tamil Nadu as portrayed by Bama in her
works. Various references from other prominent Dalit authors are drawn
to trace the commonality and significance of these issues since time imme‑
morial. Bama has been writing for over three decades, and therefore, her
narratives trace the journey of the Parayar Dalit community since the early
1990s. Various socio‑political happenings, everyday life and lifestyle, and
geographical and demographic boundaries are among the issues discussed
and analysed in this book.
One of the primary concerns of this book was to gain a better under‑
standing of the psyche of the so‑called lower castes. For this purpose, the
Theory of the Unconscious by psychologist Carl Jung has been effectively
used. In the Theory of the Unconscious, he promulgated that the entire
human race shares a set of beliefs that form the repository known as
the unconscious. This level of human consciousness is difficult to inter‑
pret in exact, definite details. Sigmund Freud suggested that one might
gain insight into the unconscious through a technique called psychoa‑
nalysis. Carl Jung believed that the unconscious contained “primordial
images,” which could be some sort of behavioural patterns, images, sym‑
bols, and myths. In literary narratives, these can be analysed extensively
through the theory of Archetypal Criticism. Keeping this in mind, an
archetypal analysis was conducted on Dalit narratives to interpret the
patterns of behaviour of the so‑called lower castes, the intra‑community
and inter‑community relationships between the so‑called upper caste and
lower caste people, and their mythical stories, language, and expressions
in day‑to‑day life.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003488927-6
164 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

There have been some prominent figures who have inspired Bama to
attain a better education and work towards the upliftment of the Dalits.
Primarily, Ambedkar and Periyar have influenced Bama’s life and her writ‑
ings. Bama’s brother, Raj Gauthaman, a famous Dalit writer, introduced
her to the world of books. Bama has stated in her interviews that her fa‑
vourite writers are Rabindranath Tagore and Khalil Gibran. She also read
Tamil writers like D Jayakantan, Akhilan, C Mani, and Na Parthasarathy.
Speaking of Bama’s early life influences, her grandfather was the first
in the family to convert to Christianity. Since childhood, Bama had em‑
braced Christianity, followed Christian beliefs and rituals, and studied at
the convent school in her village. Her college education was supported by
a nun who urged Bama’s mother to sell a pair of gold earrings to support
her higher education. She was influenced by the Christian missionaries and
believed that, by becoming a part of the Christian Order, she would be able
to serve the Parayar Dalits and help in their upliftment. At twenty‑six, she
joined the Order, but her experiences did not synergize with her plans.
She realized that untouchability was practised even inside the Order. So,
she decided to leave the Order after seven years as she was unable to do
much for the Dalits. She decided to go back to her village in order to fol‑
low her ambition and contribute to the life of her people. Once she left the
Christian Order, she was not welcomed back by her family. It was perhaps
the lowest point in her life. She felt incompetent to face the outside world
and even applying for a job seemed like a Herculean task. It was at this
moment that her friend Mark suggested she write her own story, which
resulted in the publication of Karukku and many more phenomenal works.
Bama has written many novels and short stories woven around her com‑
munity and society.
Chapter 2 of this book is titled “Archetypes in Dalit Writings: Bama
and Others.” Various archetypal patterns in the Dalit writings of Bama,
Mulk Raj Anand, Omprakash Valmiki, Sharankumar Limbale, and Peru‑
mal Murugan have been analysed. The Dalit sense of self and identity can
be inferred from the incidents shared by these authors. They shared that
they realized very early on in their lives that they belonged to the so‑called
lower caste. The humiliation felt about being a Dalit was one of the ex‑
periences they had already had as school‑going children. Psychologically,
Dalits were marred, and they felt as if it was a sin to be born into that
particular community.
The upper castes, like Naickers, Tyagis, and others, ill‑treated the Dal‑
its and practised untouchability at an inhuman level even though the
Dalits served them, worked on their fields, sowed, reaped, and harvested
their crops. The extent of this can be understood through an instance
shared by Bama, where a Parayar was dragging a Naicker’s food packet by
a string on the road. This was done so that the food was not touched or
rather “polluted” by a lower caste man.
 Conclusion 165

It must be noted that the issue of space and geographical and demo‑
graphic marginalization has been a prominent one in Dalit writings. It was
demeaning to limit the Dalits to particular areas and streets. They would be
questioned, ridiculed, and humiliated by upper caste people if they crossed
the boundaries of their allocated areas. The Bhangis, Chuhras, Madigas,
Parayars, and Pallars could not use natural resources such as ponds, lakes,
and wells, which were used by the upper castes. This kind of discrimina‑
tion on the basis of caste affected the psyche of the whole community, and
such experiences had a harsh effect on their identity. Bama also laments
that, being the lowest of the low, the Parayars had no help from society or
even from the police. Lack of support, even from state machinery, created
a sense of distrust in the administrative system, which is supposed to pro‑
tect all members of the community alike. Their deprived upbringing, lack
of a sense of belonging, and continuous disrespect led to a shattered sense
of self and identity.
Bama felt quite strongly for herself and others in the Dalit community
because their identities were invariably defined by their experiences with
the people of the upper castes. They were always treated with contempt,
and even in their homes, there was no mutual respect. They were all work‑
ing to make ends meet and, in a very mundane manner, carried out their
daily activities. It is important to note how the experiences of individuals,
especially their past, shape them. Even though the identities keep evolving
and are dynamic in nature, the past cannot be ignored in the present. In
fact, the past and present remain tightly knit in such communities. For the
members of a community, it is always the recent past that slides seamlessly
with the present. For instance, the experiences of Bama’s grandmother and
her stories serve as connecting links between their past and present. Bama’s
own experiences of childhood, adolescence, and later stages of her life are
reflected in her narratives, which allow for a continuity in studying the
community life and lifestyle.
While sharing her own experiences and those of her community, Bama
has encapsulated a variety of issues in her texts, from being falsely accused
of stealing, to being humiliated for belonging to the cheri (Dalit) streets,
to being told not to enter the upper caste streets, to public defamation on
several occasions. The biggest victory of the Dalits can be considered in
their ability to provide for the education of their children, sometimes up
to graduation. This changed the whole dynamics at both intra‑community
and inter‑community levels. A good education proved instrumental in their
self‑empowerment and redemption. They became aware of the various
government laws and policies enforced for the upliftment of Dalits and the
marginalized classes and started availing themselves of these opportunities.
All experiences that ultimately shape one’s identity become a part of
the collective consciousness. Carl Jung believed that consciousness can
be comprehended through archetypes. So, to understand the Dalit sense
166 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

of self, identity, and their psyche, an archetypal analysis of Dalit narra‑

tives has been central to this book. This chapter also focuses on various
archetypal characters that represent the community people at large and
how these characters have influenced the formation of the Parayar Dalit
identity. For this objective, the four most important Jungian archetypes,
namely, Rebirth, Mother, Trickster, and Spirit, have been considered.
Speaking of the narrator’s journey in Karukku, one can analyse it us‑
ing Jung’s Rebirth archetype. Lakshmi Holmström (the translator), in the
introduction to the book, shared that Karukku was marked by conflict
between the individual and the community. She added that Bama left the
religious community to affirm her belonging to the other community, i.e.,
being a Dalit, and that her journey was one of self‑discovery. Among the
many kinds of rebirths discussed under the Rebirth Archetype by Carl
Jung, “Participation in the Process of Transformation” is the one chosen
for studying Bama’s early life. As her grandfather was the first in their
family to embrace Christianity, their introduction to the religion was quite
recent and in its nascent stages. In fact, many of the Parayar Dalits were re‑
cent converts, and therefore, they all followed certain rituals and customs
to embrace the Christian values and principles. Her journey comprises her
first embracing her identity as a Christian, followed by a sense of loss
and disillusionment, and ultimately embracing her identity assigned at the
time of her birth, i.e., a Parayar Dalit. In Karukku, Bama has shared her
own journey of transformation and how embracing her identity as a Dalit
helped her acquire a sense of self. Moreover, she became a representative
figure of the Parayar Tamil Dalits, as she is one of the most prolific writers
who has represented in her narratives the life and challenges experienced
by the Dalits.
Jung states that any text which refers to the mother as a symbol com‑
prises mother archetypes. He further elaborates that any reference to a
mother, grandmother, stepmother, or mother‑in‑law can be studied as a
mother archetype. One can also analyse any references to remote ances‑
tors, a governess, or a caretaker under the paradigm of this archetype. The
mother, in a figurative sense, can be taken as a goddess who arouses feel‑
ings of devotion and awe. Certain objects and institutions which evoke
feelings of devotion, such as the educational institutions, mother earth, riv‑
ers, and others, can be studied as symbols of this archetype. The mother ar‑
chetype also encompasses various symbols of procreation and abundance.
In Dalit narratives, important examples of the Mother archetype are
seen in their grandmothers and mothers. Grandmothers are usually an ar‑
chetypal image of an old woman rooted in her culture, traditions, and
ancestry. For example, Bama’s grandmother, Paatti, managed the village
folk at work. She reiterated their community norms and rules, which were
keenly heard and followed by many Parayars. She is an advisor and a
 Conclusion 167

leader, especially for the women of the Parayar community. Another exam‑
ple is Saminathan’s mother, who stands for the sacrifices a mother makes
to contribute to the growth of her family. In Bama’s third novel, Vanmam,
some women of the Parayar Dalit community who have been characterized
as breadwinners with an extraordinary survival instinct also come across
as significant examples of the mother archetype. In perilous circumstances,
they stood united and ensured the safety and survival of their community.
For the Trickster archetype, Jung emphasizes that the trickster figure
stands superior to human consciousness because of its superhuman quali‑
ties and, at the same time, inferior to human consciousness because of his
unreason and irrationality. In Bama’s narratives, there is frequent mention
of incidents involving peys or ghosts. In many of these incidents, the char‑
acter representing a trickster inadvertently or deliberately shares a moral‑
istic message for the community members through his/her tricks. They can
thus be seen as examples of the Jungian Trickster archetype. One observes
that there is an overlapping of both the spirit and the trickster archetypes
in Bama’s narratives. Other Dalit writings also have elaborate accounts of
ghosts and supernatural activities being part of their everyday life.
The Trickster archetype can be found in almost all of Bama’s works—
Karukku, Sangati, Vanmam—and in some selected short stories. One such
story that figures in Karukku is that of Bondan Mama. In all the stories
about his stealing, there is an inevitable presence of either a ghost or a
group of peys (the ayyangatchi troupe). It is interesting to note that Bon‑
dan Mama is not a real person residing in their village but just a story of
someone who once was a part of their community. The children of the
Parayar community grew up listening to his stories of thieving, but at the
same time, they are in complete awe and horror at the presence of ghosts
in those stories and how Bondan Mama skilfully tackled them. Stories by
other writers like Omprakash Valmiki, Sharankumar Limbale, and Muru‑
gan also show the presence of tricksters. These stories can be considered
fables meant to inculcate morality among the community children, while
at the same time making the trickster an anomaly, thereby placing him/her
outside the boundaries of social acceptance.
Chapter 3, titled “Dalit Writings: A Structural Analysis,” analyses Van‑
mam from the point of view of its adherence to the structure of Campbell’s
Monomyth and Propp’s functions. The aim behind this is to apply the touch‑
stone works of myth criticism to Bama’s narrative to further research on
examples of archetypal criticism and testify to the universal nature of these
established theories. In this novel, the central conflict is inter‑community
and intra‑community rivalry based on differences in religion. Because the
Parayar Dalit Christian society consumed beef and followed Christianity,
the Pallar Dalit Hindu community thought itself to be superior to the Para‑
yar Dalit Christian community. The Pallars practised Hinduism, just as the
168 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

upper‑caste Naickers did. Even though the Parayars and the Pallars shared
the same identity as Dalits, basics like food and religious beliefs became the
source of contention between the two groups. The Naickers often used the
situation as a ploy to create enmity between the Pallars and the Parayars,
and by doing so, they enjoyed a socially and politically advantageous posi‑
tion. It should be observed that in this story, revenge takes the shape of liter‑
ally killing members of other societies out of pure intolerance, in addition to
the apathy and hatred towards each other.
In this chapter, a comparison is made between the protagonists’ journeys
and the hero’s journey as propounded by Campbell in his concept of the
Monomyth. It is important to trace the journeys of the protagonists be‑
cause their journey primarily focuses on reforming their identity. For this
purpose, a simplified version of the Monomyth in the form of a table as
given by Vivian Asimos, has been used. Also, the functions proposed by
Vladimir Propp in his book Morphology of the Folktale (1928) have been
used to study the structure of the narrative.
It is quite interesting to note that, to a great extent, the functions
proposed by Vladimir Propp hold true for Vanmam. Out of thirty‑one
functions, the first fourteen apply directly. The fifteenth function stands
inapplicable in the present context, after which many other functions, such
as the sixteenth, seventeenth, eighteenth, twenty‑sixth, twenty‑seventh,
twenty‑eighth, and twenty‑ninth, are apt for the narrative. Additionally,
all applicable functions are in the sequential order as given by Propp. No
order or chain of events has been broken.
Moving further to the issue of social inclusion/exclusion of the Dalits,
Chapter 4, titled “Social Inclusivity/Exclusivity of the Dalit Communities,”
focuses on the formation of Dalit identity and psyche as a consequence of
their subjugation based on their caste and economic situation, as well as
their geographical and demographic marginalization. Many factors deter‑
mine the lifestyle choices of a community, including their education and
occupation. Language, demography, and culture have a strong impact on
the determination of Dalit identity, and these factors also trace their devel‑
opment as a community. The locale and landscape are a crucial part of this
analysis, as these are suggestive of their history of marginalization. Many
Dalit writers, like Kancha Ilaiah, Babytai Kamble, Sharankumar Limbale,
and Jaydeep Sarangi, share this sociological standpoint. In doing so, their
purpose has been to highlight Dalit myths and ideologies framing them.
Therefore, it is pertinent to consider how history has placed them in mythi‑
cal stories and folklore.
There are several mythical stories about the Parayar Dalit community
and the Madiga community, which have been made available by ethnog‑
raphers and folklorists. Through these mythical tales, it becomes quite evi‑
dent how the existing Dalit myths and Brahminical myths have influenced
 Conclusion 169

the life and experiences of the Dalit communities. The idea of the “lived
reality” of myth, as proposed by Bronislaw Malinowski, a Polish‑British
anthropologist, in his essay “Myth in Primitive Psychology,” emphasizes
the dynamic and ever‑evolving nature of myth. An English anthropolo‑
gist, Edward Burnett Tylor, in his book Primitive Culture, shared similar
views that reiterate the concept of myth as dynamic and not stagnant in
nature. The performative part of the established mythical stories has been
discussed using Lévi‑Strauss’ theory of implicit mythology. In this chapter,
all these concepts have been studied to analyse the evolving patterns of
myth and identity in the so‑called lower castes. This chapter highlights that
Bama’s narratives can also be considered a historical representation of the
Parayar Dalits.
The young men of the Parayar Dalit community, as portrayed in Van‑
mam, want to change their existing patterns of living, their daily lifestyle,
and experiences. They decide to change their “lived reality.” The attempt
to change the existing narrative to mould their lived reality can be stud‑
ied as a part of implicit mythology. The following steps were taken by
the younger generation, which is evident in Bama’s works: they started
utilizing the natural resources for public use, which were earlier under
the self‑proclaimed ownership of the Naickers. They also started walking
in the streets where the Naickers resided. Education became a means of
progress and growth, and they started focusing on being educated, at least
till the college level. They moved away from the established rituals, like
making offerings to the Naickers on Pongal, and created their own groups
to come together to celebrate their festivals. The most important step was
their wilful participation in panchayat elections and occupying positions
of power.
Some observations can be drawn from the explicit Parayar Dalit myths
and Brahmanical myths. According to the Parayar Dalit mythical stories,
they share the same bloodline, meaning that the Brahmin and the Parayar
are real brothers and their families are tied by blood, whereas the Brah‑
manical stories never consider them as related by blood. In some stories,
caste was created by God, and therefore caste‑based discrimination is justi‑
fied, a point which is highlighted in Brahmanical stories too. In both kinds
of mythical stories, there are certain occupational differences; for instance,
the one who serves the Brahmanical caste is a Parayar. Behavioural char‑
acteristics are considered prominent distinguishing elements, such as one
who steals food or any other object being labelled as a Parayar. On the
other hand, the deceitful behaviour of the privileged class is justified. An‑
other caste‑determining factor that must be taken into consideration is the
type of food being consumed. For instance, consuming beef relegates
the Dalits to the realm of the lower caste. The punishment meted out to
them is rather severe and derogatory, such as not being allowed to enter
170 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

the temples and being forced to leave the village. The Madiga myths also
function on similar lines, with some minor differences.
The following observations can be drawn on how the explicit myth—
i.e., the existing stories and folklores of the Parayar Dalit community and
Brahmins—has affected the daily life and experiences of the Parayars, i.e.,
the application of the concept of implicit mythology. One of the differences
is that the so‑called upper‑caste Naickers do not consider the Parayars as
arising from the same blood line, and therefore, any word indicating famil‑
ial ties is shunned. According to some mythical stories, the idea of the crea‑
tion of caste by God is considered true, and over time, it has been ingrained
even in the minds of the Parayars. There are several examples that prove
the Parayars consider themselves inferior to the privileged castes, incorpo‑
rating these values and even passing them on to the younger generation.
When it comes to serving the so‑called upper castes, it is quite clear that
the Parayars and Pallars were dependent on the Naickers for their livelihood.
They mostly worked as agricultural labourers on the Naicker fields or as
watchmen guarding their orchards against wild animals. The explicit myth
has been significant in shaping their reality and affecting their everyday life.
Tilling, sowing, irrigating the fields, and cutting the crops are all parts of
the labourer’s job. The Naickers enjoy the final reap of the harvested crop.
The aspect of caste‑based discrimination is emphasized at various levels in
Bama’s narratives. Being dependent on the upper caste for their livelihood
placed them in vulnerable situations where they would be exploited. This
treatment was unfair and unjustified. There are several examples that show
how the Naickers could easily get away with their derogatory treatment
of the Parayars, whereas the Parayars would be punished unreasonably,
including public humiliation and ostracization. When it comes to food, beef
remains a part for the meals of the Parayars, as they are Christians by re‑
ligion. The Pallars, in contrast, being Hindu Dalits, are prohibited from
consuming beef by their religious principles. Apart from the occasional con‑
sumption of beef, the Parayars cannot afford even regular healthy meals.
Their diet mostly comprises kuzhu, i.e., rice water and millets.
Geographical marginalization, as represented in mythical stories, has
also seeped down from these myths and affected the life of the Parayar
Dalit community. They have been residing on the village outskirts. Moreo‑
ver, they live on separate streets, and even the schools their children at‑
tend and the church where they pray are located on the Naicker streets.
They are questioned and looked at with disgust if they are found walking
on the Naicker streets, which they invariably have to cross to reach their
schools, church, and other places. As a result, in Bama’s Vanmam, the
younger boys and those gradually maturing into adults are seen looking
for job opportunities outside the village, breaking free from the boundaries
of marginalization.
 Conclusion 171

The fifth chapter of the thesis, titled “The Language of Marginalization,”

focuses on the analysis of language in Dalit narratives. The day‑to‑day ex‑
change of dialogues between the so‑called upper castes and lower castes
is marked by bias, discrimination, and prejudice. Their communicative
language conveys the intra‑community and inter‑community dynamics.
Several authors, like Arundhati Roy, Kancha Ilaiah, and others, have em‑
phasized the significance of analysing the language of the marginalized, as
it is representative of their ideology. The dialogues between the so‑called
upper caste and the lower caste reveal the anger, frustration, and resent‑
ment of the people of the upper caste people towards the lower caste. This
examination has been done using Roland Barthes’ Theory of Connotation
and Theory of Codes, as proposed in his book S/Z.
Some short stories from Bama’s short story collections have been selected
for study. Incidents from Anand’s Untouchable, Limbale’s Akkarmashi,
Valmiki’s Joothan, and Murugan’s Pyre have been taken up for study as
well. Each incident highlights a different aspect of Dalit life through dia‑
logue and conversations. From Bama’s Just One Word, stories like “The
Grazing Fields,” “The Verdict,” “Man and Beast,” and “Just One Word”
have been examined. From her other short story collection, Ichy Tree Mon‑
key: New and Selected Stories, stories like “Annachi,” “Ichi Tree Mon‑
key,” “Stereotype,” “Single,” and “Rich Girl” have been studied for this
chapter. These stories are primarily analysed using Roland Barthes’ concept
of connotation and five codes to interpret signifiers in a readerly text.
For example, one such story is Annachi. It is about the inter‑community
dynamics and highlights how the upper castes can get away with any be‑
haviour towards the lower castes, but the lower caste Parayars have to
even choose their words while keeping their subjugated position in mind.
The Tamil word Annachi means elder brother. This simple word, which
only shows respect for an older person, can put a Dalit boy in trouble and
lead to panchayat meetings. But the connotative meaning of the word, or
the word when taken at the second level of metalanguage, stands for a
term that only people with familial ties can use for one another. Here, by
familial ties, another underlying meaning is brought to the fore: the Dalits
are considered impure, and therefore, such a respectful word, when used
by them, becomes a derogatory term. For this reason, even the village pan‑
chayat had to call a meeting, and the headman scolded the Dalit boy for
the inappropriate use of language.
The story “The Verdict” begins with a sense of excitement among the
students of classes three, four, and five as they would be going to watch
a movie, Baby’s Day Out, at the cinema hall in the nearby village of Oo‑
thukottai the next day. The students were instructed to bring five rupees,
wear the school uniform, and bring their own water bottles, in addition to
wearing slippers if they had a pair. The following day, the students showed
172 Archetypes in Dalit Literature

up on schedule and marched off toward the village. After the movie, some
of them ventured outside in the sweltering heat without even wearing slip‑
pers. Their feet hurt and their throats were dry as they walked back. They
came across a water pump in the village of Pallathur. Three‑year‑old Ma‑
halakshmi paused with the others to fill up on water at the pump. She was
swatted in the back by her older sister Vijaylakshmi, who also threatened
to complain to their parents if she filled her bottle with water from the
water pump in the cheri streets where the lower castes lived. Mahalakshmi,
who was thirsty and tired, could not help but cry. When one of the teach‑
ers, Mary, saw her crying, she inquired about the cause of her distress.
Another student, Shanthi, informed the teacher that Mahalakshmi was
thirsty but was not permitted to drink water from the pump. Mary was
shocked and inquired further. Shanthi informed her that because the pump
was located where the Dalits lived, the water was tainted and not fit for
consumption by the upper caste. Mary was shocked and discussed the mat‑
ter with the school headmaster, who then spoke to the sisters, Vijaylakshmi
and Mahalakshmi. He explained to the sisters that one should not drink
water at their homes, but one can have it from their streets.
Another short story, “Pongal,” which is taken from Bama’s collection of
short stories titled The Ichi Tree Monkey, translated by N Ravi Shankar,
highlights the aspect of long‑cherished traditions. One such tradition, i.e.,
the odaiyaru offerings, has become the point of discord between Madasami
and his middle son, Esakkimuthu. Esakkimuthu had the privilege of stud‑
ying beyond class ten at school, unlike Madasami’s other sons. He was
against the odaiyaru offerings, which comprised a big pumpkin, sugarcanes,
a bunch of bananas, around four measures of rice, and bird meat. Esak‑
kimuthu argued with his father that at least once a year, they could enjoy
that feast instead of presenting it to the landlords. But his father denied it,
saying that only the upper caste had tasted such a good meal, and the lower
castes had no reason to start consuming it, even if it was once a year. This
shows the extent of their subjugation. They have reached a point in their
lives when they no longer feel they have any right or privilege to eat food
that was enjoyed by the so‑called upper castes. This has become ingrained
in their minds, and as it is passed down through generations, they continue
to live in a state of lack. This definitely becomes a part of the Dalit psyche,
which, over generations becomes a part of their consciousness. Here, the
tradition of odaiyaru offering becomes a Barthesian referential code, carry‑
ing the connotative meaning of subjugation and inferiority. Even though it
seems impractical to carry on with such a tradition, the Dalit communities
do this to please the so‑called upper castes so that they are able to maintain
a harmonious relationship with the dominating caste.
The entire book aims to achieve insight into the psyche of the so‑called
lower caste and to gain an understanding of the factors that have shaped
 Conclusion 173

their identity and consciousness. An archetypal analysis has proven useful

in comprehending the community’s archetypal characters, setting, myths,
rituals, and language. A detailed analysis of the Jungian archetypes of
Rebirth, Mother, Spirit, and Trickster has helped in acquiring an under‑
standing of the Dalits, their circumstances, their lives, and experiences.
Furthermore, the Monomyth by Joseph Campbell and the functions by
Vladimir Propp are some of the touchstone works on myth criticism.
Bama’s Vanmam adheres to these structures, to a great extent, making it a
good example of fiction based on reality. Moreover, the analysis of explicit
and implicit myths points to the significance of existing myths and folk‑
tales. Implicit myth is not only a dimension of performative myth but also
refers to the changes experienced by the people and society at large over
time. These changes might affect the explicit myth also. Only the future
can tell if these changes will become a permanent part of the (Parayar)
Dalit narratives and history.
This book also aims to understand the Dalit language, and it can be con‑
cluded that the language of marginalization is very much a reality. It is the
language of the dominant class and is replete with expressions of subjuga‑
tion, disrespect, intolerance, and sometimes hatred towards the so‑called
lower castes. Bama’s narratives are true representations of the journey of
Parayar Dalit identity formation and the changes it has undergone over
time. This identity has been affected by many factors, including explicit
myth, implicit myth, language, and community archetypes. The study of
the different aspects of the lives, ideologies, and culture of the marginalized
section of Indian society, as represented by Bama in her works of fiction,
has enhanced the understanding of their significant role and contribution
to Indian society, which may not have, over the passage of time been ac‑
knowledged, yet undeniably needs to be appreciated and applauded.
Interview

The following is an interview conducted by the Researcher Ms Chandna

Singh Nirwan with the Tamil Dalit Christian writer, Bama, through per‑
sonal email dated 18 January 2022.

Chandna: What in your opinion is Dalit Consciousness?

Bama: Being aware of my/our/inferiorized status, which is imposed
on me by this caste‑ridden society and my inner urge to affirm
and assert my/our/human dignity by my struggle to create a
human society of liberty, fraternity, and equality constitutes
my Dalit Consciousness.
Chandna: Do you think Dalit writings are quite different from main‑
stream writings? To what extent can the Dalit word be studied
as a symbol or sign of Community Consciousness?
Bama: Yes, Dalit writings are quite different from mainstream writ‑
ings. The power of Dalit words breaks the fearful and sub‑
missive silence and speaks out loudly the collective Dalit
Consciousness of rebellion and agency. Dalit writings also
portray the lively and lovable aspects of Dalit culture. They
proclaim the struggles, which result in pain, ecstasy, agony,
and anguish of Dalit life, which refuses to give up against all
odds. The mainstream writings fail to expose in this whole‑
ness of Dalit life and culture with authenticity.
Chandna: Animals appear quite regularly in your work. Do animals hold
a symbolic reference for you? What is the role you think they
play in a Dalit community?
Bama: Dalits have a deep, inseparable, and almost familial rela‑
tion with animals, with nature without which Dalits become
breathless. While the dominating caste minded society ex‑
cludes Dalits, nature embraces them as its sons and daugh‑
ters. Invariably, you can see animals (cows, buffaloes, oxen,
176 Interview

and bullocks, which help them in their agricultural work) in

most of the Dalit villages. Dogs, cats, hens, goats, pigs, and
donkeys are their friends. They name them, talk to them as
they talk to any other human beings; play with them, eat
with them and sleep with them. From childhood, I have
seen even small children addressing birds, fish, squirrels,
and other animals in our environment and having spontane‑
ous, intimate conversations with them. I think this intimacy
with nature and animals soothes them, comforts them, el‑
evates them, and enables them to identify themselves with
the cosmos and broaden their vision to embrace the universe
and human race as part of each other. When the beauty and
simplicity of Dalit Community are despised and rejected by
the caste society, this unity, this umbilical connection with
nature, strengthens them, keeps them alive and active in the
day‑to‑day life.
Chandna: There is a mention of ghosts and demons in almost all of your
novels. Can these be treated as mere superstitious beliefs of
the community or are these the ghosts of the past and trau‑
matic experiences?
Bama: I don’t think we can push away these ghost stories as supersti‑
tious beliefs of the community. I rather tend to think that we,
Dalits, live with a sense of magical realism, which tells us that
there is more to life than what our senses and rationality tell
us there is. There may be some exceptions, but most of the
stories reveal their aspirations, disappointments, dreams, and
psychological depression and oppression in families, working
places and in the society. Possession by ghosts is, probably,
one of the ways that women, especially young girls take to
liberate themselves from all kinds of violence and pressures
to which they are constantly subjected to and to escape into a
twilight zone where social controls don’t matter much. In one
of my short stories titled ‘No caste for ghosts,’ which is based
on real incident, the girl possessed by an upper caste landlord
says in his guttural voice, “Ghosts have no caste; only living
people have caste.” These words, probably, give expression to
her sufferings because of untouchability and caste discrimina‑
tion and her longing to abolish caste. But, of course, in reality,
caste follows us even after death!
Chandna: In your novel, education has been emphasized upon as rescue
and relief for the Dalits. Is attaining good education symbolic
of moving up the social ladder in the staunch hierarchy of the
caste system?
 Interview 177

Bama: Dr Ambedkar said, “Educate! Unite! Agitate!” His life and

writings are a good example for Dalits. Education wakes us
up from the hegemonic slumber and enables us to stand on
our own legs with a sense of self‑identity and self‑respect. But
access to good education is not that easy for Dalits, as we are
rejected and denied opportunities even if we are competent
enough as the rest of the people. Like Rohith Vemula, hun‑
dreds of Dalit students are killed or forced to kill themselves
when they show their merit and intelligence. We are denied
of social justice and human dignity. Yet, education is the only
way for us to establish ourselves. But, then, even if you are
highly educated, still that social stigma of caste and untouch‑
ability is very difficult to wipe away. Education does not en‑
able us to move up the caste‑based social ladder, but it helps
us certainly to have an independent life with self‑respect.
Chandna: I am sure you must have had a chance to look upon other
Dalit writings. Can you name a few writers who have influ‑
enced your writings?
Bama: Actually, I had very little chance of reading other writers’ works
before I started writing. The reason was non‑­availability of
Dalit works in my language (Tamil) then, and also other Dalit
writers from other states. I had read other non‑Dalit writings.
In 90s, Dr Ambedkar’s birth centenary was celebrated. Dur‑
ing that time, many Dalits in Tamil Nadu started to write.
My first book, Karukku, was the first Dalit autobiographical
novel in Tamil. The writings that influenced my writings are
of Khalil Gibran and Tagore. EVR Periyar’s writings also in‑
spired me a lot.
Chandna: Vanmam shows social hierarchy in terms of cultural geogra‑
phy. Even the location of sources of water is very uniquely
mentioned. The famous Swiss psychologist Carl Jung says,
“Water is the commonest symbol of the unconscious.” I can
relate this to the scene in the novel where the young men from
Parayar Community defend their right to bathe in the well,
which is located in the western part of the village area marked
for the upper castes. For me, this incident marks an important
event in the awakening of the Dalit consciousness. What do
you think about it?
Bama: During Dr Ambedkar’s time, the right to use water from the
common tank was denied to the Dalits. All through our his‑
tory, the right to basic needs like water, food, health, educa‑
tion, decent housing is denied to Dalits, and they have had to
fight for all their basic needs to be fulfilled. Here, too, in my
178 Interview

novel Vanmam, most of the agricultural land and the wells in

those lands belong to the upper‑caste landowners, and Dalits
are forbidden even to go near them to wash or to take a bath.
But in the novel, as you have pointed out, they protest and re‑
sist against this and deliberately break the conditions imposed
on them. Yes, this is an act of awakening their consciousness.
Not only this, but even to collect some fire wood or to col‑
lect some greens or vegetables for their food, Dalits are not
allowed. In short, their relationship with nature (trees, land,
water, mountains, plants, and food) is forcibly broken by the
oppressors, and Dalits constantly and consciously struggle to
rebuild and renew this, and their right to be one with nature.
Notes

Chapter 1
1 Babytai Kamble in Prisons We Broke (2008) used the phrase ‘double‑­oppression’
to refer to women.
2 Rice gruel (Anand).
3 According to Merriam‑Webster Dictionary, parapsychology is a field of study
concerned with the investigation of evidence for paranormal psychological
phenomena (such as telepathy, clairvoyance, and psychokinesis).
4 According to Macmillan Dictionary, syntagmatic refers to the relationships
among linguistic elements that form a sequence in speech or writing, for exam‑
ple, the relationship between “The girl” and “is singing” in the sentence “The
girl is singing.”
5 Some claim that human societies merely express through their mythology, fun‑
damental feelings common to the whole of mankind, such as love, hate, or
revenge, or that they try to provide some kind of explanations for phenomena
they cannot otherwise understand such as astronomical, meteorological, and
the like (2).
6 To sum up the discussion at this point, we have so far made the following
claims: 1. If there is a meaning to be found in mythology, it cannot reside in
the isolated elements that enter the composition of a myth, but only in the way
those elements are combined. 2. Although myth belongs to the same category
as language, being, as a matter of fact, only part of it, language in myth exhibits
specific properties. 3. Those properties are only to be found above the ordinary
linguistic level, that is they exhibit more complex features than those found in
any other kind of linguistic expression.
7 According to Merriam‑Webster Dictionary, any of the abstract units of the
phonetic system of a language that correspond to a set of similar speech sounds
(such as the velar \k\ of cool and the palatal \k\ of keel) which are perceived to
be a single distinctive sound in the language are called phonemes.
8 According to Merriam‑Webster Dictionary, a distinctive collocation of pho‑
nemes (such as the free form pin or the bound form ‑s in pins) having no
smaller meaningful parts is called a morpheme.
9 According to Collins Dictionary, it is a basic unit of meaning or content.
10 “Myths of sunrise and sunset, eclipse‑myths, earthquake‑myths, local myths,
and others (7), which account for the names of places by some fanciful tale,
eponymic myths which account for the parentage of a tribe by turning its name
into the name of an imaginary ancestor; under rites and ceremonies occur such
practices as the various kinds of sacrifice to the ghosts of the dead and to other
180 Notes

spiritual beings, the turning to the east in worship, the purification of ceremo‑
nial or moral uncleanness by means of water or fire. Such are a few miscella‑
neous examples from a list of hundreds, and the ethnographer’s business is to
classify such details with a view to making out their distribution in geography
and history, and the relations which exist among them” (7).

Chapter 2
11 The Multidimensional Poverty Index was initially developed in 2010 by Ox‑
ford Poverty and Human Development Initiative.
12 Khidr is representative of the servant of God, who follows His instructions and
is also taught by Him (Tabandeh 7).
13 In analytical psychology, the term “individuation” is essentially defined as:
Self‑realization. As a result, potentials that were stored within the Self at
birth and realized throughout the course of a lifetime, gradually manifest. The
“acorn theory” of psychological development is another name for this concept.
A person develops into what they have the potential to be at birth. It takes a
lifetime to more or less fully realise the Self that we are born with. The process
of individuation takes place over the course of psychological growth (Stein).
14 Under the Experiences of the Transcendence of Life, Jung has discussed several
points. The one that I will be using for the purpose of this research is the expe‑
riences induced by ritual. Here, the fateful transformations play a greater role,
such as the death or rebirth—of a god‑like hero. The “initiate” may either be a
witness or a participant or may just identify with the ritual action with the di‑
vine power. For transformation of life, participating in a Mass can be one of the
prominent ways and stands as an excellent example. Jung states, “If we observe
the congregation during this sacred rite we note all degrees of participation,
from mere indifferent attendance to the profoundest emotion…the Mass is an
extramundane and extratemporal act in which Christ is sacrificed and then
resurrected in the transformed substances; and this rite of his sacrificial death
is not a repetition of the historical event but the original, unique and eternal
act. The experience of Mass is therefore a participation in the transcendence of
life, which overcomes all bounds of space and time. It is moment of eternity in
time” (59).
15 A long time ago, a bunch of individuals from various castes were out fishing a
tank. There was a Harijan among them, while they went fishing. And as they
were fishing, Isvaran, or Lord Shiva, emerged unexpectedly from the water.
He promised each of them a gift. They were all required to put on a sacred
thread, though, before they could get it. Thus, they did. On that particular day,
the Harijan was fishing with an ottu, which is a basket with two ends that are
open. God instructed everyone to form a line and receive the gift after they had
finished putting on the thread. With the exception of the Paraiyar, who held out
his ottu and forgot to wrap it in cloth, they all received their gifts and carried
them away securely.
As Djurfeldt and Lindberg had shared that when he got home, he searched
his ottu for the present that God had given him, but to his dismay, it was
empty. He was depressed and worried about his misfortune. That is how God’s
gift to the Paraiyar was lost. The proverb “vanginado, suttal vittant,” which
states that an ottu is like a human body with a mouth at one end and an anus
at the other, is still in use today. Through the mouth of the ottu, the Paraiyar
received his gift from God, and he lost it through the bottom of it (Deliège).
 Notes 181

16 Along with the Sacrament of Baptism, First Holy Communion is one of our
three sacraments of initiation. It is through these sacraments of initiation that
we become full members of the Church. We receive the Holy Eucharist for
the first time during the First Holy Communion. The Holy Eucharist refers to
Christ’s body, blood, soul, and divinity that are truly present in the consecrated
host and wine (now called the Body and Blood of Christ) on the altar. For us
as Catholics, there is nothing greater than to receive Jesus, truly present in the
Eucharist at Mass.
First Holy Communion is considered one of the holiest and most important
occasions in a Roman Catholic person’s life. It is the first time that a person
receives the Sacrament of the Holy Eucharist, which is the eating of consecrated
bread and drinking of consecrated wine. Most Catholic children receive their
First Holy Communion when they are seven or eight years old as this is consid‑
ered the age of reason (“First Communion”).
17 Bama states, “They go and on about the vow of ‘obedience’… We are not even
allowed to think for ourselves in a way that befits our years. They want to think
for us, and instead of us. We are not allowed the independence and rights that
even small children are entitled to” (113).
18 Bama states, “Having sheltered within the safety of the convent, eating at regu‑
lar meal times and living a life with every comfort, I am now in a position of
having to endure the hardships of being alone in the outside world, and of hav‑
ing to seek work, and even food and drink for myself” (118).
19 According to Cambridge Dictionary, fables are short stories that tell a moral
truth.
20 A term used by Baby Kamble in Prisons We Broke.

Chapter 3
21 Clarissa Pinkola, a psychoanalyst and an author, wrote in the “Introduction to
the 2004 Commemorative Edition: What Does the Soul Want,” “People who
find resonant heroic themes of challenges and questing in their own lives, in
their goals, creative outpourings, in their day‑ and night‑dreams—are being
led to a single psychic fact. That is, that the creative and spiritual lives of indi‑
viduals influence the outer world as much as the mythic world influences the
individual. By restating this primordial understanding, Campbell offers hope
that the consciousness of the individual can prompt, prick, and prod the whole
of humankind into more evolution” (xxv).
22 https://www.udemy.com/course/introduction‑to‑the‑study‑of‑myth/learn/lec‑
ture/20399567# overview. Accessed 19 July 2021.
23 This opening phase of the mythological journey, which is the “call to adven‑
ture” denotes that fate has called the hero and moved “his spiritual centre of
gravity” (52) from within the boundaries of his civilization to an uncharted
territory. This location may be shown in a variety of ways, including as a far‑off
land, a forest, a kingdom below the waves or above the sky, a secret island, a
lofty hilltop, or a profound dream state; yet, it is always a place of wonderfully
fluid and polymorphous beings, unfathomable torments, superhuman actions,
and impossible delight (52).
24 This popular motif gives emphasis to the lesson that the passage of the thresh‑
old is a form of self‑annihilation. Its resemblance to the adventure of the Sym‑
plegades is obvious. But here, instead of passing outward, beyond the confines
of the visible world, the hero goes inward, to be born again. The disappearance
182 Notes

corresponds to the passing of a worshiper into a temple—where he is to be

quickened by the recollection of who and what he is, namely dust and ashes
unless immortal. The temple interior, the belly of the whale, and the heavenly
land beyond, above, and below the confines of the world, are one and the same.
25 Nadars are a part of the Pallar community who follow Hinduism.
26 She could be the epitome of beauty, angel‑like, perfect and may fulfil the hero’s
every aspiration. This figure can also be a bride, mistress, sister, or/and mother.
Also, she brings a promise of happiness and happy outcomes and endings. She
is the youthful, lovely, “good” mother who was known to us in the distant
past. This image which has been recalled is not only positive but has some
negative traits as well. These traits in mothers are: (1) the absent, unreach‑
able mother, against whom aggressive fantasies are directed, and from whom a
counter aggression is feared; (2) the hindering, forbidding, punishing mother;
(3) the mother who would keep to herself the growing child trying to push
away; and finally, (4) the desired but forbidden mother (Oedipus complex),
whose presence may result in perilous situations (101).
27 Joseph Campbell brings forth the idea of father as the archetypal enemy. As
a result, throughout life, all foes are symbolic (to the unconscious) of the fa‑
ther. When something is slain, it becomes the father. Hence, the worship of
the heads returned home after revenge expeditions in headhunting cultures (in
New Guinea, for instance). Also, as a result, there is an uncontrollable want to
start wars: the desire to kill the father constantly manifests as acts of public vio‑
lence. The elderly men of the neighbourhood or race defend themselves against
their developing sons (126).
28 The adventurer (in this case, hero) still needs to return with his life‑changing
prize after completing the mission, whether it was done so by reaching the
source or with the help of a male, female, human, or animal personification.
The hero must now start the labour‑intensive process of returning the runes of
wisdom, the Golden Fleece, or his sleeping princess to the kingdom of human‑
ity in order for the blessing to recur, which may result in the renewal of the
neighbourhood, the country, the planet, or the ten thousand worlds. This is
required by the full round, the monomyth’s norm. But the duty has repeatedly
been rejected. Even the Buddha, after his victory, had doubts about the viability
of spreading his realization message, and saints are said to have passed away
while experiencing supernal pleasure. There are many heroes who are said to
have settled down permanently on the blessed island of the ageless Goddess of
Immortal Being (179).
29 The meaning is obvious; it is the consequence of all religious practice. Through
extensive psychological training, the person finally becomes ready for the great
atonement by completely letting go of all attachment to his or her own limita‑
tions, hopes, and fears. They also stop resisting the need to completely destroy
themselves in order to be reborn in the realization of truth. Because all of his
own goals have been completely destroyed, he no longer tries to live, rather
willingly accepts whatever may happen to him (220).
30 To describe this part, among many examples, Campbell gives the examples
of Hamlet and Arjuna who felt guilty of their actions. He also suggests that
some might find solace in consoling themselves or making themselves believe
that there lied greater good for the rest behind their actions. Campbell stated,
“Such self‑righteousness leads to a misunderstanding, not only of oneself but
of the nature of both man and the cosmos. The goal of the myth is to dispel
the need for such life ignorance by effecting a reconciliation of the individual
 Notes 183

consciousness with the universal will. And this is effected through a realization
of the true relationship of the passing phenomena of time to the imperishable
life that lives and dies in all” (221).

Chapter 4
31 One of the upper caste communities, others being, Aiyars, Podagar.
32 In his book, Primitive Culture, Tylor states, “Culture or Civilization, taken in
its wide ethnographic sense, is that complex whole which includes knowledge,
belief, art, morals, law, custom, and any other capabilities and habits acquired by
man as a member of society. The condition of culture among the various societies
of mankind, in so far as it is capable of being investigated on general principles,
is a subject apt for the study of laws of human thought and action” (1).
33 Kancha Ilaiah, in his book, Why I am Not a Hindu, has spoken at length
about Dalitbahujans. The term Dalitbahujan was used by Ilaiah to collectively
refer to the Scheduled Castes and the Other Backward Classes. In his explana‑
tion of why the Dalitbahujans are not Hindu, he traced the life and lifestyle
of Kurumma community of Tamil Nadu. He started building his argument
by providing the difference in cultural and demographic factors, which affects
one’s upbringing, and therefore, the lifestyle. In cultural factors, he has given a
detailed analysis of how their cultural, which is inclusive of Childhood forma‑
tions, their training as young boys and girls, Sexual mores, Education, their
stories around ghosts and spirits, and Dalit Gods and Goddesses. Demographic
determinants primarily include how the village population is divided on the
basis of caste. Further, they are denied access to public resources like rivers,
ponds, temples, streets, and so on.
34 In the introduction to Vanmam, Bama states, “The category ‘field,’ where peo‑
ple work in agriculture, represents the complex social structure by its division
in the name of caste”. The field is witness to the lower caste landless labourers
who till and water it, and to the upper caste masters who own it. The people
who work in the field are servants of the landlord and have command over the
field only when someone trespasses the boundary. Different castes have differ‑
ent timings for diverting the water to their fields from the well. Trespassing this
rule could even lead to murder. Even bathing in the well belonging to a Naicker
invites the wrath of the owner” (xxiv).
35 Source: Wholesome Dalit food set to find its way into mainstream cuisine ‑ The
Times of India (indiatimes.com)
36 Malinowski further adds, “Myth conveys much more to the native than is con‑
tained in the mere story; that the story gives only the really relevant concrete
local differences; that the real meaning, in fact the full account, is contained in
the traditional foundations of social organization” (182). JH Driberg in his re‑
view states, “Malinowski believed that myth in a savage society or community
exists in its primitive form and is a ‘reality lived’ and not just any story told at
random. This myth is to the savage what, to a fully believing Christian, is the
Biblical story of Creation, of the fall, of the Redemption by Christ’s Sacrifice on
the Cross. As our sacred story lives in our ritual, in our morality, as it governs
our faith and controls our conduct, even so does his myth for the savage…The
forms of myth that come to us from the classical antiquity and sacred books
have been mummified in the priestly wisdom, Malinowski writes about the
comments of the true believers, the people who experienced it all without layer‑
ing it with the morals of their society and norms and customs” (177).
184 Notes

37 Sowbhagyawati: a woman whose husband is alive.

38 Hunter tribe was not one of the main castes but considered a lower caste
(Mukherjee).
39 Karna was the son of Lord Surya and Kunti. He was Kunti’s eldest son and
was born before her marriage to Pandu. Karna was also Dhuryodhana’s closest
friend and fought on his side against the Pandavas (“Stories of Mahabharatha—
Kunti and Karna”).
40 Svayam means self and Vara means groom. In ancient India, it was a method
of marriage in which a woman chose a man as her husband from a group of
suitors (“About: Svayamvara”).
41 Balaram Dasa’s Lakshmi Purana was written in the sixteenth century, during
the time when many Odisha Bhakti poets were critical of the caste system and
the division of the society according to the varnas. The story is about a Dalit
devotee of Goddess Lakshmi, Shriya Chandaluni. With her devotion, Shriya
pleases the Goddess Lakshmi who then goes out of the temple to visit her and
bless her. When she returns, she is stopped by her husband, Jagannath. and
brother‑in‑law, Balabhadra. She is accused of being “polluted” as she paid a
visit to a Dalit’s house. And therefore, not allowed to enter the temple again.
Because of this, Jagannath and Balabhadra suffer many miseries only to real‑
ize that no one should be treated as an “untouchable.” It is ironic to note
that even after such stories and texts, to this day, Jagannath temple does not
permit untouchables in its premises. Another story comprises James Freeman’s
tale of Dasia Burai. Being a staunch follower of Lord Jagannath, he always
worshipped him but never went inside the temple. After being pleased of his
devotion, Lord Jagannath came out of the temple to bless him but during night
time so that the Brahmins do not witness this and question his credibility as
an upper caste God. In Ramayana, Shabari, a staunch devotee of Lord Rama
tastes each fruit to present her Lord with the best. Lord Rama pleased by her
devotion eats her already tasted fruits, i.e., Jhoothan (“Lakshmi against Un‑
touchability: Puranic Texts and Caste in Odisha”).
42 Lévi‑Strauss’ brief statement of the existence of a more fragmented sort of
mythology that frequently goes along with ritual action is where the idea of
implicit mythology first emerged (Miles‑Watson). Jonathan Miles Watson also
stated in this paper that implicit mythology can also be understood to refer to
visual arts and architecture, as well as practices like praying and hunting. This
is due to the fact that implicit mythology can relate to both a specific and a
broad concept at the same time, just like explicit mythology does.
43 According to Jonathan Miles Watson, “Both the capacity to reckon with the
church environment that I arrived with and that which I subsequently devel‑
oped, may be understood as two subcategories of the kind of implicit mythol‑
ogy that Lévi‑Strauss indicates accompanies ritual action” (1981: 668–669).
The second type, which Prof Watson had referred to as “Vernacular Implicit
Mythology” specifically refers to historical ritual and devotional action that
has occurred within Christ Church Cathedral itself. The first type has been
referred to as “standardised implicit mythology,” which refers to a widely held
international understanding of Christian rituals in general (11).

Chapter 5
44 “Children’s experience of language begins with fixing the names of things—
birds, animals, trees, insects, everything that is around them. Every tree, every
 Notes 185

insect, every living and non‑living being bears a name. Many of these things
do not have words for them in ‘standard’ Brahminical language. Brahminical
language does not understand our ways of making‑up new names. These names
are not taught through the written word but are orally repeated in communica‑
tion, that is use‑ based” (6).
“No one talked about us. They never realized that our language is also a lan‑
guage, that it is understood by one and all in our communities…the conscious‑
ness of ‘us’ and ‘our’ culture was never allowed to exercise our minds” (14).
“As long as my education remained basically in the Telugu medium, my
Telugu textbooks and history textbooks consisted of only Brahminical narra‑
tives. Even mathematics was taught in Brahminical paradigm” (54).
45 They are not arranged in any order of importance. He defines each code
as follows: Hermeneutic code: includes various terms by which “an enigma
can be distinguished, suggested, formulated, held in suspense and finally dis‑
closed” (19).
Proairetic code: “Actions can fall into various sequences which should be in‑
dicated merely by listing them” (19). For example, (stroll, murder, rendezvous)
Cultural codes: These are “references to a science or a body of knowledge; gen‑
erally indicating the type of knowledge like (physical, physiological, medical,
psychological, literary, historical, etc.)” (19).
Semantic code: It depicts the connotative meanings of words or situations as
given in the text. Symbolic code: Binary oppositions, or binary polarities which
are present in a text.
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Appendix

The table below shows the journey of Saminathan and Jayaraju, the
­protagonists of Vanmam, as per the structure of monomyth given by
­Joseph Campbell. This structure of monomyth is put in an orderly fashion
of a table by Viviam Asimos, except for the right‑most column, which has
been added by the researcher to draw parallels between the journeys of
the protagonists and the monomyth (Chapter‑3). This table is published in
­Contemporary Voice of Dalit, 2022.

Phases Parts of Description of Researcher’s observation and

phases the parts parallels between protagonists’
journeys and the monomyth

Departure Call to Could be accidental Saminathan wishes to avenge

Adventure or divinely his uncle, Marrassu’s
planned. If call murder, and Jayaraju
comes from outside wishes to contribute to
character, this the upliftment of his
character is called community.
“the herald.”
Refusal of The hero fails to, Saminathan has limited
the Call for one reason or resources and therefore
another, to answer decides to start at
the call; fails to a small scale where
assume the life‑role community‑based events
necessary. can lead to a community
bonding and help them unite
against the upper castes.
Jayaraju thinks himself
above other Parayars and
avoids their company.
Supernatural First encounter is a The power they (the Parayars)
Aid protective figure, get is from their unity as a
one who provides troupe, which they named
(Continued)
 Appendix 193

Phases Parts of Description of Researcher’s observation and

phases the parts parallels between protagonists’
journeys and the monomyth

amulets or powers Kazhani Arts Troupe. They

to assist the hero collected funds from the
in their journey members of their community
(typically is present to join the group and
in stories where the organized certain events to
hero has answered commemorate their deities
the call). and leaders.
Crossing Marks the crossing The date of their events
the First from the ordinary coincides with the free movie
Threshold comfort before the day by Naickers. Yet, they
adventure to one successfully organize and
of the unknown. celebrate on their own.
Typically, there is a
threshold guardian.
Belly of the The hero does not Even though Saminathan was
Whale conquer the world in the village only for a few
of the unknown days of holidays, he spoke to
but is swallowed the elders of his community
into the unknown, to acquire information
and would appear on the intra‑caste rivalry
to have died. The that existed between the
threshold is a form Pallars and the Parayars.
of self‑annihilation. He went to the extent of
brining young educated boys
together to contribute to the
society in some way and get
the two Dalit communities
together. As for Jayaraju,
he becomes a close‑knit
member of the troupe and
now does not even have a
problem sharing his soap in
their well‑baths.
Initiation The Road The hero must Their trials began with the
of Trials go through a intra‑caste rivalry, which
succession of culminated in gruesome
trials; sometimes killings of members of other
travel to communities. The road of
underworld. trials comprised the brutal
treatment meted out to
the women of the Parayar
community at the hands of
the police. The kids were
left unattended as their
fathers went into hiding, and
women were forcibly put
behind bars.
(Continued)
194 Appendix

Phases Parts of Description of Researcher’s observation and

phases the parts parallels between protagonists’
journeys and the monomyth

The male college students led

by Saminathan, Jayaraju,
and Anthony devised ways of
getting back in their village,
as children could not go to
school, women could not go
out to work, and their routine
life came to a striking halt.
The Meeting The ultimate Women of the Parayar
with the adventure is a community were hailed as
Goddess mystical marriage; goddesses as they carried on
a figure who is with supplying food to their
the incarnation men in hiding. Not only did
of the promise of they single‑handedly managed
perfection. to survive in those tough
times but even buried their
dead by digging the graves
themselves. Being daily wage
earners, they hardly had
enough money to buy food,
yet they helped each other and
stood for their community
and fought for their rights.
The Woman Sometimes the N/A
as meeting with
Temptress the goddess is
less pleasant; the
woman can also be
the temptress to the
hero, trying to get
him off his track.
Atonement The hero must The Parayars looked at the
with the confront or broader picture, which
Father/ be initiated by required the Pallars and
Abyss whatever holds the Parayars to see beyond
ultimate power. their animosity, as their
Often, this is a routine life was hampered.
father or a father The children could not go
figure. This is the to schools; young girls and
great battle. women could not move
around for work, and these
young men could not go back
to their colleges after their
holidays. In order to resolve
this issue, the nattamai of
both the communities came
to an agreement to support
each other.
(Continued)
 Appendix 195

Phases Parts of Description of Researcher’s observation and

phases the parts parallels between protagonists’
journeys and the monomyth

Apotheosis A great realization is The even more difficult part

achieved. The hero of the adventure was to
is now resolved and establish their members in
ready to take on even the positions of power so
more difficult parts that atrocities by the upper
of the adventure. castes Naickers, the Hindu
Dalit community, Pallars,
and police could be stopped.
This was the ultimate aim of
the protagonists too.
The Ultimate The boon is the whole The goal was to unite the
Boon goal of the quest, two communities, i.e., the
what the hero went Parayars and the Pallars, and
on the journey for in the second goal was to place
the first place. themselves in positions of
power.
The Refusal of the After achieving This point is inversely
Return Return great bliss and proportional to Bama’s
enlightenment, the portrayal of the
hero may not want protagonists’ state of mind.
to return to the They were rather happy to
mundane and the achieve their goals and go
ordinary world he back to their routine lives.
came from.
The Magic Sometimes, the N/A
Flight return is troubled
with a need to
escape. This can
be in the form of a
great pursuit.
Rescue from The hero also N/A
Without gets guides and
assistance to return
from the journey,
just as he needed
them to go to the
journey.
The Crossing The hero returns N/A
of the home and must
Return find a new place
Threshold in his old world.
The hero is also
trying to figure out
how to share his
wisdom with the
rest of the world.
(Continued)
196 Appendix

Phases Parts of Description of Researcher’s observation and

phases the parts parallels between protagonists’
journeys and the monomyth
Master of The hero’s journey Regaining a sense of identity
the Two has given the hero and self‑respect builds
Worlds the ability to feel confidence among the two
comfortable in Dalit communities who
both the material were earlier completely
and the spiritual dependent on the Naickers.
worlds. Education has given them
the material freedom, and it
was made possible because
of the Christian missionaries
and the opportunities they
gave them to further their
education. They derived their
spiritual strength from their
revolutionary leaders like
BR Ambedkar, Immanuel
Sekaran, and Rettaimalai
Srinivasan. It was their
teachings that made them
take a stand for themselves.
And symbolically too, the
whole issue started when
Ambedkar’s statue was set
up and, in turn, the Pallars
established a flagpost
commemorating their leader.
Freedom to Mastery leads to the The sense of achievement
Live freedom from the emboldens their faith in their
fear of death. own community and gives
them the freedom to live life
on their terms and not as
slaves to the Naickers.

This table shows the different Parayar Dalit Myths as disused in Chapter 4.
 Appendix 197

Myth Relation Work/Occupation Blessing or Consequences

Curse
Myth 1, Two God asked to remove God never The one who
Version 1 brothers the carcass of a discriminated. removed the
dead cow. The elder They carcass is a
said, “een thambi themselves Parayar.
Pappaan” meaning decided it. Brahman
the younger one cannot
will do it but it remove the
was understood carcass.
as “een thambi
paapaan” meaning
the younger one is
a brahman.
Myth 1 Two Elder brother God was happy The elder
Version 2 brothers removed the with his work, became a
carcass of a dead blessed him to Parayar, and
cow. be a Parayar. the younger
Younger one conducted became a
puja in a temple. Brahman.
Myth 1, Two The elder removed N/A Became a
Version 3 brothers the carcass of a Parayar as
dead cow. he removed
the carcass.
Younger is
therefore
the
Brahman.
Myth 2 Two brothers So, the younger The younger The elder
who were one looked after served the declares
priests. the temple and God in temple himself as
One was did the puja. and therefore the drum
observing blessed. person, a
a fast and Parayar, and
a vow of the younger
silence. to be
Brahman.
The elder brother
played the drum
as the younger one
conducted the puja.
Myth 3 Two The elder brother Cursed for Annan is told
Brahman killed the cow. killing a cow. to eat beef
brothers and called a
(Annan “beefeater.”
and Made to
Thambi) leave the
village.

(Continued)
198 Appendix

Myth Relation Work/Occupation Blessing or Consequences

Curse
Myth 4 Aadi and One of the four Initially, all He was
Ishwaran sons stole a piece were the made to
(Gods, of meat while children of leave the
Parvati, cooking. God. house
and Shiva) Caste is decided and live
had four by Gods, and separately.
children. the Parayars
are cursed for
stealing.
Myth 5 God Some of them Caste is a gift Those who
Ishwaran collected it in an from God. A could
appeared ottu, which is a blessing. But not carry
while basket but open on God didn’t the gift
everyone both ends. So, by the discriminate home are
was fishing time, they reached by birth. But it Parayars.
together. home, the gift of is their karma
God asked caste slipped away or doing that
them to from the other end. causes them to
wear a lose the gift of
thread caste.
across their
body and
collect the
gift of caste.
Myth 6 There was a While cooking beef, Cursed to be a Called a
Mahamuni stole a piece from Parayar, in “beefeater.”
who was the pot. fact, his entire
cooking lineage is
beef. This cursed.
is when
eating beef
was not
prohibited
by any
caste.

Table 1 (Chapter‑4)
Index

Note: Page numbers followed by “n” denote endnotes.

Adamski, Adam: on archetypes 49; “Archetypes and the Collective

“Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious of Carl G. Jung in the
Unconscious of Carl G. Jung in the Light of Quantum Psychology”
Light of Quantum Psychology” 20 (Adamski) 20
Ambedkar, B. R. 1–5, 7, 9, 48, 77, “Archetypes of Literature, The” (Frye)
80, 82–3, 105–6, 128, 164, 177; 24
on caste 77; ideology, Bama’s Asimos, Vivian 77–9, 85, 86
reiteration of 87–91; Who were the Athiyaman 4
Shudras? 18
analytical psychology 49 Baby’s Day Out 140, 171
Anand, Mulk Raj 32; Untouchables 3, Balaram Dasa: Lakshmi Purana
4, 13–14, 34, 41–2, 73–6, 87–8, 98, 184n41
112, 158–61 Bama Faustina Soosairaj 17–18,
Anatomy of Criticism (Frye) 24 21, 29–31; Ambedkarite
“Ancharamanippoo Tree, The” (Bama) ideology, reiteration of 87–91;
66–8 “Ancharamanippoo Tree, The”
Annachi 141, 145, 171 66–8; “Chilli Powder” 108, 149–51;
Annihilation of Caste (Roy) 134 Christianity, embracing 53–6;
Anthropology, an Introduction to confessions, making 55–6; devotion
the Study of Man and Civilization as profession 56; early life 5–6; on
(Malinowski) 28 education 7–9, 176–7; “Grazing
archetypal criticism: Frye’s views on Fields” 9, 66, 171; “Harum‑Scarum
24; Jung’s 20, 163 Saar” 148–9; Ichi Tree Monkey:
archetypes: in Dalit writings 31–74, New and Selected Stories 8, 9, 11,
164–7; of gender difference, 31, 137, 148, 154, 156, 171; Just
culturally embedded symbolic One Word 11, 19–20, 30, 66, 135,
references as 48–9; meaning of 137, 139, 145, 171; Karukku 5–8,
49–50; mother 21, 58–61, 166–7; 10, 12, 16, 30–9, 52–5, 59, 60, 64,
of oppressed 71; of oppressor 71; 71, 97, 99, 103, 106, 108, 110,
rebirth 21, 50–3, 166; scapegoat 115, 116, 124, 126, 127, 129, 132,
47–9; spirit 21–3, 62–3, 66, 68–71; 135, 143, 147, 164, 166, 167, 177;
trickster 23–4, 63–71, 167; victim Kusumbukkaran 6, 11; “Man and
47–9; water as 45–7 Beast” 9, 141–2, 171; Manusi 4;
Archetypes and the Collective narratives, role of animals in 9–10,
Unconscious (Jung) 50 175–6; Oru Tattvum Erumaiyum
200 Index

6, 11; “Pongal” 142–5, 172; “Rich codes: cultural 20, 38, 185n45;
Girl” 145; Sangati 6–8, 10–11, 16, hermeneutic 20, 38, 185n45;
30–2, 36–7, 45–9, 59, 64–6, 71, 73, symbolic 20, 38, 47, 185n45; theory
103, 106, 115, 116, 126, 127, 129, of the 20
132, 147, 153, 167; Sangati Events Cohen, Percy 16–17
6; “Single” 156–7; “Stereotype” confessions 55–6
147–8; on superstitious beliefs 176; connotation 136
“Those Days” 151–3; Vanmam consciousness: Dalit 10, 101, 135, 149,
6–9, 11–13, 16, 30, 31, 40–7, 59, 175, 177; ego‑consciousness 21, 52;
64, 71, 76–9, 85–6, 88–96, 103, stream‑of‑consciousness 45
106–8, 110, 114–16, 124, 128, Culler, Jonathan 33, 135; Short
129, 132, 167–70, 173, 177, 178, Introduction to Literary Theory,
183n34, 192–8; “Verdict, The” 8, A 32
19, 140, 171–2; “Wailing” 145–7; cultural codes 20, 38, 185n45; food as
writing style 6–7; “Yellow Butterfly, 39–47
The” 8, 9 Cultural Identity and Diaspora (Hall)
baptism 33, 135, 181n16 32
Barthes, Roland 16; on connotation culturally embedded symbolic
136; myth criticism 19–20, 135; references, as archetypes of gender
Mythologies 19, 138; on myths 19; difference 48–9
S/Z 20, 38; theory of codes 20, 38, culture, definition of 28
39, 47
“Behind Poverty: The Social Formation Dalit: communities, social inclusivity/
in a Tamil Village” (Djurfeldt and exclusivity of 97–133, 168–71;
Lindberg) 110–11, 180n15 consciousness 10, 101, 135, 149,
Bhotmange, Surekha 137 175, 177; identity 2, 10, 32–8,
“Blaming Beauty for the Beast: 76, 79, 88, 91, 100, 107, 166,
A Jungian Explanation for the 168, 173; literature 1–5, 16–18;
Persistence of Patriarchal Patterns” meaning of 1; see also individual
(DioGuardi) 47 entries
Brahmanical myths: Madiga Dalit “Dalit in India, The” (Ghose) 102, 114
community myths versus 122; Dalit writings 7, 175, 177; archetypes
Parayar Dalit myths versus 116–17, in 31–74; structural analysis of
122 75–96, 167–8
davani 36, 49
Campbell, Joseph 182n27, 182n30; Deliège, Robert 111, 113; “Myths of
Hero with a Thousand Faces, The Origin of the Indian Untouchables,
26, 75, 89; monomyth and Vanmam, The” 101–6
comparison of 91–6, 192–8 Devy, GN 3
Cassirer, Ernst 17 dirty 3
caste/casteism 2, 66, 119: Ambedkar discrimination: caste 10, 17, 37,
on 77; discrimination 10, 17, 37, 118–19, 137, 140, 176; gender 36,
118–19, 137, 140, 176 40; societal 39
“Cathedral on the Ridge and the disillusionment 56–8
Implicit Mythology of the Shimla “Doctor and the Saint, The” (Roy)
Hills, The” (Watson) 130, 131 134, 136–7
chaturvarna system 2, 18, 112 dreams: self‑representation of 22–3
chavady 59, 80, 82, 92, 93, 101, 108, Driberg, JH 183n36
109, 127–30 Drouet, Minou: “Tree” 19
“Chilli Powder” (Bama) 108, 149–51 Dutt, Nirupama 7
clean(ing) 3, 4 dwija 112
 Index 201

ego‑consciousness 21, 52 Hero with a Thousand Faces, The

Eklavya 118–19 (Campbell) 26, 75, 89
Encyclopaedia of the Social Sciences, Hjelmslev, Louis 136
The (Malinowski) 28 Huggens, Kim 45
explicit myths: definition of 126; of humiliation 33, 36, 37, 39, 47, 49, 53,
Madiga Dalit community 119–22; 71, 110, 112, 118, 128, 132, 133,
in Parayar Dalit streets 126–9 153, 161, 164, 165, 171

fairy tales, phenomenology of spirit in Ichi Tree Monkey: New and Selected
21–2, 62 Stories (Bama) 8, 9, 11, 31, 137,
First Holy Communion 181n16 154, 156, 171; “Harum‑Scarum
food, as cultural code 39–47, 132; in Saar” 148–9; “Pongal” (Bama)
Vanmam 40–1 142–5, 172
“Food as a Metaphor for Cultural identity: Dalit 2, 10, 32–8, 76, 79,
Hierarchies” (Guru) 39 88, 91, 100, 107, 166, 168, 173;
food insecurity 40 definition of 33, 135
Forster, EM 3 Ilaiah, Kancha: on Dalit consciousness
Freud, Sigmund 25, 45 135; Dalit viewpoint by 123–6;
Frye, Herman Northrop 16; Anatomy Post‑Hindu India 90; Why I am
of Criticism 24; “Archetypes of Not a Hindu 109, 134, 183n33
Literature, The” 24; “Theories of Imayam 4
Myth” 24; views on archetypal implicit myths: definition of 126; in
criticism 24 Parayar Dalit streets 126–9
individuation 21, 51, 180n13
Gandhi, Mohandas 1; Harijan Seva interpretation 136
Sangh 87
Gandhian idealism 4 Jolie, Angelina 137
Gauthaman, Raj 5, 7 Joothan (Valmiki) 1–2, 15, 34, 46,
gender: bias 8; difference, culturally 75–6, 161–2, 171; Chuhra
embedded symbolic references as community 74; food as a cultural
archetypes of 48–9; discrimination code 42–3; social inclusivity/
36, 40 exclusivity 98–9, 105, 112–13;
gender‑based marginalization 18 spirit archetype 69–70; water as an
Ghose, Sagarika: “Dalit in India, The” archetype 46–7
102, 114 Joyce, James: on monomyth 75
“Grazing Fields” (Bama) 9, 66, 171 Jung, Carl Gustav 16, 26, 31,
Guha, Ramchandra: Makers of 165; Analytical Psychology 49;
Modern India 87, 89 archetypal criticism 20, 163; on
Gulliver’s Travels (Swift) 45 archetypes 49; Archetypes and
Gunasekaran, K. A. 4 the Collective Unconscious 50;
Gupta, Santosh: “Kancha Ilaiah’s Experiences of the Transcendence of
Writings: Perspectives of the ‘Other’ Life 180n14; on mother archetype
Within” 38 21, 58–61, 166–7; on rebirth
Guru, Gopal: “Food as a Metaphor for archetype 21, 50–3, 166; on spirit
Cultural Hierarchies” 39 archetype 21–3, 62–3, 66, 68–71;
theory of psychoanalysis 17; on
Hall, Stuart: Cultural Identity and trickster archetype 23–4, 63–71,
Diaspora 32; identity, definition 167
of 135 Just One Word (Bama) 11, 19,
Harijan Seva Sangh 87 30–2, 135, 137, 139, 171; trickster
hermeneutic codes 20, 38, 185n45 archetype 66; “Wailing” 145–7
202 Index

Kamble, Baby: Prisons We Broke Manusmriti 113

181n20 Mapping Dalit Feminism: Towards an
“Kancha Ilaiah’s Writings: Perspectives Intersectional Standpoint (Pan) 18
of the ‘Other’ Within” (Gupta) 38 marginalization: in Dalit narratives,
karma 21 language of 134–62, 171–3;
Karukku (Bama) 5–8, 10, 12, 16, gender‑based 18
30–9, 52–5, 135, 143, 147, 164, Mathur, Charu: “Narrativizing a Social
166, 167, 177; mother archetype Movement” 31
59, 60; oppressor and oppressed, menstruation 49
archetypes of 71; rebirth archetype metempsychosis 21, 50
52, 53; social inclusivity/exclusivity monomyth 75, 77; Campbell’s and
97, 99, 103, 106, 108, 110, 115, Vanmam, comparison of 91–6,
116, 124, 126, 127, 129, 132; 192–8
trickster archetype 64 morphemes 27
Kazhani Arts Troupe 79, 82 Morphology of a Folktale, The (Propp)
Krishnasamy, K. 4 25, 91–2
Kusumbukkaran (Bama) 6, 11 mother archetype 21, 58–61, 166–7
Mukherjee, Arun Prasad 2
Lakshmi Purana (Balaram Dasa) Mukherjee, Mala: “Status of Dalit
184n41 Women in India” 48
language of marginalization, in Dalit Multidimensional Poverty Index 32
narratives 134–62, 171–3 Murugan, Perumal 32; Pyre 14–15,
Laws of Manu 113–14 44–5, 69, 71–2, 76, 99–100, 157–8,
Lévi‑Strauss, Claude 16, 17, 184n42; 171
on explicit myths 126; Myth and Myth and Meaning: Cracking the Code
Meaning: Cracking the Code of of Culture (Lévi‑Strauss) 26
Culture 26; “Structural Study of Myth in Primitive Psychology
Myth, The” 26–7; theory of implicit (Malinowski) 106–7
mythology 101 Myth of the Birth of the Hero, The
Limbale, Sharankumar 32; Outcaste/ (Rank) 25
Akkarmashi, The 3, 15, 33–4, 43–4, Mythologies (Barthes) 19, 138
61, 68–9, 76, 105, 110, 158, 171 myths 16–17, 138–61; Barthes’s
critique on 19–20, 138; criticism
Madiga Dalit community, explicit of 19–20, 138–61; de‑construction
myths of 119–22 of 130–3; definition of 19; explicit
Maharashtra Dalit Sahitya Sangha see explicit myths; implicit 126–9;
(Maharashtra Dalit Literature Malinowski on 28; Parayar
Society) 1 Dalit myths vs Brahmanical stories
Makers of Modern India (Guha) 87, 89 116–17; Propp’s critique on 25;
Malinowski, Bronislaw 16, 27–8, Tylor on 28–9
183n36; Anthropology, an “Myths of Origin of the Indian
Introduction to the Study of Man Untouchables, The” (Deliège)
and Civilization 28; Encyclopaedia 101–6
of the Social Sciences, The
28; “Functional School” of “Narrativizing a Social Movement”
anthropology 27; Myth in Primitive (Mathur) 31
Psychology 106–7; on myths 28
“Man and Beast” (Bama) 9, 141–2, odaiyaru offering, ritual of 40, 89,
171 132, 142, 172
Manava Dharmashastra 113 oppressed, archetype of: Outcaste/
Mandal Commission 135 Akkarmashi, The 72–3; Pyre 71–2;
Manusi (Bama Faustina Soosairaj) 4 Untouchables 73–4
 Index 203

oppression 10, 18, 68, 76, 97, 100, “Rime of the Ancient Mariner, The”
176 (Olson) 54
oppressor, archetype of: Outcaste/ rituals 53–5
Akkarmashi, The 72–3; Pyre 71–2; “Role of Social Protection in Food
Untouchables 73–4 Security” (Karnataka) 40
Oru Tattvum Erumaiyum (Bama) 6, 11 Roy, Arundhati: Annihilation of Caste
Outcaste/Akkarmashi, The (Limbale) 134; “Doctor and the Saint, The”
3, 15, 33–4, 68–9, 76, 158, 171; 134, 136–7
food as a cultural code 43–4;
mother archetype 61; oppressor Sadana, Nidhi: “Status of Dalit
and oppressed, archetypes of 72–3; Women in India” 48
social inclusivity/exclusivity 105, Sangati (Bama) 6–8, 10–11, 16,
110; spirit archetype 68–9 30–2, 36–7, 73, 147, 153, 167;
mother archetype 59; oppressor
Pan, Anandita: Mapping Dalit and oppressed, archetypes of 71;
Feminism: Towards an social inclusivity/exclusivity 103,
Intersectional Standpoint 18 106, 115, 116, 126, 127, 129, 132;
Paraiyan (magazine) 4 trickster archetype 64–6; victim and
participation, in process of scapegoat archetypes 47–9; water as
transformation 21, 51 an archetype 45–6
patriarchal behaviour 47 Sangati Events (Bama) 6
Periyar, EVR 4, 7 Sarangi, Jaydeep 17
Periyavan, Azhagiya 4 scapegoat archetypes 47–9
phonemes 27 self‑annihilation 79, 181n24
Phule, Jyotirao (aka Mahatma Jyotiba self‑esteem 34, 42, 76, 85, 101, 133,
Phule) 1 162
Pinkola, Clarissa 181n21 semantic codes 20, 38, 185n45
Post‑Hindu India (Ilaiah) 90 sememes 27
Primitive Culture (Tylor) 28, 29, Sheshadri, Malini 32, 137
183n32 Short Introduction to Literary Theory,
Prisons We Broke (Kamble) 181n20 A (Culler) 32
proairetic codes 20, 38, 185n45 signified 19, 82, 138, 155
Propp, Vladimir 96; Morphology of signifier 19, 136, 138, 155, 171
a Folktale, The 25, 91–2; myth “Single” (Bama) 156–7
criticism 25 Sivakami, P. 4
psychoanalysis, theory of 17 social inclusivity/exclusivity, of Dalit
Pyre (Murugan) 14–15, 76, 99–100, communities 97–133, 168–71;
157–8, 171; food as a cultural landscape 97–101; mythology
code 44–5; oppressor and 97–106
oppressed, archetypes of 71–2; spirit space, in Parayar Dalit community
archetype 69 106–9
spirit: archetype see spirit archetype;
Raj, Lourdes 48–9 meaning of 22; self‑representation
Rajangam, Stalin 103 of 22–3, 62–3
Ramayana 121, 155–6 spirit archetype 21–3, 62–3, 66,
Rank, Otto: Myth of the Birth of the 68–71; in fairy tales 21–2,
Hero, The 25 62; Joothan 69–70; Outcaste/
Ravi Shankar, N. 32, 137 Akkarmashi, The 68–9; Pyre 69
rebirth archetype 21, 50–3, 166 Spivak, Gayatri 2
reincarnation 21, 50, 155 Srinivasan, Rettaimalai 4
resurrection 21, 50–1 “Status of Dalit Women in India”
“Rich Girl” (Bama) 145 (Mukherjee and Sadana) 48
204 Index

“Stereotype” (Bama) 148 Valmiki, Omprakash 32; Joothan 1–2,

stream‑of‑consciousness 45 15, 34, 42–3, 46–7, 69–70, 75–6,
structuralism 26 98–9, 105, 112–13, 161–2, 171
“Structural Study of Myth, The” Vanmam (Bama) 6–9, 11–13, 16, 30,
(Lévi‑Strauss) 26–7 31, 76–9, 85–6, 88–90, 167–70,
supernatural aid 78–86 173, 177–8, 183n34; compared
superstitious beliefs 8, 36, 65, 66, 69, with Campbell’s monomyth
124, 176 91–6, 192–8; food as a cultural
swadeshi 4 code 40–1; mother archetype 59;
Swift, Jonathan: Gulliver’s Travels 45 oppressor and oppressed, archetypes
symbolic codes 20, 38, 47, 185n45 of 71; social inclusivity/exclusivity
S/Z (Barthes) 20, 38 103, 106–8, 110, 114–16, 124, 128,
129, 132; trickster archetype 64
Tamizhan (magazine) 4 Vasudevan, Aniruddham 14
Thass, Iyothee 4, 104 “Verdict, The” (Bama) 8, 19, 140,
“Theories of Myth” (Frye) 24 171–2
Thol Thirumavalavan 4 victim archetypes 47–9
“Those Days” (Bama) 151–3
“Tree” (Drouet) 19 water, as an archetype 45–7
trickster archetype 23–4, 63–71, 167 Watson, Jonathan Miles: “Cathedral
Tulsi Vivah 117–18 on the Ridge and the Implicit
Tylor, Edward Bernard 16, 28–30, 107; Mythology of the Shimla Hills,
on myths 28–9; Primitive Culture The” 130, 131; on implicit myths
28, 29, 183n32 126, 184n43
Who were the Shudras? (Ambedkar)
untouchability 2, 3, 33–5, 37, 41, 53, 18
57, 73, 74, 87, 88, 104, 105, 112, Why I am Not a Hindu (Ilaiah) 109,
114, 119, 141, 152, 164, 176, 177 134, 183n33
Untouchables (Anand) 3, 4, 13–14, Woolf, Virginia 45
34, 75, 76, 87–8, 158–61; food as writing about Dalits 7
a cultural code 41–2; oppressor and Wundt, Wilhelm 22, 62
oppressed, archetypes of 73–4; social
inclusivity/exclusivity 98–100, 112 “Yellow Butterfly, The” (Bama) 8, 9
upanayana 112 Yousafzai, Malala 137