The issue with the societal perspective on an ordinary person going to meet an officer directly for some purpose is this: unless an individual has a hierarchy of people beneath them, the sense of respect—devotion and reverence—will not take root in the mind of the person approaching.
In Travancore, the address "Saar" to some extent ensures and reinforces respect. However, since the term "Saar" is equally claimed by the peon, the clerk, and the officer, the person approaching directly might feel that the officer is just another "Saar" like the others. For this reason, in the Travancore administrative system, it was not particularly favoured for an ordinary citizen to directly approach an officer.
This is where the significant, yet often undocumented, difference lies in the formal history of British Malabar: the requirement to directly meet the officer, without needing to deal with subordinates, marks a profound distinction.
What sustained this practice was the English mindset of directly recruited officers. It must be noted that, while it is true these officers typically communicated in English, most of them lived within the local linguistic and social environment. Consequently, their personalities likely exhibited a certain ambivalence, and their societal outlook reflected a dichotomy. I won’t delve into the intricacies of this matter now, but I may explore it later.
In Travancore, the peon, clerk, and officer seemed to operate much like the Indian administrative system today. In terms of linguistic knowledge, societal outlook, behaviour, interpersonal language codes, and other aspects, these three groups were largely of the same kind. In every way, government employees, as overseers, viewed the common people as their subordinates.
In contrast, in the English administrative system of Malabar, directly recruited officers held an English egalitarian societal outlook, while their subordinates operated solely within a rigid, hierarchical linguistic framework. However, it can be said that the public had little need to interact with the latter group.
Nevertheless, one might encounter individuals with strong English proficiency at various levels. For instance, in Malabar’s government system, you might find clerks with excellent English knowledge. But this makes no difference. They remain merely a particle within the blanket that covers and binds all clerks and others together.
They can only behave and function like other clerks.
Many years ago, a commissioned officer in the Indian Army shared a similar insight. Some individuals from the northeastern states, joining as ordinary soldiers, might have strong English proficiency. However, officers do not allow them to use English. The reason is that, in Hindi, they are addressed as "tu" (lowest you) and referred to as "uss" (lowest he / him). If they were allowed to use English, they would rise to the level of "You" and "He."
If that were to happen, the officer, residing in the realm of word-codes, would experience a loss of power. In feudal languages, an Indian Army officer is like Lord Shiva, performing the cosmic dance of destruction behind a divine veil, while the ordinary soldier is like Apasmara, eternally crushed beneath Shiva’s foot.
However, reality does not conform to this metaphor. Word-codes cannot touch Shiva, but they can touch the officer. The officer is not suppressing Apasmara but rather the local individual who joined the army seeking government employment. This distinction embodies a subtle, disruptive secret.
It does not seem that today’s army officers would allow their subordinates to speak English with them. I recall personally observing that in Malabar, officers would, as far as possible, provide opportunities for their subordinates to speak English.
I am attempting to briefly highlight how distinct the administrative system in old Malabar was from that in Travancore. However, before doing so, there is something else I must mention.
I base these writings on several things: observations, experiences, and things I have heard in my own life. Additionally, I have read works such as the Travancore State Manual, Native Life in Travancore, and Malabar Manual multiple times, analysing them from the perspective of my own insights.
Beyond this, I have also drawn upon knowledge about English linguistic culture—things even the English themselves may not fully understand—and used this for these writings.
I firmly believe that English colonialism should not, under any circumstances, be equated with continental European colonialism. In reality, continental European colonialism stood in complete opposition to English colonialism in every way. Yet, many foolish formal histories today treat the two as the same.
That said, I must acknowledge certain weaknesses in my insights and claims. While my personal experiences, observations, and hearsay are extensive, there are countless matters beyond these limits.
For example, I do not know anyone from that era to ask about the experiences of the public at police stations in British Malabar.
However, when compared to Travancore, it seems that the police in Malabar were likely less harsh back then. What comes to mind on this matter are one or two things.
One is that I recall reading something written by Mr. K. Venu, a former Naxal activist, about his experiences in jail. Comparing the behaviour of the Malabar and Travancore police, Mr. K. Venu noted that the Travancore police were relatively brutal, while the Malabar police were comparatively milder. He attributed this to the fact that the Malabar police emerged from English rule.
Another point to mention is a quotation from this very work.
QUOTE from Vol 3 of this book: I had the opportunity to read a record by an English IP Officer who served in this subcontinent, which stated:
QUOTE: Under no circumstances should one Indian be given authority over other Indians. If given, it is certain to be misused. END OF QUOTE
Another English IP Officer recorded with astonishment that, despite strict warnings not to mistreat individuals brought to the police station for questioning, if the English officers stepped away even briefly, the police would slap the person brought in and engage in other such acts.
The officer was baffled as to why the police behaved this way.
However, whether the English officer was aware that those addressed as "Saar," "Ningal - higher you)," "Adheham - highest he / him," or "Avar -Highest she / her" would not be slapped, while those addressed as "nee" (lowest you), "avan" (lowest he), or "aval" (lowest she) would face such treatment, is unknown. END OF QUOTE from Vol 3 of this book
One point to highlight here is that for the English (not the Irish, Scottish, Germans, or others), understanding and learning the languages of this subcontinent was extremely difficult. It is known that Robert Clive, who laid the foundation for English rule in this subcontinent and led its administration for many years, made no effort to learn these languages.
Languages of the southern peninsula, like Tamil, were far more challenging than Hindi.
In such a region, English ICS/IP Officers serving as administrators likely perceived the communication, mindset, and social dynamics of their subordinates and the public in a manner akin to a human trying to understand such matters in animals.
Many thoughts come to mind about how English people dealt with the languages of this peninsula. However, if I were to note them all here, the narrative would stray into side stories. Still, I feel compelled to share one story, as I’m unsure when another fitting opportunity might arise.
During the time of English rule in the Madras Presidency, the region was historically the land of the Cholas and Pandyas. In many parts, various plantations were established during English rule—some owned by the British, others by continental Europeans, and some by local landlord families.
For centuries, many lower-caste individuals lived as slaves under landlord families. In droves, they escaped and joined the plantations owned by the English, where wages were comparatively higher and the social environment relatively milder.
In English-owned plantations (tea, cardamom, coffee, etc.), young men from England were appointed as managers. Some companies had a rule requiring these managers to know Tamil.
Thus, these young Englishmen had to learn Tamil and pass a Tamil exam, which, for them, was a tremendous ordeal. The peculiarities of Tamil words—when viewed from an English perspective—their richness, twists, potency, insults, praises, emotions, and arrogance, were utterly distasteful and unbearable for these young Englishmen. This was because English, with its flat codes, was entirely different.
But how could they communicate with the workers without knowing Tamil? They devised a brilliant solution: instead of learning Tamil, they would teach the plantation workers English. Many locals had already proven that English could be learned quickly.
They proposed this idea to the company’s higher-ups. While the idea was acceptable to the company leadership, the local overseers directly above the plantation workers fiercely opposed it. The reason was that these young Englishmen, in their ignorance, had proposed a revolutionary idea that would upend the social structure.
In Tamil, words like "nee" (lowest you), "unakku," "neenge," "ennada thambi," "avan" (lowest he), "aval" (lowest she), "aale paathu pesunge (speak after assessing the person)," "thevar, (social divinity)" "anna (honoured social elder brother)," "periyanna, (great personage)O" and countless others, along with verb forms that convey respect or contempt, construct a social code of extreme subservience, submission, humility, restraint, servitude, and lack of self-respect, as well as boundless dominance. These codes, etched into the social structure like iron scripts for ages, would erode and vanish with the spread of English.
The codes of the languages a being uses are reflected in its character and traits. If humans learn bestial languages, they too become bestial.
For example, if a human learns the language of dogs, there’s no need to explicitly state that they would bark on the streets. If they learn the language of foxes or wolves, on moonlit nights bathed in silver, humans would gaze at the crescent moon and howl, dancing in packs.
Since I mentioned dogs, I thought I’d add this as well. It seems the word "dog" is often used as an insult in many places. In English, the word "bitch" is frequently used as a derogatory term, though it means a female dog. (I have a feeling the word "Naya" is a Malabari term; in Malayalam, the word is "patti.")
Generally speaking, in English societies, dogs—especially household pets—are often valued as family members in many homes.
However, in feudal language regions, dogs are mostly viewed with contempt. In English, dogs are often referred to as "he" or "she".
In contrast, in the feudal languages of this peninsula, dogs are referred to as "it" or, at times, "avan" (lowest he) or "aval" (lowest she). They are also called "eda" or "vada", both perjorative usages.
When the English East India Company arrived in this peninsula centuries ago, they encountered communities kept at a very low status by higher groups, treated as mere animals, half-humans, or half-beasts. Individuals in these communities were addressed by the higher classes as "avan" (lowest he), "aval" (lowest she), or "it." To put it plainly, it seems that when a socially high-ranking person died, the word "marichu" was used, but when a lower-caste person died, the word "chathu" (lower class death) was used.
About thirty-five years ago, I recall visiting Deverkovil. The area was mostly deserted. At night, packs of foxes would gather in the pitch darkness around the house, performing all sorts of acrobatics, responding to some invisible signals, rhythms, or rhymes, standing and sitting together, howling in unison. These howls, piercing the darkness of the night in all directions, instilled both fear and, when listened to, a rare, enchanting allure in the mind.
One noon, while walking near the woodshed behind the house, I witnessed a peculiar scene. A dog was sitting in the woodshed, as if on a royal throne. Four or five other dogs stood before it, front legs extended, bowing in extreme subservience, displaying loyalty.
Hearing human movement, the dogs dispersed and slowly left the area.
It seems street dogs often have distinct packs, a dominant dog, and other hierarchies. Moreover, there appear to be various forms of aristocracy, hierarchies, leadership, and struggles for dominance among them.
Furthermore, if a dog enters a pack without showing clear subservience to the dominant dog, it faces an experience akin to an ordinary citizen entering a government office in a feudal language region without a subservient attitude. The other dogs will attack and try to tear it apart.
I don’t know how dogs communicate with each other. Dogs in England might be influenced by the flat codes of English in their communication, while dogs in feudal language regions may be shaped by feudal language codes.
It’s well-known that animals have hierarchies and individuals who hold higher positions. However, it seems English observers were unaware that these are underpinned by clear hierarchical language codes. Nor does it seem others explained this to them.
In about three hundred years, I believe humans will directly communicate with some animals. Though this may seem impossible today, many things once thought impossible have come to pass.
In this peninsula, it was once unimaginable that lower-caste individuals would live as ordinary citizens in civilized societies. English colonial rule broke this barrier wherever it spread. In Africa, many communities oppressed by local social elites rose to great social heights. The practice of cannibalism, a bestial culture, was largely eradicated.
A cannibal was once a being too repulsive for other humans to approach. Today, even such beings have joined human society.
I’ll leave this topic here and return to the main thread of the writing.
Last edited by VED on Sat May 03, 2025 7:34 pm, edited 1 time in total.
When discussing the Malabar administrative system, I must include observations, inquiries, and hearsay gathered in the presence of my mother.
She (my mother) was born and educated in Tellicherry, a member of the matrilineal Thiyya community or religion. English governance first took root in Malabar in Tellicherry. Later, when Malabar District was formed, the administrative centre shifted to Calicut, but Tellicherry remained a subdivisional centre.
It seems Tellicherry experienced the greatest influence of the English social environment in Malabar. However, the arrival and presence of various Christian movements may have caused some confusion among locals about what constituted the true English movement.
This is because there was a clear distinction between the English movement and the various Christian movements that migrated from Travancore.
Since the English were also a type of Christian, and others lacked knowledge about the differences between various Christian groups, the English movement may have been perceived as a form of Christian movement.
Moreover, it appears that local Christian movements often misled the English who came from England. Additionally, Irish and Scottish individuals from Britain, upon arriving in this region, sometimes fell under the influence of these local Christian movements.
This background requires much elaboration, but I won’t delve into it now.
The reality is that the light of the English social environment in Tellicherry pushed the dark shadows of various feudal attitudes in the local social environment into the dim corners of social boundaries.
It seems the most profound benefit of this was reaped by the matrilineal Thiyya community in Tellicherry. A small group within this community quickly developed a deep intellectual affinity with high-quality English and English classical literature.
Just a few miles away, a large Thiyya community existed, where Thiyya women (Thiyyathi) lived with their chests half-covered by a mere cloth, using the same cloth as a skirt, and Thiyya men (Thiyyan) wore palm-leaf hats and cloths as loincloths. Many of these women worked in paddy fields, transplanting seedlings, sowing seeds, and harvesting crops for generations to earn a living. In Malabari language codes, higher social groups addressed them as "inhi" (lowest you), "ale," "ane," "chekkan" (lowest boy), "pennu" (lowest girl), "olu" (lowest she), "oan" (lowest he), "aittingal (lowest them)," "eda," "edi," and similar terms. They lacked the social codes to sit on chairs.
While working in the paddy fields, they sang Thacholi songs and other northern ballads, now known as tales of their heroic ancestors, to entertain themselves.
At the same time, landlords known as "Thiyyar" viewed them with great disdain.
Meanwhile, in Tellicherry, Thiyya women began wearing saris and blouses, and Thiyya men started wearing dhotis and shirts. This was likely possible due to the weakening of the social dominance of Hindus (Brahmin adherents).
At the same time, young "Thiyyar" educated in English schools in Tellicherry began wearing trousers, then understood as English attire. Some even wore hats. Some women wore sleeveless blouses, outshining in fashion both women from other areas who didn’t cover their chests and those who wore regular blouses.
Many spoke excellent English.
A general perception spread in other parts of North Malabar that the "Thiyyar" of Tellicherry were refined. This refinement and elevation lacked any traditional foundation. It was merely a blossoming and sprouting fostered by the English movement and its enduring light.
This was experienced in various ways by my mother and her family. During her time working in Travancore, I heard my mother say to others, without hesitation and with a sense of superiority, “We are Thiyyas from Tellicherry.”
Back then, I didn’t understand the meaning of “Thiyyas from Tellicherry.” Moreover, I had a vague notion that “Thiyyas” were a kind of elevated religious group. My understanding of social realities in childhood was very limited.
To truly delve into the inner workings of Malabar’s English administrative system, the social context must first be explained effectively. Otherwise, only hollow historical information will take root in the mind.
I have already mentioned that the sheen observed among a small minority of the matrilineal Thiyyar believers in Tellicherry lacked any traditional foundation. Before this narrative progresses, I shall, for the time being, exclude Muslims and Christians from the discussion and address the social structure of the others.
It seems fitting to briefly mention the purported wealth and nobility associated with the Hindus at the highest echelons (Brahmin believers), the temple-dwelling Ambalavasis closely aligned with them, and, below these two groups, the Nayars, who served as overseers of the landlords’ properties and performed roles that could be defined as martial.
Although it is generally said that Hindu temples belong to Brahmins, it appears that some of the grand temples were constructed by foreign rulers who had conquered the land. The precise motivations behind this are unclear due to a lack of complete information.
However, I can suggest a couple of possibilities. One might be that these temples were built to appease local deities. Another could be to please Brahmin deities (Hindu gods) or, alternatively, to win over the Brahmins themselves. Gaining Brahmin approval, or having Brahmins certify that a foreign ruler is a Kshatriya, could facilitate social acceptance and order. It is akin to introducing oneself in the locality as an IAS officer—police officers would come and salute.
Beyond all this, it might also have been to seek divine forgiveness for atrocities committed in war and to find some mental peace from the associated distress.
Upon close examination of history, subtle indications corroborate all the aforementioned points. In other words, these are not merely figments of my imagination.
Despite all this, it does not seem that Brahmins ever had the social security to move freely within their own communities.
It is much like what is said about IPS officers today. If they venture out in ordinary attire—mundu and shirt—into unfamiliar parts of town without their uniform, no one would show them respect. At times, even a constable might give them a jolt. The women in the households of IPS officers face a similar issue. A familiar constable might call out, “Enthada,” and not hesitate to say, “Enthadi,” either. Female constables, in particular, seem to have a special privilege in this regard—they would not let any woman in their custody go without being stung by such words.
(Enthada / enthadi words are hundred times worse that the nigger word. However, it depends on who is using the word on whom.)
However, this is not a significant issue in this land today. The reason is that there exists a robust police system that strongly enforces the value of an IPS officer’s official status. When needed, displaying that status suffices.
One could say that Brahmins, too, have a similar status symbol—their sacred thread. It is not possible here to delve into the ritualistic and sanctified aspects associated with the sacred thread. However, it seems that, beyond its spiritual significance, the sacred thread also carries a temporal connotation.
In the past, displaying the sacred thread might have been akin to an IPS officer showcasing their status. Ambalavasis, Nayars, and the subordinate masses loyal to them would offer respect and consideration.
However, not everyone would comply, especially in the case of Brahmin women. If they ventured out without elaborate adornments, attendants, or bodily ornaments, it would not take long for them to be reduced from “Oru” to “Olu” in the eyes of others. Furthermore, men unwilling to acknowledge their superiority might openly tarnish them with irreverent, malicious, defiling, vulgar, or lascivious looks and words.
If a subordinate individual, devoid of subservience, were to cast a lustful glance with overt vulgarity, the person deserving respect would be utterly diminished.
It seems that, in earlier times, English-speaking people were entirely unaware of this dynamic. They had no knowledge whatsoever that a lustful glance, devoid of vulgarity but embedded in coded words, could reduce someone from “Oru” to “Olu.” However, today, in English-speaking nations, they are fleeing en masse from areas where feudal-language communities reside. It does not appear that they can clearly articulate what is socially degrading them.
It seems that Brahmins often lived in clusters in agraharas in various regions. There were others who lived differently. While it is true that they enjoyed social superiority, it also feels as though this very superiority acted as a shackle and chain.
Moreover, it appears that among these groups, many castes faced various restrictions related to marital life.
Despite all this, some among them were appointed as envoys by petty kings and others. The reason being that, ordinarily, no one would attack them on the road, as killing a Brahmin was considered a grave sin. Furthermore, it is observed that in the regions they travelled, there were feeding houses and other facilities linked to many grand temples, where they could stay and eat for free.
It seems that even young individuals among them were not addressed as “Inhi” by lower-caste people. However, it also appears that they could address or refer to those who acknowledged their superiority using such terms.
The feudal-language social atmosphere is not particularly enjoyable. It is akin to working in government offices. Even if one works daily in an utterly dull environment, the subservience extracted from ordinary people makes the job highly gratifying. Some among them might feel that this is the most heavenly social atmosphere attainable in this world—until they encounter a pristine English social environment.
Last edited by VED on Fri May 02, 2025 3:14 pm, edited 1 time in total.
It should be inferred that, over generations, communities that hold a high position in language codes develop a mental and physical superiority. One could say this is inscribed in the supernatural software codes that shape their physical structure. In terms of current scientific knowledge, it might be said that these codes are encoded in their genes and DNA. However, this is merely a very simplistic and superficial assumption about reality. It is unclear whether medical scholars have substantial knowledge about the software codes operating behind genes. The primary reason for this is that most of them lack a deep understanding of software.
Among Brahmins, who have held high social positions for generations, the influence of transformations in these software codes might have been clearly observable. However, it can be assumed that their superiority was achieved solely by suppressing others through verbal codes. This simply means that the social atmosphere in which they stand at the top is rooted in feudal language. They maintain their position using verbal codes such as “Inhi,” “Inakku,” “Inre,” “Oan,” “Olu,” “Oanre,” “Olude,” “Aittingal,” “Aittingade,” or merely a name. This is an experience that cannot be replicated in English. It is akin to living on the streets. When isolated individuals living on the streets are defined by such words by social overlords or others, they are often left in a state with no protection whatsoever.
This social atmosphere can also be experienced in conditions such as living in a small house, having limited financial means, engaging in low-status work, or residing in a thatched hut.
Below the Brahmins, there is a hierarchy of communities: Ambalavasis, Nayars, Thiyyars, and then, step by step, lower castes further down. The communities below the Nayars are like ordinary people caught in the hands of today’s Indian police constables. Even among ordinary people, there are further hierarchical layers downward.
Only a small percentage of the matrilineal Thiyyars in Thalassery managed to escape this condition. By gaining proximity to English movements and mastering the English language, the communities that had oppressed them for generations began to fade away. Nevertheless, these Thiyyars were still speakers of the Malabari language. Consequently, they continued to oppress both the communities that had been subjugated under them for generations and those among the Thiyyars who were economically disadvantaged.
Among the matrilineal Thiyyars who attained this elevated mental state, another sentiment later emerged. It can be assumed that, in earlier times, they were not granted entry into Brahmin households. This is because the distances that each lower caste had to maintain from Brahmins and others were very clearly defined. The “Thiyya-pad” was the distance Thiyyars had to maintain, which was much shorter than the “Cheruma-pad,” as the Cherumars were a far lower community.
A point to briefly note here is that these distances are closely tied to feudal-language codes. The reality is that those at the lower rungs have the ability to transmit and replicate negative codes through actions like looking or touching. In fact, touching is not even necessary. If a person of lower status merely calls out a name, it can trigger profound changes in the physical structure, personality, and social dignity of the person of higher status.
For example, a constable need not even call an IPS officer “Inhi”; merely referring to her as “Olu” within her earshot is enough to induce a behavioural transformation akin to schizophrenia in her mind.
There is much to say on this matter in greater depth, but that can be addressed later.
It is necessary to further clarify the use of expressions such as “Inhi,” “Inakku,” “Inre,” “Oan,” “Olu,” “Oanre,” “Olude,” “Aittingal,” “Aittingade” (Malabari words), and merely a name. The use of these words may feel as though it represents profound equality, ideological freedom, and the depth of personal connection.
However, this is a misunderstanding. Whether entering or descending into any society, knowing who can mutually use these verbal codes provides a powerful insight. A person achieves equality only at the level where these words can be used reciprocally. These words do not indicate a general social equality.
In reality, this is an extremely potent form of linguistic coding. The truth is that English-speaking people have no grasp whatsoever of this peculiar reality.
Those who use these words among themselves also employ them towards those considered beneath them. However, those of lower status must never use these words in return. If they do, it results in severe insult, degradation, suppression, demotion, devaluation, and dishonour.
At times, when a person of higher status lacks the capability, support, commanding presence, or an elevated official title to counter such an attack, and someone introduces them with demeaning remarks, provides degrading information, or hints at socially inferior connections, the person of higher status is truly devastated—mentally, socially, and personally. This is because, in such instances, others immediately deploy the aforementioned verbal codes. English-speaking people have no awareness of this phenomenon.
The essence of Brahmin supremacy lies in the existence of multiple communities, layered hierarchically, within a social atmosphere woven by these verbal codes.
Brahmins do not need to exert excessive effort to maintain these layered communities. Each layer suppresses and controls the layers beneath it.
This, too, is a phenomenon absent in English social environments. Even when old English communities organised, they did not develop a mindset that incited mutual betrayal or destruction. One of the secrets behind the historical social strength of the English during the colonial era lies in this.
The strength of Brahmin families’ wealth and nobility does not stem from the belief that their traditions included Vedic texts, mantras, astrology, rituals, or worship practices. Rather, it is because language codes, capable of piercing and subjugating over 90% of the population step-by-step with the sharpness of terms like “Inhi,” “Oan,” “Olu,” and “Aittingal,” are pervasive in society.
Those beneath cannot organise to oppose this, as each individual bows upward while trampling and tearing down those below. This social condition is shaped by language codes, not by Brahmins, Marars, Nambisans, Pushpakars, Variers, Nayars, Thiyyars, Malayars, Vedars, Kurichiyars, Pulayars, Parayars, or others. All these groups are preoccupied with ensuring that no community they consider beneath them dares to step out of line. If someone does, they will not find peace until they drag them down, trample them, and inflict harm.
It is unclear how much connection the Brahmins living in Malabar in the 1800s had with the Vedic culture that flourished in Central Asia some 6,000 years ago. However, it is understood that English East India Company officials made significant efforts to discover and preserve ancient Sanskrit texts. It is believed that they rescued many palm-leaf manuscripts, which were fading into obscurity, from remote households across the subcontinent. Even Vatsyayana’s Kamasutra (not a Vedic text) is recorded as having been preserved in this manner.
The communities immediately below Brahmins are the Ambalavasis. Their traditional occupation involves tasks within the temple. They are not discussed in detail here.
When speaking of Nayars, it may be necessary to mention one or more matters that some among them might find distasteful. However, the reality is that no one in this region can claim a superiority beyond the excellence that language codes impart to the software codes of life and mind.
This reality applies to everyone, from the Pulayans, Parayars, Cherumars, and others at the bottom, up to the elite Brahmins who held their chests high at the pinnacle of the verbal-code mountain, before the English Company and the English flag brought about a profound mental revolution in this land.
When discussing Nayars, the situation in Malabar differed slightly or significantly from that in Travancore. The issue may be that, in North Malabar, Nayars were just above the matrilineal Thiyyars, while in South Malabar, they were above the patrilineal Thiyyars. In Travancore, however, they were above the Ezhavas, Shanars, Chovvans, and others.
Who a person stands—above or below —profoundly influences his or her personality.
For instance, a Malayali working under English people in England will exhibit a markedly different personality compared to a Malayali working under another Malayali in a Malayali environment in the Gulf. This difference may be evident in their physical structure and mental disposition.
Similarly, the influence of those below also matters. For example, a Malayali conducting business in America with entirely English-speaking local employees may display a significantly different personality compared to one who employs only Malayalis and conducts business in Malayalam in the same country. I refrain from stating this with certainty because other factors influencing personality also exist, which cannot be addressed here.
I lived primarily in Travancore from around 1970 to 1983. The concept of a unified Kerala, as commonly imagined today, did not exist then. There is much to say about this later.
For now, let me state this much: in Travancore, Ezhavas harboured significant resentment towards Nayars, both overtly and covertly. In Malabar, both groups of Thiyyars and other lower castes were socially and linguistically under the Nayars by tradition. However, it seems that the matrilineal Thiyyars did not exhibit a similar resentment or hostility.
To illustrate this, I recall an incident. When my mother was a deputy department head and later department head in Thiruvananthapuram, and earlier, a district-level officer in Alappuzha, some Ezhavas would visit and express their deep-seated resentment.
A clear reason for this resentment might be that, until the Indian government subdued the Travancore kingdom, Ezhavas were restricted to menial government jobs. Changes were gradually occurring, but before that, the Indian administration forced the Travancore king to capitulate under military threat.
While such social issues existed across much of the subcontinent, nearly half of it was British India. In British India, any caste could access any government position, provided they had profound English language proficiency and the associated egalitarian mindset.
It is understood that, in the administrative system of Malabar District, many Thiyyars held high positions without caste-based job reservations. One Choorayi Kanaran is noted to have been a Deputy Collector in Malabar District.
Furthermore, it is known that some Thiyyars served in the highest ranks of the British-Indian Railway and as senior officers in the Imperial Civil Service (ICS).
Additionally, I have heard of a Thiyyar pilot officer in the British-Indian Airforce.
These historical factors may explain why the resentment seen among Ezhavas was absent among Thiyyars.
The Ezhava government employees who shared their grievances with my mother would also say, “We are all one group.” This was not acceptable to my mother, as it is a fact that matrilineal Thiyyars and Ezhavas have no traditional marital ties. Moreover, my mother’s stance was loftier than that of Brahmins. The declared stance was, “We are Thiyyas from Tellicherry,” and she would not entertain any discussion on caste matters.
However, one thing I learned from such people was their declaration that Nayars were mere Shudras, clearly intended to demean them.
In response, the Nayars’ declaration was that Ezhavas were mere “Kottis,” referring to the act of tapping coconut fronds with a small hammer to collect toddy.
Climbing a coconut tree is, in reality, an extraordinarily daring physical skill. However, when caught in the grip of feudal language, this is the outcome: a remarkable skill is reduced to a lowly occupation.
In several historical texts, Nayars are defined as Shudras. For instance, V. Nagam Aiya’s Travancore State Manual, Rev. Samuel Mateer’s Native Life in Travancore, Edgar Thurston’s works, and William Logan’s Malabar Manual all clearly state this. However, the Malabar Manual also provides a peculiar additional hint.
It notes that researchers like Mr. Fergusson and Dr. Buchanan Hamilton pointed out a remarkable similarity in tribal culture between the Newars of Nepal and the Nayar tribes of the Canara coast.
Two main aspects caught their attention. The first was the similarity in the architectural styles of these two groups. However, what drew even greater notice was the lifestyle of the women in these two tribal communities.
The case of the Newars cannot be discussed here. But for Nayar women, what particularly intrigued many foreigners at the time was the distinct difference in their marital life compared to other civilised communities of that era.
Among Brahmin Namboodiris, the eldest Namboodiri could marry within his own community. It is indicated that younger Namboodiris formed relationships with Nayar households. They could live with a woman from such a household through a formal ceremony called sambandham, though this bond had only limited social legitimacy and was often very short-lived.
Moreover, it is suggested that when Namboodiris visited Nayar households as guests, they had the right to form relationships with women they fancied. I recall someone mentioning that a hint of this practice appears in Chandu Menon’s Indulekha.
Children born from such relationships had no connection with their father or his family. Furthermore, Nayar women could have such relationships with different Namboodiris over their lifetime.
This was not considered repulsive, as it might be today. The reason is that the relationship was with a person socially recognised as divine. Understanding the mesmerising power of feudal language codes clarifies the rationale. When everyone stands in deference and displays subservience in a person’s presence, a relationship with that person unmistakably imparts divinity. Conversely, forming a bond with someone who receives no respect, is deemed lowly, or is a servile worker would, through language codes, reduce the person to something akin to a mere trifle.
English people have no understanding whatsoever of the divine rhythm hidden in feudal language words or the discordant rhythm that opposes it.
It is unclear how Nayars would receive the information mentioned above. However, the points highlighted here are as follows: below the Nayars were numerous communities. While Nayars served as overseers of Brahmin households, the communities beneath them were considered inferior castes of varying degrees. It is likely that the opinions of these lower castes were given no value by those above them. It must also be considered that the living standards of many of these lower castes were extremely poor.
This information should not be misunderstood to mean that the communities deemed inferior lived in grandeur while Nayars led a degenerate lifestyle.
Another point is that V. Nagam Aiya notes that the fraudulent historical text Keralolpatti suggests Nayars may have originated from the primitive Naga tribe. Nevertheless, it is also indicated that Nayars may have originated from Shudras.
A point to highlight here is that, over generations, Brahmin blood infiltrated the Shudras, so their bloodline and lineage would predominantly consist of Brahmin blood.
Another matter to note is that when a divine person’s offspring is conceived, the knowledge of that divine person influences the software codes of life. This knowledge facilitates positive designs in the offspring in the womb.
This operates in various ways. The social dissemination of this knowledge, the elevated verbal codes used in connection with it, and the heightened mental state it instils in the mind all exert influence.
Conversely, if the thought or social knowledge arises that the offspring in the womb is from a person of lower status, it triggers a negative code configuration. Such mesmerising codes do not exist in languages with flat codes, like English. More on this will be discussed later.
This subject is, in truth, an exceedingly complex matter. Delving into it now would make it uncertain when we might return to the main thread of the narrative. Therefore, I will not venture there.
When English rule gained strength in Malabar and government jobs, disregarding caste boundaries, became accessible to all based solely on English proficiency and related efficiency, Nayars in Malabar suddenly had to change their footing.
In Native Life in Travancore, Rev. Samuel Mateer writes:
QUOTE:
Sudras meeting Brahmans adore them, folding both hands together; the Brahman, in return, confers his blessing by holding the left hand to the chest and closing the fingers. END OF QUOTE.
Translation of Quote:
Shudras, encountering Brahmans, revere them with folded hands. The Brahman, in return, bestows his blessing by holding his left hand to his chest and curling his fingers. End of Quote.
Rev. Samuel Mateer portrays this scene as somewhat improper. However, the reality is that the respect and saluting shown by a police constable to an IPS officer, when mixed with feudal language, would seem even more bizarre to an English citizen.
Although Mateer’s depiction pertains to Travancore, such social scenes were likely common in most Hindu kingdoms across the subcontinent.
However, in areas under English rule, namely British India, things were completely upended. Among Nayars, the joint family system followed matrilineal inheritance. When English rule arrived in Madras and its ripples were felt in Travancore, concerns about the matrilineal system began to surface in various forms.
A father could not pass any property to his own children. The head of the family had to bear the financial responsibility for his sisters’ children. Moreover, many of the sister’s children lacked a father.
QUOTE from Native Life in Travancore:
Some of the more enlightened and educated Nayars are now beginning to realise their degradation, and to rebel against the Brahmanical tyranny, and absurd and demoralising laws under which they are placed. END of QUOTE.
Translation of Quote:
Educated Nayars (meaning those proficient in English) began to recognise their degradation and started speaking out against Brahmanical oppression and the absurd, demoralising, and morally degrading laws imposed on them. End of Quote.
This trend is akin to a constable raising a flag against an IPS officer. It is likely that Nayars in Travancore did not realise that this was an effort to undermine the social movement that elevated them above Ezhavas, Shanars, Chovvans, and numerous communities beneath them.
The reality is that toppling an IPS officer would also bring down the constable.
However, in Malabar, a remote district of the British Presidency of Madras, things were different. Toppling Brahmins would not significantly harm Nayars, as Brahmin dominance had lost its legal legitimacy.
QUOTE from Native Life in Travancore:
A society for the reform of the Malabar laws of marriage (and inheritance) has been formed at Calicut by the leaders of the Nayar community, especially those educated in English. END of QUOTE.
Translation of Quote:
Nayar social leaders, particularly those educated in English, formed a society in Calicut to reform Malabar’s marriage and inheritance laws. End of Quote.
The reason was that many English-educated Nayars began to resent the right of Namboodiris, who had lost their divine status, to interfere in their households. However, the matter does not end there.
In feudal languages, the social power of individuals endowed with divinity over generations, their mantra-scented ancestral homes and temples, the various incantations associated with them, clan deity worship, spirit rituals, Vishnu festivals, fire ceremonies, sacrificial rituals, and more cannot be easily uprooted. This is because feudal languages, various occult practices, and conspiracies may indeed be intertwined.
Just as with the Thiyyars, it appears that among Nayars in Malabar, there was a dual disposition. It is said that Nayars in North Malabar generally held a sense of aloofness towards those in South Malabar. It is indicated that marriages between Nayar women from North Malabar and Nayars from South Malabar were prohibited in the north, with defiance leading to expulsion from the caste.
The events driving such peculiar forms of exclusion are unknown. However, it is recorded that people generally sought opportunities to climb into higher castes. Moreover, it is a fact that newcomers from foreign lands often devised plans to present themselves as belonging to a higher caste in their new region. In Travancore, Syrian Christians and Jews are noted to have displayed both cunning and shrewdness in this regard.
It is unclear how Nayars in South Malabar, North Malabar, and Travancore determined their relative status. However, when the English East India Company established its factory in Tellicherry, there is little indication of such distinctions. This was likely due to geographical reasons and the dangers associated with travel to distant places.
While the Nayars’ evident supremacy was driven by their Brahmin connections, its tangible outcome was their ability to suppress numerous castes through language codes. This suppression through language codes is akin to a wild animal’s bite. The bite of these wild beasts is like driving an iron nail into the body—once bitten, movement becomes impossible.
About 20 years ago, I visited the home of a revolutionary party leader in a rural area for some purpose. The leader was a Nayar and behaved with great courtesy. However, his wife was a woman of considerable haughtiness. It was clear she rarely ventured out or mingled with others. Despite having no prior acquaintance, she addressed me as “Inhi.”
The leader and his wife were surrounded by several young followers, all of whom they also addressed as “Inhi.”
The reality is that no communist movement can touch the grip, suppression, and biting control of such social codes.
Here, I must briefly digress from the main thread.
Consider a group of people who speak English fluently and pay little heed to others. This breeds significant resentment among others, who may view them as an insufferable lot. However, the reality is quite the opposite. Reflecting on one’s own language reveals that its words and sentences are biting and piercing. Those with discernment, moral judgment, and wisdom tend to steer clear as much as possible.
I won’t delve further into this tangent.
The incident at the communist leader’s house exemplifies the historical supremacy of Nayars. However, this trait is common across all communities.
Nayars in South Malabar, North Malabar, Travancore, and elsewhere may not necessarily belong to the same group. Yet, certain commonalities may be observed among them. Additionally, during the invasions of Malabar by Hyder Ali and Tipu Sultan, a significant number of Nayars are said to have migrated to Travancore for survival.
There are multiple tiers even among Nayars.
It was previously mentioned that Nayars are said to be linked to the ancient Nagas. Snake worship was a prominent practice in ancient Nayar households (tharavads). In many homes, cobras lived with their families and were treated as highly respected residents. Records of property sales, transfers, donations, or inheritance divisions from that era clearly and solemnly noted the presence of these snakes. Ensuring no harm came to them was a societal norm.
While lower castes like Pulayars and Parayars might kill snakes by hacking or shooting them, if Nayars learned of this, it could lead to trouble.
It is said that the sacred naga snake is not a cobra, but historical records clearly refer to cobra families.
Today, it can be said that such snake worship no longer exists among Nayars. It can also be added that Nayars no longer possess their former social grandeur.
The image provided above, from Native Life in Travancore, depicts an aristocratic Nayar tharavad woman. To remain so elaborately adorned daily, one could hardly venture outside.
Last edited by VED on Fri May 02, 2025 4:30 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Among Nayars, a joint family system prevailed. It is understood that grand tharavads with four-sided structures and central courtyards existed among the wealthier, higher-caste Nayars.
In some of these tharavads, there would be a sacred grove (sarppakavu) for snake worship and a bathing pond for women, located adjacent to the house.
From the outside, Nayar households exuded grandeur and female autonomy. This was because both women and men in these homes could address any lower-caste person approaching the house as “Inhi,” regardless of their age or professional skill. Lower castes could not avoid these households, as social authority resided within them. If lower castes quarrelled among themselves, the residents of these homes acted as the equivalent of the police constable or head constable of that era.
It is recalled from readings that different caste-based distances, tied to notions of ritual pollution, governed access to the sacred groves and how close one could stand.
Closely tied to this belief was the spiritual practice of tree worship. I observed, about 25 years ago in a northern part of Malabar, a daily ritual of lighting a lamp at the base of trees considered spiritually significant. This practice may still persist today. Such worship often protected these trees from timber merchants who roamed to fell them, as they were frequently revered by socially prominent locals.
However, it must be added that such beliefs offered no protection to the forest trees in Wayanad and similar areas. This is because, after 1947, when tribal forest dwellers were made Indian citizens without their knowledge or consent, most were relegated to the lowest verbal codes in Malayalam. Even the lowliest forest department peons defined tribal elders with terms like “Nee,” “Eda,” “Edi,” “Avan,” and “Aval” without hesitation. The dire consequences of this can be understood through language codes: the Indian bureaucratic class assigned negligible value to these communities’ property, bodies, minds, and trees. To enforce this degradation, tribals were forcibly taught Malayalam.
In the previous section, an image of a haughty Nayar woman was provided. Such a person was likely the matriarch (tharavattamma) of the tharavad. Beneath her would be numerous women and men. It is often written that Nayar women held significant social status and the personal authority to form relationships with any man of their choosing. However, these notions may be isolated assumptions, lacking any understanding of the social bonds and constraints shaped by language codes.
The reality is that, despite wielding considerable authority within the household, the matriarch likely had little opportunity to freely venture outside. Many women in these households would be confined, unable to step out, and relegated to repetitive, tedious household chores day after day.
The claim that Nayar women could freely form and shift relationships with any Namboodiri or Nayar man is likely untrue. Often, such decisions were made by their mother’s brothers or their own brothers.
Native Life in Travancore recounts an incident: A respectable Nayar youth, with a pleasing personality, once approached Rev. Samuel Mateer, weeping inconsolably. The reason was this: when he visited his wife’s home, her brothers barred him, saying, “We have chosen another man for our sister. Do not come here anymore.”
Not only was he separated from his wife, but he could no longer see his own children, a reality he found unbearable.
If a man displayed excessive personality or intellect, causing unease among his wife’s brothers or uncles, they might arrange for her to be given to another man. It was better to tread cautiously and deferentially.
Image: A photograph taken in the late 1800s, depicting a Nayar tharavad.
It seems that the general boastful tradition in South Asia can be likened to the character of Ettukali Mammuñju in Vaikom Muhammad Basheer’s story Ente Uppuppakku Oru Aanayundarnnu. The tendency is to claim that whatever good exists in the world was present here in its finest form.
Though there is little knowledge of what the true culture of this land was before the English East India Company raised its flag in Malabar, everyone with a modern education is well aware of the marvels that supposedly existed in ancient India thousands of years ago.
It has been written by some that the personal freedom enjoyed by Nayar women was unparalleled, even compared to modern America, where people from every fourth-rate nation flock and revel.
However, the reality is unlikely to align with such claims. The respect maintained within the household must be forcibly extracted outside, requiring restrained behaviour. Facial expressions, tone, and other aspects must be carefully curated. These are absent in English-speaking regions because the daunting concept of respect, as a rigid framework, does not exist in English language codes. Explaining this to English people is futile; some might naively argue that the word “respect” exists in English too.
Long ago, many Brahmin Namboodiri women remained unmarried. If some succumbed to temptations and transgressed sexual morality, they were often given to lower-caste slaves. In Travancore, when the London Missionary Society began converting lower castes to Christianity, many such women escaped this punishment by converting to Christianity, Islam, or Syrian Christianity.
The earlier-mentioned case of women from the Ettuveetil Pillamar’s households being sold to Mukkavars is related to this.
If Nayar women crossed caste boundaries and formed relationships with lower castes, their families would lock them up and later kill them with daggers or spears. However, if the king learned of this beforehand, he might save the woman’s life by selling her to Muslim traders or Christians.
There is a reference to a custom called Pula Pidi Kalam during the Karkidaka month (Native Life in Travancore). If a Pulayan saw a Nayar woman walking alone during this period, he could seize her. Moreover, if a lower-caste person threw a stone at a Shudra (Nayar) woman after dusk and hit her, she would lose her caste status.
In northern Travancore, Pariahs had a practice of abducting higher-caste women.
In February, after the harvest, Pariahs would gather in their temple courtyards, drink liquor, dance frenziedly in devotion to their deities, and, in an intoxicated state, invade the homes of Brahmins and Nayars (Hindus) under them, abducting women and children.
In 1516, Portuguese writer Duarte Barbosa documented such practices: during a specific month, Pulayans would strive to touch higher-caste women. At night, they would sneak into Nayar homes to attempt this. Nayar women took great precautions to avoid such incidents. If contact occurred, even if unseen, the woman would scream and flee her home, running to lower-caste households to save her life. If her family caught her, they would kill her for being “tainted” or sell her to passing trade caravans.
Thus, it is a fact that the bloodlines of lower castes in Travancore contain significant amounts of higher-caste blood. Yet, when crushed by the weight of language codes, one remains crushed.
The situation in Malabar was likely similar.
Does anything truly negative spread when a lower-caste person touches or verbally degrades a higher-caste woman? Consider this scenario:
A young female IPS officer is abducted by lower-ranking constables. They address her as “Nee” (Inhi), “Edi,” or refer to her as “Aval” (she). She performs their household chores and respectfully calls older constables “Chetta” (honoured elder brother) or “Chechi” (honoured elder sister).
Even if she escapes, resuming her role as an IPS officer would be fraught with issues. Moreover, an IPS officer addressed as “Edi” by constables and calling them “Chetta” or “Chechi” would become an intolerable entity to other IPS officers.
This harrowing depiction is meant to highlight the terrifying mental distortions caused by feudal language codes in this society long ago.
Ordinarily, such an incident is improbable today. However, just days ago, a commissioned officer in the Indian Army killed the wife of another commissioned officer and was apprehended by the Indian police. This must have been a festive occasion for police constables, akin to a Brahmin falling into the hands of lower castes. An individual accustomed to being addressed as “App,” “Saab,” or “Un” by thousands of ordinary soldiers in the army suddenly plummets, in a single day, to the level of “Thoo” (Nee), “Eda,” or “Avan” in the eyes of constables.
[Search YouTube for AEc7BkseB4A to view a related video.] (Note: The video has been removed from YouTube.)
The constables’ jubilant celebration might be visible in their eyes.
The profound provocative power of feudal language words and their ability to upend individuals and society are entirely unknown to English-speaking nations, making this a dangerously precarious condition for them.
It is recorded that Tipu Sultan made the following proclamation to the Nayars of Malabar:
QUOTE from MALABAR MANUAL:
And since it is a practice with you for one woman to associate with ten men, and you leave your mothers and sisters unconstrained in their obscene practices, and are thence all born in adultery, and are more shameless in your connexions than the beasts of the field: I hereby inquire you to forsake those sinful practices, and live like the rest of mankind. END OF QUOTE
Translation of Quote:
Since it is your custom for one woman to associate with ten men, and you allow your mothers and sisters to engage in unrestrained obscene practices, you are all born of adultery and are more shameless in your relationships than the beasts of the field. I hereby direct you to abandon these sinful practices and live like the rest of mankind. End of Quote
This quote appears to be related to Tipu Sultan’s military campaign through Malabar.
Reading this might give the impression that Tipu Sultan was a social reformer. However, his campaign was not a social reform initiative. Rather, it was an event that brought profound suffering to Hindus (Brahmins), Ambalavasis, their loyal Nayars, and the lower communities aligned with them. I won’t delve into that now.
The main focus of this narrative is how the light of English rule impacted the matrilineal Thiyyars of North Malabar. The discussion has shifted to the contexts of Namboodiris, Ambalavasis, and Nayars—those historically regarded as socially elevated—to highlight their grandeur and rituals, in order to explain what English rule brought to Malabar.
To understand the radiance of English rule, which rose like the sun in this region, one must first grasp the reality of the time. It seems there was no tradition of systematically documenting historical events in this land. For example, temples associated with Nayar tharavads can be found in many places, but there are no written records of their antiquity. Instead, only oral traditions passed down through generations exist. It is unclear to what extent such traditions can be considered history.
In Malabar, there were Brahmins, Ambalavasis, Nayars, matrilineal Thiyyars, patrilineal Thiyyars, Mappilas (Malabari Muslims), local Christians, Christians who converted from Travancore, and various communities labelled as lower castes.
Malabari Muslims are called Mappilas in Malabar, but in Travancore, the term Mappila refers to Syrian Christians. Historically, when Malabar and Travancore had little connection, this semantic difference was likely not widely recognised. Even today, this distinction persists, though rarely acknowledged.
It appears that many matrilineal Thiyyars, particularly those in the Tellicherry-Kannur region, benefited significantly from the light of English rule.
Before delving into that, I plan to briefly address the Odiyans—said to belong to the Pariyars of Malabar—before moving forward. This is just one of the hundreds of social issues English rule encountered in this region.
It was a form of grave sorcery. I will elaborate on this in the next section.
I don’t recall reading about Odiyans in Travancore. However, it is noted that certain groups, like the Kanikkars, were feared by higher castes, possibly due to the belief that they possessed tantric knowledge or performed occult rituals.
In Malabar, Odiyans were indeed a social reality. Similar diverse practices are said to have existed across various parts of the Madras Presidency.
It seems unlikely that young East India Company officers from England and other parts of Britain fully understood the realities they encountered in Malabar. In some northern regions governed by the same company, the practice of ritually burning women alive (sati) was prevalent, which struck them as utterly astonishing. Yet, locals appeared unfazed by it.
Since higher castes kept lower castes at a distance, the latter’s affairs were largely unknown to the former. However, English officers, unbound by the repulsive codes of local languages, could closely study the lives of even the most marginalised. A notable figure in this regard was Edgar Thurston, whose works, Castes and Tribes of Southern India and Omens and Superstitions of Southern India, stand as evidence.
It is unclear whether English company officers gained any clear understanding of practices like kuruthi, theyyam, thira, muthappan vellattam, chathan seva, or entities like Paradevatha, Asuraputhran, Gulikan, Yakshi, and Kali, or rituals such as vellattam, kodiyettam, varavu, kuruthi, invoking deities, or theeyattu. Their texts often use the phrase “Devil Worship,” but it is unclear what exactly this referred to.
Higher castes likely spoke of lower castes’ deities with contempt or vagueness when explaining them to the English. However, some of the rituals mentioned above appear intertwined with the family traditions of Nayar tharavads. This could be because lower castes granted such privileges to their Nayar overlords, or because these practices originated from the traditions of primitive Nagas or Shudras, or perhaps Nayars claimed ownership of them.
It seems unlikely that all the rituals mentioned are part of Brahminical Hinduism. Many appear linked to shamanism, a spiritual movement that existed centuries ago in various parts of the world and persists today.
Lacking direct knowledge of the Vedas, I cannot say more. However, it is said that the Atharva Veda references sorcery and tantric practices. Since the Vedas were in the hands of Brahmins, it seems unlikely they were entirely disconnected from such practices. Sorcery and tantric practices also existed in Europe historically, known there as witchcraft. It is unclear whether witchcraft held significant influence in England for long, as Europe and England had limited historical connections.
Certain lower castes, believed to possess tantric knowledge, evoked both disgust and fear among higher castes. Yet, as noted in Edgar Thurston’s writings (or similar sources), higher castes, including Brahmins, often sought to appease the shamanistic deities of lower castes during times of personal crisis.
From my personal experience, shamanistic deities are indeed a remarkable phenomenon. I will discuss this further later.
One issue the English administration faced was the mass killing of certain lower castes by others (not necessarily high castes). For example, the Toda or Badaga communities, suspecting sorcery, would surround an isolated Kurumba hut in the forest at night, massacre everyone inside, and burn it down.
Even if the English authorities tried to apprehend the culprits, they lacked clear evidence to present in court. Those with information would not utter a word. Even if suspects were caught, courts would release them due to insufficient evidence.
There was also the practice of buying and raising young children, only to sacrifice them to village deities at a certain age. Sacrifices requiring virgins were also performed.
In some rituals, frenzied crowds, intoxicated, would hack the sacrificial victim to pieces. These practices occurred across various parts of the Madras Presidency.
Hundreds of castes, each with distinct privileges, existed—some tied to Brahminical religion, others to shamanism, and some a blend of both. Beyond and beneath these were primitive beliefs and gruesome ritual systems. To learn more, the following books are recommended:
Lower castes such as Paniyars, Kurumbars, Pariyars, and Paanars were feared by higher castes in various ways. One reason was the immense, almost demonic power conferred upon them by feudal language codes, as mentioned earlier.
Equally, the belief that they practised sorcery, black magic, and tantric rituals instilled fear in others. In Omens and Superstitions of Southern India, Edgar Thurston meticulously records details about the Odiyan’s occult practices, as documented by Mr. Anantha Krishna Iyer. How Mr. Iyer gained insight into the workings of lower castes remains a question. Nevertheless, the account is presented here without exaggeration or embellishment.
The Pariyar sorcerer begins the ritual at midnight, observing omens. If the omens are inauspicious, the plan is postponed to another day.
The target is a woman in her first pregnancy, ideally when the foetus is six or seven months old, to produce Pillathailam. The sorcerer circles the woman’s house multiple times, shaking a coconut filled with gurusi (a mixture of water, lime, and turmeric).
While circling, the sorcerer chants magical incantations to invoke supernatural aid. He then draws a mystical diagram (yantra) on the ground.
Through the power of sorcery, the pregnant woman, as if in a trance, opens her house door and steps outside. If she cannot open the door, she tries various means to exit. The sorcerer takes her to a secluded, uninhabited spot, strips her naked, and lays her flat on the ground. He places a chora kindi (possibly a bottle gourd, referred to as Lagenaria in the text) in front of her womb.
The foetus is extracted but must not touch the ground, or the ritual fails. The foetus is cut into pieces, dried, and smoked over a fire. It is then placed in a vessel with one or two holes at the bottom, which is positioned over a larger vessel. Both are heated over an intensely burning fire. After about an hour and a half, a peculiar liquid drips from the upper vessel into the lower one.
The sorcerer then grinds a human skull into a fine powder and mixes it into the liquid. Immediately, he takes a drop of this concoction and applies it to his forehead and other parts of his body. He then drinks some cow-dung water.
Having completed these steps, the sorcerer believes he can transform into the form of any animal.
This concoction is called Pillathailam.
It is also noted that a similar process can be performed using a specific fruit from the Angola tree (Alangium Lamarckii). This fruit is believed to descend from the tree in pitch darkness and return to its original position. Sorcerers with this knowledge wait at night to capture the descending fruit and use it, much like the foetus, to produce Angolathailam, a magical oil.
Mr. Anantha Krishna Iyer’s account suggests that higher castes genuinely feared these occult practices. In essence, they dreaded the sorcery and black magic of lower castes.
In some places, families firmly believed that an unusually sighted buffalo or similar animal was an Odiyan.
Image: From Castes and Tribes of Southern India by Edgar Thurston.
Higher castes viewed lower castes not only with disgust but also with intense fear. In truth, the most terrifying aspect should have been the supernatural strength and power granted to lower castes by language codes. It is remarkable that this realisation never clearly dawned on anyone.
Even today, in England, such fears and anxieties are emerging among native Anglo-Saxon communities. The root cause lies in language codes. The notion that feudal languages possess occult power is something English people cannot even fathom in their dreams.
I think it’s worth slightly diverging from the path of writing. I’ve touched upon sorcery, witchcraft, and tantric practices. I believe it’s appropriate to briefly discuss these before moving forward.
A key component of witchcraft is the incantations used in it. One could also say that rituals and procedures accompany these. It seems that sorcery also involves all of these elements. I feel that tantric practices include them too. It is said that the five ‘M’s are absolutely essential in tantric rituals. These five ‘M’s, I believe, are liquor, fish, meat, gesture, and sexual union. The term ‘gesture’ has been interpreted as dance, but I don’t think it’s merely dance.
This isn’t the place to deeply discuss this topic. However, those interested can read my book, Software Codes of Mantra, Tantra, Witchcraft, Black Magic, Evil Eye, Evil Tongue, &c.
If we proceed with the assumption that the universe, life, and living beings are the creation and operation of a supernatural software code, then the abilities attributed to witchcraft and similar practices seem plausible.
In Edgar Thurston’s Omens and Superstitions of Southern India, written in the 1800s, many superstitions he noted are no longer considered mere superstitions today. With the advent of computers, the internet, smartphones, and digital technology, much of what was recorded as superstition back then has become everyday reality.
Where do the words chanted by sorcerers resonate? Isn’t it sheer folly to even think about it?
Yet today, people can ask things of Alexa, Siri, or Google Assistant through smartphones. They—or the spirit—will respond as accurately as possible.
However, English pronunciation can be an issue. If pronunciation falters even slightly, these cloud-dwelling spirits may not understand the questions.
[Image: The image is noted to be of the Subrahmanya Yantra in Omens and Superstitions of Southern India.]
In ancient times, it’s said that enemies would knock out the front teeth of known sorcerers. This would cause pronunciation errors when chanting spells, rendering them ineffective.
Some years ago, I was travelling by car in a certain direction. On the return journey at night, I lost my way. My second daughter, Ashwina, immediately turned on the GPS on her smartphone and spoke to it. A supernatural female voice from the GPS clearly instructed the route the car should take. “After moving 100 metres forward, you’ll reach a junction. Turn right from there, and after about half a kilometre, you’ll reach another turn.” And so on.
Similarly, I have personally met someone who received messages in a conversational manner through their ears, as if from some transcendental source, about distant events, past occurrences, ongoing matters, and things yet to come. The ‘yantra’ referred to in witchcraft and other esoteric practices might itself be a kind of image tied to a software code. The remnants of spiritual movements from ancient times, found in artefacts and ruins across the world, could well be the fading fragments of a grand, supernatural software system.
To dismiss omens, signs, numerology, or physiognomy as entirely baseless might be foolish. However, I don’t believe anyone today has knowledge of the inner workings of these supernatural software codes. Remnants of such traditions can be found in South America, Africa, continental Europe, and Asia.
In the South Asian subcontinent, remnants of Vedic culture were discovered by East India Company officials in some Brahmin families. However, beyond these remnants, it doesn’t seem that any Brahmin or anyone else has knowledge of how these supernatural software systems function or the mechanisms required to operate them.
Can seemingly meaningless images possess immense capabilities? The existence of QR codes proves they can.
If interested, try scanning the QR code provided below using your smartphone’s scanner. See which channel the invisible codes within that QR code lead you to.
It’s a fact that what the eyes see, the ears hear, the touch feels, the nose smells, and the tongue tastes introduces powerful codes into the brain’s software. Modern, mundane science likely has no understanding of how far these operations can pull the mind and human personality.
But how can one definitively say there are no senses beyond the five?
Are there colours in the universe that humans have never seen? If so, can humans imagine them today?
In the 1970s, when I lived in Alleppey (Alappuzha), our home had cooking gas—a rarity, available to very few at the time.
Deverkovil was then a remote village at the edge of the world. When I mentioned a fire that burns without smoke and doesn’t blacken earthen pots, no one in Deverkovil believed it.
Is there no limit to telling blatant lies?
Have you not seen a Nataraja idol, with one hand in the abhaya mudra and the other in the danda hasta mudra? Could such mudras have abilities beyond the traditional Hindu (Brahmin) interpretations? It appears that such mudras exist in various traditions worldwide. It seems that shamanistic phenomena also feature many such potent symbols. The serpent coiled around Shiva’s arms—is there some extraordinary indication in that too?
It’s known that mudras are used in worship, fire rituals, and witchcraft.
It may be true that spiritual knowledge has both a commonly understood interpretation and an esoteric one known only to a select few.
It’s understood that even the Holy Qur’an has this duality.
The fish and meat in the five ‘M’s may not be confined to their literal meanings. The same might apply to liquor. It seems that sexual union refers to sexuality. It’s a fact that extraordinarily powerful supernatural software codes operate during sexual activities.
In reality, by activating such codes, transformations related to humans, life, and universal reality might be performed on a transcendental software stage beyond the veil of illusion.
Not only thoughts but also emotions might be shaped by codes pulsing through the brain and some external, invisible, transcendental software system.
It’s my direct experience that the human mind can influence other minds through invisible mechanisms, bringing about emotional changes. However, I have no grasp of the mechanisms behind this or how to control them. Using such boundless, powerful mechanisms with inadequate skill is like trying to drive a heavily loaded commercial vehicle without knowing how to drive. Control is lost. It’s dangerous.
I’ve already discussed various communities in the Malabar region. Just below the Nairs are the Marumakkathayam Thiyyas of North Malabar, a community or religious group.
I’ve heard it said that this group migrated to Malabar from Kazakhstan centuries ago. Alternatively, I recall another claim suggesting they came from ancient Greece.
If they belong to a higher community, it’s natural to wonder how they ended up beneath the Nairs, or Shudras.
The reality is a bit more complex. It seems there’s no inherently inferior community by tradition. Descendants of cannibalistic tribes from African jungles, once they migrated to English-speaking nations, lived with the same mental, physical, and social capabilities as other humans.
As mentioned earlier, in a language with ladder-like word codes, when degraded, individuals or groups get caught in a complex vortex. They spin rapidly, sorted into layers, some clinging upward, others stomped downward, transforming into a stratified community.
Here, I must mention a specific phenomenon.
Some people fall under the control of a higher group.
This higher group can collectively assess and plan how to use and categorise those beneath them. Frankly, for those trapped below, this creates a demonic atmosphere.
However, if the higher group speaks a planar language locally, a different experience becomes possible.
Conversely, if the higher group speaks a feudal language, the demonic experience mentioned earlier becomes the stark reality.
If the overlords speak a feudal language, they view those beneath them as a predator views prey caught in its grasp.
The overlord instinctively understands they can use word-code weapons to wound or diminish their captive, striking as they please.
Some in the subjugated group can be slightly respected, others slightly degraded, and some hacked apart by word codes to maintain order.
This reflects in the overlord’s gaze, words, and body language. No other way is possible. Saying the overlord is a “good person” holds no meaning. It’s like saying a wild beast is a good individual—it doesn’t lie, cares for its wife and children, and ponders profound matters. A “good” wild beast, when hungry, will catch and eat others of a different species.
Feudal languages work the same way. The mental states and reactions of both good and bad individuals are shaped and provoked identically by feudal language codes.
In contrast, if the overlords speak English, things differ. They understand that each word they use can foster capability, communication skills, and personality in those beneath them. They feel that mere word codes can unlock the chains of the dishevelled subordinates. This isn’t because the Englishman is good or bad, but because English, with its planar codes, functions that way.
These points can be used to compare the historical experiences of the Marumakkathayam Thiyyas with those of Syrian Christians, Jews, and others who similarly migrated to Travancore.
To be continued in the next writing.
This translation adheres to your specified rules, including pronoun substitutions (e.g., "This writer" to "I") and other guidelines. Let me know if you need further refinements or additional translations!
It seems one could say that history is taught upside-down today in India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh.
Generally, those who did good for the people are depicted as villains, while those who invaded with malicious intent are portrayed as saints in this subcontinent.
In feudal language societies, no one likes to enter without flaunting some grand superiority. The only exception to this were the English.
During my stays in various parts of this country, I was always aware of this issue. Everyone entering a social setting would, through words, display some grand family legacy, a prominent profession of a family member, a high social position, or the like. They strive to connect with those seated on a locally elevated social pedestal.
Once perched on that high pedestal, everyone below, half-enslaved, becomes subservient to this new group. The newcomer is Adheham (highest he / him), while the subordinate is Avan (lowest he / him).
It seems most languages worldwide carry a feudal undertone.
Today, in Malabar, Tamil Nadu, Karnataka, Travancore, Bombay, Goa, and beyond, various Christian communities can be found. There’s a common assumption they’re all one group, but the reality is quite peculiar. Though it’s said St. Thomas brought Christianity to this subcontinent, each Christian faction has a distinct history.
Syrian Christians have their own unique history.
St. Thomas wasn’t English.
Jesus Christ wasn’t English or European. I don’t know which land he hailed from, but he’s likely of Middle Eastern (Asian) descent.
It seems Christianity is, in essence, a Middle Eastern (Asian) religion. Thus, the social egalitarianism and fraternity it claims aren’t natural traits of Christian communities.
This fact was unknown to the English then and now. In many places where the Union Jack flew, there’s a misconception that Christianity’s natural traits align with English social science.
After St. Thomas, a Christian group called the Manigrammakkar was formed in Travancore, organised by a person from Persia, as noted in the Malabar Manual.
Centuries later, a Christian merchant named Thomas of Cana arrived in Travancore from Syria. Naturally, he would have interacted with the local petty king and others. Thomas of Cana returned to Syria and brought around 400 Christians to Kodungallur. They established a Syrian Christian colony in Travancore. Their leader was Mar Joseph. This group later transformed into the Syrian Christians, it seems.
This historical trajectory is highly complex, and I won’t delve into it here.
However, I’ve mentioned this history to highlight a specific point.
The Syrian Christians who arrived in Travancore were not English but of Asian descent. They likely had a clear understanding of the receive honour- display subservience codes prevalent in feudal language regions.
It’s proclaimed in textbooks that Indian culture showed great tolerance and cooperation toward outsiders. What I’m about to discuss is the unseen side of this narrative. The tradition of Indian tolerance, one could say, involved sharing the native people—bound to the land like impoverished cattle—with incoming groups that flaunted social grandeur.
Upon arriving, the Syrian Christians engaged with a petty king in Travancore and secured a written agreement granting them a social status above the enslaved local populace. This agreement bestowed 72 social privileges upon this Syrian colonial group.
Through this pact, 17 caste groups among Travancore’s traditional inhabitants were assigned as subordinates and slaves to these colonial descendants. The Malabar Manual, written in the late 1800s, notes that this agreement, inscribed on a copper plate, is held by the Syrian bishop and stored in a seminary in Kottayam (see the chapter Collection of Deeds).
However, even before the Syrian trading group secured these privileges from Travancore’s petty kings, Jews had obtained similar rights. They were even granted the privilege of proclaiming their presence when high-caste individuals passed through streets, requiring lower castes to step aside. These proclamations were likely made with harsh words and tones.
They were also entitled to elephants with howdahs, daytime lamps, five types of musical instruments, multicoloured parasols, canopy tents, carpets, and palanquins. In William Logan’s words, such privileges were typically unattainable for any community in this subcontinent. So how did these outsiders secure them?
These copper-plate agreements are recorded as valid as long as the earth and moon endure.
This is the underbelly of the social tolerance and fraternity that trading groups, various spiritual movements (including Jainism and Buddhism), monastic orders, and others seized across this subcontinent.
In history, they are all portrayed as virtuous and respectable.
English traders and other groups, from this perspective, were entirely different. Formal historians likely never even considered this angle. Speakers of languages with planar codes, like English, have no understanding of the social mindset shaped by feudal language systems.
I must discuss my mother’s official persona and life here. This series of writings isn’t intended to attack, accuse, or praise any individuals. However, since this person’s life spanned three distinct historical periods and offers historical insights in various ways, I believe it would be unwise to forgo the opportunity to mention it.
In this writing, I refer to this person not as my mother but simply as an individual. However, due to our long familial bond and my interest in the historical context she represents, I am discussing her here.
For this reason, a documented outline of her life’s journey is provided in this web link. A photograph of her taken in 2014 is also available on that link.
Her name is C. P. Sarojini Devi. In this writing, I refer to her as CPS.
She is 92 years old today. Born in 1927 in Tellicherry (local name: Thalassery), British Malabar, she grew up in a time when English institutions granted lower castes access to highly valuable social and English-language advantages. Back then, Malabar was a district of the Madras Presidency, and Travancore was a foreign state.
In 1947, when Clement Attlee divided British India between Nehru’s and Jinnah’s factions, British Malabar naturally merged into the Hindi dominion. Independent states like Travancore, Kashmir, and Nagaland faced some resistance before being annexed by either Jinnah’s or Nehru’s side. However, with the strength of the British-Indian army, all independent states capitulated, giving birth to Pakistan and India.
Thus, CPS transitioned from British Malabar, the Madras Presidency, and British India to a Malabar merged with Hindi speakers, then to Madras State, and eventually to Kerala, a state within India that subsumed Travancore and other foreign territories.
However, Malabar initially remained part of Madras State. The subsequent years saw a flurry of manipulations driven by the interests of various newly empowered groups.
State formations were set to erase the history of native kingdoms. Different groups had varied agendas, and populations were merged or divided to form new states accordingly.
Two distinct groups in Travancore had a strong interest in annexing Malabar. Each had different goals, but their path was the same: transform Malabar, a district of the Madras Presidency, into part of Travancore, with the administrative centre established in Trivandrum (local name: Thiruvananthapuram).
As these groups pursued their agendas, naïve cultural enthusiasts, unaware of the underlying schemes, advocated on their behalf.
Thus, in 1956, the state of Kerala was formed.
This marks the third phase of CPS’s life experience. These experiences are highlighted because, in her youth, she benefited from the exceptional English education opportunities provided to some lower castes in British Malabar. Leveraging this quality, she secured a position as an officer in the Madras State Civil Service without any caste-based reservations.
Her direct experience as an officer allowed her to witness three distinct administrative cultures.
The first was in the Madras State Civil Service. The second was as a Malabar Cadre officer in Kerala. The third was in Travancore. The first two shared similar administrative cultures with little difference. However, from the perspective of the English administrative culture prevalent in the Madras State Civil Service, Travancore’s Kerala state administrative culture was akin to a cesspool. Everything considered culturally void in the Madras State Civil Service was, in fact, the hallmark of Travancore’s administrative culture.
When discussing CPS, this must also be mentioned. It seems many didn’t know she belonged to the Thiyya community. I’ve heard people say she was a Brahmin woman, a Nair, or a Nambiar. While in Quilon (Kollam) in 1978, after visiting and speaking at another government department office in Trivandrum, I recall an officer there referring to her as “that Anglo-Indian officer in your department” when speaking to someone else.
In and around Deverkovil, where CPS leads her retired life, it seems people only began to faintly realise she is a Thiyya through my references and other sources.
More importantly, her personality isn’t that of a Brahmin, Nair, Nambiar, or Anglo-Indian woman.
Though various personalities can be observed among Thiyyas in Tellicherry, Cannanore, and other parts of North Malabar, it seems two distinct personalities emerged over the past one or two centuries.
In reality, the language codes in this subcontinent can foster two entirely opposing human personalities.
This difference can be seen in the upbringing of those born and raised at the top of familial language codes versus those at the bottom. However, later in life, significant fluctuations in wealth, professional status, or other factors can cause further linguistic deviations. There are many complexities to this, which I won’t delve into now.
I have no knowledge of historical records clarifying where the Marumakkathayam Thiyya community originated before arriving on North Malabar’s coast. In a commentary I wrote on William Logan’s Malabar Manual, I noted that the widely referenced Keralaolpatti may have been written between 1700–1800 with certain ulterior motives.
I don’t know if Keralaolpatti mentions anything about Thiyyas.
Edgar Thurston’s Castes and Tribes of Southern India notes that North Malabar Thiyyas have very fair skin. The same text cites a peculiar claim: Dikshitar Brahmins share the physical traits of Nairs or Thiyyas.
QUOTE: Concerning the Dikshitars, Mr. W. Francis writes as follows:—“...a class of Brahmans peculiar to the town, who are held in far more respect than the generality of the temple-priest Brahmans, are called Dikshitars (those who make oblations), marry only among themselves, and in appearance somewhat resemble the Nairs or Tiyans of Malabar, bringing their topknot round to the front of their foreheads.” END OF QUOTE.
However, such claims are merely perceptions gained through narrow viewpoints. Those traditionally fixed at a specific level of language codes may, over generations, exhibit physical similarities. Some Thiyyas may have managed to maintain a social standing akin to Nairs.
Many other Thiyyas, however, are not “Thiyya” but “Thiyyan” or “Thiyyathi,” held down in a social pit by language codes. They don’t acquire the physical traits of their overseeing groups. There are further complexities here.
For instance, the north Malabar Thiyyas of ancient Greek bloodline did not create 'distance pollution', while the south Malabar Thiyyas of different ethnic origin did create this. Apart from them, the Ezhavas of Travancore did change their caste name to Thiyya once they entered into Malabar.
If fair-skinned Thiyya women are financially and socially elevated, language codes quickly imbue them with an air of nobility. Such women may acquire the physical traits of high-ranking Nairs from earlier times, as the personality granted by language codes is the same for both groups.
However, it doesn’t seem all Nairs maintained a high standard. Moreover, it appears only some Nair women held the status of matriarchs in their households.
Yet, in North Malabar, a significant portion of Thiyyas were labourers, toddy tappers, or similar workers. For them, language codes would have struck like blows.
These are matters of the past. Thinking about them today requires considering many other factors, which I won’t address here.
In Tellicherry and, to some extent, Cannanore, the influence of English rule likely added lustre to economically prosperous Thiyya families. However, another social phenomenon spread in these areas.
Some English officers and others kept socially lower-tier Thiyya women in their homes, and children were born from these unions.
Wealthier Thiyya families spoke of these women with contempt. Children born from such unions were referred to with the derogatory term “Copper,” due to their copper-like skin tone. William Logan writes of them: “In appearance some of the women are almost as fair as Europeans.”
When Edgar Thurston asked a socially elevated Thiyya about these women, the response was typical of this subcontinent’s mindset: “They have no value among us.” It should be understood that Thurston didn’t grasp the nuance. If asked about “her” (lowest), the natural response is, “What value does she have?” But if asked about “him” or “her” (highest), such a response would be harder to give.
The image taken in 1914, is of Nair women. The vast majority of Thiyyas were suppressed by terms like
ഇഞ്ഞി, ഓള്, ഓൻ, ഓള്, എന്താനെ, എന്താളെ, ഐറ്റിങ്ങൾ, തീയൻ, തീയത്തി
inhi (lowest you), olu (lowest she / her), Oan (lowest he / him), yentane, yentale itingal (all perjorative words of address) “Thiyyan,” (servant class Thiyya male) or “Thiyyathi (servant class thiyya female).”
Yet, even among Thiyyas, those of higher standing defined this group in the same way. Language codes have a directional component. Suppression is done with the assurance that the degrader will be honoured.
In discussing CPS, I aim to write about certain aspects of old British Malabar. The intent isn’t to highlight her personal virtues or flaws but to address formal and official matters.
However, some personal details must be mentioned as background, as they are a key factor.
Typically, individuals have a public personality and a private one. For some, these are nearly identical. For others, they differ. In some cases, they stand at opposite extremes.
Beyond this, there’s another reality: individuals speaking feudal languages possess multiple personalities. I don’t recall if this was discussed earlier here. I won’t delve into that now.
Regarding CPS’s personality, I’m not addressing these aspects but rather two language-based personalities.
Born and raised in a Malabari-speaking environment, CPS was later shaped by Malayalam, which gradually overshadowed Malabari. These two languages crafted a distinct personality in her. Though both Malabari and Malayalam are starkly feudal, their word codes function differently in many respects. Nonetheless, together, they instilled a strong feudal social consciousness in her.
However, an opposing personality—180 degrees apart—was forged by the English language proficiency granted to a small group in Tellicherry by English rule.
These two personalities coexisted in her as distinct elements.
In personal life, she primarily used Malayalam, with Malabari playing a minor role.
From close observation, I’ve understood that she could wield these feudal language codes with both razor-sharp cunning and the slyness they confer. This demonic ability isn’t unique to her; I’ve seen it in many who speak feudal languages.
By strategically wielding word codes, one can draw people closer, shatter relationships, elevate a lower-status person to a higher one (or vice versa), subtly convey critical information through minimal words to spark division, conflict, or rivalry, drive someone from one faction to another, instill in a loyal follower the mindset to betray their mentor, or precisely position individuals at different social levels to manipulate or destabilise another. I’ve come to realise that word codes possess a monstrous capacity for such feats.
Truthfully, feudal languages have immense power in this regard. A single word, hint, or insinuation can crush individuals or groups as if struck by a stone block.
Having said this, let’s move to British Malabar. First, I’ll address why the term “British Malabar” is used.
Ancient maritime traders navigating the inland seas were aware of Malabar through hearsay and observation—a distant, wild place in the dark eastern regions where pepper could be sourced. More precise details are needed beyond this.
It appears outsiders had no clear understanding of Malabar’s geographical extent. In reality, Travancore, Cochin, and Canara were not part of Malabar.
When the Dutch arrived in Cochin in 1634–35, they found an English trading post established there. The Dutch promptly ordered the traders to leave, ending English commerce in Cochin.
Consequently, English traders moved to Calicut and set up a trading post in that kingdom, which was recorded as spanning about 66 miles. What became of this venture is unclear.
In Travancore, English trade began in Anjengo (Anchuthengu), a region fraught with challenges. This trading initiative sparked revolutionary social changes, causing great alarm among Nairs. For the first time, a group of traders operated in Travancore without regard for caste distinctions.
When Jews, Syrian Christians, and others arrived, they aligned with higher castes. However, the English trading faction neither aligned with anyone nor acknowledged the hierarchical system prevalent in society, akin to that seen in today’s Indian military. As a result, in 1697, Nairs from nearby areas brutally killed English employees at Anjengo’s trading post. Recently, there’s been a call to declare this event India’s first freedom struggle.
Around 1694, the English East India Company established a trading post (Factory) in Tellicherry, North Malabar.
When writing formal history, the regions surrounding this Factory must be viewed as follows: the Kadathanad kingdom of the Badagara (Vadakara) king, linked to the Kolathiri family of Cannanore (Kannur). The areas up to the banks of the Kavvayi River near Payyannur’s Kavil town were small kingdoms ruled by minor Kolathiri families or others.
Around Tellicherry were Randattara (Randathara/Poyanad), a feudal domain ruled by four Nambiar families; Kottayam, ruled by Puranatt kings; Kurangoth, governed by six Nambiar families and one Nair family; and, within present-day Cannanore town, the tiny dominion of the Azhi kings (recorded in English as Ali Raja, though likely pronounced Azhi Raja).
These are the kingdoms surrounding Tellicherry’s English Factory mentioned here. In these kingdoms, Brahmins held IAS/IPS-equivalent status, royal families were akin to Army Commissioned Officers, and Nairs were at the level of constables or soldiers.
The Nairs’ primary pastime was constant skirmishes with neighbouring kingdoms. Trust was scarce, and travelling beyond one’s territory was highly perilous.
With no proper roads, the most comfortable travel was by sea. However, many coastal kings patronised sea pirates. The Kadathanad king styled himself “Lord of the Sea.” Without his pass, pirates operating near the Kotta River close to Badagara would seize those navigating the seas.
Brahmins feared venturing to sea, as the sea’s overlords were Mukkavas, who showed no respect. When an IPS officer visits a region, local constables might treat them like peers—what could be more terrifying? IPS officers avoid such places, just as Brahmins avoided the sea, citing sacred texts to justify their reluctance.
Yet, when the Union Jack flew over the seven seas, these Vedic injunctions were forgotten. Many Brahmins headed straight to England.
Returning to CPS, she retired as the Inspector General of the Kerala State Registration Department. There are a few things to say about the Registration Department and the Inspector General post, which I’ll address at an appropriate point.
The qualitative personality growth among Tellicherry’s Marumakkathayam Thiyyas wasn’t solely due to securing such a government job, in reality. CPS’s experience may be limited to a handful of individuals.
In William Logan’s Malabar Manual, there are only brief references to Marumakkathayam Thiyyas. Some joined the English East India Company’s Factory in Tellicherry as sepoys. However, most of these soldiers were Nairs. It’s unclear how Nairs endured this, as standing on equal footing with those they socially deemed inferior before the English Company’s arrival was distressing in every way.
Even if individuals work as equals, their relational networks connect to others where one group is subordinate and another superior, creating complex social tensions, especially in feudal language contexts.
Mere words can drag individuals to different social levels, ensnare, or liberate them. For instance, linking CPS to communities traditionally below Malabar’s Nairs evokes a negative perception and valuation, which I’ve mentally noted. I’ve never seen in her any mindset of being from a lower caste or community. Most often, I observed an elevated mental state.
However, this elevated mindset was also seen in a few other Thiyyas in Tellicherry who lived connected to the English language, though they weren’t government employees.
CPS’s grandfather was a retired Police Head Constable. CPS saw him in her childhood and recalls people calling him Kannan ead (Kannan Head Constable). In the evenings, he would sit at home singing praises of “Maharani” Victoria, referring to her as “Amma Maharani (Mother great queen).” His deep reverence for Queen Victoria stemmed from a clear reason.
Centuries ago, when Marumakkathayam Thiyyas, arriving from some ancient Greek land to North Malabar’s coast, displayed their physical prowess, they were relegated to lower-caste status by Hindus (Brahmins), performing manual labour, and thus fell in both language codes and social standing.
Centuries later, after the English Company raised its flag in Tellicherry, some Thiyyas were liberated from social chains akin to being caught in a tiger’s claws. By then, however, they had absorbed the local language culture’s codes, becoming competitive, backstabbing, envious, and resentful toward one another. Such is the mental state fostered by using feudal languages.
The prominent petty kingdom in South Malabar was Calicut, followed by Valluvanad, Palghat, and various feudal domains. The Valluvanad kingdom was ruled by the Vellathiri family, it seems.
Records indicate that Nairs and Marumakkathayam Thiyyas in North Malabar harboured contempt and disgust toward people in South Malabar bearing the same caste names.
Every twelve years, the Mamankam festival was held at the Nava Mukunda Temple in Thirunavaya, featuring brutal, foolish battles where many young men were hacked to pieces and killed.
This folly first ceased when Hyder Ali, a Moroccan ruling Mysore, invaded South Malabar. Later, when Hyder Ali was defeated by the English East India Company and the region came under Company rule, this blood-soaked massacre ended.
For East India Company employees, many practices in both Malabars were unimaginable. For instance, the annual Bharani festival at the Sri Kurumba Temple in Kodungallur, South Malabar. What the Bharani songs were back then is unknown, and whether they were documented is unclear.
It seems this event allowed crude, lustful encroachment—through mind and words—on the concealed parts of high-caste women’s bodies. It was an occasion for the suppressed frustrations of lower castes to surface. (It’s worth considering whether sexual acts and fantasies interact with supernatural software codes operating behind reality.)
English officers found Malabari and Malayalam challenging to grasp, it seems. However, Germans, Irish, Scots, and others who followed the English Company’s path likely faced less linguistic difficulty. English Company officers faced historical issues due to dealing with communities where lying was effortless. They relied on translators, who could easily twist “I told you നിങ്ങളോട് (highest you)” into “I told you നിന്നോട് (lowest you)” when speaking to a local king.
The English East India Company merged South and North Malabar into a single district under the Madras Presidency. This newly created region had no historical antiquity, as everything was novel in every way.
This region introduced written laws, courts, a police system, an egalitarian English administrative mechanism, schools, ports, regulations for ships and boatmen, and more.
A hallmark of English rule was their awareness of downtrodden communities. They felt duty-bound to protect these socially vulnerable people from exploitation by those above. A line in the port regulations from William Logan’s Malabar Manual reflects this: Commanders and officers are particularly requested to abstain from ill-using boatmen or other natives. All complaints will be promptly inquired into.
In a region where loudness, demeaning language, arrogance, and pomp were long considered hallmarks of grand management, leadership, and oversight, executing tasks with precision using only courteous behaviour and written laws was unprecedented in this subcontinent’s myths or historical events. In ancient times, this was deemed a feminine trait. Today, even women rarely exhibit this quality—a topic for another time.
When young English officers and judges from England began working in Malabar, merging South and North, they faced myriad issues. What was a proper custom or social norm in one area was utterly unacceptable in another.
Among their perplexities was the realisation that the so-called Thiyya community was, in reality, two distinct groups. This led to some confounding problems, which I’ll discuss in the next writing.
Last edited by VED on Fri May 02, 2025 11:03 pm, edited 2 times in total.
It might seem that the English East India Company created Malabar District by warring with and subjugating numerous local kings, but that’s not what happened. Indian formal history studies may foster this impression, which could be true. I’ll delve into the actual sequence of events later.
When South and North Malabar were unified, elite families in these regions likely experienced new mental and social shifts. However, for those socially and economically downtrodden, this change likely didn’t immediately alter their mindset significantly.
Places like Tirur, Ponnani, Walluvanad, and Palghat in South Malabar began mingling socially with Tellicherry, Nittoor, Cannanore, and Neeleshwar in North Malabar. Previously, only coastal areas featured in daily conversations about distant regions.
South Malabar Thiyyas, and later Travancore Ezhavas, showed interest in connecting with North Malabar’s Marumakkathayam Thiyyas for a couple of reasons. A key factor seems to be that, overall, people in North Malabar—especially in Tellicherry, Cannanore, Neeleshwar, and Kanhangad—had fairer skin tones at the time. Today, this picture has changed significantly, partly due to the imposition of Travancore’s culture and the subcontinent’s formal education system, which fosters a decline in mental standards, and possibly due to intermingling with Travancore’s people.
Fair skin is indeed seen as a significant value in this subcontinent. However, an even greater value is gaining direct association with communities perceived as higher.
It seems a group arriving in South Malabar from somewhere adopted the name “Thiyya” to forge ties with North Malabar Thiyyas. A parallel trend is noted across the subcontinent by Rev. Samuel Mateer, Edgar Thurston, and others, as I recall.
When groups or families left their native regions for distant lands, they often jumped to the caste just above theirs. Rev. Samuel Mateer, in Native Life in Travancore, records that some very low-caste individuals, trained by the London Missionary Society, identified as Nairs when travelling outside Travancore.
Until recently, I’ve heard of Ezhavas relocating from Travancore to Malabar claiming their caste as Thiyya.
It’s understood that South Malabar Thiyyas generally don’t have notably dark skin. My father, from that region, came from a family with no excessively dark-skinned members, as I recall. Why this group was known as Thiyya remains unclear. However, this misleadingly similar caste name became an issue for North Malabar Thiyya elite families when the English Company established Malabar District.
They soon faced two distinct problems, which I’ll address shortly.
Compared to North Malabar’s Marumakkathayam Thiyyas, South Malabar’s Makkathayam Thiyyas seem to have faced some severe social issues. A key clue is that a portion of those converting to Islam alongside other lower castes in South Malabar were Makkathayam Thiyyas. Whether North Malabar’s Marumakkathayam Thiyyas converted to Islam is unknown; I don’t recall reading about it anywhere.
The clear motivation behind this conversion was likely their socially oppressed state. This event, starting around 1836 in Walluvanad, marked the beginning of repeated attacks by newly converted Mappilas against Hindus (Brahmins) and their Nair enforcers.
Today’s formal, simplistic history portrays this as an anti-British revolt. In reality, it transcends a mere communal riot. Social enslavement and feudal languages, longstanding in this subcontinent, were a cause. However, two other potent historical events opened the gates to this series of attacks.
There’s much to say about Malabar’s Mappilas, but that must wait. They aren’t a single group but comprise various communities. Moreover, North Malabar Mappilas, especially in Tellicherry, Cannanore, and northward, are generally distinct in appearance. Yet, this distinctiveness exists to some degree among Mappilas everywhere.
The residences of Brahmin Nampoothiris are called illam. According to William Logan's Malabar Manual, different communities' residences were referred to in the Malabari language as follows (this is likely the case in Malayalam as well):
A Pariyan lives in a cheri.
A Cheruman lives in a chalayil.
A Kollan, Thattan, Asari, weaver, Thiyyan toddy-tapper, and others live in a pura (or pera) or kudi.
Ambalavasis live in variyam, pisharam, or poomatham.
An ordinary Nair lives in a veedu or bhavanam.
A Nair with social authority lives in an idam.
A king resides in a kovilakam or kottaram.
A local Brahmin lives in an illam.
A high-ranking Nampoothiri lives in a mana or manakkal.
In this feudal language, people were defined in various ways according to their social status. These definitions likely influenced changes in their appearance and demeanour.
The mention of these residence names here is to discuss the term illam. An illam is the residence of Nampoothiris. Such illams likely had structures like four-sided courtyards (nalukettu) and central courtyards (nadumuttam). However, this alone does not reveal the overall plight of the Nampoothiris. It is also likely true that a significant percentage of them lived in isolation from others in agraharas (Brahmin settlements). While these agraharas might have seemed mysterious to lower communities from the outside, the experience within them was likely one of confinement. It may be difficult to immediately grasp that English rule might have granted them freedom.
It is observed that many lower communities used the term illam to suggest a historical connection to Brahmins in ancient times.
In North Malabar, among the Thiyyans, there were said to be eight illam households, as recorded in Edgar Thurston’s Castes and Tribes of Southern India.
Some matrilineal Thiyyans point to this as an indication of their traditional high social standing.
Additionally, they claim that the matrilineal family system, which exists among Nairs, is also present among them. There are other facts about matriliny to discuss, but that can be addressed later.
There is more to say about this illam.
In South Malabar, among the patrilineal Thiyyans, there were also some illams, it is noted.
Similarly, there are indications in Rev. Samuel Mateer’s Native Life in Travancore that some illams existed among the Ezhavas in Travancore.
Furthermore, the same book notes that the term illam was used among the Western Pulayars in Kottayam and among the Mukkavas in Travancore.
As we go further back in history, it can be seen that many communities were suppressed under the oppressive weight of feudal language. Otherwise, no one is inherently inferior, as is understood. Living in a degraded state is indeed a problem. As English rule fades into obscurity, people may once again be categorised according to crude linguistic codes.
The English rule, which illuminated like a rising sun at midnight only to fade away, was experienced in nearly half of this subcontinent.
To return to the path of this writing, let me say this: The English East India Company, which raised its flag in Tellicherry, encountered a community whose places of residence were linguistically categorised in this manner.
On one hand, regions constantly clashed with each other. On the other, within each region, different communities were systematically suppressed. Respect, reverence, and affection were shown to those above who trampled others down. Those writhing below were pierced with sharp verbal codes, torn apart, and divided among themselves.
No one in history has ever managed to change this diabolical mindset. The English East India Company undertook this impossible mission.
When discussing how the formation of the Malabar District affected the matrilineal Thiyyas of North Malabar, one must highlight a specific phenomenon these communities experienced for centuries through linguistic codes. Nampoothiris, royal family members, Ambalavasis, and Nayars were at the top, with Thiyyas just below Nayars, and numerous lower communities beneath them.
Many Ambalavasis, despite performing physical labour for those above them, were closely associated with Brahmins. Thus, they did not experience social inferiority through linguistic codes, which elevated their mental stature.
The experience of various Nayar groups was likely similar.
However, Thiyya families likely had a different collective experience. Some Thiyya families may have been socially and familially elevated. For instance, certain families might have had traditional expertise in medicine or owned land. These families would have secured a high status in linguistic codes. Below them, including other Thiyyas, there would be various groups of workers who upheld these elevated Thiyyas through linguistic codes.
Yet, among Thiyyas, there were traditional occupational groups like toddy-tappers, field labourers, and domestic workers, who were suppressed in linguistic codes. This phenomenon is something English speakers could scarcely comprehend.
Some Thiyya families stood elevated in linguistic codes, particularly in the words of workers beneath them. These Thiyyas exuded a Brahmin-like persona.
Conversely, lower-status Thiyyas faced dual challenges: degradation from higher communities and a sense of equality from even lower castes. These Thiyyas might display distorted or deformed facial expressions, physical traits, and other characteristics typical of lower castes. Thus, Thiyyas existed at two extremes—180 degrees apart—one group sharply elevated, the other sharply degraded.
This is a general observation, as degraded individuals often resort to various antics to escape their condition, such as shouting, revelry, boisterous laughter, excessive enthusiasm, or displays of intellectual prowess.
The key point here is that the duplicity of linguistic codes created the impression, reinforced by historical records, that matrilineal Thiyyas were distinctly divided into two groups.
On one hand, there were Thiyyas who seemed akin to Nayars—or even superior. On the other, there were those perceived as utterly deformed, lacking general knowledge, and engaged in tasks defined as menial by feudal linguistic codes.
It was truly linguistic codes that horizontally divided the Thiyya community. Higher-status Thiyyas clung upward in demeanour, speech, and references to relationships. They found it difficult to acknowledge lower Thiyyas as part of their own community. One way this was expressed in conversation was: “I am a Thiyya, but that other one is a Thiyyan.” Another observed method was that socially and economically elevated Thiyyas, living among inland Thiyyans, claimed to be Vaishyas, implying they were not Thiyyans.
The social freedom brought by English rule in Tellicherry indeed uplifted the mental state of some lower Thiyya families. However, it seems that those Thiyyas with social prominence were the ones unsettled by this development. The realisation that English rule was loosening the traditional reins and nose-ropes binding their own community members was perceived as dangerous.
To be frank, English officials, who earnestly strove to bring order and cleanliness to society, failed to grasp the true state of affairs. The emotional turmoil, envy, cunning, strategic manoeuvres, pretences of friendship to ensnare others, and the ability to crush someone with mere words—woven into feudal linguistic codes—were beyond their imagination.
Reading the broad-hearted writings of English officials from that era reveals they had little understanding of the cunning in this subcontinent. They did not even discern who was a friend or foe.
When discussing how the English East India Company’s unification of various small regions in North and South Malabar to form the Malabar District mentally affected the matrilineal Thiyyas of North Malabar, it must be understood that this issue primarily concerned the higher-status Thiyya families. Those Thiyyas degraded in linguistic codes, standing 180 degrees vertically below as wage labourers, would hardly have the mental capacity to worry about such matters.
A related anecdote comes to mind, shared with me by a person from a village some years ago. He said, “For a labourer at the bottom, nothing matters. Tomorrow’s wages and immediate problems are all he can think about. That’s his daily reality.”
That feudal languages collectively foster social discord is another matter. Feudal languages are not suited for contemplating social issues, but I won’t delve into that now.
When Calicut, Valluvanad, Palghat, and other regions beyond the Korapuzha River were merged with North Malabar, the people of North Malabar were connected with communities they had long been distant from. To a small extent, matrilineal Thiyyas and patrilineal Thiyyas began interacting. It is understood that economically prominent families even started forming marital alliances.
However, this led to significant complications in inheritance laws. The English Company administration was establishing courts and drafting written laws for their use during this period.
In a region with no historical precedent for such matters, introducing written laws often increased complexities rather than reducing them. This was significantly reinforced by the cessation of daily warfare, killings, atrocities, invasions, abductions, and acts like dragging sleeping women out of isolated thatched huts by their feet at night. People began to live peaceful social lives, and social laws started gaining strength over physical force.
When marital alliances occurred between matrilineal Thiyyas of North Malabar and patrilineal Thiyyas of South Malabar, what inheritance rights would their children have?
In North Malabar, property is inherited by the children of daughters. In South Malabar, family property is inherited by the children of sons.
Thus, if a matrilineal Thiyya man from North Malabar married a Thiyya woman from South Malabar, their children would inherit no property from either side. Conversely, if the marriage was the other way around, the children could inherit family property from both sides.
It seems the English courts struggled to determine how to administer justice clearly in such cases.
In Malabar Law and Custom by Lewis Moore of the Indian Civil Service, a small indication of these anxieties is evident. In Chathunni v. Sankaran, involving Thiyyas from North Malabar, the Madras High Court (Chief Justice Turner and Justice Hutchins) ruled that when a woman from a Malabar tarwad governed by Marumakkathayam Law has children with a man governed by Makkathayam Law, those children are prima facie entitled to their father’s property under Makkathayam Law and their mother’s tarwad property under Marumakkathayam Law.
This issue would only arise among property-owning Thiyya families, not among lower-status wage-labourer Thiyyas.
The above is a legal matter. However, another non-legal, social definitional issue caused greater distress to higher-status matrilineal Thiyya families. That will be addressed in the next piece.
The referenced court ruling mentioning Thiyya tarwads also serves as evidence of another point: there were socially elevated, land-owning Thiyya families. There are related matters to discuss, but I won’t delve into them now. If I did, it might lead down another path, making it impossible to return to the original track of this writing.
Historically and traditionally, Marumakkathayam Thiyars began associating with groups of people with whom they had no connection, coinciding with the formation of the Malabar District.
Two distinct groups were introduced on an equal footing with the Marumakkathayam Thiyars. One was the Makkathayam Thiyars of South Malabar, and the other was the Ezhavas of Travancore. These two groups shared one common trait: both followed the Makkathayam family system.
However, the reason these two groups were linked with the Marumakkathayam Thiyars was that, among all three, there were agricultural workers, including coconut tree climbers and toddy tappers.
Basing the association on the occupational similarities among the lower strata of society, and viewing the upper echelons of society as a single group, was something the higher-status families among the Marumakkathayam Thiyars could neither agree with nor tolerate.
The highly skilled occupation of coconut tree climbing was demeaned solely due to the distortions of feudal languages. In English, it would indeed be challenging to degrade such occupations.
The coconut tree climbing practised by Ezhava climbers was not the same as that in North Malabar in earlier times. I am not entirely certain how it is done today. In Travancore, when Ezhavas climbed coconut trees, they would tie a rope (kayar) loop (in Malabari: choodi) around their feet. One hand would pull on the tree above, while the other pressed against the tree below to ascend.
In North Malabar, climbers used rope loops around both feet and hands, employing an entirely different technique. Moreover, they often used a bamboo ladder (Malayalam: eNi). I am unaware if such a bamboo ladder was used for coconut climbing in Travancore.
In Travancore, I observed an arrangement where steps were carved into the coconut tree trunk. This practice does not seem to have existed in Malabar.
I, this writer, had considerable skill in climbing very tall coconut trees about 40 years ago. Today, even thinking about it seems impossible.
It was when Calicut (Kozhikode) was made the headquarters of the Malabar District that the Marumakkathayam Thiyars felt a significant betrayal in their social standing.
In the region under the Samoothiri, the petty king of Kozhikode, when records were made by the Samoothiri, Brahmins, or Nayars regarding landowners, the Thiyars were increasingly documented as Ezhavas. By then, a small number of Ezhava labourers had begun arriving in North Malabar, many of whom were likely skilled in coconut tree climbing.
Such references were not palatable to the elite families among the Marumakkathayam Thiyars, as documented. The underlying reasons for this discontent are as follows:
Firstly, the Ezhavas who migrated to North Malabar were unlikely from the higher-status Ezhava families of Travancore. Instead, they were probably from the lower strata, oppressed by caste-based discrimination. Being equated with these incoming low-wage labourers was the primary issue.
Secondly, there emerged a social need among Nayars and other upper castes to suppress the Marumakkathayam Thiyars socially. This was because the social authority of Brahmins and petty kings was waning. The ignorant English overlords, who knew nothing of caste regulations or the associated social hierarchies and demeaning language codes, were now in power. Under their rule, the lower castes might begin to assert themselves.
When Brahmins and Nayars assembled in Calicut were asked whether Thiyars could be included among the Shudras (the Nayar caste group), they avoided a clear answer, as suggested by a record in William Logan’s Malabar Manual:
QUOTE: Upon asking a number of Brahmans and Nayars assembled at Calicut whether Tiyars were included among the Sudras of the Sastra, they professed ignorance and said they must refer to the Sastra. END OF QUOTE.
CPS, recalls that her grandfather (father’s father), Mr. Kannan, served as a Head Constable at the Vythiri Police Station. On his days off, when he visited home, he would, in the evenings, perform Kathakali and other acts he had crafted himself, as a pastime. He would sing songs praising Queen Victoria, referring to her as the "Great Queen."
In Tellicherry, there was a large group of people with an excessive fondness and affection for English movements, alongside a small number of government employees. Everyone began to sense a divine light, comfort, and peace prevailing in society.
CPS recalls that Mr. Kannan was widely known to be very honest. However, it seems there was a significant naivety in his admiration for Queen Victoria.
The English East India Company had governed nearly half of this subcontinent through a massive fraudulent manoeuvre, which Queen Victoria’s royal family exploited to seize control. This grand deception is now known by various names, such as the First Indian War of Independence, the Sepoy Mutiny, or Shipai Mutiny—a small-scale event that occurred in the northeast of the subcontinent. Though small, it was an episode where local petty kings and feudal lords displayed extreme brutality. This event will need to be elaborated on later.
For centuries, many communities in this subcontinent, oppressed by various petty kings and landlords, were liberated by the English East India Company, which also provided them with vast knowledge and the English language. Had their rule continued, the oppressed communities of this subcontinent would have risen, free from social suppression, both mentally and physically.
Queen Victoria’s British royal family’s seizure of power from the English East India Company adversely affected the interests of the enslaved communities of this subcontinent. Viewed in this light, the admiration of people like Mr. Kannan was misguided.
The British royal family, upon taking over and analysing the situation, concluded that the Sepoy Mutiny was caused by the English East India Company’s failure to respect local petty kings. This is a somewhat complex matter. The English East India Company had provided pensions to numerous royal families and feudal landlords. In a society that speaks a feudal language, when the financial power of the socially elite wanes, they may find themselves unable to even step into the streets. If others learn of their financial weakness, a royal family member might immediately face derogatory terms like "you," "he," "she," "oi lad," or "oi lass."
The magnanimous practice of pensions was abolished, leaving many royal families in ruin, around the late 1960s, by the then-Indian Prime Minister. This was done as a fraudulent tactic to counter an impending election defeat. I am unaware of what happened in Pakistan.
With the British royal family assuming power, it could be said that they restored the titles and privileges of all petty kings in this peninsula, though they did not return governance to them.
This change once again adversely affected the progress of lower communities. During the English East India Company’s rule, only English officials held legal authority above the lower communities. Being under their command offered the greatest opportunities for personal development in the world. This was because they were unaware of degrading terms for "you," "your," "yours," "he," "his," "him," "she," "her," "hers," "they," "their," "them," or other hierarchical verb forms. In contrast, everyone in this subcontinent wields the linguistic power to suppress individuals and groups with a mere "inhi" (lowest "you").
As Queen Victoria’s rule was still English governance, the situation was not entirely adverse. However, petty kings and other financially elite individuals began sending their descendants to England. Furthermore, this trend extended to independent petty kingdoms outside British India. M.K. Gandhi, the son of a prime minister of the Porbandar kingdom, arrived in England through this route.
It is quite amusing that even formal historians have failed to note that M.K. Gandhi was not a British-Indian citizen. One must deduce from fabricated formal history that Gandhi waged a freedom struggle in a foreign land.
There was a reference and definition regarding such individuals in Adolf Hitler’s Mein Kampf. I will discuss this later.
When discussing matters in British Malabar after 1900, a couple of points must be kept in mind. By 1858, Queen Victoria’s administration directly took over India (British India), implementing various administrative changes. These decisions were often made from England, viewed through the lens of England’s egalitarian language codes. Consequently, the deep understanding of this subcontinent, which English East India Company officials possessed, was not fully reflected in these decisions.
What the academically informed but misguided intellectuals in England failed to grasp was that the petty kings, minor emperors, their families, and various wealthy elites rushing to England from this subcontinent had no inclination to protect the interests of the billions of people here. Their sole intent was to suppress the masses using feudal language codes, demanding immense respect from them.
These misguided intellectuals in England attempted to impose the concept of democracy on this subcontinent. This, in reality, undermined the efficiency of English officials. Nevertheless, from 1909, cabinets led by locals emerged in the three presidencies of British India.
As a result, in the Indian (British Indian) territories of this subcontinent, petty kings, feudal landlords, upper-caste individuals, and others transformed into great public leaders, revolutionary figures, and the like. Everywhere, there were grand ideological debates. Everyone wanted to reform the people, become a minister, visit England, and ensure the public knew of their travels. The masses, upon learning this, were expected to be awestruck and raise their respect to the heavens.
Yet, there is no historical evidence of anyone striving to liberate individuals from the clutches of degrading terms like “thoo,” “inhi,” or “nee,” which, like the claws of a wild beast, gripped those under these great figures. All progress, according to these revered leaders’ obstinate mindset, had to occur within the confines of these claw-like wounds.
Despite this, from 1909 to 1947, the cabinets led by local chief ministers in British India generally maintained a high standard. Corruption was virtually unthinkable.
Even so, local politicians constantly stirred up various commotions to capture public attention. This was because the language was feudal. The individual at the centre of the masses was the leader, the one claiming superior linguistic codes. If they stepped slightly away from this central position, the public’s perception could shift, reducing them from “respected” to “you,” or even “thoo,” in an instant.
This reality, then and now, remains unknown to England’s academic intellectuals. Even today, securing a photograph at the forefront of a marching procession, standing proudly in the centre with chest puffed out, is worth its weight in gold. Such an image can elevate the individual’s status in the minds of viewers, according to the hierarchical language codes.
Many individuals, recognising this deception early on, not only from this subcontinent but also from England, orchestrated photographs to be taken and circulated back home. Over time, these individuals secured places in India’s national history as great figures, patriots, and revered leaders in textbooks and media.
This was the state of affairs in India (British India). Meanwhile, in the petty kingdoms adjacent to British India, things were quite different. In almost every kingdom, there was a thoroughly corrupt class of officials.
The kings and senior officials of these kingdoms claimed close ties with British India. However, they could maintain connections with England and gain entry to English clubs and similar spaces in the subcontinent.
These landlord classes, steeped in pure feudal language codes, attempted to infiltrate the private spaces of the English and spread their local attitudes. This likely fostered resentment among English circles. These cunning individuals cleverly misrepresented this resentment in textbooks as English racial discrimination. Yet, they never hint at the fact that their own language codes can degrade humans and animals alike, casting them into the abyss. Of course, they are great souls, positioned divinely in the hierarchy of linguistic codes.
However, no one can be entirely blamed. Not only the landlord classes but also the lower communities, gripped by their beastly claws, share the same linguistic mindset. If a person or animal falls into their hands, it’s not just claws but nails hammered in, shattering their dignity.
The greatest issue is that the English, who ruled nearly half of this subcontinent, lacked profound awareness of this terrifying social reality. Some English officials made observations about this, but others dismissed them as delusions stemming from a superiority complex.
The truth is this: the most powerful, invisible influence in these societies is the respect, degradation, servitude, and entitlement conveyed through language codes. A single word can elevate a person to the heavens or cast them onto the sharp stakes lurking in the dark depths of social hierarchy. From an English perspective, this is a magical ability akin to sorcery. For ages, everyone in this region has wielded this manipulative power in their own way while simultaneously fearing its use by others.
This fear-driven mindset has shaped and rewritten every historical event in this subcontinent. It may even have provoked Sultan Tipu (Tipu Sultan) to leave the safety of his homeland and wage battles across the southern regions. Investigating this could reveal that this very dynamic was the catalyst. The same applies to other kings.
The name Kannan is considered by some today to be an alias of Lord Krishna, a divine incarnation in Brahmanism. However, there is doubt as to whether Kannan is truly a name rooted in Brahmanism. Regarding matters in Travancore, Rev. Samuel Mateer records the following in his Native Life in Travancore:
QUOTE: As a rule, the names of individuals among this hill tribe are not Hindu; they severally signify some peculiarity, as Kannan — “the eyed one”; Pottan — “the deaf one”; Thadian — “the fat one,” for men: and for females, Madura — “the sweet one”; Shangam, and also Ponna, “the golden one”; Chakra — “the sugar one.”
When discussing this topic with someone yesterday, it emerged that the name Kannan is not found among Brahmins.
Thus, as Rev. Samuel Mateer suggests, the name Kannan can be considered non-Hindu.
This point is mentioned here to clarify the social standing of CPS's grandfather. His wife’s name was Cheeru, a name clearly among those passed down for centuries among Marumakkathayam Thiyars. If we could trace where such names migrated to North Malabar from, it might be possible to identify the ancestral homeland of the Marumakkathayam Thiyars.
In Tellicherry, it seems their traditional deity was Muthappan. There was no entry to Hindu (Brahman) temples or similar places. Nevertheless, as a community perceived as subordinate, it is only natural that they felt an attraction to Brahman places of worship. It is said that at the Thiruvangad Sri Ramaswamy Temple, about one kilometre east of Vadikkal in Tellicherry, Thiyars would stand outside to offer tender coconut water for the Ilaneerattam ritual, as they were not permitted entry.
Mr. Kannan’s son was named Govindan, who is CPS’s father. It is uncertain whether this name was traditionally used by Marumakkathayam Thiyars. Likewise, it is unclear whether it is a name rooted in ancient Brahmanism.
With the raising of the English flag in Tellicherry, many social barriers began to blur. Some Thiyars, newly rising socially, may have developed a slight disdain or disgust toward their traditional practices. Personal names began shifting toward those associated with Brahmanism, Vedic times, and other Hindu traditions. Brahmins were powerless to prevent this.
Govindan grew up in a markedly different social environment. Some Marumakkathayam Thiyars had acquired English education. Some had entered government service, ranging from the lowest ranks to high positions such as Deputy Collector of Malabar District, senior officers in the British Indian Railways, officers in the Imperial Civil Service (ICS), and more. Families of those who rose likely benefited from this ascent.
However, not all Thiyars experienced significant social change. This is because the languages—Malabari, with its profoundly feudal character, and Malayalam, an invasive language—are steeped in hierarchy. These languages create intense mental distress when another rises. The notion that someone from a lower status could rise to one’s level is encoded as intolerable anxiety in the words of feudal languages.
Mr. Kannan, who showed respect, affection, and devotion to English movements, raised Govindan, who grew up entirely opposed to them. This individual is known to have been profoundly honest in life. However, the core of this honesty was evidently rooted in a naïve perspective.
It is also evident that Govindan held clear contempt for Muthappan. Muthappan temples are distinctly associated with subordinate communities. In contrast, Brahman movements, from a local perspective, project individuals with great stature.
It must be noted here that English rule appears to have strongly supported the Muthappan worship tradition. This will be addressed later.
During CPS’s childhood, the notion that Marumakkathayam Thiyars were Hindus had grown, fostered by the efforts of English rulers and upper-caste groups. Many European writers understood that all communities in this subcontinent, except Muslims and Christians, were Hindus, subordinated in various hierarchies under Brahmins.
However, Marumakkathayam Thiyars had no access to Hindu temples. It seems that numerous conspiracies and covert activities were linked to this issue. With the formation of Malabar District and the unification of numerous petty kingdoms in North and South Malabar, various social possibilities likely dawned on those at the top, both socially and in government employment.
It appears that the English, who were redesigning social and administrative systems, had little to no understanding of the local communities’ cunning mentalities. Their straightforward, “live and let live” approach could not even touch the complex rivalries and hierarchical dynamics unfolding among the stratified communities.
Amid these complexities came the arrival of lower-caste individuals from Travancore, who had escaped in various ways to Malabar. Among them, the Ezhavas were considered higher in caste. However, it seems they lacked clear social or spiritual leadership.
Though they later claimed to be Hindus and were recognised as such, they, too, were denied entry to Hindu temples.
Another significant group was the lower-caste individuals in Travancore, converted to Christianity by London Missionary Society missionaries, who provided them with extensive education and knowledge. As lower castes, they could not even step onto the streets in Travancore. But in Malabar, vast opportunities opened up for them. It seems the network of their own Christian churches and the presence of figures like Hermann Gundert provided strong support.
There is much to say about all this.
This was the social environment in which CPS’s father, Govindan, grew up. It must be assumed that he had no knowledge of Tellicherry before his birth. His mind held the new idea that he was an Indian. It’s likely he had little clear understanding of where this “India” began or ended. There is much to say about this, too.
Though he considered himself a Hindu, CPS recalls Govindan clearly expressing displeasure when a Namboodiri acquaintance displayed a patronising attitude during a conversation. Under English rule, there was no need to fear a Namboodiri.
Govindan had no regard for Muthappan. CPS recalls that, at the time, ordinary people in Malabar had little knowledge of Sabarimala, which today sparks great controversy. She says it was only in 1970, when Govindan went to Travancore as a Sub-Registrar in Alleppey, that he first heard of Lord Ayyappa.
It’s possible that Ezhavas who migrated to Malabar spread knowledge of the Ayyappa temple. However, it’s unclear whether Ezhavas had any significant connection to Ayyappa devotion.
In Native Life in Travancore (page 200) by Rev. Samuel Mateer, the details about Ayyappa worship differ significantly from what is believed today.
Ayyappa is the deity of the Mala Arayans. In cases of severe illness, Mala Arayans might occasionally worship Hindu gods. However, their belief is that their own deity (Ayyappa) is fully equal in power and capability to Hindu gods.
QUOTE: It has been observed that in cases of sickness sometimes Arayans will make offerings to a Hindu god, and that they attend the great feasts occasionally; but in no case do they believe that they are under any obligation to do so, their own spirits being considered fully equal to the Hindu gods. END OF QUOTE
QUOTE: Talanani was a priest or oracle revealer of the hunting deity, Ayyappa, whose chief shrine is in Savarimala, a hill among the Travancore Ghats. The duty of Talanani was to deck himself out, as already described in this book, in his sword, bangles, beads, &c., and highly frenzied with excitement and strong drink, dance in a convulsive horrid fashion before his idols, and reveal in unearthly shrieks what the god had decreed on any particular matter. He belonged to the Hill Arayan village of Erumapara (the rock of the she-buffalo), some eight or nine miles from Melkavu, and was most devoted to his idolatry, and rather remarkable in his peculiar way of showing his zeal. END OF QUOTE
Talanani (transliteration uncertain) was the oracle priest of the Mala Arayans. It is also written that Talanani was murdered by Chovvans from a neighbouring village. This individual reportedly performed certain miraculous acts.
It is noted that they also referred to Ayyappa as Shasta.
It is further written that all of Talanani’s descendants became Christians through the work of Rev. Henry Baker.
QUOTE: All the descendants of Talanani are Christians, the results of the Rev. Henry Baker’s work. The last heir who was in possession of the idol, sword, bangle, beads, and wand of the sorcerer, handed them over to the Rev. W.J. Richards in 1881, when he had charge for a time of Melkavu. END OF QUOTE
When discussing the Mala Arayans, it’s necessary to mention Kadamattathu Kathanar, a legendary figure among Travancore’s Syriac Christians. I recall reading somewhere that Kadamattathu Kathanar was trained in mystical abilities by the Mala Arayans.
It is also written that, in Travancore, the Mala Arayans were officially regarded as being on the same social level as Jews and Muslims.
It is unknown when the Mala Arayans’ place of worship, nestled in the mist-covered peaks of the Sahyadri Mountains, became a Hindu temple. No such information appears in Native Life in Travancore, published in 1883. Instead, it states that the Mala Arayans were not Hindus.
This may hold true for many communities in this subcontinent. It seems that, starting in the 1930s, for the first time in history, communities unrelated to Brahmins gained access to Brahman temples. This likely led to a decline and dilution of the rituals preserved in Brahman temples for over a thousand years.
At the same time, it seems some lower-caste individuals abandoned their traditional deities and began following Brahman gods.
I recall someone saying, with slight sorrow, that in many Marumakkathayam Thiyar households in Tellicherry and Cannanore, images of Hindu deities have replaced those of Muthappan.
CPS recalls that her father, Govindan, and her grandfather, Mr. Kannan, were both tall and well-built, with no stoop at the neck. It seems Mr. Kannan worked mostly in Wynad. He had only one son and no daughters.
While working in Wynad, his son Govindan lived in the family home in Tellicherry. Due to English rule, he received an education. CPS recalls that Govindan had a decent proficiency in English.
Mr. Kannan and his wife resided in Wynad. It is clear that Govindan grew up in Tellicherry under the influence of different ideologies. However, it is also evident that the family possessed a social prestige that was not traditionally theirs. It’s unlikely that Govindan ever reflected on how this social elevation occurred or its causes.
This phenomenon is still observed in many communities today. For example, in Deverkovil, mansions now stand in many directions. The word "mansion" corresponds to Malayalam terms like kottaram, harmyam, saudham, rajamandiram, and aramana.
However, looking back 30 years or so, this area was largely uninhabited. Apart from a few tiled houses, most human dwellings were thatched huts or shacks. If you trace the family histories of many people now living in these grand residences, their paths often converge in such humble abodes. This is the reality in many parts of present-day Kerala. Yet, those residing in these palatial homes today cannot independently conceive of this truth.
A similar reality unfolds in modern England. An individual of pure English blood, born in England today, grows up seeing a society filled with diverse communities—continental Europeans, Asians, Africans, Arabs, South Americans, and others. Imagining an England without these groups is beyond their ability.
In Malabar, people of varying traditional statuses lived in places like cheri, chaala, pura, variyam, pisharam, poomatham, veedu, bhavanam, idam, kovilakam, kottaram, illam, mana, and manakkal. However, the desire of those newly acquiring wealth to build palaces for residence reflects the influence of feudal language codes. This will be discussed later.
Much of the social degradation traditionally experienced by Marumakkathayam Thiyars no longer applied to those in Tellicherry who aligned with English movements. Many began engaging in various new occupations. In reality, they experienced no form of servitude or oppression from the English. However, they constantly faced rivalry, cunning tactics, and verbal jabs through language codes from each other, lower castes, and upper castes.
When a Thiyar or Thiyan individual visited Nair households, even the children there would address them by their mere names, using “inhi” (lowest you). They would be defined with terms like “oan” (lowest he), “olu” (lowest she), “oruthan” (some fellow), “oruthi” (some woman), “chekkad” (lad), or “pennu” (lowest girl). A Thiyar/Thiyan visiting such a household, sullied by their presence, would have to stand humbly, their status dictated by their family’s social ups and downs. Typically, a Thiyan would wear a towel, with their torso bare. The same applied to women. A woman displaying a bare chest was not an issue then. However, enduring terms like “inhi (lowest you),” “inde” (lowest your), “olu,” “enthaale,” “enthadi,” “pennu,” along with being addressed by their mere name, while standing bare-chested, would melt the individual’s dignity. It would stain their soul.
The arrival of affordable fabrics from England allowed lower castes to use high-quality clothing. Below is an image of a woman from the Thiyar lineage.
I have seen some elderly individuals in Malayalam and Malabari societies addressed by younger people with “inhi” (lowest you), “nee” (lowest you), or their mere names, and their dignity appears visibly shattered. This is, in reality, a profound issue. Many who perform the lowest jobs in the Indian government today define the ordinary Indian citizen in this manner. One can only ponder the level of dignity an ordinary Indian citizen possesses.
A version of this phenomenon is unfolding in English-speaking nations today. Immigrants from foreign lands are similarly eroding the dignity of native English people. The English, however, do not grasp the severity of this situation because they do not understand these immigrants’ languages. Yet, nefarious entities like the Bombay Film World are investing heavily to influence governments in some English nations to teach Hindi in schools. The opposing side fails to comprehend the terrifying consequences of this.
If a lower-caste individual stands before a Nair, a royal, or a Namboodiri without displaying subservience or deference in body language, they would face severe consequences. This was a social reality. It remains the reality in Malayalam and Malabari societies today. The upper castes today are government office workers. If a lower-caste commercial vehicle worker stands upright in a police station and addresses a policeman with “ningal” (you, respectful), the station’s atmosphere could turn explosive, as if a firecracker had burst in their face.
In Kottayam, just a few kilometres from Tellicherry, there is a historical account of Pazhassi Raja shooting a man through the body after noticing something amiss in his body language while he was offering tribute and leaving.
In Tellicherry, many Thiyar/Thiyan families aligned with English movements began to escape the aforementioned erosion of dignity. Women started wearing highly fashionable clothing. Some men wore English-style clothes, and a few even donned hats. Many spoke English.
This social ease is what Govindan experienced and grew up with.
However, it never occurred to Govindan that behind the creation of this social environment was a vast societal mechanism, driven and propelled by the momentum of the English administrative system and the presence of the English, which redirected negative tendencies toward positive outcomes.
While studying for his Intermediate (equivalent to today’s 11th standard), Govindan, without informing his parents, bought a colt (a young horse). His parents, living in Vythiri, learned of this only later. It seems that back then, travelling from Vythiri to Tellicherry took at least a week. Travel was done by boarding bullock carts carrying trade goods.
The route likely included Vythiri, Kalpetta, Panamaram, Manantody (Mananthavady), Thalappuzha, Nedumpoyil, Kannavam, and Koothuparamba. These were mostly rugged paths. Wayanad was dense forest. Yet, long-distance travel had become safe. This was due to police stations led by inspectors well-versed in English, scattered across various regions. English-speaking police inspectors are now a rarity, almost unimaginable. Only by experiencing the excellence, civility, and efficiency of such a police system can one truly understand it. However, the weakness in this system lay in the police constables and the general public, who did not speak English.
Learning that their only 15- or 16-year-old son had bought a colt and begun riding it caused great anxiety for his parents. Just a few decades earlier, horses and palanquins were modes of transport reserved exclusively for royal and landlord families. The fact that a Marumakkathayam Thiyar could purchase and use one was a remarkable societal change, yet it seems no one took notice of this.
If one can imagine the worry of parents learning that their only 15-year-old son, without their knowledge, bought a motorbike and races daily through crowded streets at lightning speed, one can understand the mental strain this caused for the Kannan-Cheeru couple when Govindan bought a colt and galloped through Tellicherry’s streets. They traversed forests and hills to return to Tellicherry. They decided to withdraw Govindan from his studies and train him in trade.
This, too, reflects rays of societal change. A Marumakkathayam Thiyar was set to learn commerce—a notion unthinkable decades earlier.
Another point is that learning trade did not mean pursuing time-wasting programs like a BBA or MBA. The plan was to dive directly into business and learn through practice. It is unknown whether any Marumakkathayam Thiyars were engaged in large-scale commerce at the time. Nevertheless, in Tellicherry, the presence and cooperation of the English provided impetus and technical knowledge for two major commercial ventures: the circus and the bakery industry. It is known that Marumakkathayam Thiyar families built significant enterprises in both. Whether any of these individuals ever expressed gratitude or obligation to the English administration, which created these social opportunities, is uncertain.
Mr. Kannan, along with his wife, returned to Tellicherry. They took their son to Calicut and enrolled him in a Maharashtrian textile wholesale business. The proprietors trained Govindan in trade and later transferred him to Maharashtra. This significantly broadened his mental horizons. After some time there, with the strong backing of the wholesaler, Govindan opened a prominent textile showroom in Tellicherry, near where the police station stands today, with two long rooms. This is drawn from his life story.
However, by discussing the events behind this story, we can also glimpse history.
It was likely while Govindan was in Bombay or elsewhere that he directly engaged with Gandhi and his followers’ political plans. Listening to Sarojini Naidu’s speech left Govindan exhilarated.
Many financially prominent individuals from this peninsula then went to England for education. Upon arriving, the peninsula seemed trivial. It was natural for them to think that if insignificant Englishmen, addressed merely by name, could govern half this peninsula, they could rule and manage it far more easily.
Today, a similar mindset exists in an MP who studied and grew up in America. This individual holds the same view. In reality, however, they cannot navigate India or Pakistan as casually as they do in English-speaking nations. They cannot even enter a village office, let alone a police station, and address officials with “ningal” (you, middle-level) to get things done without flaunting hollow grandeur. Yet, such individuals boast on YouTube and elsewhere from foreign lands, claiming they can govern India and lead it to excellence.
Sarojini Naidu also studied in England (at Cambridge). Her father studied at Edinburgh University. Those returning from England then came with grand plans. Their dream was to organise the peninsula’s people and establish a new nation with themselves as leaders.
Though Sarojini Naidu was a Bengali, after marriage, she was a subject of Hyderabad State. Gandhi, whom she declared a leader, was a subject of Porbandar State, the son of its prime minister.
It must be clearly stated that neither of these individuals was a citizen of British India. Moreover, while they attempted to organise British India’s people under their leadership, the three presidencies were governed by elected cabinets under a democratic system, not by the English.
Now, regarding Govindan. He was from Tellicherry. A few decades before his birth, it is doubtful whether Marumakkathayam Thiyars could travel even a few miles beyond Tellicherry. Moreover, travel was unsafe for Nairs, royals, and Namboodiris. Namboodiris avoided sea travel, fearing disrespect from Mukkavas. However, if Nairs or royals travelled by sea and wished to pass Badagara’s (Vadakara) coast, they needed a pass from the Kadathanad Maharaja’s thatched palace. Otherwise, Marakkars at Kottakkal would seize the ship, divide the spoils, and share a portion with the Badagara Maharaja.
Dharmadom Fort, just north of Tellicherry, was often under the control of Cannanore’s Azhi Rajas. To the east of Tellicherry lay the jurisdiction of the Kottayam Maharaja.
In Tellicherry, a place like a birdcage, the English East India Company created a social environment where not only Govindan’s parents but even Namboodiri families could safely walk public streets. Govindan had no awareness of this.
This Tellicherry youth declared as his leader a subject from Porbandar State, beyond British India. Furthermore, his exhilaration came from the speech of a woman from Hyderabad State, also outside British India. What these two shared was, first, that both belonged to wealthy feudal landlord classes. It was the English East India Company that saved Govindan and the masses from the strangling grip of such landlord classes. The individuals from Porbandar and Hyderabad had no connection to these developments. Their only link was that both studied in England—the second thing they had in common.
A misconception in England was that the entire peninsula was under British rule.
There was a general assumption in Europe and Britain that those migrating or travelling from the South Asian peninsula to England or continental Europe came from “India.” However, these individuals were either from one of the three presidencies of British India or from princely states outside British India. Neither, in reality, constitutes the “India” assumed today (which includes present-day Pakistan, Bangladesh, and India).
These travellers were typically wealthy elites from the peninsula, and there’s no fault in that. But upon arriving, they presented themselves as leaders, public representatives, or individuals undertaking grand missions for the people of “India.” Being immensely rich, they could also throw money around extravagantly in those places.
In England, the linguistic environment is extremely gentle. The only issue lies in the feudal linguistic mindset, like a venomous undercurrent, lurking within these newcomers. This manifests in their words, facial expressions, eye language, gestures, antics, and covert signals made behind someone’s back. Some local English people might have sensed something amiss in the presence of individuals radiating such subtle, wild cues.
These newcomers are quick to label such perceptions as racial discrimination or similar terms. This is because they themselves are embodiments of such discriminatory attitudes. No one needs to teach them this.
They would deliver various speeches, devise plans, and forge agreements in continental Europe and England, all implying they were leaders of “India.”
Adolf Hitler’s early work, Mein Kampf, contains a thought-provoking passage about such individuals.
Chiefly involved were representatives of various ----states, and some from ... and India, who as individuals always impressed me as pompous big-mouths without any realistic background.
They were primarily representatives from India and other regions. The impression they left on me was that they were mere braggarts, lacking any genuine leadership background.
But there were not a few Germans, especially in the nationalist camp, who let themselves be dazzled by such inflated Orientals and readily accepted any old Indian or ............ student from God knows where as a ‘representative’ of India or ....
Yet, many Germans, particularly nationalists, were overly impressed by any elderly Indian, accepting them as representatives of India.
Above all were authorised by no one to conclude any pact with anyone.
Above all, no one had actually authorised them to sign any agreements with anyone.
END OF QUOTE.
When such individuals prepare to return to the subcontinent after their travels, they devise various plans. Every political project requires a Unique Selling Proposition (USP)—something that hits the mark. They must gather followers with the skill to sell a fridge in a freezing Greenland home. Only then can they reclaim the sprawling, slipping regions.
Last edited by VED on Sat May 03, 2025 3:45 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Not only in England and continental Europe but also in the USA, many elites from this subcontinent quickly realised they could seize control of it. The reason is that stepping out of the local feudal linguistic environment unlocks remarkable human capabilities.
I recall a woman from my family connections, who migrated to the USA about 30 years ago, directly stating that women in India have numerous deficiencies. Yet, in reality, this woman would exhibit the same deficiencies if she returned to this country. If she lived in a remote village, she would hesitate to even visit the nearby market. Foolish sciences label this as paranoia or Social Anxiety Disorder, but the true essence of this issue transcends the understanding of such foolish terminologies.
The reality is that governing or managing the subcontinent is not easy. More on that later.
It wasn’t just Gandhi and Nehru who strove to capture the subcontinent. Many who migrated to England and elsewhere also tried, but it was no simple task. All they needed to do was drive out the English. The English had built a vast nation, with an army, police, and administrative machinery in place. Once the nation was seized, these could suffice to suppress and control the people. However, the challenge wasn’t expelling the English. Rather, it was that many others within the subcontinent were already playing the game of nation-building.
Those returning exhausted from England wouldn’t easily be handed the stage by local players. Yet, these returnees claimed grand political histories abroad. They boasted of intervening in one issue, confronting the British government directly on another, staging massive agitations on various platforms, and making Britain tremble.
When these tales, adorned with eloquent words and photos alongside a few English women and men, were printed and circulated in the subcontinent, the incoming leader could outshine local politicians.
Local politicians faced two distinct adversaries. First, other local political and social leaders directly competing with them. Second, the elites returning from England and elsewhere, armed with epic tales, aiming to surpass them.
Local leaders had certain disadvantages. They were trapped in a feudal language. They had to express slight subservience in word codes, even to local officials. Local officials might not respect them either, especially if their names didn’t appear daily in newspapers.
Moreover, local officials wouldn’t readily permit them to approach high-ranking English officers directly. Meanwhile, those returning from England, proclaiming themselves leaders and hinting at rewriting world history, faced no such issue. They were accustomed to addressing the English by name or with “Mr.” prefixed, and had no trouble connecting with high-ranking officials or quoting their words. If local politicians attempted this, the public might openly dismiss it as mere boasting.
Image details: This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International license. English: Map showing the partition of Lower Bengal between Bengal and East Bengal and Assam in 1905. Source data: Survey of India 1:253k (Perry-Castenada Map Library, Univ of Texas), India 1:1M, ImperialمیمG Gazetteer of India 1:4M (Digital South Asia Library, Univ of Chicago). Author: XrysD
For the first time in the subcontinent’s history, people with no royal lineage took to the streets to seize power. The situation was moving toward anyone being able to govern the presidencies. However, with English officers at the top, significant disruption was avoided.
Local politicians harboured intense rivalry among themselves. The challenge was how to capture public attention with something new. The least risky approach was to oppose English rule on every matter.
One political party’s strategy was to win elections to the Assembly, then create daily uproar and chaos there, disrupting proceedings. This guaranteed front-page coverage in newspapers.
The English administration, meanwhile, sought to address hundreds of issues across hundreds of regions in the subcontinent with the utmost gentleness. For example, in Bombay Presidency, raising the minimum marriage age from 10 to 12 required immense effort from the English. Many local politicians seized on this to capture public attention. However, figures like Gopal Krishna Gokhale offered strong support to the English administration’s efforts. It seems that such details are absent from the pages on the Indian Child Marriage Act in Wikipedia’s fabricated Indian history today.
The goal was to create a ruckus over anything to become a public leader. When British India’s eastern region was divided for administrative ease, it provided a golden opportunity for these groups. Everyone acted as if outdoing one another. Yet, it seems the English administration failed to grasp the true motivation behind these agitations.
The real motivation wasn’t the Bengal partition but the fear each politician had of being outdone by others. Viewed this way, what is called the Indian freedom struggle, often portrayed as a grand movement, was merely a competition among local politicians.
Today, the former Bengal region includes not only states like West Bengal, Mizoram, Tripura, and Assam but also the nation of Bangladesh.
Image details: Seven north-eastern states of India. Arunachal Pradesh is claimed by China. This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license. Author: Furfur
Though there’s great inspiration to delve into history’s path, pursuing it now would make this writing struggle to return to its true course. The current detour centres on Govindan, a Gandhi devotee in Tellicherry, and his plans. However, the original point of divergence lies where Varuna stands, ignoring the rights to formal education.
From that point, the writing has veered far off, travelling to distant realms. Like a comet leaving the solar system, wandering through the vast, sprawling void of space, unsure when it will return, this writing’s state is similar. Yet, with care and skill, controlling words and mind, the writing must be guided back to its original path. Thus, reining in thoughts and imposing clear control on words, I return to Tellicherry.
In Bombay, Govindan fell into the web of cunning plans spun by the “greats” returning from England to the peninsula. They projected themselves as having caused massive upheavals in England, claiming they confronted, challenged, and outmanoeuvred various English leaders. Their messages, spreading clearly, suggested they had thoroughly handled and rattled England’s elite.
The reality, however, is starkly different. In many devastated regions of Africa and Asia, the English built nations of high standards. The rulers of these regions received little attention for their issues in the English Parliament. English colonialism, in truth, brought immense financial loss and mental unrest to England.
Yet, the history written by cunning minds tells the opposite. I won’t delve into that now.
Those returning to the subcontinent, proclaiming themselves leaders, could leverage newly emerged technical skills. Their return from England alone lent them immense allure. Moreover, they would immediately hold grand press conferences and similar events.
Gandhi was the son of Porbandar State’s prime minister, whose father and uncle held the same post.
Sarojini Naidu, too, was a person of great financial means, having returned from England.
Adolf Hitler’s Mein Kampf details with precision how to influence people’s minds, specifying the time of day to begin a speech and the type of lighting needed on stage. He even discusses the emotional impact of dim yellow lighting, used for ages in Christian churches, when strategically placed. It’s known that many political movements in India today study this book thoroughly.
A stage meticulously arranged with lighting and other setups can imbue the speaker with a mesmerising, almost supernatural influence. The speaker is portrayed as one who shook England, ruled the world, a divine messenger come to free humanity, a great soul to sever the chains binding you. This is how the public is primed in advance.
Govindan saw and heard Sarojini Naidu’s speech. In a region where women were (mistakenly) believed to have always stood in the background, a woman displaying profound English fluency called the masses to join Gandhi’s ranks behind her.
The stage, adorned with martial precision, is a platform capable of ensnaring the human mind in a trance. Seen on a bare street without adornments, these small, ordinary individuals appear unremarkable. But when speaking from such stages, they seem to stand in a radiant 3D realm, etched in the mind as a divine brilliance. Their image, tied to that stage, blooms eternally in the mind.
Key points to note: England, despite its global reach, didn’t rule even half the world. These self-proclaimed leaders caused no ripples in the English Empire. Such claimants exist in many lands. In Africa, many nations’ school textbooks feature similar leaders. In this subcontinent, it was English rule that freed people chained for ages. The leaders mentioned here were, in reality, from families that kept the masses in bondage for generations.
The English fluency mastered by Sarojini Naidu, Gandhi, and others was gained through English rule. Govindan’s arrival in Bombay was facilitated by the opportunities provided by English rule. The freedom to deliver and witness such speeches in this peninsula was also enabled by English rule.
In Govindan’s hometown of Tellicherry, before English rule, if any Marumakkathayam Thiyar had displayed such abilities, the Kottayam Raja would have tied them to a stake, driven nails through them, and left them on public display for days, their body melting under sun and rain, pecked apart by birds. It seems the “great” Pazhassi Raja has a history of such acts.
It appears Govindan was unaware of this.
Govindan returned to Tellicherry, his mind ablaze with a vibrant 3D image of Sarojini Naidu. In the same spot where his father sang songs of adoration for Queen Victoria, he stood repeating Sarojini Naidu’s speech. Is there no limit to folly?
He even named his daughter Sarojini Devi. The traditional Marumakkathayam Thiyar names—Cheeru, Maatha, Chirutha, Chiratheyi, Pokki, Pirukku, Kurumbi—were deemed filthy. Even Brahmins have lost the ability to prevent their names from being usurped, as power lies with the whimsical English.
Not just names, but temples, sacred texts, rituals, homas, mantras, ceremonies, protocols, traditions, Vedas, Smritis, Shrutis, ethical codes, Puranas, Upanishads, Brahmanas, and even the Sanskrit language are on the verge of being lost. Within a few decades, the masses, once trapped below, will claim all these as their heritage.
Last edited by VED on Sat May 03, 2025 5:53 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Govindan is eager to establish leaders from petty northern kingdoms of the peninsula as public figures in British Malabar. In reality, it seems the people of Malabar have no significant historical, genetic, cultural, bloodline, or linguistic ties with Porbandar or Hindi-speaking regions.
The claim that Malabaris are Dravidians lacks substantial merit, it seems. In truth, groups like Namboodiris, Marumakkathayam Thiyars, Makkathayam Thiyars, Malayars, Pulayars, Pariyars, Cherumars, and various Mappila factions likely migrated to Malabar from different parts of the globe. For instance, it’s unclear if Marumakkathayam Thiyars have ties with any communities in Tamil Nadu. Generally, it doesn’t seem they are connected to Tamil Nadu’s Brahmins or lower castes. Thus, the notion that southern South Asians were uniformly Dravidian likely lacks factual basis.
In Govindan’s era, Hindi was not just a foreign language in Malabar but also the tongue of a community yet to achieve significant social progress.
When Hindi and Malayalam vie to establish ancient linguistic credentials, they must borrow words and works from Sanskrit to claim ownership. It feels as though this is what most languages in India claiming antiquity do today. At the same time, it seems Malabari lacks the words of Tamil or Sanskrit.
Take, for example, this sentence: Periyekkeechu thachu.
The word periye in Tamil seems to mean large or majestic.
Thachu in Malayalam appears linked to Vastu Shastra or carpentry.
Whether keechu or keey have meanings in Malayalam, Sanskrit, or Tamil is unknown.
Malabar itself hosts diverse peoples. Today, they all speak Malayalam. The traditional Malabari language is fading. Many reportedly view this as a great cultural advancement.
But that’s not the reality. More on that shortly.
It’s unknown which community brought the Malabari language to Tellicherry.
Govindan aims to install Sarojini Naidu, Gandhi, and others as leaders in his homeland, while fully embracing the refinements and benefits of English rule. He is a trader with a textile showroom in central Tellicherry, sending his children to English schools.
Christians fleeing caste oppression in Travancore, converting to Christianity, established Malayalam schools across Malabar. With their arrival, the notion emerged that Malabar’s traditional language was primitive. Yet, a crucial fact went unnoticed in Malabar: these migrants from Travancore were not from its educated elite but from the lowest social strata. Backed by a robust network of Christian churches, they infiltrated Malabar’s official and educational structures.
In reality, their traditional linguistic culture was likely highly primitive and barbaric. This is what Rev. Samuel Mateer suggests in Native Life in Travancore. The question arises: how did they gain such linguistic prowess?
The clear answer seems to be the work of London Missionary Society missionaries. A fair question emerges: why did English missionaries strive to nurture and promote the seemingly crude and beastly Malayalam, teaching it to new Christian converts?
Though clear information is lacking, some clues may be gleaned from Native Life in Travancore.
QUOTE about the Mala Arayans:
Great opposition was experienced from the heathen, especially in the Puniattu Rajah’s country. The inquirers were beaten by some of the Rajah’s servants, made to stand in water up to their very necks “in order to wash Christianity out of them;” kept in stocks for days, chillies rubbed in their eyes, and their heads tied up in bags and in loosened head cloths filled with the large black ground-ants and red tree-ants.
Mr. Baker was privileged to baptise many hundreds of the Arayans, instructing them and forming them into congregations. This good work is still cared for by other missionaries, and is likely to extend. There are now about 2000 Arayan Christians in congregations, situated chiefly north of Puniattu and around Mundakayam, all within a radius of thirty-six miles from Cottayam — an imperishable memorial of Henry Baker and his indefatigable labours. At Melkavu a church has been substantially built of stone on a site about 2,000 feet above the sea-level. The Christians still suffer persecution from rich Muhammadans and Nayars in the neighbourhood, who fear the loss of their gains if the hillmen are taught to read, and from the Sirkar’s underlings, who try to obtain money on false pretences.
END OF QUOTE
I won’t translate it fully here, but note this sentence: The Christians still suffer persecution from rich Muhammadans and Nayars in the neighbourhood, who fear the loss of their gains if the hillmen are taught to read, and from the Sirkar’s underlings, who try to obtain money on false pretences.
(Christians face severe persecution and harm from wealthy Muslims and Nairs in nearby areas, who fear losing their profits if hill-dwellers are taught to read.)
This is the history near Kottayam, now seen as the cradle of printed Malayalam. If English missionaries had taught these groups English, society would have been upended. Like floodwaters surging up, these groups would have risen rapidly. Upper castes, clinging to tree branches, would have been submerged in this muddy deluge. No authority in Travancore would have permitted this.
Thus, Christians migrating from Travancore to Malabar became adept wielders of Malayalam, a language capable of tearing humans and beasts apart with word codes. They began spreading this venom in Malabar.
Behind the scenes, with words polished in grand workshops, infused with mechanical precision, melody, rhythm, tonal quality, and stylistic beauty, borrowing words and emotions from Sanskrit and Tamil, claiming Malabari’s traditional scripts, refining them, composing Christian hymns, and more, they showcased Malayalam in Malabar. Malabaris, convinced, began swearing that Malabari was a barren language.
There are other historical matters, but I won’t delve into them now.
English rule brought to Malabar numerous efficiencies never seen in the traditions of its various kingdoms. One such efficiency was the practice of documenting daily events and transactions in accordance with legal regulations. For instance, property transactions were recorded in a registration office, preserving a centuries-long history of a place in such deeds, serving as objective evidence.
Similarly, the English East India Company maintained logbooks in its factories (trading posts), recording daily events, discussions, transactions, and developments in and around these centres. These were intended for their successors to read, not to influence or mislead any individual, community, or academic scholar.
William Logan’s Malabar Manual greatly benefited from these logbooks. They provided precise details about the company’s arrival, the concerns and decisions of its employees, the transactions they conducted, the challenges they faced, and more. It’s uncertain whether such meticulous records exist elsewhere in this subcontinent’s history.
Typically, such writings aim solely to glorify leaders, kings, traditions, and deeds in a hollow manner. Moreover, each subsequent generation tends to alter and embellish these records. Some documents claiming antiquity are, in fact, recently fabricated.
QUOTE from Malabar by William Logan, on the quality of historical records of the South Asian Subcontinent:
… and even in genuinely ancient deeds it is frequently found that the facts to be gathered from them are unreliable owing to the deeds themselves having been forged at periods long subsequent to the facts which they pretend to state.
This is William Logan’s view on the reliability of ancient historical records in this subcontinent:
QUOTE:
… even facts and information gathered from supposedly ancient records are often unreliable, as these documents were forged or altered long after the events they claim to describe, with various fabrications and additions made by later individuals.
The reason for detailing this is to highlight that reading the logbooks, Malabar Manual, and other sources reveals the numerous benefits the English East India Company brought to Malabar. Their thoughts, discussions, correspondence with their directors in England, and actions to effect positive change in the land and its people are clearly documented.
Moreover, they encountered incomprehensible behaviours, tensions, anxieties, cunning tactics, tendencies to betray, and instances of retracting promises in this region. With only minimal manpower, the company also experienced the affection and support of local people and rulers. The locals had never encountered a people so true to their word, resolute, punctual, honest, and genuinely desiring the betterment of others.
The English aimed to foster quality in the people and region: building public hospitals, teaching knowledge from their homeland’s depths, freeing those bound by social shackles, taking precautions to ensure the liberated did not harm others, instilling courage and dignity in the people, and granting social permission for those condemned to display nudity to wear English clothing. Such were the aspirations of the English movement.
Yet, in the northern parts of South Asia, Govindan encountered and heard of entirely different leaders. They lacked any history, tradition, actions, or mindset geared toward public welfare. Instead, they crafted calculated plans to sway public minds, erecting grand pandals in public squares, orchestrating stages with lighting and setups to radiate divinity in their persona and movement, and proclaiming themselves leaders through their own newspapers and funded efforts.
Their weapons to conquer the region were the playgrounds before their pandals, newspapers, tales of life in England, and glorified memories of leading massive protests. History textbooks even claim one such “hero,” Conan, used such theatrical antics to win public applause and cheers.
Defining local feudal lords as “Native Chieftains,” warriors favoured by local kings as “Knights,” domestic servants as “House Maids,” and nursemaids as “Governesses” with English terms paints an entirely different picture in England.
It’s like the film Gandhi. Watching it, one might think Gandhi was a pure Englishman, fluent in English. Such a divine figure doesn’t even exist in England!
Yet, none of the above aligns with the imagery these English terms evoke. The reality is that the social atmosphere, structure, communication, legal norms, and notions of propriety and impropriety in this subcontinent are governed by feudal language codes. The fact that this knowledge never reached England in any meaningful way is the truth. Even today, the English largely remain unaware that such a thing as a feudal language exists in the world.
This inadequate academic understanding facilitated the undermining of the highly efficient English administrative system in this subcontinent by the immature and profoundly dangerous political concept of “Democracy.”
This notion of democracy was intertwined with another foolish idea: the “Nation-state.” Together, these immature concepts paved the way for numerous disasters, not only in this subcontinent but also in many regions where English rule ended. Undesirable events continue in those places today.
I’ll leave this topic here, as it risks leading this writing in another direction.
In the three presidencies of British India, the idea of democracy was unleashed as if releasing rats from a trap. This plunged the presidencies into massive social upheavals. For centuries, the people had lived quietly in homes and huts, speaking in hushed tones. For ages, large crowds couldn’t even step onto the streets.
With democracy’s arrival came public square speeches, microphone blares, and self-proclaimed leaders boasting of grand struggles in newspapers.
Above all, a new daring tactic emerged: marching on roads, fists clenched, slashing the sky with slogans.
It’s uncertain whether such risk-free heroism had ever existed in this subcontinent’s history. Many quickly realised that shouting slogans and leading slogan-chanting elevated those lacking personality to great personal growth. The recognition that noise and startling behaviours held immense value spread across the land.
Everything the English rule had sought to cultivate—qualitative progress—was now rejected and challenged.
English rule had no public speeches, no processions, no newspapers in local languages, no “mahatmas,” “jis,” “swamis,” “great gurus,” “elder brothers,” “elder sisters,” “mothers,” “big brothers,” “great ones,” or “Netajis.” In truth, they were unaware of the immense social power such titles held in this subcontinent.
However, some British officials here had faint inklings of these dynamics. In Travancore, as part of curbing the arrogance of official elites, Col Munro recommended abolishing the title “karigars” to improve governance, noting:
“The influence of names is considerable, and the discontinuance of the title of karigars will be attended with advantage.”
Though Govindan is a textile showroom owner, tales of heroic struggles boil in his mind and blood. When he closes his eyes, he sees Gandhi and Naidu, their microphones, stages, and public square speeches!
Before advancing the writing, a few points must be briefly stated. Though each could warrant lengthy exposition, I won’t delve into that now. Instead, I’ll mention them cursorily and move forward. These can be elaborated upon more extensively in their appropriate context.
Firstly, the English East India Company had no intention of conquering this subcontinent. Their clear policy, and the directive from their Board of Directors, was to avoid wars.
Malabar came under the English East India Company’s control not through relentless warfare defeating local kingdoms. Rather, each king and local ruler voluntarily ceded governance to the company, accepting a substantial financial reserve known as Malikhana and choosing to live in peace. (The campaigns of Hyder Ali and Tipu Sultan are connected to this development, which I’ll address later.)
Governance, for ages, brought no peace of mind. Prominent families constantly plotted to attack and overthrow each other. Within families, conspiracies abounded to seize the crown or headship. Such incidents in the Calicut and Cannanore (Chirakkal) royal families are recorded in the English East India Company’s documents. If caught, even family members faced public execution by beheading.
The company’s mediation and oversight rarely caused anxiety among local rulers. The English defined individuals in English, avoiding the hierarchical word codes that marked local interactions. Engaging with local movements, however, quickly led to tensions from such codes, spreading mental distress. Every conversation’s tone, elevation, or lowering of word codes caused issues. I’ll clarify this later.
Another point: the concept of “Kerala” didn’t exist in Malabar during this period. Yet, it seems lower-caste migrants from Travancore were eager to portray Travancore and Malabar as one land.
As mentioned earlier, CPS first clearly heard of Sabarimala in 1970. During a 1970 journey to Travancore with CPS, I noticed the Malabar railway ended at Mattancherry (Cochin) Railway Terminus. From there, to reach Trivandrum, the same train was attached to another engine at the opposite end or, sometimes, passengers had to disembark at Mattancherry and board another train.
The Malabar railway system was oriented toward British India, running through Shornur and Palghat to Madras.
British India coordinated numerous systems, including the postal service. Even ordinary people—those defined as mere cattle decades earlier, tied in landlords’ courtyards—could send letters anywhere in British India with just a stamp.
English, as the official language, brought quality, dignity, and elevation to governance, public interactions, official records, and more. It facilitated smooth, swift communication among officials, eliminating issues of respect, disrespect, or degradation. Conveying caste-based hierarchies in English required effort.
It seems many Malabar communities had no traditional ties with Travancore’s communities. The text Keralolpathi contradicts this, but it appears to be a fabricated work, deliberately crafted by certain groups. It’s also linked to Gundert. The tale of Parashurama throwing an axe seems to stem from this text. Whether northern Hindu traditions record Parashurama doing such a deed is unknown.
Malabar’s communities also seem to lack significant ties with those in Madras Presidency, Canara, Andhra, or Maharashtra. However, when British India was historically formed, its people gained opportunities to connect. Railways further enabled this.
Anyone from princely states could enter British India anytime, anywhere, without passports or visas.
It seems many from princely states fled slavery to British India. Yet, having lived as cattle, they often wouldn’t abandon their landlords, unsure of what to do if freed. Their expressions revealed their status as cattle-like, easily recognised by others. The English East India Company devised plans to rescue them.
However, landlord families resisted these efforts’ success. Today, an individual from such a family persistently argues on YouTube that England must compensate for its actions in India. Indeed, the English company provided no compensation for the loss of their slaves. I’ll address related matters later.
In Travancore, farmers had to sell pepper, areca nuts, and other goods directly to government warehouses. To receive payment, they paid bribes and endured officials’ discourteous words. Thus, many farmers evaded Travancore police, smuggling agricultural products by sea to British Cochin to sell to traders. British India imposed no trade restrictions. The exploitative sales tax system, feeding officials, gained strength only after Pakistan and India were born.
It seems Govindan grasped none of this. His sole thought was that foreigners ruled “India.”
Much remains to be said about this definition of foreign rule.
England, not Britain, truly led the British Empire, or English Empire. However, as the Irish, Scottish, and Welsh aligned with England, they too claim this remarkable governance system as theirs. Had Britain merged into Europe, within a few decades, the French, Germans, Dutch, Italians, Czechoslovaks, and others would have begun teaching in their school textbooks that they ruled India.
Historical events of the Magadha, Maurya, Mughal, and Bahmani kingdoms, and the slave sultans of Delhi, are today taught as native history to schoolchildren in Tamil Nadu, Kerala, Karnataka, the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, and the Laccadives (Lakshadweep). Since Afghanistan never came under English rule, its historical events aren’t taught as part of India’s national history today.
However, when English rule established three presidencies in this subcontinent and brought adjacent kingdoms under its protection, maps published by the English naturally gave the impression that these regions formed a single entity.
Yet, every kingdom in this subcontinent viewed others as foreign. For example, the Travancore State Manual refers to Pandya kingdoms (modern Tamil Nadu) as “Foreign Countries.” Even the fabricated Keralolpathi claims Parashurama brought Brahmins to Kerala from foreign lands.
The inhabitants of what is now called India are likely descendants of people from various regions. Each state hosts numerous distinct castes and communities. Thus, claiming only the English were foreigners and that all who fought them were freedom fighters seems like mere academic folly.
Whether Sultan Tipu, who ruled Mysore, can be called a Mysorean is unclear. Meanwhile, Travancoreans were considered foreigners in Pandya lands.
Such historical issues arise due to the distortions concocted by those rewriting history in India today. If taught that this subcontinent housed numerous distinct kingdoms and communities, many trapped in varying degrees of social slavery, that English rule unified the region, and that it voluntarily relinquished governance, enabling two political factions to form two nations, there would be little issue.
Instead, the academic folly of history claims this subcontinent was a grand nation with a glorious past, subjugated by deceitful English who enslaved its people. Then, under mahatmas, “jis,” and others, the people fought for freedom, defeated the English, who, in retaliation, pitted locals against each other, divided the unified region into two hostile nations, and left. To validate and establish this false history as truth, these groups propagate various lies. Those ensnared by these lies become complicit in this sinful deception.
Many movements today claim that beneficial ideas and developments in this subcontinent before 1947 were either their own or enacted through them. However, the reality is that much, deliberately obscured, lies behind these claims.
For instance, in Travancore, credit for ending caste-based slavery and driving social reform is often given to figures like Sree Narayana Guru, Chattampi Swamikal, the SNDP, clashes between police and lower-class groups at Punnapra and Vayalar, and communist revolutionary activities, as per official history.
Yet, the truth is that none of these can claim more than a marginal influence.
Discussing this feels like standing at the universe’s edge. If someone there asks, “What lies beyond?” what’s the answer? Saying “nothing” or “emptiness” won’t suffice. If an empty space exists beyond, it wouldn’t be the universe’s edge. The correct answer is: “There is no beyond.”
Similarly, Sree Narayana Guru, SNDP, Chattampi Swamikal, and communist activities don’t mark the origin of social reform. The question is whether something enabled their growth, enveloping Travancore at the time. Claiming no such entity existed is like saying there’s nothing beyond the universe’s edge.
The true origin of social reform’s history isn’t these figures. Beyond them, a vast universe of social reform enveloped Travancore: the English administration of Madras Presidency.
Their persistent pressure provided the impetus and safety for Travancore’s remarkable social transformation. Without it, one can only imagine how Nairs would have received Sree Narayana Guru’s witty retorts. Travancore’s elites and populace used harsh, abusive language and readily struck others. Lower castes showing excessive wit risked being nailed to trees. If a lower-caste individual built a Hindu temple claiming ownership, Nair overseers, managing Hindu (Brahmin) affairs, wouldn’t leisurely inquire or enjoy witty responses.
The legendary movement that worked to humanise Travancore’s cattle-like communities was the London Missionary Society. However, as the English East India Company banned Christian missionary work in its territories, they couldn’t operate directly in Madras Presidency. In British India, a small percentage of lower communities had their social shackles removed without converting to Christianity—through the English language.
Among the English who most supported Travancore’s social reforms, Sir Charles Trevelyan, Governor of Madras Presidency, stands out. It’s unlikely today’s hypocritical revolutionary rhetoricians would mention him. If such names became known, all current revolutionary movements here would lose their lustre.
If Sultan Tipu is an Indian freedom fighter, the foremost and most enduring Indian freedom fighters were the French. For ages, French commercial movements bore the mandate to attack English systems worldwide. The French army fought alongside those attacking Robert Clive and others, including Sultan Tipu, against the English. One of Tipu’s renowned commanders was the Frenchman M. Lally.
In feudal language societies, slogan-shouting, marching noisily in groups, and organising collective songs greatly aid in mobilising those confined by discipline in homes, classrooms, and workplaces.
The quote below concerns music and songs in this subcontinent:
Sir W. Ouseley, in his “Oriental Collections,” says: “A considerable difficulty is found in setting to music the Hindu ragas as our system does not supply notes or signs sufficiently expressive of the almost imperceptible elevations and depressions of the voice in these melodies, of which the time is broken and irregular, and the modulations frequent and very wild. Many of the Hindu melodies possess the plaintive simplicity of the Scotch and Irish, and others a wild originality pleasing beyond description.” (Excerpt from Native Life in Travancore.)
In this quote, Ouseley’s reference to “Hindu ragas” likely means ragas in South Asia’s feudal languages. He may have been unaware of the concept of a “feudal language.”
Key points to note: The songs and melodies of this subcontinent involve subtle vocal transitions, elevations, and depressions, which are difficult to replicate in English musical or linguistic ragas. These feudal language ragas often have a wildly untamed form, yet carry the mournful clarity, simplicity, and charm of Scottish-Irish melodies, while also possessing a wild originality that evokes indescribable mental pleasure.
I, this writer, noticed a similarity between this subcontinent’s feudal language ragas and Scottish-Irish music. As previously suggested, both languages may share feudal linguistic traits.
Another point: Feudal language word codes can spiral through the mind and emotional centres, rising, falling, and circling like a whirlpool, creating serpentine rhythms. They can evoke wild social and personal emotional states unimaginable or uncreatable in English expressions.
Thus, processions, slogan-shouting, and similar acts in feudal languages generate mental ecstasy, intoxication, and delirium that may be hard to replicate in the English. This fact has distinguished English social structures and history from feudal language societies in many ways.
This may be a key reason for the longstanding differences between France and England.
In this subcontinent, many movements, filmmakers, and others seem to have exploited these languages’ supernatural abilities for personal gain and to retain followers.
Singing revolutionary songs, slogans, and melodies in feudal languages with fine tunes and vocal sweetness evokes emotions akin to a motorcyclist in a “death well” stunt, spiralling rapidly upward from a deep pit. But as the cycle slows, the rider spirals back down. By intermittently adjusting speed, one can sustain a frenzied state, oscillating between highs and lows.
This brings to mind the Sabarimala pilgrimage. Much remains to be learned about how this pilgrimage formed around this temple. Today, a massive influx of devotees has grown. What mechanism drove this?
Unlike pilgrimages to other temples, the journey here is distinct. The chant “Swami Saranam, Saranam Ponnayyappa!” appears in varied forms—as slogans, revolutionary song melodies, mournful tunes, and devotional ecstasy. The pilgrimage feels like a trek to the peak of a Himalayan ridge, passing through dense forest edges.
Participating in this pilgrimage likely brings immense mental and emotional exhilaration.
I won’t discuss the influence of such activities in the realm of transcendental software codes here.
A couple more points must be briefly addressed before returning to Tellicherry.
First is the widely used term “Adivasi.” In discussions about Sabarimala’s traditional rights, Malayarayans are defined as Adivasis. Wayanad’s forest-dwellers are also routinely called Adivasis. In feudal languages, using such terms indiscriminately tends to mentally and socially degrade those labelled, without nuance or context.
Wikipedia defines “Adivasi” as:
QUOTE: “Communities living in forests or hilly areas, who are developmentally backward.” END OF QUOTE.
In English, the term “Aborigine” exists, often equated with Adivasi. I won’t delve into their similarities or differences here, but note this: “Aborigine” isn’t always tied to forests or hills, as seen with the Aborigines of Australia.
Returning to the South Asian subcontinent: Before English trading groups arrived, the Portuguese and Dutch likely perceived the region’s inhabitants as its Aborigines. What they recorded about those now claiming grand heritage, wealth, and family glory may align with traits attributed to today’s “Adivasis.”
In truth, those claiming civility today likely emerged from this “Adivasi” definition only when the English trading group gained strength in Madras Presidency.
This may explain why the Travancore State Manual labels Travancore’s history, from when Marthanda Varma strengthened the kingdom with English East India Company aid, as its “Modern History.” Earlier periods are termed “Ancient History” or “Earlier History” in that text.
Consider how Captain John Nieuhoff, leader of the Dutch trading group in Quilon, described the Queen of Quilon in Voyages and Travels to the East-Indies (1653–1672 A.D.):
“…the Queen’s attirement being no more than a piece of callicoe wrapt round her middle, the upper part of her body appearing for the most part naked, with a piece of callicoe hanging carelessly round her shoulders. Her ears, which were very long, her neck and arms were adorn’d with precious stones, gold rings and bracelets, and her head cover’d with a piece of white callicoe. She was past her middle age, of a brown complexion, with black hair tied in a knot behind.”
Translation: The Queen’s attire was merely a piece of calico wrapped around her midriff. The upper part of her body was mostly bare, with a piece of calico loosely draped over her shoulders. Her long ears, neck, and upper arms were adorned with precious stones, gold rings, and bracelets. Her head was covered with a white calico cloth. Past middle age, she had a brown complexion, with black hair tied in a knot at the back.
If this was the Queen’s appearance, one can only imagine the attire and demeanour of Quilon’s ordinary people—likely just a scrap of cloth, without precious stones.
Nieuhof’s audience with the “Queen of Koylang” (1662).
The grand palace in this image may be a European artist’s imagination.
Yet, powerful feudal language word codes likely placed a few in golden towers and others in varying levels of gutters. The Dutch probably lacked insight into this invisible social hierarchy.
Thus, who are those labelled “Adivasis” today? Such scrutiny might reveal critical insights. Those living in hills and forests stood apart from the “Adivasis” outside. They feared and disdained outsiders. Exploring why could uncover overlooked aspects of this subcontinent’s culture.
Native Life in Travancore mentions the Kanikkar, living in the hills between Madras Presidency and Travancore, sometimes called Malayarayans. Multiple subgroups exist, with some refusing to acknowledge others as equals. I won’t delve into those details.
These people, somehow arriving in the region, refused to work under anyone. They wouldn’t stand alongside other labourers. Living freely in the hills, they farmed and maintained their own villages and homes. When Travancore’s people (urban “Adivasis,” so to speak) entered their forests for coffee plantations, these groups abandoned their homes and villages, retreating deeper into the jungle.
“The proud men of the woods decline to herd with coolies, and work like common people. As soon as the planter’s axe is heard, the hill kings pack their traps and desert their homes to establish themselves in another valley. In this way they have been driven from hill to hill and from valley to valley, until some have found now a safe resting place in the dense jungles of the lowlands of Travancore. If the planter wishes to penetrate some unexplored jungle, or cut a path in some out-of-the-way place, the hill men are ready to assist, and it is the universal testimony that they are more faithful to their engagements than their more civilised brethren from the plains.”
At first, this behaviour might seem like a lack of confidence. However, when I, this writer, encountered forest-dwellers long ago, I noticed they weren’t less natural than Travancore’s ordinary people. In fact, their avoidance of abusive language suggested a higher standard. Yet, they feared Travancore’s public, police, and forest officials.
I can’t detail all reasons for this fear here, but one point stands out: Travancore’s forest officials addressed and referred to them as “inhi,” “eda,” “edi,” “avan,” or “aval,” often with startling tones or irritating words and questions. Today, they’re told their lands are part of India, and forest officials’ word codes place them in the nation’s gutters.
Video: Indian officials’ plan to relegate an Andaman and Nicobar community to the gutter.
Native Life in Travancore describes the Kanikkar’s traditional attire: “The men go almost naked, having only a small strip of cloth round the loins. … The women are rather better clad, and are very shy of strangers.” Today, this might be seen as tribal attire, but before the English trading group engaged with Travancore, the “civilised” Brahmins, Nairs, and others recorded in history likely wore little different. Their word codes, however, elevated their status. The Travancore State Manual labels that era and Travancore’s people as “Semi-barbarian” (semi-civilised).
Now for something noteworthy.
Keeping distance from the public is a common trait in this peninsula, not exclusive to those called forest tribes.
Psychology often uses grand technical terms to pseudo-explain incomprehensible behaviours. I won’t delve into that now.
Without introductions, attributes, adornments, homes, or expensive vehicles to signal high social status via word codes, many outsiders living in remote villages avoid interacting with locals. In local feudal languages, age is a clear measure of status, so even young people from affluent homes steer clear of public spaces.
In Deverkovil, some rarely-seen individuals exist—typically the wealthy, who arrive and leave by car, with acquaintances in distant areas or towns.
Even in my, this writer’s, family, some stay in Deverkovil for weeks but never visit the nearby market, stroll there, or befriend locals.
This isn’t a sign of low confidence or mental illness. Rather, feudal languages lack the egalitarian word codes found in English.
Even IAS or IPS officers rarely step out alone. Peons and constables roam freely, but an IAS/IPS officer venturing out needs visible markers of status, which can annoy accompanying peons or constables.
Recently, YouTube showed young IAS officers walking streets to address issues or engage with the public, backed by massive police escorts forming a wall-like barrier.
While similar scenes might occur in English-speaking nations, the reality differs. If a local addresses the officer as “you,” the wall of respect collapses. The police barrier prevents this, intimidating and startling the public to signal the officer’s divinity. Without fear, that divinity fades.
If this perception isn’t enforced, people might adopt a “get lost” attitude. If the police escort vanishes, communication with the public could become difficult or mentally disorienting.
Today’s education fosters this mindset: respect those who intimidate; boldly dismiss others as “get lost.”
No amount of advice, management training, administrative training, MBAs, or PhDs can resolve this.
Those with wealth and prestige who distance themselves from the public are deemed respectable. Those without, who do the same, are labelled mentally ill or Adivasis.
[/size]
