Caste, class and conflict: organization and ideological change in an Orissa village1
Caste, classe et conflits : organisation et changement idéologique dans un village de l’Orissa
p. 97-133
Résumés
This essay, based on a diachronic analysis of electoral mobilization in an Indian village, presents evidence of upward political mobility of the Pāna, an untouchable caste. This change is due primarily to the organizational efforts of caste leaders who have successfully exploited the opportunities offered by the electoral system.
Mobilization of the lower strata on this scale has been made possible by a comprehensive and significant change in the dominant value system within which social egalitarianism has now appeared as a contender for the dominant position against the former undisputed supremacy of social hierarchy. To understand this social ferment, which characterizes political life in rural India today, we need a basic reappraisal of the varṇa system which still forms the dominant paradigm of research on rural India.
Cette étude, fondée sur une analyse diachronique de la mobilisation électorale dans un village indien, décrit l’ascension politique d’une caste d’Intouchables, les Pāna. Cet essor résulte principalement des efforts d’organisation déployés par les leaders de la caste, qui ont su tirer un parti efficace des possibilités offertes par le système électoral. Cette mobilisation à grande échelle des couches sociales les plus basses traduit nécessairement une évolution importante sur le plan des valeurs dominantes : l’égalitarisme y dispute maintenant la suprématie à l’idéologie hiérarchique naguère incontestée. Pour comprendre cette fermentation sociale qui caractérise actuellement la vie politique dans l’Inde rurale, c’est la conception même du système des vavṇa, cadre de référence de toutes les recherches sur la société rurale indienne aujourd’hui encore, qu’il faut remettre en cause.
Texte intégral
1Struggle for equality and greater popular participation together constitute one of the dominant themes of contemporary Indian politics, a theme that becomes increasingly visible as one moves downwards to the lower echelons of the system. Recurrent as this theme is, it manifests itself in several different forms, the most important and the most common of which is political mobilization during elections. No longer an alien and unfamiliar institution, elections to state and local level administrative bodies have emerged as a major instrument of political and social change. How do these various changes affect the social structure in terms of its basic value system and its internal organization ? Systematic understanding of this changing reality, based as it is on research that approaches the Indian social system and process from the framework of the varṇa system, (of which the caste system is the operational category), with ritual inequality and social hierarchy as the basic normative components, lags behind contemporary developments. To comprehend these basic changes, particularly in terms of ideology and organization at the village level, we need an altogether different paradigm.
I
2To state briefly the main parameters of the existing paradigm, Fox defines varṇa as “ any indigenous ideological scheme which merges castes into larger status categories or classifications. ”2 Following this definition, the varṇa system is understood as the general classificatory scheme which forms the basis of status allocation in India. Five major levels “ to encompass the gradient from local caste group to all-India varṇa scheme ”3 are suggested. At the bottom of the scheme, in an ascending order of generality, is the local caste or jāti group, a “ residentially and kinship delimited group with important corporate functions, inter-marriage, common status, traditional occupation etc. ” Next is the ‘supra-local caste clusters or caste categories’, that are aggregates of persons, “ usually with the same traditional occupations and sometimes with the same caste name ”.4 Following this is the ‘subregional varṇa categories’ ; “ a category of status embracing several local jāti or supra-local caste clusters”.5 Next come the ‘regional varṇa schemes’. “ These are status categories of castes on the regional level similar to the all-India varṇa classification in type although not content. They differ (also) from the subregional categories in their larger territorial extensions, and in the fact that all castes or caste clusters in the locale are so classified into various regional varṇas. ”6 At the apex of the order is the ‘all-India varṇa scheme.’
3Srinivas justifies the functional utility of the varṇa system by referring to its two salient features : its scale for classification and flexibility of the scheme through which society continuously adapts to this classification. “Varṇa systematizes the chaos of jāti and enables the subcastes of one region to be comprehended by people in another area by reference to a common scale. Further, the varṇa system represents a scale of values, and jāti occupying the lower rungs have throughout tried to raise their status by taking over the customs and rituals of the top jāti. This has helped the spread of a uniform culture throughout Hindu society.”7
To this Fox adds a third : the function of ideological integration. “[…] the infrequency of political centricity mandates the varṇa schemes as means of ideological cohesion. ”8 This is explained as follows : “[…] it has often been said that the Indian village has successfully withstood successive waves of conquerors, extreme political insecurity, the economic exactions of local strongmen, and other major disruptions in the larger society. Although overstated, this sentiment is probably in large part true because of the corporate identity and interactional definitions of the village created by economic self-sufficiency, local caste groups and the jajmānī system. However, no one has said how regions and subregions in India have avoided total social breakdown and loss of cultural identity in the face of this same political instability and yet in the absence of the interactional bases of caste and village. In large measure, such functions seem to be performed by the localized varṇa schemes which demarcate and integrate regions and subregions independently of political and economic centralization or domination.”9
4Functional arguments that defend the varṇa system as the most comprehensive, parsimonious and general framework of society are many, and the interested reader will have a wealth of material on this because of the wide acceptance of this model. To this extent, the dominant view of politics paralleled that of the dominant sociological model as well. Thus for instance, the ‘one dominant party system model’ that formed the most generally accepted global view of Indian politics was based primarily on the ability of the political system to internalize challenges to the stability of the status quo through a complicated process of factional bargaining.10
5An important side-effect of this outlook was the widespread acceptance of the ability of the varṇa system to continuously adapt itself to changes in the underlying social structure. To that extent it distracted attention from social facts whose existence posed a challenge to the continued validity of the paradigm though their existence was already known to the scientific community. Consider for example the following :
Mobility striving, while intrinsic in caste systems, is a constant threat to the status quo. It is suppressed whenever possible, but the process of suppression is difficult and never completely effective. Caste systems are characterized not by consensus but by conformity. They are maintained not by agreement but by sanctions. It takes much physical and psychic energy to maintain an inherently unstable, conflictive situation in a semblence of working order. The dominant high status groups must suppress mobility striving among others ; rules restricting social interaction must be enforced ; the purity and integrity of the group must be maintained, a myth of stability must be supported in the face of overt disconfirming evidence. On the part of the low status people self-respect must be maintained despite constant denigration ; resentment must be suppressed or carefully channelled […].11
6Now the research problem of critical importance is the following : how are we to conceptualize the incidences of conflict that form so insistent a part of the contemporary Indian scene, especially in the countryside ? And how does this modify the dominant paradigm of society and politics in India ?
7The mainstream of the sociological literature, based as it is on the general paradigm of the varṇa system, has been guided towards continuity of the social structure rather than change. As such, it gives no ready answers to this conceptual problem, except to suggest the selfcontradictory notion of ‘caste-conflict’. As a matter of fact, the varṇa scheme does not assume a conflict-less society. Rather conflict, (analogous to the idea of scarcity in economics) is considered a basic fact of social life. What gives the caste system its legitimacy as an analytical category within the varṇa scheme is its role in mediating in such conflicts, and keeping them from becoming overtly political – and a threat to the stability of the status quo, achieving in the process a sort of conservative dynamism. When tension between whole communities reaches the regional level, (which indeed forms the major theme of state politics in India to-day), it is sufficient to question the continued validity of the caste system in localizing conflict and integrating it into the social structure. In the process, it further questions the empirical validity of the caste system as an analytical category, and emphasizes the necessity for further theoretical innovations to take the place of concepts that are thus rendered null.
8The political instability of the sixties, the decay of the ‘Congress system’, and eventually, the abrupt dismissal of representative democracy during the state of emergency of 1975-1977, some of the macro level indicators of polarisation of conflict at the lower levels of the system, have put severely to question what we can call the ‘continuity’ thesis. At the same time, the mechanical identification of caste based conflict with class does not advance the argument very much either. As the stimulating though inconclusive debate on modes of production has made it abundantly clear, the existence of multiple modes of production makes for a rather complicated and contradictory picture, one that cannot readily be put in the schematic presentation of revolutionary class struggle between workers and the owners of means of production.12
9The identification of political conflict as the focal point of analysis therefore necessarily leads the discussion to the more general level of competing paradigms of the social process and of Indian society in particular. In writing this article, it is my intention to provide an empirical base for a theoretical discussion of this nature. In the context of changing political norms, modalities of collective action and transformation of the environment in which both are embedded, this article presents an account of the rise to power and political importance of the lower social strata in a village in south-east India. And the significant point about this experience is that this change came about through the combination of organizational efforts generated largely by the leadership of the lower social strata and the structure of opportunities created by the process of electioneering.13
10We cannot, however, discuss the rise or fall of a specific part of the rural society without referring to the larger system of the village as a whole, because it affects the social economic and political system and is itself affected by it in many important ways. The study therefore makes an effort to capture life in the village in its totality while maintaining a careful distinction between the empirical process of change and social mobility on the one hand and the factors that are presumed to be responsible for such change on the other hand. Electoral mobilization of voters is one of these factors essential to the process of political change. The ‘critical’ elections of 1977, respectively to the Parliament and the State Legislative Assembly, form the major source of data on the basis of which most of the generalizations presented in this article are developed.
11Data for this study were collected during two field trips in a village in Orissa in south-eastern India, respectively during the parliamentary elections of 1977 and the election to the State legislature which took place later during the same year. The same research design was used in both studies. Data resulting from them are thus comparable, besides being diachronic. As a political context, the parliamentary elections of 1977 were somewhat unusual. The elections were announced towards the end of the national emergency of 1975-1977 ; as such, they provided an occasion for the test of the strength and durability of India’s democratic political institutions as well. However, like other general elections it also brought to the surface social cleavages that lie dormant during ‘normal’ times. The usual feature of realignment of social and political interests was also present in this election ; so was bargaining for the support by the candidates with various social and economic forces – an aspect that was even more pronounced in the elections to the State legislature.
II
12Gobindpur village is situated eight kilometers from Dhenkanal town, headquarters of Dhenkanal district, on the Cuttack-Sambalpur road, a national highway that links Cuttack, the largest city of Orissa, with Sambalpur, the administrative capital of western Orissa. A district road intersects the national highway at Gobindpur and fans out into the deeper rural hinterland of the district. There is also a railway station about a kilometer from the village. The railway line, linking the Talcher coal fields with Khurda road junction, a major railway junction on the east coast of India, and the coastal city of Puri, is mostly used by goods trains. Nevertheless, a passenger train calls twice a day at the station and picks up enough passengers and forestry products such as fuel wood and sāl leaves (greatly in demand in the coastal towns in whose hinterland deforestation has already reached catastrophic proportions) to make the coming and going of the train an important landmark of the day in Gobidnpur.
13The national highway passing by Gobindpur represents the sole connecting link between the eastern and western halves of Orissa and beyond that, the north and central India. As such, it is of great commercial, administrative and political importance and is subject to constant volume of trafic in the movement of goods. It is not unusual for political leaders, officials and ministers of the State government and functionaries of government and private relief and development agencies – who consider it necessary for them to have direct access to the ‘countryside’ – to make brief stopovers at the main intersection on the higwhay. These visits, quite independently of their substantive contribution to the welfare of the village, signify the strategic importance of its location. The meaning of this is not lost on its people : at the very first probe they may point out to the visitor the status of the village as a ‘key’ to the politics of the area.
14Besides its strategic location, there are several other factors that contribute to the political importance of the village. With a population of about three thousand, it is a large village by local standards. The office of Gobindpur Panchayat is located in the village. It also houses the government controlled fair price shop, selling mostly sugar and rice, and the facilities for distribution and sale of chemical fertilisers for the whole Panchayat. Further, it is customary for the leaders of Gobindpur and two other neighbouring Panchayats to meet at Gobindpur to devise a joint strategy on important occasions such as elections – a practice which is a carryover from earlier times.
15Material consequences of political importance of the village become clear when we compare facilities available in Gobindpur to those in the neighbouring villages. Gobindpur has a high school, a minor school and an upper primary school. There is a women’s organization that runs a centre for children where they receive free midday meals. The village has also benefited handsomely from various welfare schemes. Thus, resources under the “food for work” scheme were utilized to link the various parts of the village to the main highway. Some tribal people from the village have received homestead land and grants to build houses. The village was also one of the first in the area to benefit from the lift irrigation scheme and had two pumps installed. In 1976 when television sets were installed on an experimental basis to broadcast educational and agricultural programmes, the village was chosen as one of the centres. These examples can be multiplied.
16Gobindpur is a multi-caste multi-tribe village. In terms of numerical preponderance and the influence they wield in the social and political life of the village, the Khandāyat are the dominant caste in Gobindpur. Next to them in ritual status are the Daluā Pāika. Both belong to Kshatriya varṇa category and are together referred to as the Pāika.14 The word Pāika is derived from Padātika which referred to a foot soldier. The Pāika of Gobindpur are descendents of jāgīr holders under the King of Dhenkanal. Gobindpur, situated as it was close to the borders of the princely state, the King had endowed land onto these soldier-farmers on the condition that they render services at the time of war. At peace time, the Pāika exercised political power over others in the village. Political power thus derived was further reinforced by their ownership of land and the practice of usury.15
17On the basis of their own testimony, the Khandāyat are supposed to be the oldest residents of the village, being the first to settle in this area after receiving jāgīr land from the King.16 This of course is not altogether true because the land was not completely uninhabited as they came to settle there. The tribal population of the village, belonging to the tribes of Juānga, Sabara and Kamāra are the original inhabitants of the village. However, the Khandāyat settlers, with better resources and better farming techniques certainly managed to get the best agricultural land in the village. Through a combination of force and fraud, they managed to acquire large parts of land from the tribals and gradually pushed them to the edges of the inhabited parts of the village.17
18The Khandāyat were also instrumental in getting several service castes to come and settle in the village. They thus formed the nucleus of the social system, bound to whom, in the exchange relation on the lines of the jajmānī system, were the barbers, fishermen, washermen, distillers, priests’ assistants (Māli), cowherds and Brahmins.18
19Most numerous, vocal and influential among the ‘untouchable’ castes in Gobindpur are the Pāna. Next come the Dama and then the Hādi. The special status of the Pāna has historical roots that go back to pre-Independence days. Traditionally, the Pāna worked as watchmen (chowkidars) for the king, which brought them, as compared to others in the village except the leading Pāika, a certain proximity to the wielders of power if not directly to power itself. Further, Pāna are also said to have been employed as informers’19, and it is not unlikely that the king let the Pāna spy on possible challengers to his authority. Moreover, in earlier times, (again, unlike most other residents of the village), Pāna often travelled outside the village. The story goes that many of these trips were made to far away places for the purposes of robbery.20 Be that as it may, the Pāna are distrusted more than other untouchables by the Pāika. One rarely finds a Pāna working as a domestic in a Pāika house. Even as agricultural workers, tribals are preferred to Pāna. The fact that the tribals have a reputation as hard and honest workers who “don’t need to be constantly supervised” must at least partly be ascribed to the Pāika distrust of Pāna.
20People belonging to the upper castes, i.e., Brahmin, Karana, Khandāyat and Daluā Pāika are collectively referred to as ‘bhadralok’ which is also how they refer to themselves in a public discussion. The bhadralok way of referring to others is normally to identify them by their individual caste or tribal names, or, especially for the untouchables, to refer to them as ‘low caste’ (chhoṭa jāti). The untouchables as well as tribals refer to themselves increasingly as member of a larger collectivity – the ‘Adivasi-Harijan’, except for the older and unpolitical persons who still stay with the individual caste names or tribes.
21A second method of self-identification which is used with greater frequency particularly by the younger and the more educated and politically active members of the village is the use of the term ‘stara’, which refers to social strata. Thus, the untouchables and tribals are generally referred to as nimna stara (low strata), the service castes as the madhyama stara (middle strata) and the upper castes as uchha stara (upper strata).
22The village, following the pattern prevalent in most hilly areas, is scattered over a large area where one finds people clustered into neighbourhoods (sāhi) around single pieces of flat homestead land. The revenue village of Gobindpur comprises thirteen such neighbourhoods. In terms of the local usuage however, the three neigbourhoods inhabited mainly by bhadralok are referred to as the ‘inner village’ (grāma). Several institutions of the village such as the main temple, the high school, minor school and the primary school, and the offices of the womens’ organization, the agricultural cooperative and the youth organization are located in the inner village. The main road of Gobindpur runs through the inner village and links it to the national highway. This road, with street lights paid for by the Panchayat, is in fairly good condition even during the rainy season so that when the necessity arises to ‘show the village’ to a visiting official or a political leader, he is driven through the inner village.

23Bordering on the inner village are the neighbourhoods inhabited by untouchables and tribals. In order to distinguish them from the inner village, we shall call them ‘peripheral areas’. Earlier they did not have direct access to the outside ; a road, built under the ‘food for work scheme’ now links them to with the national highway. The bulk of the tribal population, however, lives further apart from the village in small settlements. These are referred to as ‘outlying areas’ (palli). (See map p. 105).
24Social stratification into high, middle and low strata on the basis of self-identification that we mentioned earlier is of course by no means complete or exhaustive, because important exceptions are made for political and other reasons. Thus, when the Pāna took the initiative in organizing an association to profit from the ‘land to the landless programme’ during the national emergency of 1975-1977, besides the Adivasi-Harijan, they recruited a few ‘poor bhadralok’ (mostly from service castes) into their association which they projected as the sole spokesman for the lower strata of the village. Nevertheless, using social strata as a means of self-identification we can construct a representation of the settlement pattern of the village. The resultant abstraction shows a set of concentric circles where the centre is occupied by the bhadralok. As one moves away from the centre towards the periphery and beyond, the village changes rapidly in terms of its social composition, economic well-being and available infrastructural facilities. The roads turn from paved motorable streets to unpaved paths that disappear after the first rains so that the distant palli, now appearing as distant islands in a green sea where the green of the paddy fields mingles with that of the ever encroaching forest, can be approached only by treading cautiously on foot (see Table 1).
25Agriculture is by far the most important occupation in Gobindpur.21 As owners, tenant farmers, agricultural workers or farm servants (locally known as haliā who work for a landowner on the basis of an annual contract), almost everybody in Gobindpur is involved with agriculture. The land, being mostly hilly and poor in subsoil water, is mostly single crop, except for a few acres of low-lying areas suitable for double cropping.
26The pressure on land has increased in recent times in keeping with rapid increases in population. This is further enhanced by the penetration of urban economy. Thus, several occupations such as basket making, pottery and leather work to name only a few have lost their market to plastic and aluminium goods. Rendered occupationless, the practitioners of these trades have fallen mostly onto agriculture, generally as share-croppers.
27The agricultural technology in use in Gobindpur ranges from the most primitive to fairly modern. The primitive method consists in superficial clearing of a patch of forest (i.e., clearing the bushes without digging out the roots – a much more time consuming and expensive operation), and using seeds (in most cases, the inferior highland rice) from the previous year, without any fertilizer, pesticide or irrigation whatsoever. The modern, on the other hand consists of transplantation of high yielding varieties of rice, use of expensive chemical fertiliser, pesticides, lift irrigation and intensive labour and supervision through the whole cycle of production. In spite of these radical differences, both the techniques, suitable respectively to hilly and low lying lands, appear to be optimal solutions in their own rights and thus continue to survive side by side, even used simultaneously by the same farmer.
Table 1. Pattern of Settlement in Gobindpur by Social Strata and Neigh-bourhood

Note. Figures in parenthesis are that of electors ; others denote the number of families.
(a) includes the castes of Hādi, Dama and Pāna.
(b) includes the tribes of Juānga, Sabara and Kamāra.
(c) includes the castes of Bārika (barber), Keuta (fisherman), Dhobā (washerman), Teli (oilman), Sundhi (distiller), Tanti (weaver), Kumbhāra (potter), Mali (priests’assistants) Gudiā (confectioners), and Gopāla (cowherds).
(d) includes the castes of Daluā Pāika, Khandāyat, Karana and Brahmins.
28Among themselves, the bhadralok own about half of the total agricultural land and most of the double crop land in Gobindpur (Table 2). However, there are no large concentration of land in Gobindpur though, in interpreting the figures on landholding from table 2, we must take into consideration the fact that the productivity of double crop land is significantly more than that of the dryland, good only for the cultivation of highland rice.22
29The extent of inequality in the ownership of the means of production may thus be more than what appears at first sight. The scheduled tribes have the highest number of landless households: as a community they are also the poorest in the village.
Table 2. Distribution of Landownership in Gobindpur

III
30Unlike people belonging to the erstwhile princely States of Orissa, Dhenkanal has had both a taste of direct rule of the British colonial empire as well as a lively history of popular uprisings against the combined might of the colonial power and the princely ruler. These facts have deeply affected political consciousness as well as inter community relations in the village.
31The district of Dhenkanal consists of five erstwhile princely States and Angul subdivision. The latter was a princely State prior to 1848 when its last ruler Somnath Singh Jagdev was deposed by East India Company for alleged insubordination and the territory was put under the British administration. Angul was administered by the Superintendent of the Tributary Mahals. In 1936, when the Orissa Province was created, Angul was constituted a separate district in recognition of its special historical experience. In 1948, after the integration of the princely States, the present district of Dhenkanal came into being, comprising of the former Princely States of Dhenkanal, Hindol, Talcher, Athmallick, Pal Lahra and Rairakhol. In 1949, however, the last named was taken out of Dhenkanal and added onto neighbouring Sambalpur district.
32The Freedom Movement appeared in the district when it was still dormant in other parts of Orissa. The State People’s Movement, an authoritative history of which is yet to be written, manifested itself in the form of Prajā Maṇḍal (People’s organization) in different parts of Dhenkanal around popular grievances against unjust rule. Judging from the dates, it was no pale reflection of the larger national movement, but independent in its origin, for as far back as 1920, the people of Parjang got together under the leadership of Garnāyak Mahendra Subāhu Singh and protested against the new land settlement and rent fixation. The movement was brutally repressed. A major attempt to organize the movement and to link it with the national movement came in 1935 under the leadership of a new generation, whose leader was Sri Sarangadhara Das. Young, dynamic, educated abroad, socialist, Das made attempts to unite the people of the State through the circulation of handbills, but without much success. He also organized the Garjāt (Princely State) People’s Conference at Cuttack under the chairmanship of Pattavi Sitaramaiya, the Congress leader. The conference appointed an enquiry committee to probe into the atrocities committed by the princely ruler.
33These measures gave wide publicity to the political oppression in Dhenkanal outside the State but made little substantive difference in practice. The most massive agitation was launched in 1938 in the States of Dhenkanal and Talcher. The Prajamandal in Talcher consolidated its strength and launched agitations to assert the rights to form associations and to hold meetings, abolition of forced labour and modification of tenancy rights. This led to a series of brutal acts of repression and confiscation of property, forcing people to flee in large numbers to the neighbouring British ruled Angul.23
34Faced with this massive inflow of refugees, the British administration was forced to intervene. Despite the intervention of the colonial rulers, no substantive reforms were introduced and the agitation continued. Eventually, the agitation which was organized to counter the repression of the Princely State got linked to the freedom movement led by the Indian National Congress. The Quit India Movement was massively launched in the State as it was elsewhere in the country following the Congress resolution of August 1942. The agitation got more intense in Talcher where the Prajāmaṇḍal defied the government of the Princely State and organized a parallel independent government. An independent government was also set up in Kamakhyanagar in Dhenkanal State. In Talcher, practically the entire State except its headquarters was captured by the Prajāmandal government. However, in view of the emergent second world war, the colonial government mobilized the British army and the air force, and the movement was ruthlessly put down.
35The agonies and excitements of those days were recounted to me by an old Khandāyat leader who was the ‘Sarpanch’ of the village at that time. Being an appointee of the King, he was forced to operate for the King. However, he kept an active liaison with the agitators, drawn mostly from the landowners and helped them in secret. The agitators were mostly landowning Pāika who rebelled against the attempts of the King to assert the old feudal dues of free labour (beṭhī) in exchange of the land they were given as jāgīr. The King needed funds, to build a modern bureaucracy and to modernize the outer trappings of royal authority, including the building of new palaces. Acting under the instructions of the King, the officials turned to the readily available sources of increasing land revenue and the feudal practice of beṭhī, or unpaid labour, which the jāgīr holders were supposed to perform at times of war and on certain other special occasions. Both were greatly resented. The demand for beṭhī was particularly resented because not having been used for a long time, it had passed out of living memory and as such, was seen as a new and totally arbitrary exaction on the part of the King. Popular wrath concentrated upon certain officials, who were not local people but had been recruited from the coastal district of Cuttack. It was believed that in imposing the new fiscal measures the King was acting under the advice of these officials. These officials were also responsible for the execution of these policies, which, judging from the available accounts of the atrocities, they carried out with particular zeal and brutality. That they also belonged to the Karana (writer) caste was one more reason for the bitter resentment on the part of the landowning Khandāyat. The Karana rose to prominence after the coming of the British by taking in large numbers to British education and entering the lower levels of the bureaucracy in the coastal districts of Orissa which were directly ruled by the British as well as the administration of various zamīndārī estates and princely states.24 Their increasing power and prominence were resented by the Khandāyat, the traditional wielders of power, who looked upon the Karana as usurpers and rivals. To this was added their role in executing the unpopular measures of beṭhī and the raise in land revenue. Some of the implications of this are felt to this day in terms of the strained social relations between Pāika and Karana of Gobindpur.
36Though numerically small, the Karana of Gobindpur wield great influence in local politics. Many of them are employed as civil servants. Under the leadership of a young and college-educated member of the community, they have been able to take advantage of various subsidies and agricultural inputs that are made available at subsidised rates by the Small Farmers’ Development Agency and the Department of Agriculture. Their success, conspicuous by the absence of similar achievements by others in the village, particularly the Khandāyat, has heightened the rivalry of the two elite groups.
IV
37People from the coastal districts (the moghulbandi) have never been greatly liked by the people of the erstwhile princely states (or gadjāt as they are referred to). They are considered cunning and untrustworthy – a fact that may be attributed to the fact that the relations between the people of the less developed western half of Orissa and the more developed eastern half have been traditionally confined to trade, no doubt to the greater advantage of the coastal districts. Leaders of the State People’s Movement, when they were badly in need of support, were glad to get help from the Congress party of Orissa which operated from the coastal district of Cuttack. However, after Independence, when the Congress leaders sought to reorganize the State People’s Movement into the Congress party of Dhenkanal, this was resented by the leaders of the movement.
38A second factor which also contributed to this antagonism was ideological. Though anti-King in their tactics, the leaders of the State People’s Movement were by and large neither anti-feudal nor socially progressive – policies to which the Congress party was deeply committed. Socially conservative and suspicious of the radical socio-economic policies espoused by the Congress party, these rural landowning Pāika were not greatly enamoured of the Congress party. Thus, after the initial political confusion was over, when the Ganatantra Parishad, a regional political party which drew most of its support from the erstwhile princely rulers and eventually merged itself with the Swatantra party, was set up, many of the former leaders of the State People’s Movement gravitated to it. Lacking a social base, and facing the dissimilar political evolution and administrative history of different parts of the district, the Congress party of Dhenkanal remained at best a pale imitation of the more successful Congress organizations of the coastal districts.
39The legacy of the pre-Independent political history of Dhenkanal was therefore an unstable party system in a weak state of institutionalization (see table 3). Party politics during the years following Independence continued to be ad hoc, with party leadership changing from election to election. No disciplined party organization grew up to coordinate political action at the village or even the Block level, leaving the political notables free to devise their own course of action as best they could.
Table 3 Institutionalization of Party System in Dhenkanal : Performance of Parties in Assembly Elections

Key : (1) Figures of 1962 are not reported.
40A similar trend characterized elections to the Lok Sabha as well. The evidence of political fluidity is seen from the success of contestants to the Lok Sabha. In 1952 the parliamentary seat from Dhenkanal was won by the Congress party which lost it to the Ganatantra Parishad in 1957. The Congress party won the seat in 1962 but lost it to the Swatantra party into which the Ganatantra Parishad had merged in 1967. The Congress (R) led by Mrs. Gandhi won this seat in 1971 only to lose it to the Janata party in the parliamentary elections of 1977 which we shall study at some length.
V
41In spite of the fluidity of the macro party structure in Dhenkanal, the internal political situation of Gobindpur remained quite stable during the early years since Independence. Following the recommendations of the Balwantrai Mehta Commission when Panchayati Raj was introduced in the late fifties, the Khandāyat leader who was the ‘Sarpanch’ of the village in the pre-Independence days, having been appointed to the position by the King, won the elections and became the Sarpanch. No serious challenges to his position were posed until the panchayat elections of 1969 when a prosperous Daluā Pāika from a neighbouring village challenged him in the elections.
42The old Sarpanch survived the challenge and won the election but with a greatly reduced margin over the Daluā Pāika candidate, a fact that encouraged the Daluā Pāika candidate to challenge him again in the following panchayat election of 1972. In this election he was supported, besides the Daluā Pāika of his village and those of Gobindpur, by the Karana of Gobindpur, the traditional rivals of the Khandāyat, as well. The Daluā-Karana coalition was supported by a section of Pāna, mostly younger members of the community who long chafed under the dominance of the Khandāyat. The Khandāyat, long used to the fact of their total control over affairs of the village, had become apathetic to the possibilities of a real challenge. Furthermore, taking advantage of a family feud among the Khandāyat, the Daluā-Karana coalition recruited some support from a section of the Khandāyat as well.
43The old Sarpanch lost the panchayat elections of 1972 to the Daluā candidate. The new ruling coalition managed to place its members on the management of the agrarian cooperative and the high school. It was this coalition that was in power when national emergency was declared in 1975.
44In the beginning, the declaration of emergency created hardly any adverse reactions in Gobindpur. Delhi, with its mass arrests, was far away. On the contrary, thanks largely to the intervention of Mrs. Nandini Satapathy, Chief Minister of the State of Orissa and an ardent supporter of Mrs. Gandhi during those early days of the emergency, the village witnessed a great inflow of welfare and developmental resources, such as building of roads and houses, that we have already discussed above. Mrs. Satapathy hails from the neighbouring Dhenkanal assembly constituency and as such had a special reason in nursing this ‘key’ village. Some tribals in the village were provided with houses along with title deeds for the house sites. Family planning operations, that in Northern India were accompanied by coercion and official sanctions, were carried out vigorously in the area, but primarily through monetary incentives. No substantive measures that would adversely affect powerful interests were undertaken.
45This situation was radically altered with the ouster of Mrs. Satapathy from the position as the Chief Minister of the State. For the political activists of Gobindpur, Mrs. Satapathy’s stewardship of State politics had been both the symbol and substance of their access to power, besides being a source of patronage. Satapathy was removed from office primarily through intervention from Delhi, it was said, at the behest of Sanjay Gandhi, who did not like her because of her past association with the Communist Party of India. Though it did not affect the local elite directly, the ouster of Mrs. Satapathy was seen as “ an arbitrary act from the above”. Authoritarianism of the emergency regime of Mrs. Gandhi was perceived as the denial of the legitimate exercise of local power. The action against Mrs. Satapathy was followed by the arrest of a politician at the block level who was closely associated with her. There were no overt acts of protest or resistance on the part of the people of Gobindpur, but these ‘highhanded acts’ created sullen resignation. When the elections were announced, the leadership of Gobindpur (i.e., the leaders of the Daluā-Karana coalition) moved to the Congress for Democracy.
46Mr. Debendra Satapathy, husband of Mrs. Satapathy, was the Janata-CFD candidate from Dhenkanal parliamentary constituency which he had represented as a Congress candidate in the previous Lok Sabha. The Congress candidate in this election was the former King of Dhenkanal, who, as Swatantra candidate for the parliament in the previous election, had obtained second highest votes against the present Janata-CFD candidate. In the election the ‘King’ crossed over to the Congress party. The Congress organisation of Dhenkanal which had traditionally opposed princely rule, found the change to be too abrupt. Local level Congress workers, who in the past had campaigned against the King, were first baffled and then indignant at his nomination which they considered to be an ‘imposition from above’. The result was either sullen indifference or large scale defection to the Janata-CFD, with which the Swatantra party had merged in the meantime.
47The Janata-CFD campaign was opened by Mrs. Nandini Satapathy who went on a padayātrā through the main street of the village (that passed through the inner village) and addressed several street corner meetings. The main theme of her speeches was the injustice done to the area in terms of development which could be undone by means of struggle. She could cite the concrete results achieved during her tenure in office. The theme was repeated by the local leaders from the area who had in the mean time organized an ad hoc but fairly effective electoral organisation around Mrs. Satapathy. In contrast, the Congress campaign was noticeably weak except for a visit to the local high school by the Directorate of Advertisement and Visual Publicity (the propaganda unit of the emergency regime) official of the area who delivered some literature on the “ gains of emergency ” ostensibly for “public education” and a visit by the ‘King’ to an elderly Pana who used to work in the past as a chowkidar in the royal palace.
48The first phase of campaigning in the village reached a peak with a meeting of panchayat members of the three panchayats in the area including Gobindpur which had coordinated their electoral strategies in the elections of 1974. Their last experience had taught them the benefits of the calculus of bargaining for resources by pooling their votes. This time, however the meeting was not held exactly to decide who to vote for. The decision to support the Janata-CFD candidate was already taken by the Sarpanch and the Karana leaders.
49At this stage, a rumour spread in the village that the leaders (i.e., the leaders of the Daluā-Karana coalition who had taken over charge of the electoral campaign ‘for the village’) received a “ huge sum ” of money from the Janata party for ‘electoral expenses’. No one was sure about the exact amount of the money received ; it was nonetheless contended that the money be “ equitably ” divided among all contenders, which included leaders of the Khandāyat and the Pāna who resented the fact that the Daluā-Karana coalition was “ monopolising ” the electoral spoils. The leading Khandāyat families had so far acquiesced with the power of the village leadership dominated by the Daluā-Karana leadership. Jealousies were aroused by the power and prosperity of the Karana and some Khandāyat whose defection had brought the Daluā-Karana coalition to power, were now persuaded by the Khandāyat to go back to their own fold. The resentment over division of the electoral spoils spread to the whole of the Khandāyat community which now started taking an ominously neutral position in the elections.
50A second challenge to the power of the Daluā-Karana coalition came from the Pāna. The articulate and organized Pāna have long provided leadership to the rest of the Adivasi-Harijan population of the village. The transformations that have occurred in the traditional configuration of power through the past decades have been as much of a challenge to the power of Khandāyat as that of the leading Pāna families.
51The bond between Khandāyat and the Pāna — exploitative in social and economic terms but symbiotic in terms of power – continued through the last Sarpanch elections where the leading Pāna families had supported the old Khandāyat Sarpanch, who lost the elections by a narrow margin to the challenger from the Daluā Pāika caste. Gradually, following the defeat of their candidate, as the Khandāyat made a working compromise with Karana power and the Adivasi-Harijan tried to set up an association for themselves, the two groups drew apart from one another. However, resentful as the Pāna were towards the bhadralok in general, they were specially distrustful of the newly gained power of the Karana.
52In the meeting of the three neighbouring panchayats it was decided that responsibility of door to door campaigning should be given to a Pāna leader who represented the Pāna neighbourhoods in the panchayat as a ward member. This person had represented the Harijan in the formal and informal political forums of the village for the last three decades. In making him responsible for door to door canvassing, the leaders had assumed that he would be able to deliver the votes of the Adivasi-Harijan sāhi to the Janata-CFD. They could not have been more mistaken. The Pāna leader had faced increasing challenge from younger sections of the Pāna who found him to be too “ moderate and ineffectual”.
53Two of the young Pāna dissidents also happened to be the sons of the former chowkidar in the royal palace whom the ’King’ had contacted early in the campaign. Soon after the three panchayats met, the dissident Pāna assembled secretly and denounced the traditional Pāna ward member (who was recruited by the Daluā-Karana leaders to campaign among the Adivasi-Harijan) as well as the Daluā-Karana dominated village leadership. What added further to the resentment was the alleged receipt of money by the village leaders for delivering the Adivasi-Harijan votes to the Janata-CFD candidate.
54A week before the polls, the Adivasi-Harijan communities split into several factions. The propaganda and token distribution of agricultural and homestead land during the Congress regime had built a favourable image of the Congress party in general and of Mrs. Satapathy in particular among the Adivasi-Harijan sections. Some Adivasi, who were recipients of homestead land and houses as gifts from the government (or from Nandini as they saw it) were steadfast in their loyalty to her and through her, to the Janata-CFD. The bulk of the community, especially, the dissident Pāna however, felt that Mrs. Satapathy, without the “blessings” of Mrs. Indira Gandhi (the break between the two was widely discussed), could not do very much for them. Congress party for them continued to be the fountain head of resources and more – a vehicle to defeat the power and dominance of bhadralok. A third faction of the Pāna, with the Pāna ward leader at their head, took the line of ‘village unity’ and continued its support for the village leaders and through them, the candidate of the Janata-CFD.
55This was the low point in the power and influence of the Daluā-Karana leadership. Their attempts to mobilise the village in favour of Janata-CFD was thwarted by the resistance of the Khandāyat on the one hand and substantial sections of the Adivasi and Harijan voters. During the last week of the campaign, they set out to win over some of the lost support by appealing to the disaffected groups directly rather than through political propaganda aimed at the whole village. A compromise was made with the Khandāyat and a Khandāyat leader became the Janata-CFD polling agent. From the Adivasi-Harijan sections, a young Pāna leader was contacted and persuaded to become a Janata-CFD worker. In a street corner meeting organised by the village leaders in the Harijan neighbourhood, the young Pāna, now a Janata-CFD worker, spoke in support of the Janata-CFD. The strategy was only partly successful because it further split the dissident Pāna and intensified the campaign for counter-mobilisation. The bulk of the dissident Pāna came to distrust the young Pāna leader and remained with the Congress party. The brother of the young Pāna leader became the Congress polling agent. The extent of success achieved by the Daluā-Karana leadership in mobilising the village can be seen from the estimates of partisan support a week before and immediately after polling. (See table 4).
Table 4 Estimates of Partisans’ support in Gobindpur a week before polling and immediately after the Parliamentary Elections

The size of the electorate does not add up to 1064, since one sāhi in the outlying area has not been included,
Table 5 Rates of Participation : Aggregate Voting Figures by Caste and Sex

Harijan includes the Hādi, Dama and Pāna Castes ; Adivasi includes the tribes of Juānga, Sabara, Kamāra ; Upper castes includes the rest of the electorate of Gobindpur.
56Data for the computation of table 4 were collected from informants residing in the various sāhi at several points during the campaign. The table shows the results of competitive mobilization by the Janata-CFD and the Congress in course of the campaign. The Janata-CFD was most successful in increasing its support in the inner village, inhabited mostly by the bhadralok. The success of counter-mobilization by the dissident Pāna is evident from the increase in support for the Congress party in the peripheral areas from 26 % to 34 %.
57The ‘success’ of the Daluā-Karana leadership had a cost attached to it. By staying aloof and neutral, the Khandāyat succeeded in forcing the Daluā-Karana leadership to share with them the power, contacts and the material resources that the process of electoral mobilization brought to them. Similarly the dissident Pāna, forced to mobilize support independently of their own traditional leader and of the village leadership gained a measure of confidence. Both of these factors caused some changes in the configuration of power in the village. The effects of the change were clearly visible in the electoral mobilization during the assembly election a few months later.
VI
58Having come to power at the centre by winning a majority in the parliament, the Janata party decided to use a precedent set by Mrs. Gandhi after the victory of her party in the parliamentary elections of 1971 and ordered fresh elections to the assembly in several states, of which Orissa was one. Thus, within about six months of the parliamentary elections, campaign for the assembly elections opened in Gobindpur with two serious candidates in the field. The Janata candidate had formerly represented the constituency as a member of the Swatantra party. As such, he had old political links with the village which had become somewhat tenuous during the long years through which the area passed into the control of the Congress party. The Janata candidate, who hails from the family of the royal priests of Dhenkanal, had continued to remain with the Swatantra party even when the ‘King’ changed over to the Congress, and had vigorously campaigned in the area for the Janata party during parliamentary election. The Congress candidate who was very active in the Youth Congress at the district level was fighting his first electoral battle.
59The first part of the campaign saw hectic activity on the part of the Janata and the Congress candidates to win over the leaders of the village. The Janata candidate had the initial advantage of the generally pro-Janata attitude among the bhadralok. He had assiduously cultivated support among the newly mobilized Khandāyat, especially the youth, and reactivated old contacts in the village. The campaign of the Congress candidate to gain support in the bhadralok sāhi suffered from the cumulative impact of the candidate’s lack of experience, and hence, of old contacts. This was clearly demonstrated when his first and the only election meeting organised in the inner village failed miserably. The meeting, hastily arranged and without much preparation was attended mostly by the village urchins who were attracted by the loudspeakers and the electric light, and a few youngmen who were hoping to become paid workers for the Congress candidate. The only elderly person in the meeting was a Khandāyat who was the Congress polling agent in the previous election. No serious efforts were made by the Congress candidate after this to mobilize the bhadralok. Instead, he concentrated his efforts on the Adivasi-Harijan sāhi of the village.
60The ‘election meeting’ of the village elders (in which the Adivasi-Harijan, unlike in previous elections, were significantly absent), to mobilize support for the Janata candidate revealed the nature of political cleavage in the village. To the social distance between the bhadralok and the Adivasi-Harijan was now added separate political mobilization – a process that was completed by the exclusion of Adivasi-Harijan from the meeting. Their identification with the Congress – resulting from a combination of symbolic defiance of political control by the bhadralok and an earlier identification with the “cow and calf” as the fountainhead of welfare for the under-privileged – was quite clear, and no serious attempts were made by the Janata workers (who were mostly the young Khandāyat activitists who had in the meantime set up a youth association) to mobilize them.
61During the second half of the campaign, once the partisan preferences had become clear, the intensity of campaigning became quite low. No political meetings were held in the village. The representatives of the Adivasi-Harijan, however, attended a meeting of their own communities of the area which was convened by the Congress candidate. But they were not provided with any organizational support or resources to conduct the campaign in Gobindpur.
62The level of participation (see table 5, p. 118) in the assembly election declined from the relatively high figure of 60 % to the low of 34.2 % ; but this drop is much more pronounced in the case of the Adivasi-Harijan voters, particularly with the Harijan, than with the upper castes. Compared to the parliamentary election, the preferred candidate of the Adivasi-Harijan was much weaker. A vote for him would be practically a ‘wasted’ vote. The low turnout then emerges not as the result of traditional apathy but as well reasoned abstention – an indication of growing political awareness and organization within the lower strata of the electorate.
VII
63Khandāyat domination of the political life of Gobindpur which dates back to the political order of the princely State of Dhenkanal continued to be effective even after Independence and merger of the princely States with the Indian republic. During the fifties and sixties, through which the Khandāyat continued to dominate politics in Gobindpur, the political system and the distribution of power were both characterized by consensus in social decision making and the concept of ‘village unity’. Both of these were evolved and taken recourse to by the old Khandāyat Sarpanch, the traditional leader of the Khandāyat and a man of considerable political skill, to maintain a semblance of political stability in the midst of great social changes. His concept of village unity was the equivalent of unity under Khandāyat leadership ; but it worked through the mechanism of consensus that was sensitive to the growing power of the lower social strata. Political support, within the framework of village unity, followed the line of social dominance, and, as such, was primarily an extension of the social role. Political support, like political patronage, was thus an extension of the reciprocal relations of ‘service’ between the client and his patron. Separate political institutions, devoted exclusively to the exchange of support and patronage were not ‘functionally’ requisite to this system, since the social structure performed this function as well.
64The culture and social structure supportive of ‘village unity’ eventually gave way primarily due to the gradual extension of the macro-systemic norm of equality and its working through the political process. The defeat and subsequent retirement from politics of the old Khandāyat Sarpanch in the panchayat election of 1972 by a combination of Karana, Daluā Pāika and some Khandāyat (who crossed over to the other side because of a feud within the community) came as a symbolic end of the days of ‘village unity’. Separate political organization by the lower strata of Gobindpur and politicisation of the Dussera festival that followed in its wake gave further substantive proof of the existence of a new political order in Gobindpur.
65During the assembly election of 1974, the Pāna took the initiative for setting up an association of Harijan, Adivasi and poor sabarna belonging to the middle social strata. Word had spread, thanks largely to the electoral campaign of the Congress party, that land would be made available to the landless. Some among the Harijan, who felt that the lower strata were not receiving their fair share of developmental benefits (that are given to the bhadralok dominated Mahilā Samiti and the youth association of Gobindpur for disbursement), decided to set up their own association. Nearly a hundred people paid a rupee each to become members. The committee set up to get the association registered met several times. It was led by the Pāna leader and member of the panchayat who used to be a close follower of the old Khandāyat Sarpanch. Since his defeat, however, a new leadership of younger and more aggressive members of the Pāna community had come up. Shortly after the committee for registration was set up, allegations were made about misappropriation of funds, and the association, before it could be registered, broke up. It left, however, the legacy of hope for a separate political organization of the lower strata and a precedent. These were revived at each subsequent election, resulting, eventually, in mobilization of the Adivasi-Harijan voters of the area against the bhadralok supported Janata candidate in the assembly election of 1977.
66Politicisation of Dussera – a traditional village festival is another case in point that indicates the separate organization of the lower strata. Major festival of Gobindpur, it is considered by the Pāika to have originated from lord Rāma’s invocation of the Goddess Durgā at the time of his war with Rāvana and, therefore, an exclusively kśatriya (and hence Pāika) festival. Hitherto, only Pāika used to raise the funds for the festival from their caste, each member making a contribution in keeping with his status. Before the pūjā started, the Pāika heads of the families would be invited formally to the festival by a ritual called Gahana – a ceremony involving the procession of the upper caste elders to the pūjā with the beating of drums by Hādi (the lowest in the status hierarchy and the traditional drum-beaters). The populace other than the Pāika also came to the pūjā, but primarily to watch the ceremony from a distance.
67During the Dussera festival of 1976, the village elders decided that rather than the Pāika alone contributing the pūjā expenses, (especially in view of the hardships caused by the severe droughts of that year), the village should sell its sugar quota for the month in the black market and use the profits for the pūjā. Formal consent of all the ward members of the panchayat (which has the responsibility of distributing the sugar rations) including those of the Adivasi-Harijan ward members was obtained.
68The festival had already started when it was discovered that the Pāna leaders had not yet come. An enquiry revealed that Pāna would come only if they were invited the way the Pāika were, even if only a token of one drum was sent to invite them. “ After all ”, the Pāna leaders asserted, “ the sugar that was used for the pūjā was theirs, too ”. Though a direct affront to Khandāyat social dominance, in the prevalent mood of compromise and bargaining, people chose to reason with Pāna rather than to resort to outright violence. The suggestion of the village elders that a few bhadralok would go to invite the Pāna was acceptable to the Pāna, but it turned out that the emissaries were not the bhadralok elders but ‘simply’ the bhadralok ward members of the village panchayat, and as such, not of sufficiently high status to compensate for the denial of ritual equality through invitation by drums.
69The proposal was thus not acceptable to the Pāna who wanted the Khandāyat elite to come to their sāhi to invite them, and in this they had the tacit approval of a section of the Karanas. So the matter was left there. In this turmoil, the pūjā came to an abrupt end, leaving a trail of bitterness between the bhadralok and the Pāna. Within the bhadralok factions each suspected the other of having secretly encouraged the Pāna, so as to humiliate their rivals.
70This was the last occasion when the village tried to celebrate Dussera collectively. Holi, the next traditional festival, was celebrated separately by the different communities. In 1977, the Harijan celebrated Dussera festivities in their own neighbourhoods.
71In view of the developments we have reviewed above, material benefits appear to have replaced traditional obligation as the dominant political norm in Gobindpur. Obligation as a norm survives in two social groups. The Adivasi, their traditional occupation of gleaning forest products having steadily diminished as a result of the activities of the forest department of the State government, depend greatly on the Khandāyat landholders for their living. Many of them work as haliā (farm servants) for the bhadralok farmers. Though these are technically annual contracts, in practice they are handed from down father to son – occupational immobility being often reinforced by outstanding loans. Obligation as a norm of political support survives in these quarters. The second social group are the women of all social strata. Political support, in their case, generally follows the line that the male members of the household take. Even the attempts by Mrs. Nandini Satapathy to mobilize women voters separately as a group hardly made a dent on the bonds of familial obligation that bind women to their menfolk. The strength of the respective norms of political support is seen by comparing the data provided in tables 4 and 5.
72The Khandāyat as well as the Pāna had taken to mobilizing their respective communities in the parliamentary elections of 1977. In the assembly election that followed, bhadralok were interested in a large turnout in favour of the Janata candidate whereas the Adivasi-Harijan, instead of wasting their votes on the Congress candidate (whom they preferred) stayed away from the polls. This resulted in a drop in the turnout from the polls, from 55 % to 16.25 % in their community (Table 5). Familial obligation as the norms of political support would suggest that high political mobilization among men would result in a high turnout of women and the vice versa. Thus, among upper caste voters in the parliamentary elections, a 67.8 % turn out among men is accompanied by a 59 % turnout among women. In the assembly election, the turnout among men dropped to 58.5 % and the turnout among women fell down to 32.1 %. Among Harijan, the high figure of 75.4 % turnout in the parliamentary election is correlated with 37.6 % turnout among women. When male participation comes down to 24.5 %, female participation reaches the low figure of 9.2 %. The same can be seen with regard to the Adivasi. Thus, the high turnout of 63.7 % upper caste voters in the parliamentary election is associated with a 54 % Adivasi turnout ; and, as the upper caste voting turnout drops to 46.1 %, the Adivasi turnout declines to 25.2 % in the assembly election.
73Table 4 provides additional data to further support the inferences we can draw on the basis of table 5. From the accounts of political mobilization during the parliamentary elections of 1977 that we have already seen, we know that a week before the polls, the Khandāyat, who resented the leadership of the Daluā-Karana coalition, had a lukewarm attitude towards the Janata candidate whom the coalition was supporting. After the compromise between the Khandāyat and the Daluā-Karana coalition was struck, however, the position in the inner village changed greatly in favour of the Janata candidate. Thus the estimated support for Janata in the inner village a week prior to the polling day was 73.8 % whereas estimates of votes cast in favour of the Janata candidate (before the constituency level results were announced) turned out to be 93.3 %. During the crucial week before the election day, not only did the Khandāyat mobilize themselves, but they mobilized their tribal clientele as well with the result that support for the Janata candidate in the peripheral areas rose from 54.4 % to 83.1 %.
74The closing of their ranks by the bhadralok and their efforts at mobilizing themselves and the tribal voters caused the Pāna dissidents to further intensify their efforts to mobilise support for the Congress candidate. They were successful in increasing support for the Congress candidate only in the peripheral areas, from 26 % to 34.2 % (see table 4, p. 118).
75Though the Congress candidate, supported largely by the Adivasi-Harijan, lost the assembly election, the mobilization drives of dissident Pāna increased the pressure on the traditional Pāna leadership to become more radical in its demands for social equality and more aggressive in its political style. By the time of the assembly election, the leadership of the Pāna community was reconstituted, with the younger dissident Pāna playing a more forceful role. The two Pāna factions now joined their forces and campaigned among the Adivasi-Harijan of Gobindpur as well as the neighbouring villages to vote for the Congress candidate. The bhadralok leadership was also reconstituted, with the Khandāyat now playing the leading role.
76During the parliamentary election, it was commonly believed in Gobindpur that leaders (of groups and factions) received funds from the candidates. The feeling was reinforced by the fact that candidates and their agents met the local leaders in private so that others had no means of knowing exactly what transpired in those meetings. Public speculation invariably raised the amount that a given leader received. Leaders and followers fell out on the issue of dividing the spoils and new groups were formed around the contenders, giving rise to more factions and futher fragmenting the electorate.
77In the assembly elections, however, the candidates and their agents met the bhadralok and the Pāna leaders in public places ; and the leaders made it a point to receive the electoral ‘expenses’ in the presence of the members of the respective communities and at least one group – the bhadralok – promised to contribute the money to the village common fund and work free of cost for the Janata candidate. The nature of demands made to the candidates in these meetings was also quite different from the previous election. The Adivasi-Harijan leaders asked for a separate community hall exclusively for their sāhi and for allotment of land to themselves. The bhadralok demanded more lift irrigation water and a pakkā bridge over the stream which feeds the lift irrigation points. This time, the nature of demands was different from that of the previous elections, expectations having changed from individual gain (of money, to the leader and through him to the followers) to that of group benefits.
78Seen with a diachronic perspective, changes in the modality or organizational context of political support are also quite noticeable. When obligation was the dominant political norm, a separate political organization was not ‘functionally’ necessary, political support being a simple extension of the social role, running alongside the jajmānī system. External political linkages also ran on traditional lines, so that competitive mobilization did not upset the internal political order.
79With the assembly election we notice some major changes in the modality of political competition. There still were two conglomerates of factions supporting the Janata or Congress candidates. But instead of being drawn from all social strata, they were drawm respectively from the upper and intermediate castes for Janata, and the Adivasi and Harijan communities for the Congress party. The new structure of political action during the assembly election is different from that of the earlier factional structure because, in its support base and the mode of operation, it resembles caste associations more than factions.
VIII
80The study has so far focussed itself on the changing political status of the lower social strata in Gobindpur. However, far more important than the rise or fall in the political fortunes of a particular caste or section of the society is the change in the ordering of castes within the caste system and norms and modalities of political behaviour that account for internal coherence of the system.
81Norms in general are primarily methods of aggregation of the various considerations that constitute the domain of choice for the individual. A norm by itself does not attribute any substantive directionality to the results of such aggregation, though specific norms do. Thus, ordinarily, when social obligation is the dominant political norm, political support follows in the direction of the social superior from those that are inferior to him in terms of social status. In the context of rapid political and social change, when the lines of distinction constituting the status hierarchy become unclear, social obligation ceases to be valid as a compelling political norm. Leaders seeking to mobilize support then have to use a different norm – in this case, benefit – for soliciting political support. That changes the modality of action as well. Within the general populace, we now begin to identify conglomerates of benefit-seekers whose choices are based on interest rather than social obligation, as well as a residual core of voters who work on social obligation alone.
82Generally speaking, when social obligation is the exclusive political norm, a separate political organization is not ‘functionally’ necessary for coordination of individual behaviour. Since the political act follows from a prepolitical social relation, the social institution itself performs the political aggregation function. Participation becomes a self-consciously political act only when the individual voter or a group examines the costs and benefits of the available alternatives to arrive at the choice and uses this opportunity to intervene in the social and economic structure. Short term benefit-maximization may lead to the formation of political factions based on ad hoc coalition of interest. However, when the material basis of action comes to be defined purely in terms of group benefits, the voters may move in the direction of creating more enduring political organizations. Examples of this are caste associations and occupationally more differentiated bodies such as peasant organizations.
83Transition from social obligation to the benefit norm depends upon the internal social structure, the economic opportunities including migration that are available, and, of course, on political mobilization. Relative numerical strength of the lower strata plays an important role, especially when the local leadership is radical and support of radical political organizations from above is available. Mobilization of the bhadralok and the Adivasi-Harijan on caste association lines in Gobindpur during the assembly elections is illustrative of this.
84Large scale changes in the structure of the economy can be another contributory factor for normative changes in political choice though the process through which such change occurs may seem apparently contradictory. The situation in Gobindpur is typical. The introduction of new agricultural technology of which the bhadralok have been the main beneficiary has also increased the demand for labour. But now the bhadralok have to compete with contractors engaged in the building of several development projects. The state, through the ‘food for work’ scheme has also directly entered the labour market. The situation, from the bhadralok point of view, is made worse by the fact that the contractor and the government are prepared to pay wages higher than the prevalent rate. The difficulty in getting workers and the associated uncertainty of their availability have given an added impetus to the ‘annual contract system’ under which, in most cases, Adivasi families are engaged to work as haliā on annual payment. This economic relation which creates social obligation between the sahukār (landholder) and the haliā may be used for the purposes of mobilizing political support. The mobilization of Adivasi support for the Janata candidate by the bhadralok during the parliamentary elections is a case in point.25
85The dynamics behind changes in norms and modalities bring us to the larger question of peasant movements. Precise location of the initiator of change in terms of social class constitutes a point of controversy in the study of peasant movements. Thus, for the classical marxist approach of Lenin and Mao Tse-Tung, “the principal driving force of the revolution in the countryside, ideologically, if not numerically, is the rural prolerariat”.26 This view is questioned by Eric Wolf, who, also working within the general framework of class analysis, advances the view that the middle peasants, at least in the initial stages, are the driving force of peasant movements.27
86The case of Gobindpur is instructive in the sense that it provides a basis of comparison that stretches in time from the State People’s Movement of the late thirties to rural politics of the present day. Analysis of peasant politics of this period shows that it is the middle peasant, holding enough land in secure tenure who can rise in rebellion to safeguard what he considers his legitimate interest. This was the case in the State People’s Movement whose leadership came mostly from the landowning Pāika. It is not clear as to what extent they were able to carry the various social strata along with themselves into the heart of the movement. But this is and has always been the cornerstone of the ideology of the middle peasant. Persistent invocation of the concept of ‘village unity’ by the Pāika leadership of Gobindpur is significant of this point.
87Precisely at what point does the ‘middle peasant’ lose the dominant role in peasant movements so that either the movement itself is taken over by the lower strata, or, failing that, the lower strata, having become aware of its distinct class interests, begins its separate political movement ? Answer to this question lies as much in the change in the overall context of the movement, particularly in what Wolf calls the ‘external situation’ as well as the nature of contradiction inherent within the middle peasant group. This question is important because it holds the key to further evolution of the rural social structure.
88The middle peasants or, rather, the dominant peasantry as one may call them in order to emphasise the centrality of this group in the political life of the village both in normal times as well as during a movement, is hard to define in precise and categorical terms because of its heterogeneity. The reasons for its dominance, however, are not hard to identify, for it derives its centrality to village life from the cumulative effect of its dominant situation in terms of caste status, ownership of the principal means of production and power. But, while its dominant status distinguishes it from the rest of the inhabitants of the village, internally it is not necessarily homogeneous at all. The heterogeneity and internal contradiction of this group constitute an important factor in the further evolution of the social structure of the village.
89While relatively high social status is a necessary condition for being included in the dominant peasantry, unlike wealth and power, it is not a sufficient condition. In that sense, only a subset of the bhadralok of Gobindpur constitute its dominant peasantry ; the rest – the ‘poor bhadralok’ – form some sort of an unstable complement in the factional rivalry that characterises politics in Gobindpur.
90The dominant peasantry of Gobindpur, containing traditional Khandāyat landholders and the outward looking Karana, provides a typical case. In course of the evolution of the production system of Gobindpur by the way of introduction of the new agricultural technology, of which the Karana were able to take better advantage, the Khandāyat lost power to the Daluā-Karana coalition. This, as it were, ‘released’ the Pāna leadership from its dependence on traditional Khandāyat elders and left the younger Pāna free to devise their own tactical moves as best as they could. Simultaneously, a significant change in the external situation in terms of the installation of a government in the State that sought to legitimize its progressive image by token distribution of land to the Adivasi-Harijan, provided enough incentive to form an Adivasi-Harijan association to further their cause, and to provide, in one form or another, a continuous basis for independent political action.
91From the foregoing analysis we identify several necessary conditions for the existence of a caste-system. Two of the most important of these are, the existence of social obligation as the principal political norm and the existence of a jajmānī form of exchange of services appropriate to an agrarian economy. A sufficient condition is provided by the social control of the means of repression by the dominant peasantry who form the nucleus of the system.
92The existence of castes by itself however is neither necessary nor sufficient for the existence of a caste system. In fact, by providing a communality of economic interests and a social network which can provide a ready organizational base, castes can even serve as the catalyst to initiate the evolution away from the caste system.
93The ‘transition’ in Gobindpur – the choice of this vague and highly misleading word is almost inevitable in the kind of analysis that we have undertaken – may simultaneously provide further grist to the mill of pluralist democracy as well as to the advocates of class analysis. For, in the diffusion of the norms of representative democracy, and, in the rise of radical protest and independent political organisation on the part of the lower social strata – we have evidence that could provide a partial validation to either paradigm.
94Politics, nevertheless, in its classical sense, is at once the totality of consciousness and consciousness of the totality. When held against this broader formulation, unfolding of the political history of Gobindpur presents a picture that defies such easy and superficial theorization. Rather, the image emerging out of this analysis is that of the steady integration of the village into a larger world and transformation of its inner life into new, polarized units that communicate with each other through the language of benefits, rights and interests rather than that of traditional loyalty and social obligation and that form parts of organizational networks that stretch far beyond the limits of the village.
95Ideological and organizational change however do not necessarily remove the underlying concrete realities of poverty – both relative and absolute – and social relations that are exploitative and unequal.28 Nor should the presence of such ‘modern’ features as roads and electric pumps make us ignore or overrule the polarization of village life along traditional social lines as well as the creation of new forms of exploitation simultaneously with increasing volumes of conflict and litigation. ‘Times are changing : things are no longer what they used to be’. This would be just about the most commonly expressed sentiment in Gobindpur. The paradigmatic implications of this change, however, remain far from clear.
Bibliographie
Des DOI sont automatiquement ajoutés aux références bibliographiques par Bilbo, l’outil d’annotation bibliographique d’OpenEdition. Ces références bibliographiques peuvent être téléchargées dans les formats APA, Chicago et MLA.
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Alavi, H., “Peasants and Revolution”, in K. Gough and H. Sharma (eds.), Imperialism and Revolution in South Asia (New York and London, Monthly Review Press, 1973).
Bailey, F. G., “Closed Social Stratification in India”, Archives Européennes de Sociologie, IV (1963), 107-124.
10.1017/S0003975600000710 :Carter, A. C., Elite Politics in Rural India : Political Stratification and Political Alliances in Rural Maharashtra (Delhi, Vikas, 1975).
10.1017/CBO9780511659799 :Fox, R. G., “Varṇa Schemes and Ideological Integration in Indian Society”, Comparative Studies in Society and History, II (1969), 27-44.
Kothari, R., “The Congress ‘ System ’ in India”, Asian Survey, IV (1964) 12, 1161-1173.
10.2307/2642550 :Kothari, R., “The Congress System revisited : A Decennial Review”, Asian Survey, XIV (1974) 12, 1035-1054.
10.2307/2643198 :Morris-Jones, W. H., “Dominance and Dissent”, Government and Opposition Journal, I (1966) 4.
10.1007/978-1-349-01158-2 :Pouchepadass, J., “Peasant Classes in Twentieth Century Agrarian Movements in India”, in E. J. Hobsbawm et al. (eds.), Peasants in History : Essays in Honour of Daniel Thorner (Calcutta, Oxford University Press, 1980).
Rudolph, L. and S., The Modernity of Tradition (Chicago, University of Chicago Press, 1967).
Senapati, N., Orissa District Gazeteers : Dhenkanal (Cuttack, Orissa Government Press, 1972).
Srinivas, M. N., Religion and Society among the Coorgs of South India (London, Asia Publishing House, 1952).
Wolf, E., Peasant Wars of the Twentieth Century (London, Harper and Row, 1971).
Notes de bas de page
1 The data on which this article is based were collected during two field trips in Orissa, in South-Eastern India, during 1977-78, which were made possible through the financial support of the Indian Coucil of Social Science Research, Delhi.
2 Cf. Richard G. Fox (1969 : 27).
3 Ibid., 31.
4 Bailey (1963 : 107), adds one further attribute to distinguish them from other similar groups. “They are not social strata since, while they are exhaustive and exclusive they are not unambiguously groups. They are categories made up of groups with similar attributes.”
5 Fox (1969 : 31).
6 Ibid.
7 M. N. Srinivas (1952 : 25).
8 Fox (1969 : 43).
9 Ibid.
10 For a discussion of the one dominant party system model, see R. Kothari (1964 : 1160-1173 ; 1974). Also, see W. H. Morris-Jones (1966).
11 This is from the International Encyclopaedia of the Social Sciences, (vol. 3, page 336), by no means a necessarily radical journal. Still, the larger theoretical importance of findings of this kind have not been adequately understood by the mainstream literature.
12 Consider for example the following : " The Marxist concept of class is a structural concept ; classes are defined by relations of production. Where several modes of production coexist, classes cannot be arranged in a single linear hierarchical order because they must be structurally differentiated. The division of the peasantry into rich peasants, middle peasants, and poor peasants suggests an array of the peasantry with the different strata arranged one over the other, in a single order. This is misleading : middle peasants (i.e., independent peasant proprietors), for instance, do not stand between rich peasants and their employees, the poor peasants ; they belong to a different sector of the rural economy.” Hamza Alavi (1973 : 293).
13 The choice of a village as the empirical universe of the study is deliberate because, as compared to the method of survey research, it provides the advantage of a longitudinal perspective. Besides, the close proximity to the social system gives the added possibility of observing the inner workings of the social structure. On the other hand, however, universalization of the results from a village study poses severe methodological problems, because a village, strictly speaking, can be considered to be representative only of itself and not necessarily of a larger underlying population.
14 See Nilmani Senapati (1972 : 95).
15 Interview with a Khandāyat informant (Gobindpur, 1977).
16 Ibid.
17 Interview with a Juānga informant (Gobindpur, 1977).
18 Interview with a Khandāyat informant (Gobindpur, 1977).
19 Senapati, op. cit.
20 Ibid.
21 Since my last field trip, a spinning mill located near the village on the opposite side of the national highway which was under construction during the earlier field trip has started production. It now plays a certain role in the life of the village, primarily by increasing the integration of certain parts of the village economy with that of the larger world outside, without however revolutionizing its internal order.
22 The landholding reported here is based upon ‘ pooled ’ acres that do not distinguish between productivity of the land. To that extent, the table may somewhat underestimate the relative level of economic well being due to land ownership. Furthermore, in computing the relative levels of affluence, we must take into consideration the fact that family income is often supplemented by remittances from relatives living and working outside the village : a fact that is more likely to be the case for bhadralok households than the others.
23 For a brief account of the movement, see Senapati, op. cit.
24 “The Karana or Mohānti is the indigenous writer caste of Orissa. It is said that the Karana fulfil the same functions in Orissa as the Kayastha in Bengal or Bihar. In the hierarchical arrangement of castes they stand next to Brahmins in the district (of Dhenkanal).” N. Senapati (1972 : 96).
25 This form of political mobilization has been described as ‘ vertical alliances ’. Thus, “Vertical alliances are those between elite leaders and members of the political class generally on the one hand and their followers outside the political class, on the other […] vertical alliances occur primarily within the village arenas and are most often based on ties of economic dependence.” See Anthony C. Carter (1975 : 7-8). The Rudolphs refer to the same phenomena as “vertical mobilization”. See L. and S. Rudolph (1967 : 26).
26 See J. Pouchepadass (1980 : 137-155). French translation supra, pp. 73-95.
27 “[…] the poor peasantry and the rural proletariat, in so far as they depend on a landlord for the whole or the greater part of their livelihood, do not possess the necessary base of material security to be able to turn against him, unless they can benefit from the aid of an external force.” Eric Wolf (1971 : 290-292).
28 Awareness of these persistent inequalities form the hard core of political consciousness of the lower strata – a fact that was stated most eloquently by a Pāna leader with whom I was speaking after an interview. Remarking on the roads and other visible signs of development about that part of the village I said, “ Is it not wonderful that so much has been achieved during the life-time of one generation and that so much has been done for the betterment of the lower strata, and that Pāna children and bhadralok children now go to school together ? ” To this my respondent gave the following reply : “Yes, it is indeed true that roads have improved so that you can come to my door-step by cycle ; and it is also true that to-day you come to my house and that earlier I would have gone to your house ; and that in a meeting we sit together. But you sit with a full belly and I sit with an empty belly. ” Interview (Gobindpur, 1977).
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