The Enigma of Kerala

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But a purely economic explanation of singular history is as unsatisfying as calling the Civil War a clash between industrial and agrarian economies. Economic factors are clearer in hindsight; to those who lived through the changes, they seemed much more dramatic and less inevitable. 'The large masses of people accepted caste distinctions as part of the order of things' writes M. K. Sanoo, a Keralite historian. 'Each in his own set place, moving along the orbit of caste, as if it was nature. The men of those days could not even dream that any change was possible.' Even Tharakan, a devout rationalist, says, 'Though these changes had an economic base, they were mediated at the level of ethics, of moral dictums.' Or, in plainer English, Kerala too had its Lincolns, its Martin Luther Kings, and to understand this quick and peaceful miracle--and perhaps to repeat it elsewhere--we need to catch their temper, see the ideas they set loose.

Sri Narayana Guru was born in 1856 to an Ezhava family--in proper holy-guy fashion, in a hut 'but a shade better than a cowshed.' As a young man, he renounced worldly attachments and began to wander, sitting in caves with legs crossed and meditating, fasting, and consorting with lepers. As more people sought him out for healing or advice, he and his disciples felt the need for a regular temple for worshipping Shiva. At a beautiful spot in a river near Aruvippuram, he had his followers build a small canopy of coconut leaves and mango leaves over an altar on a rock jutting out in the water. The year was 1888. 'They improvised lamps with shells and arranged them in rows. They were lighted at dusk and a piper began to play devotional tunes. The whole place was soon filled with pious village folk.' Sri Narayana, who had been sitting apart and meditating all night, stood at midnight and walked into the river. As thousands watched silently ('If silence had music, the atmosphere was filled with it,' wrote one corres ondent) he descended into the river and then reemerged, holding an idol of Shiva. He stood beneath the canopy with it in his arms for three hours, totally lost in meditation, tears flowing down his cheeks. Finally, at three in the morning, he installed the idol on the pedestal.

His action was the Keralite equivalent of overturning the tables of the money changers, or refusing to give up a seat on the bus. From the beginning of time, so far as anyone knew, only Brahmins had ever installed an idol. 'Yet when Swami performed the sacred rite it appeared so natural for him to pick up a small rock and install it.' When Brahmin authorities arrived to question him about his action, he gave an answer that still makes Keralites laugh. 'I have installed only the Ezhava Shiva,' he said, a mockery of caste that undermined its rotten superstructure more than his actual deed.

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