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19 19:46
Piya Chatterjee
of this book.
Contents
List of Illustrations ix
Acknowledgments xi
Alap
Travels of Tea,
Travels of Empire
Cultivating the Garden
The Raj Baroque
Estates of a New Raj
Discipline and Labor
Village Politics
Protest
A Last Act
Appendix
Glossary
Notes
Bibliography
Index
Illustrations
Acknowledgments
kinswomen, have given their valuable time. For oering me their hospitality in Calcutta, I thank Bimal and Monica Guha-Sircar, Renu and Pronoy Saharia, Monoj and Sheila Banerjee, the late S. K. Banerjee and Deepu
Banerjee, Mahavir Kanoi, Padma Kanoria, Ronnie Babaycon, the late David
Smith,Gulshan Bagai, and Bhaskar Gupta. Lata Bajorias friendship enabled
me to meet many Marwari maliks (owners) in Calcutta, and for her generous
networking I give my thanks. She and her daughters, Nidhi, Puja, and Babli
have provided a cool space of ribald welcome during many hot Calcutta
summers when I wrote and rewrote these stories of tea. Shanti Bannerjee
grandmother, teacher, and friendintroduced me to some of her tea kin,
though her inuence on my work extends well into the territories of my
childhood, a time when her example of pragmatic grace and wisdom made
an indelible impact on my nascent understanding of privilege and its many
eects.
In North Bengal, I was hosted by many families, particularly on initial
nomadic visits in , and then again in and . I extend my appreciation to Leonard and Sonali Smith, Mr. and Mrs. Bose, Samar Chatterjee
and Diju Chakrabarty of the Dooars Branch of the Indian Tea Association
(who readily made available some rare colonial planter journals), Dr. D. N.
Chatterjee of the family planning project in the Dooars, Mr. L. P. Rai
of Mim Tea Estate in Darjeeling, Mr. Teddy Young of Tumsung Tea Estate,
Darjeeling, Mr. Pran Choudhury, Mr. Ravi Singh, Joydip Bose, and Pranjal Neog of who gathered information for me with ecient generosity.
However, it is the kindness and hospitality of two planting families who,
despite knowing the objectives of this study, made it possible for me to stay
in the Dooars forextended periods of time. Ashok, Bonny, Mimi, and Madhu
Sen bailed me out on numerous occasions and for their energetic kindness, I
will be always grateful. Kanwarjit and Guddi Singh embraced me as another
daughterand friend. Mr. Singh enabled me to do this work byoering me his
patronage and protection while Mrs. Singh opened up her treasure trove of
material on tea histories. Her own scholarly interest in plantation womens
issues prompted fruitful dialogues.Without the Singhs support and generosity, the eldwork on two separate occasions (, ) could not
have happened.
It is, however, a few women and men from the other side of the lines,
to whom I owe my deepest gratitude. They negotiated my intrusions with
unease, even anger, but more often than not, with a remarkable generosity
of spirit. To thank them for making possible a text that rests on the backbone of their lives might appear a facile gesture. It is a gesture, however,
not made simply. (Imagine, for a moment, an intricate movement of hand
xii
and eye. Imagine the suggestion of patterns traced in the air.) For their resilient laughter and embrace of my uninvited presence, I wish to name their
central place in the stories which follow: Julekha Sheikh and her dol (gang)
at Moraghat Tea Estate, Munnu Kujoor and Bikha Kujoor, Bhagirathi Mahato, Baldo Mahato, Anjali Mirdha and Arun Mirdha, Agapit, Christopher
Pracher, B. Gop, Rita Chhetri and her friends at Debpara, Kaki of Katalguri (who took me to meet her legendary mother, Lachmi Maya Chhetri),
Madan Shaikh, Dilip Tamang, Uma Gop, Durga Mata of Chamurchi (who
shared her sacred gifts and with a ourish of hands waved away some winds
of misfortune), Sannicharwa Lohra, Moniki Mosi, Menu Mosi, and all the
other women leaders of the Cha Bagan Mahila Seva Samity (Tea Garden
Womens Service Society) who honor me with their trust.
Elsewhere in North Bengal, I was welcomed as kin by others who taught
me equally important lessons about the remarkable political theaterof North
Bengal. Vasanthi Raman, Vaskar Nandy, Dr. M. N. Nandy, Dida, and Mini
of Kadamtala More in Jalpaiguri opened their home in ways that made such
a political theater immediate, actual, and urgent. (Oh, for those cups of hot
sweet tea on the verandah, upstairs, by the roof with its potted plants.) Rupak Mukherjee, Bithi Chakravarty, and Shukra Rautiya (who took me to the
remarkable Lal Shukra Oraon) welcomed me on various travels in the region. Nirmala Pandey also assisted me with translations and transcriptions
of songs and oral histories. Father Sebastian Martis, whom I met in , is
a partner with whom some grassroots dreams are being sown. Thank you,
Sebastian, for your charity.
The sta of many libraries in North Bengal, Calcutta, and New Delhi
have assisted with this research, and I extend my appreciation to the following: Mrs. Meera Chatterjee of the National Library, Calcutta, who has
walked the bureaucratic labyrinth for many years and always found books
for her anxious niece; the Jalpaiguri District Library; the North Bengal University Library, Bagdogra; the superb Himalayan Studies Documentation
Centerat the North Bengal University; the District Commissioners Library,
Jalpaiguri; the Central Secretariat Library, New Delhi; and the Ministry of
Labour Documentation Centre, New Delhi.
In Calcutta, many members of the Hooghly Mills sta have let me take
their time, space, and energy when they had better things to do: they have
photocopied material; driven me to travel agencies when I had to ship
pounds of that same material to the United States; served me tea and food
at Moran Shahib er bagan bari (Moran Sahibs garden house) when I wrote
theater and sat by the Ganges with an old oil lantern; and made things immeasurably easier during my Calcutta sojourns. I am aware that my fathers
Acknowledgments xiii
wish and order (hukum) made their giving imperative, not a choice. Such
are the ways of feudal patronage.Yet they have done so with an aection and
respect for my father and family that contains and exceeds the terms of such
neofeudal power. I extend, then, my deepest gratitude to Sri Nimai Mondal
and his family; Sri Raj Narain; Mr. Samanta; Sri Bhim; Sri Bhagirath; Rabi;
the sta of the Hooghly Mills computer room; Mr. Mukherjee who tends
the fax machine; and Sri Romesh.
Back in the United States, other kin networks spun their webs of support
and encouragement. Barbara Lazarus (who always urged me to let the songs
sing) and Marvin Sirbu have helped me navigate the shoals of immigration.
Barbara, simply, has made it possible for me to complete my studies in the
United States; Barbara, Led, and Kristen Day have been family in absentia;
Martha Loiter has believed in similar passions; Anissa and Yasmina Bouziane have probed with me the creative vicissitudes of chosen exile; Karima
Salehs dogged commitment to grassroots practice and her compassion in
a time of great terror, has dened the meaning of true friendship; Omar
Qureshis gentle perseverance has remained, also, a benediction.One friend
has stepped, literally, on this path to and from the plantations. She has not
only met some of the remarkable women and men in the plantation I have
called Sarahs Hope, she has on one memorable afternoon danced with them.
Cathy OLearys faith and connection to these other worlds of the actual
imagination has nurtured this tea time over its long gestation.
For introducing to me the notion that writing and telling womens stories
within the academy is an act of power, against power, I wish to thank my
rst professors in the United States: Amrita Basu, Barbara Lazarus, and Sally
Merry. Their lessons helped me immeasurably in graduate school when I
often felt that womens politics, particularly if passionately wrought, was
not welcome in the detached disembodied towers of scholarly enterprise. I
was lucky, however, to nd teachers who understood my unease, and anger,
with such forms of epistemic violence. For their acts of compassion during
moments when I thought I was not going to make it, I oer my deepest gratitude and respect to Bernard S. Cohn, Jean Comaro, Raymond T.
Smith, John Comaro, Susanne Rudolph, and Lloyd Rudolph. Since ,
Chandra Mohanty has honored me with her kindness and support. Because
her writing on Third World feminisms was a pivotal part of my subterranean
training in feminist theory, her mentorship during these years has been both
poignant and invaluable. Such are the blessings of a wonderful pedagogy.
At Riverside, colleagues and friends have given their labor of time and
patience, which I hope has been deserved. In , Erla Maria Marteinsdottir created the rst data base for the bibliography and oered her energies
xiv
the earlier versions, and their encouragement was deeply appreciated, and I
hope has made what now stands more worthy. Ellen Gentry took the photographs for the illustrations that are included in the book. Anik Dhonobad,
thank you, to all.
My family in Calcutta has made everything possible. My siblings
Dada (Chayan), Bappa (Mayukh), and Priyahave wondered at the fuss,
shrugged, and laughed uproariously. I trace my impulse to follow the plantation story to my father, Rama Prasad Chatterjee, whotransgressing all
the codes of patriarchal proprietywould take his six-year-old daughter
through the oors of the jute factory under his managerial purview. By encouraging me always to push past the borders of my own upbringing, even
allowing me to y away, Baba will always remain my rst teacher. Kaki,
Jharna Chatterjee, has walked many routes of transgression with me and
for me: allowing me to run like a jungli (uncivilized) child through the good
neighborhoods of the city. For her many invocations of the divine arsenal,
for our raucous ritual laughters, and mostly for her maternal love, I have
been immensely blessed. To her, Kaku, Mriganka Shekhar Chatterjee, and
Baba, I dedicate this bit of tea. And also to the memory of my mother, Dipti
Chatterjee, who left us too early, whose ghost may have sat on my right
shoulder, and who wished it.
xvi
chapter Alap 1
,
The stage is horseshoe-shaped. It curves, a crescent embrace, around you. On the
far stage right, suspended from the ceiling, an empty picture frame.On the stage,
at an angle behind the picture frame, an ornate wooden table and chair. On the
table, an oil lantern.To one side, a large oval-shaped mirror in a highly baroque
bronze gilt frame. Next to the chair, a stool. Next to the stool, a pirhi (small
wooden seat). The backdrop is a cream gauze cloth, stretched loosely across the
back of center stage. The stage is dark. There are hints of shadows.
Slow drumming begins: dham dham dham. Then a sound of keening, continuous like the lonely wailing of an old witch . . . an unsettling, unsettling
sound.3 This wailing rises to a crescendo, reaches an unbearable pitch, and then
stops suddenly. Absolute silence.
A woman (Narrator) steps out stage right, which curves out like a strange
pier, into you (the audience). She wears a long, dark red cloak of some lustrous
material. The robe has a cowl; it falls low on her forehead, shadowing her eyes.
She wears gloves the same color as her cloak. Her mouth is outlined in red and
black. She stands by the desk, in front of the chair. With exaggerated motions,
she removes some objects from a deep pocket in the cloak, moving as if she were
a magician: slowly, with air and precision. A quill pen, a bottle of india ink,
a silver sickle, a bottle of nail polish, a clutter of false ngernails, a porcelain
teapot with a long pouring spout, a porcelain cup, and some tea bags. She turns
to you, with an intimate and welcoming smile, as if noticing you for the rst time
watching her place this strange collection on the table.
: Nomoshkar. Hello. May I sit? (She sits drawing the folds of cloth around
her.)
I am weary. My journey here has been long and its tale most peculiar. So
strange that as it is told, you may keen, you may sigh, you may not be
able to tell the dierence between a wail and a whisper.
So piercing its cacophony, you may twist your ngers into your ears.
So unbearably beautiful, the sorrow of a body curved into its shadow, you
will forget to breathe.
(She takes a deep breath, exhaling it into a sigh, ending in a wry laugh.)
Oh, let us not be so serious, so serious. This is a jatra,4 a dance, a shadow
play, a sitting-room drama. Such kichdi,5 such higgledy-piggledy, you
will elbow your neighbor and whisper for a crystal ball. You will look
under the chair for a otation device.What is this, what is this? You will
fasten your seat belt more tightly and look out into cerulean space. You
will nd the ball, you will toss it in the air; you will cover your face with
your hands and shake your head. What is this, what is this? you will
say in despair. (Pause.) Let the tale unfold as it will. Dont panic. There
are some plots, some roads with milestones, a cartography of words. If
it is all too much, and the path disappears into the light thrown by the
headlights, and you think you are not movingthen shut your eyes.The
illusion of such stillness in the rush of the road underneath your wheels
oers such dissonance. (Pause.) Let yourself fall into the rabbit hole.
Dream, Dream.
Imagine, within the crucible behind your eyelids, a porcelain cup. Imagine,
after a breath, silence resting on its lips.
The lights dim. She leans forward and lights the lantern to a low ame. She
pours liquid from the tea pot in her cup. She is barely discernible as she rests back
in the chairs shadow.The cup seems to warm her ngers. For a minute, you hear
the sound of rain and then again the dham dham dham of the drums, a distant
wailing. It fades.
women in the tea plantation who have befriended me in this rst month at
my bungalow. The packets have on their covers two women, one a photograph/painting, another an etching. They appear Asian, their heads are
covered, the wrists braceleted.The hands are poised over a utter of leaves.
With one hand, they lift a leaf. There is precision in that stilled movement,
in that carefully held and bodied point.
Puzzled at my oering of two empty tea packets, and somewhat amused
by this two-dimensional rendition of their work, Anjali and Bhagirathi
laugh.
It is one of many texts that I oer to them as one way to introduce my
research project and uneasy presence in the plantation. My questions run
Alap
pell-mell: What do you do? Look where the tea travels. Is there a story
here? We have already had some conversations about their tea plucking:
the suggestions of delicacy, their nimble ngers.
Theiramusement is frank, welcoming, and derisive: Sowhat dowe think
about this tea box? . . . Didi [older sister], says Bhagirathi, this woman
looks like a lm star. Like Madhuri. 6 We laugh. She continues, Who makes
this box? Hath dekho [Look at (our) hands].The bushes cut into them, and the
tea juice makes them black. Feel how hard they are. Yeh kam [This work] . . .
yeh natak nahi he, didi [this is no theater, didi]. But what do you memsahibs
know anyway? 7 Come to the garden one day and maybe you will see.
Seven years from this initial encounter over tea, I reread our conversations in eld diaries and the tea box as feminized texts: the box of tea, rst,
as fetishized commodity, of woman-as-tea gesturing toward a long story of
empire. Women and labor made picturesque lie at the heart of tales about
Chinese emperors, Japanese tea ceremonies, the East India Company, and
the colonial tea plantations of a British Planter Raj.8 There are stories of
many empires entangled in this orange landscape of pagodas and slender,
poised wrists. There are narratives that meet and congeal in this image of
woman, labor, and its suggestions of the exotic. A cartography of desire
traces this picture of commodity and its display of feminized labor. Distance
charts the lure of a consuming gaze.
Yet Anjali and Bhagarathi remind us that these are historical narratives
that are corporeal, and that what I shall call a feminization of the commodity is made possible because of gendered and racialized practices of
the bodyngers hard, dark, and understood within frameworks of endurance and heretical laughter.These too are the feminized texts of empire,
of colony, of neocolonial plantations at the end of a millennium.
Histories, imperial and subterranean, fold into each other, and I will, in
the narratives that follow, search for the strands of a longue dure 9 that connect corporeal memories and practices to larger global processes and the
material themes they entail. An ethnography of the quotidian, privileging
the pragmatic and contemporary worlds of women and men working in
the tea elds of North Bengal, will constitute the narrative seedbed of the
book.10 It will, however, be in constant play with the colonial and imperial
histories that continue to imbue the structural compulsions of plantation
production.
Alap
laboring womans body bends in its shadow. Between cup and lip is the
breath of another tale. A body stretches out its possibilities.
The analogue of the womans body-as-bridge linking the divides of the
international labor is not easily made. Consumption is not transparently
constructed.The bridge is not a metaphor easily deployed.Consider driving
over a corporeal bridge.Consider its rush of violence. Labor becomes product and commodity through congealments of esh, not pillars or stone.The
feminized connections among the tales of empire, colony, and post colony
are constructed through the mundane and seemingly insignicant gestures
of the body enabling power, paradox, and silence. Its script remains in esh.
A plucking womans body does not permit such easy analogues of bridging
links. It signals its own negation.
Writing Power
The commentary of the anonymous man by the small shop, as well as Anjali and Bhagirathis laughter, gestures toward dissonances in the stories of
tea to be told. A mans body moves quickly away from mine. Such deferrals of body and space provide an explicit commentary about my politics of
location:19 a memsahib, Bengali, upper-caste.
The politics of patronage and the terms of coercive power that undergird
plantation work and its social worlds permitted me access to some plantations in North Bengal, and it permitted me to remain in the one I have called
Sarahs Hope Tea Estate. Deeply benevolent, planter patronage embraced
me because I was a bhadralogs (Bengali gentlemans) daughter, and I exuded a heady connection to the new empire, the United States. I was also
embraced as a friend and ctive kin by two planting families, who enabled
this work in signicant ways.While encounters with other members of the
planter elite decreased dramatically as the research continued (and snagged
in some jagged, political shoals), it was a kind paternalism and maternalism
that also made this work possible.
However, I also remember edgy commentaries from a planter associate,
an elderly Bengali man, whom I had met at the regional planters association
while searching for archival material. So, Miss Chatterjee, he said with
some asperity. Where have you been? I havent seen you for a while. Are
you still doing research on women workers? My goodness, are you going
out into the eld with them? This is why you have become so black.
His was a striking commentary about my perceived transgression:
another rendition of fallen status, marked by the ction of my eldwork
Alap
who came here to be trained, but our entry into the here (of a U.S. center)
from the there (of the periphery) is itself compelled by specic postcolonial
and imperial histories.23
Yet such transnational moves are mediated by actual power plays:
the contradictions of class location, state, and juridical power, the politics
of nationhood and citizenship.24 To then claim where we come from as
an ethnographic site, to engage the home-as-eld, gestures to a counterparadigmatic dance. Yet its practice is implicated within the actualities of
late-twentieth-century globalization and its imperial orders. It is simultaneously, and perhaps contradictorily, inected by the bourgeois, feudal, and
regional particularities embedded within the larger matrix.
Through these moments of encounter and contest, I reect on the shared
codication of my specic authorial positioning as a postcolonial, Third
World, feminist anthropologist. Through this ethnography, I push into the
membranes of these categories because of my desire to destabilize them. My
desire is fueled by the need to understand the relationship between reection and practice, the ontologies of worlds in theword, of writing as an act of
despair, celebration, enablement, and im/possibility. I do so, however, in an
open-ended way, employing rhetorical strategies to speak up, against, and
about the silences that many of us inhabit because our dizzying oscillations
do not allow the safety of xed categorical boundaries. De/colonization is
the sharp-edged frame within which the act of writing and the politics of
the plantation experience is narrated.
I am, however, most interested in viewing these destabilizing meditations as a corridor through which we can reect on ethnographic writing
as an act always embedded in the mother lode of its actualities. I oer them
walking on paths paved by contrary philosophers of eld and text to whom
they owe many debts. They are poets, singers, raconteurs, scholars, theorists, and activists. They are crafters of the spoken and written word, narrators of the possible.They sit on my shoulders with folded wings and urge
me to think beyond the connements of borders.They push me to imagine,
and theorize, the work of writing-action-power as an integral matrix. They
ask me to explore the dialectics between language games and the worlds to
which they gesture. They suggest that perhaps writing, and ethnographic
writing in particular, is a re-presentation of human experience that is not
only about violence/betrayal/appropriation.Yes, these are important characters in my theater of silences and silencing. Writing, like the body, can
sway in the paradoxes of its own making. Perhaps, with folded wings, it
can honor.
Alap
text, through text, I am seeking a language of interruptions: one that begins to de/colonize paradigms that do not easily permit the expression of
anguish and desperation, the bodys scripts of labor, silence, alienation. In
making these assertions, I honor Artauds exultation of Balinese theaters capacity to lead us unceasingly along roads rough and dicult for the mind,
plung(ing) us into that state of uncertainty and ineable anguish which is
the characteristic of poetry. 30 The drama, like poetry, is a process continuously open to its own sad ruptures. This is its only claim.
Situated Knowledges
In the rst weeks of , when I nally nd a place to stay, I am rarely
alone. Embraced by honest curiosity, I am invited to many rituals of welcome. Anjali Mirdha, assigned to the small bungalow that is to be my home
in this rst sojourn in the plantation, brings me to the homes of friends and
kin. A kinswoman sips from a steel tumbler of red liquor tea.The tea oered
to me comes in a small china cup. She smiles, This is not Darjeeling tea
but our own espeshal [special] lal cha [red tea] served to guests. Everyone
laughs at my bewilderment. Anjali explains that this is the tea rationed to
workers and made from the lowest grade of tea powder at the end of factory manufacture. The espeshal tea is oered with its own product brand
of good-humored sarcasm. Anjali introduces me to Bhagirathi Mahato, a
neighbor, and very soon I meet her older kinswomen. A week after my arrival, a few of us take a walk to the Bhutanese border. It is winter, and I am
fortunate that they give so generously of their free time. The rhythms of
labor, even in absence, create the backbeat of the spaces within which we
will meet and talk. It is telling that they choose to take me to a place so far
from the plantation and its villages.
Except for kinsmen of the small network of women who draw me slowly
into their lives, most plantation men measure a conspicuous distance from
me in my short journeys through the villages. Trade union leaders know
about the patronage that has brought me to this plantation, and the trickledown eects of this information engenders hostility and suspicion. However, it would be a mistake to interpret such sharply gendered acts of distancing as connected only to trade-union-inected perceptions. When an
old man jumps away, startled as I walk by him, his surprise registers the fact
that women of my class/status, memsahibs, do not come into the Labor
Lines.The garden fence of the bungalow precincts is an absolute border for
the women who reside inside. The bewilderment, surprise, and fear, in the
Alap
eyes of an old man register the histories of class and power. When I enter
their homes, mens absences assert also a sense of mutual izzat (honor).When
I ask Bhagirathi about mens deferrals, she remarks, You are a woman, a
memsahib from a higher caste.They are shy to be around when we talk. But
they ask many questions.
In striking contrast to this gendered and class distancing, my initial encounters with many plantation women are characterized by immediacy and
frankness. At rst, I consider this dierence in response a reection of
womens distance from organized labor politics. I learn quickly that such
assumptions about womens ignorance of my connections with the plantocracy, and its possible ramications, is simplistic and wrong. Anjali tells
me what is being whispered in the villages: I am a spy for the company in
Calcutta, for the Amrikis (Americans), and a welfare ocer of the state government.When I ask what they think of these commentaries, Munnu Kujoor
comments, They are worried because you are from the outside. They do
think it is political party work. But you are a spy, arent you? If you write
down things you see and hear and you tell others, isnt that spying?
Womens knowledges of village politics, and their own reections about
this research, teach me the most important lessons about the politics
of ethnographic production: that knowledges are gendered and womens
analysis, and insights about this work is premised on the collective and
mundane chatter through which their communities make decisions about
uninvited strangers in their midst. Through numerous conversations about
perceptions and interpretations of my presence, we sift through the contradictions of my research. Questions about its product, the thesis or book,
occur. More often, the daily eects of our growing kinship is discussed. Anjali tells me that she is distraught because some from her community are
saying that Anjali walks behind the memsahib because she is getting better
food. A Nepali overseer has asked Bhagirathi where her masterji (teacher)
is. Both Anjali and Bhagirathi are deant when they share these anecdotes
with me. They underscore that this is the way of the village, of jealousy.
Why should it bother anyone what we do and where we go? Yet the commentary about food, and the analysis of jealousy, gestures to the strands
of a political economy within which, for many, getting enough to eat is
a constant struggle. As such, perceptions about gendered and cross-class
solidarity within the immediate context of this research are written within
the syntax of power and its moral economies. Hunger is its ineable script.
Translating this mise-en-scne of collective and dialogic static against
the grain of the text is in one way impossible. Yet it cannot be deferred.
Grinding against the sieve of authorship are commentaries, interrogations,
and discussions oered by some plantation women, and men, upon whose
living knowledges this ethnographic analysis is built.
Through their questions, they deployed a strategy about anthropological learning that decentered any easy assumptions I may have harbored
about anthropological and textual authority. Un/learning and re/learning
the terms of anthropological expertise and authorship is constant work. It
is a pedagogy, in Paulo Freires terms, that requires its own decolonization. As such, this particular narrative remains connected to the fault lines
of memory, to the richness of experience, the historical imagination, and
nally to the hope of connections to collective and emancipatory social
practice.31
Seven years have passed. Seven years of absence and return. Munnu, Anjali,
and I walk quickly to Gitas house for a meeting. We will be met there by
Moniki and Menu Mosi, who want to introduce me to a woman from their
clan who has suered much. As we head to the meeting, Munnu tells me
that the dol (labor gang), while plucking in the eld, has decided to move
ahead with other income generation activities. Their meeting-in-labor is
organic and powerful. When we meet at Gitas house with the rest of the
group, we decide to hold another meeting to discuss registration. Perhaps
a more collaborative politics of translation has begun.
These are stories of the plantation that need to be told. They are more
important than the medium of selfhood through which they are partially
ltered and understood. Their translation is multiply inected by power.
These narratives do not assert the nostalgia of lost origins. Neither do they
shriek the clarion call of good intentions. The politics of translation are
drawn too sharply for the miasma of innocent intent.32 When orality itself
is translated into a literate text, into a language (English) twice removed in
power from the languages spoken by plantation women (Sadri, Hindi, and
Nepali), then the act of writing congeals power and dierence in a space
never transparent.33
Captured into the written words of an academic text that will circulate in
the global marketplace, this ethnography will perform an ironic fetishistic
act. Like the tea box circumnavigating the market, this book will commodify
into print the stories of women and tea. It too will circulate as product, as
commodity, as a reied tale of power and paradox: another feminized tale
to be read in and against the grain of its own moment.
As a postcolonial ethnographer navigating the cartographies of new emAlap
pire in the production of this text, I have enacted various refusals. For many
years, paralyzed by the contradictions of its manufacture, I have been unable to come to the written word. The silence through which I have come
to this text has forced me to question that-which-is-not-said, refusal, in
more general terms. Silence tracs on psychic lands, between the external
and internal, through the stunned words that lie, breathing, within.The refusal of others to speak charts the terrain of interpretation, as much as the
words uttered.34 Memory is not so fully dismembered by the contradictions
of postcolonial displacements: the plottings of silence and word map the suffocating terrains of imperial power.With ngers, and the word, these stories
trace fault lines. A womans body stretches on the rack between utterance
and void.
Calligraphies
Anjali Mirdha, Munnu Kujoor, Bhagirathi Mahato, and their kinswomen remind me with honesty and compassion, that telling stories emerges from
the most basic of human impulses to communicate, to commune. We have
numerous conversations about the text: its literacy, its language, its circulations.
Picking up my pen, Anjali rushes over to a map of the plantation I have
been sketching on the wall. Scribbling her name in Hindi, she hands me the
pen and watches while I write her name again, in Hindi and English. She
tells me that this is all she could write and that she had nished up through
class in the local plantation school. This, she says with pride. Taking the
pen from me, she ran her ngers up its length, weighing it in her hands. Is
me shakti he [there is power in this]. Didi, how great it is that you can write.
I would have liked so much to write. Her explicit recognition of the power
contained in the pen, in writing, is tangible; her desire to claim authorship,
poignant and powerful. It is also celebratory.
Months later, Munnu and I return from a remarkable day with a legendary trade union leader who is a woman, Lachmi Maya Chhetri. After an
hour of rest, we meet for dinner. Grabbing my arm, Munnu asks: Have you
written what she said? Have you? Can you believe the stories she told us
about the English period? Have you written it down yet? Have you?
The intensely tangible understanding of power in writing stories was
always underscored when we had explicit conversations about the research
project and the book that would come out of it. Anjali told me she did
not understand this as a book but as a lm, that I was making a lm with
scenes that were like photographs in my mind. Still pictures.
Yet they also understood that their stories would circulate among bara
aadmi [big people] like yourself. Perhaps, Bhagirathi shrugs, there
might be some benet for us (she pauses). But probably not. She understands the limits of trickle-down theory. She continues, You people are big
people after all.You live in America. But you are not kicking me in the stomach, so what is wrong with sharing some stories? Then patting me on the
head consolingly, she says, Ah, didi, dont worry so much.Tell your stories
about the garden. 35
Their critiques were polyvalent: trenchant, critical, humorous. Their
commentaries inform the textual method through which these stories of tea
are written. Weaving between dierent kinds of telling/writing, I enact a
dissonance that suggests an edgy sound, a cacophonous trill poised on the
borders of a melody. The narratives make no claim for a paradise lost, of an
innocence or diasporic nostalgia to be naively scripted, a required redemption.
The metaphors of cultivation, of gardens, and indeed of the Eden to be
planted in the new colony create a template of colonial inscriptions about
tea plantations in northeastern India. There was a paradise to be gained,
new elds of edenic cultivation: of landscapes to be settled and made
human through a vision of empire and light on a savage frontier. So the
gardens were planted, harnessing people for the hard task of cultivation,
making an even, emerald landscapewhich to this day remains curiously
unpeopled from the distance of the road.The bushes stretch undulating and
green, bordering the paddy elds, against the Himalayan foothills.
The eld takes on many meanings: its Cartesian emptiness to be explained with a corporeal history, its cartographies made temporally human.
For an anthropologist, these elds take on other meanings. Fieldwork has
a darker and imperial resonance.36 Indeed, it is a eld of vision to splinter
through landscapes laced with memory and power.
I dig up old boxes from inside the earth: lacquered and cloisonn, ebony,
mother-of-pearl. Caddies of tea that do not appear exotic or sacred, merely
innite. Frames within frames of liquid lines dissolving into spirals, into
circles, into ame. There are words to be summoned from ether, ground
whose earth I must touch. There are caravans and ships to join, worlds
to map.
What spoils to spin? What cartographies to learn and unlearn? What
terrain to conquer again with word and noise?
Let me ask you to lift a gray veil and imagine Alice in her Wonderland.
Let me ask you to imagine for a moment, Alice setting out the porcelain
cups.Who is the Mad Hatter, and where to begin?
Alap
A spotlight sweeps in a steady arc around the stage, moving stage right to where
the Narrator stands on the stage. She is hunched and unmoving. The light stops
almost questioningly, then moves upward toward the left. Harpsichord music in
the background and the chirping of birds. The light stops at a frozen tableau.
There, spread out, is the Mad Tea Party from Alices Adventures in Wonderland: a table set under a tree, the March Hare and the Mad Hatter having tea
at it, and Doormouse between them, fast asleep, that the other two are using
as a cushion, resting their elbows on.37 Alice sits with a petulant and sulky look
on her face. On the table, with its paraphernalia of tarts, cups, and teapot, is a
small roll of paper tied with a ribbon. The Narrator moves from her dark corner.
Drawing the folds of her robe, she picks up the mora (wicker stool) and places
it next to Alice, who looks at her with curious annoyance. The Narrator reaches
across and picks up the small roll of paper with a questioning glance at Alice.
Alice shrugs with indierence. Unrolling it, the Narrator reads the text, slowly,
and with increasing puzzlement.
: I am an oriental Alice, I say. My tea party is peopled with dark faces
and caravans that wind through the steppes of my mother/continent.
The slash suggests this winding. Like a scalpel it cleaves the tale. I am an
oriental Alice, I say: I disdain the at hyphen, its Cartesian plane. The
Alap
,
Spotlight focuses on the Mad Tea Party. Alice, the Mad Hatter, the March Hare
and Doormouse rub their eyes as if coming out of a trance. The Narrator sits on
the wicker stool and turns to you.
: Poor, poor Alice. How she shrinks! How she expands! How she searches
fora way to get into the perfect garden.Considerall her journeys: the caucus race, the doormouses tail/tale, the caterpillar encounter. Wouldnt
you be a little tired if you swam in a pool of tears? Aha! They are waking
up. (She picks up her lantern and stool. She moves back to her section of
the stage.)
: (as if continuing a story from a dream he is waking from) Well,
I had hardly nished the rst verse, when the Queen bawled out He is
murdering the time! O with his head!
: (exclaiming) How dreadfully savage!
: (in a mournful tone) And ever since that, he wont do a thing
I ask! Its always six oclock now.
: (brightly) Is that the reason so many tea-things are put out here?
: (sighing) Yes, thats it . . . its always tea-time, and weve not
time to wash the things between whiles.
: Then you keep moving around, I suppose?
: Exactly so, as the things get used up.
: But what happens when you come to the beginning again?
: (interrupting with a yawn) Suppose we change the subject.
Im getting tired of this. I vote the young lady tells us a story. 1
Light fades out. Only the glow from the Narrators lantern remains. Silence.
T juxtaposes images of imperial renement and imperial rupture: folktales of civilization and conquest that made possible
the cultivated landscapes of its longue dure. Imagine, if you will, mari-
time legends of tea clippers racing their packed chests to the thirsty docks
of London and Boston. Consider the desire of the rst sip in grand parlors,
the quiet tinkle of spoons against porcelain. Picture one night in Boston,
where men dressed as Native Americans toss tea chests in the harbor.2 What
a tea party this is, imbued with the overt symbols of political battle and the
more hidden suggestions of a wildness to be imagined, appropriated, and
conquered.
Cultural renement and political rebellion inform these tea parties, and
the beverageits leaf and liquidbecomes a medium through which the
chronicles of global expansion and conquest can be told. Layered into these
more visible political economies of European expansion are tales of imagination and desire that fed a burgeoning demand and sparked teas journey
into the grandest parlors of Europe. From the late sixteenth century, tea
titillated European palates, by virtue of its consummate connection to the
riches of the celestial kingdom itself: the secret and shadow empire of the
great Orient, China, which would keep European trade at bay for over
two centuries. Curtailed supply would make the commodity more dear, and
indeed, more desirable.
With all its accoutrements of porcelain jars and delicate cups, bamboo
whisks and brocade, the culture around tea drinking would come to signify
the consuming pleasures of discovery. From within such a cradle of splendor, tea would take on an aura of exoticism that would be domesticated
and made quintessentially English. 3 A commodity that was alluring because of its very distance from the familiar would be slowly transformed
into the signier of a quotidian and very English denition of civil manners,
genteel taste: the penultimate icon of civilization itself. Indeed, hidden in
such consummate navigations from strange to familiar are the histories of empire: the mappings of exoticism, the continuous struggles over
symbol and sign, and the cultural cartographies of conquest.
The social economies of Chinese and European tea histories embroider
this chronicle of tea. Using the tea leaf as a medium, so to speak, I oer a
layered cultural history of the world system that, as Marshall Sahlins argues, cannot be reduced in any simple sense to the economic compulsions
of early modern trade.4 Certainly, it is dicult to dispute the importance of
tea in the regional economies of Asia and its emergence as the most important commodity to feed the coers of the East India Company.The immense
potential prot promised by trade in Chinese tea was a primary impetus for
its navigation through the choppy waters of the South China Sea.
Yet, compulsions of lucre cannot wholly explain teas emergence as such
a singular commodity player in the theater of early modern maritime trade.
Travels of Tea, Travels of Empire
Celestial Seasonings
The woman etched brightly on the box of Chinese herbal tea in a southern California supermarket invokes an imagined Asian landscape.Through
a commodication that is baroque, bright, and exotic, the packet gestures
toward millennial economies. It scripts a two-dimensional text about a cultural economy of consumption within which the allure of an exotic picturesque remains an enduring theme.
There is considerable debate about the precise time period when tea cul
oered a cup of tea, which he drank with great relish. His enjoyment, and the
attendant act of deference through which the tea had been oered, suused
tea drinking with a decidedly Taoist avor. It marks Chinese hospitality to
this day. Other folktales connected tea to Buddhist journeys from India to
China and Japan. The Buddhist monk Darma, or Dharuma, left India for
Nanjing around .. , vowing to meditate for seven years without sleeping. In his fth year, the hapless monk, overcome, struggling against his
mortal weakness of sleep, tore o his eyelids. When they fell to the earth,
they became tea plants, whose herbal oering ushered him into the enlightenment he sought.6 These folk histories, rooted in the earth and the wanderings of monks, suggest that tea drinking was a potent and quotidian presence
in the social worlds of rural China.
By .. , Chinese imperial bureaucrats were calling attention to the importance of regional trade in tea.The sale of vinegar, noodles, cabbage and
tea in the west gardens was a reection upon the dignity of government. 7
Cultivation on small family-owned plots of land and circulation on river
routes created expanding trade networks in southern China. Wholesalers
bought tea from small farmholdings and sold consignments to merchants,
who paid their tax obligations in home provinces in cash at the capital.
In return, wholesale retailers received bills of exchange known as ying
money ( feiqan), which guaranteed repayment by local authorities after the
merchants returned home.8 This system of credit, connecting tax revenue
payments of merchants with the southern Chinese tea economy, signals the
signicant role of tea cultivation in Tang state bureaucracy and the revenue
collection it managed. Indeed, the linkage between northern capitals and
southern kingdoms was to forge teas scal importance to Chinese imperial
policy for many centuries.
Imperial policies of the southern Song era () enhanced teas
commoditization and visibility in the rites of popular and elite consumption.9 Because of the rule of a rival dynasty in northern China, the Jin (
), the southern Chinese tea trade was monopolized by the Song aristocracy.The thirst for lacha (wax tea), together with the epicurean standards of
taste that grew around tea drinking, ensured a boom in the production of
tea in the region. Small, government-run plantations in Minbei (northwest
Fujian) where wax tea was grown and processed, invigorated local economies. So lucrativewas this trade that these small plantations created a system
of labor organization that anticipated the vast plantation systems of colonial South Asia. Imperial estates monopolized the production of lacha,
but the ripple eects of the state monopoly also ensured a boom in microproprietorship. Buddhist and Taoist monasteries underwrote their texts of
spiritual consumption with tea cultivation. Indeed, these temple plantations
spun the threads of a ritual political economy that crossed the borders into
Japan and Korea. However, scal consolidation by Song bureaucrats led
to the displacement of local sharecroppers from lacha production, and as
a result this monopoly was not a seamless business. Tea bandits, known as
chakoyu, led attacks against government ocials and tea merchants.10
Teas importance as a staple of intraregional circulation was rmly established in the Song dynasty, but its role in the border trade with central Asia
is equally signicant. Sichuan tea had entered the caravans of Tibetan and
Central Asian nomads long before the Tang dynasty, but the Song instituted a carefully regulated barter system on its northern borders, a trade
that was to become a focus of the later Ming and early Qing administration
().11 However, the Mongol invasion and the subsequent Yuan dynasty () interrupted such successful scal strategies.The southern
Song and Jin dynasties collapsed, as did state-controlled lacha production.
It was in this period of dynastic upheaval that the production of leaf tea,
instead of compressed or powder tea, became most popular. State-run imperial plantations would be expanded again by the Ming dynasty (
).
Imperial bureaucrats of the Ming dynasty focused on the border trade
with Central Asia and a powerful cartel, the Horse and Tea Commission,
premised on the barter of horses and tea, emerged. A million jin of state
monopoly tea from Sichuan was traded for fourteen thousand Mongolian
horses at trade stations on northern borders. Indeed, this immense barter
economy created the backbone of the Chinese imperial cavalry.12 Alongside
the state-controlled barter system, the caravan trade through Central Asia
and Russia followed an old route, introducing tea to Russia and lands further west. Ming trade expansion was not limited to its terrestrial northern
borders, and rulers like the famed emperor Yung Lo () sent naval armadas of trade as far west as Persia and south into Java, Sumatra,Ceylon (Sri
Lanka), and even Malabar.13 The barter system and caravan trades, coupled
with maritime explorations, fed the imperial treasure chests. Tea, with silk
and other precious wares, helped to rebuild the Great Wall and opened the
imperial canal connecting the trade routes of northern and southern Chinas
great rivers.
preceding dawn, the quality of leaf being more highly valued than quantity.
These highly trained girls wore labels so that tea thieves could not mingle
with them unnoticed. 18
Thus, virgin womens plucking dened some of the nest grades of tea
leaf: cleanliness connoted purity, clean silk-clad ngers, a pristine delicacy. Notions of purity (of a clean, nonsexual female body) constructed
against the grain of its other (female sexuality qua pollution) idealized
womens labor through a powerful set of cultural codications about bodily
purity, contamination, and constructions of feminized virtue. These codes
of feminine discipline imbue both labor practice and the products emerging measurements of worth. Tea was valued through a corporeal mythography of labor: the idealized purity of a womans body, whose act of labor
would permit the leaf to remain in an original statea natural state of innocenceeven when plucked out of that state through the tainting action of
human labor. Indeed, some grades of tea destined for the imperial household could not be touched even by virgin ngers.Clipped with gold scissors,
the imperial cut was expressly reserved for the emperors precious and
discerning palate.19
Spotlight on the Narrator who sits quietly in her chair. It moves to focus on her
hands. She leans forward to turn up the lanterns ame. Tinkling music in the
background, a breeze that makes the gau muslin backdrop move. She takes o
both gloves. The movements should be elaborate and slow. Leisured. She exes
her hand.Then, from the table, she picks up the false ngernails and begins xing them on one hand. As she does this, the light turns on behind the backdrop,
center stage. Three dancers move, slowly as if doing tai chi, but only their shadows can be seen: they bend forward, they throw out their hands, in repetitious
movements.The Narrator paints her nails, holding them out against the light so
they look elongated, almost grotesque. The music fades as the lights dim, the
dance behind the muslin continues till that area of the stage is pitch black. The
Narrator leans forward and with the hand not adorned with the false ngernails,
she turns down her lantern. Again, she is left in the near dark.
The observations of Chinese womens labor practice on imperial plantations
oers an intriguing cultural codication of plucking as essentially feminine. What I call signications of the feminine emerge through ascriptions of purity within explicitly feminized bodily disciplines. From these
emerged the iconic image of dismemberment and allure: womens ngers
Travels of Tea, Travels of Empire
Valued Tastes
The demands of epicureans, tasters, and masters of the teahouse would demarcate the kinds of tea to be plucked and processed in the imperial plantations. Perhaps spaces of aristocratic consumption were created into cultivated domains of social renement because they refracted the ostensibly
pristine conditions of labor in one site of production. These were idealized
cosmologies of labor, immaculate myths, if you will, which underscored the
romance of feminized work and permeated the rareed domains of aristocratic tea consumption.
Dierent grades of tea speak a language of legends, folktales, and local
histories in evocative ways. For example, among the nest grades of Sichuan tea is Meng-Ting (Hidden Peak); its name constructed from topographic and poetic referents. During the Song era, numerous tea plantations
were cultivated on Mount Meng and the heavy mists blanketing the peak
were believed to conjure the Immortals so as to protect the tea trees from
marauding strangers. 20 Another tea, a semifermented (oolong) tea from
Fukiens Mount Wu-I, is called Tieh-Kuan-Yin (Iron Goddess of Mercy),
because it is grown near the temple of the goddess Kuan Yin. The story,
passed into legend, is as follows: A disciple of the goddess cared for a ramshackled and ruined temple.The goddess, pleased at his devotion, appeared
to him in a dream, telling him of a treasure he would nd in a nearby cave
that he should share with everyone. Discovering a small tea sapling, the
disappointed devotee nevertheless tended it to its fullness and thereupon
discovered its golden aroma. Soon, he had a thriving business in tea. Connected forever to a revered feminine gure of Chinese mythology, the tea
Tieh-Kuan-Yin takes on divine value.
ponds, grottoes, bamboo groves, and miniature trees. Nature, thus transformed to an exquisite art, would be the perfect site for the imbibement of
tea. This was a poetic landscape, which distilled the more plebian folktales
of tea into a microcosmology of celestial order and renement. Harmony,
silence, and order marked this cultivated landscape.
Etiquettes of tea drinking within this landscape were written into didactic manuals from the Tang dynasty onward. Most famous is the Cha Ching,
a three-volume treatise on tea drinking written by Lu Y, considered the
patron saint of Chinese tea merchants.This eighth-century text codies tea
etiquette by elaborating on proper cultivation, comportment, equipment,
and taste. The rst cup of tea, Lu Y remarks, should have a haunting
avor, strange and lasting.When you drink tea, sip only, otherwise you will
dissipate the avor. Moderation is the very essence of tea.Tea does not lend
itself to extravagance. 22 Two centuries after Lu Ys text, the emperor Hui
Tsung () wrote the Ta Kuan Cha Lun, which oered detailed information about tea production and consumption. From an emperor-scholar
ostensibly isolated in the northern courts, the book oers a detailed ethnographic study of eldwork.23 Unfortunately, the emperor was fated to suer
for his epicurean ethnology, when he was deposed for not attending to matters of the state.Yet when this Son of Heaven wrote, When I am at leisure,
I too like to go into all the intricacies of tea, 24 his words suggest that tea
had reached the absolute apex of social cultivation and cultural renement.
Imperial desire was acted through the choreographies of leisure, through
the rituals of timeless ease. Indeed, for what reason should man work? Notes
Lu Y: It is only for ease and comfort that man works at things. He sequesters himself in a house. So the house he renes to the perfection of his own
taste. He covers himself with clothing.The clothing he renes to perfection.
He consumes with both food and drink.These also he cultivates and renes
to the utmost.Thus with tea. 25 The elaborate meditation on tea equipment
and service wrote in its turn a Confucian philosophy of leisure, marking the
tempos of self restraint and good conduct. 26
,
A bright spotlight center stage in front of the muslin curtain. The light should
be angled so that it does not wholly illuminate the gures behind the screen.The
dancers continue to move, barely.Two gures, a monk and a gorgeously dressed
imperial gure in red and gold silk, arrive with trumpet soundings: the Emperor
and the patron saint of tea, Lu Y. The gures move slowly as the Narrator
speaks from her corner.
Travels of Tea, Travels of Empire
time combined bodily renement explicitly with Taoist and Buddhist philosophies.
Chanoyu (the way of tea) thus expressed through silence and simplicity
the harmony of not only a social encounter but the spiritual universe itself.
Kakuzo Okakura describes it as such: Not a color to disturb the tone of the
room, not a sound to mar the rhythm of things, not a gesture to obtrude on
the harmony, not a word to break the unity of surroundings, all movements
to be performed simply and naturallysuch were the aims of the tea ceremony. And strangely enough, it was often successful; a subtle philosophy
lay behind it all.Teaism was Taoism in disguise. 29 The simplicity of movement in space expressed not only social and cosmic harmony; it symbolized
the souls actualization.The tea master, like the haiku poet,30 gestured (with
restraint and reticence) toward a domain lying beyond the nite world of the
visible and the spoken. Through silent grace, s/he oered a cup of innity
and suggested in that gift the attainment of nirvana itself.
The barter trade in tea with Central Asia from the Tang dynasty onward
only supplemented the ancient caravan trade networks into that region,
Tibet, Russia, and beyond.The Silk Route established by Chandragupta and
Selecas I of Macedonia also invigorated trade with China, though Chinese
goods had traveled the overland routes of Indian, Persian, and Arab merchants long before this.31 Encounters between intrepid papal envoys such
as Giovanni de Piano Carpini and Marco Polo and the Chinese imperial
courts occurred as early as . Though no direct reference to a tea trade
was made, Marco Polo did note the dismissal of a Chinese nance minister
in , who had dared to raise the tax on tea.32
Three centuries later, Giovanni Botero wrote in his essay, On the
Causes of Greatness in Cities, that the Chinese have a herb out of which
they press a delicate juice which serves them for drink instead of wine; it also
preserves their health and forces from those evils that the immoderate use
of wine doth breed in us. 33 Through these early European references, positive inscriptions of its moderating value were charting teas travels overland
to Europe. Travel accounts of papal envoys and even a Jesuit priest who
settled in Cathay wove a narrative into yet another grade of tea: padre
souchong 34 names a particularly ne grade of tea made and relished by the
earliest Catholic missionaries in southern China.35
from their other European rivals. Two small gifts were made to the English
king in , and the rst large batch (. pounds) was shipped from Bantan, Java, in . Teas arrival on English shores is indexed within aristocratic folktales. It was the earl of Ossay, traveling from the Netherlands, who
brought with him a quantityof tea which the ladies proceeded to serve after
the newest and most aristocratic vogue of the continent. 40 Teas association with the aristocracy was forged tighter with the arrival of the new royal
bride of Charles II, the Portuguese Catherine of Braganza, who brought tea
into her courtly rituals.The Companys tribute of Chinese tea to the English
king sweetened his patronage for their cartel. It was already being royally
feminized through its connection with his wife. The king obliged by banning tea imports from Holland, creating nally, for the English East India
Company a monopoly of tea sales in Britain and its colonies.
For the Dutch and the English, commercial warfare abroad became the
primary means to accumulate bullion for royal patrons.Yet to win these farung struggles for commercial supremacy, European merchants had to cut
against the historical grain of global commerce.41 Open access by sea to the
treasures of the East created an Orient that was viewed as a potential mother
lode of European wealth, not an abyss.
Chinese emperors dismissed European incursions on the anks of its vast
territories, and their own assessment of European goods oered for trade
was an almost cosmic indierence. Theaters of display such as those in the
Summer Palace oered the signs of cosmological centrality in which the
occidental wares were simply another act of commercial and symbolic obeisance to the Son of Heaven.42 From the sixteenth century, however,Chinese
rulers were aware, and wary, of the growing European presence to the south.
The Chiing emperor () tightened control over foreign trade and by the
late s had cleared the coast of foreign presence entirely.The creation of
a buer zone between the busy ports and the great interior of China was one
objective of Chinese imperial policy.43 Between and , however, the
British were permitted to anchor their ships at the Whampoa anchorage in
Canton.
Between and , , pounds of tea were consumed in Britain.
By , England was purchasing one-fth of all tea being imported into
Europe. Between and , tea comprised percent of all cargoes
outbound from Canton and percent of Dutch East Indian Company purchases during that period.44 In , the English East India Company had
sold million pounds of tea, and in two years the sales had reached a staggering million pounds.45 By it was the most powerful trade cartel in
the world and owed percent of its net prot to the Chinese tea trade. Tea
Travels of Tea, Travels of Empire
ranked fourth in value of the seven commodities exchanged on an empirewide scale.46 Canton, as a result, emerged as one of the most important
maritime ports in Asia.
The East India Companys monopoly of the tea trade, bound by royal
charter, fed the coers of the state in signicant ways. Tea duties, to oset high shipping costs, included ad valorem taxes of percent and
yielded about percent of the gross public revenue of eighteenth-century
Britain.47 Between and , million of duty tax was collected, and
through the early nineteenth century tea remained an expensive upper-class
luxury. However, a large black market economy ensured that smuggled tea
was reaching the palates of the plebaean order. 48 In , smuggled tea
fetched pence per pound (compared to the retail cost of shillings) and
farmers servants demanded tea for their breakfast. 49 Smuggling of tea
was so widespread that the tombstone of an ill-fated smuggler oers a
divine appeal: A little tea one leaf I did not steal / For guiltless blood shed,
I to God appeal. / Put tea in one scale, human blood in tother / And think
what tis to slay thy harmless brother. 50
It was, however, a tax on tea that caused the British to clash with their colony
in North America. Tea had entered New Amsterdams colonial homes as
early as . Through the next century, tea and its accoutrements were
lling the nest parlors of colonial Boston and New York.51 Economic dependence on British goods marked the preindustrial economy of the colony
and was coupled with the colonization of taste itself.52 The anglicization
of the colonial market and transatlantic trade suggests a cultural economy
in which an emulation of Englishness was manifested through rituals of
consumption. Not surprisingly, tea featured prominently in the new parlors: Polite ladies, perhaps as a device to lure gentlemen away from tavern
society, organized elaborate household rituals around tea service. 53 In the
last decades of the eighteenth century, these polite parlors would be seized
with revolutionary fervor, and the symbolic and mimetic rites of consumptions would enact a dramatic volte-face. Tea would come to symbolize the
tyranny of the British crown.
In , the British government, urged by its powerful East India Company lobby, proposed a levy on four commodities imported to the colony:
paper, glass, lead, and tea. This Townshend Act followed the controversial
Stamp Act of , through which the colony had to bear a portion of the
military cost of the Seven Years War. Because of considerable protest this
levy was repealed, except for a one-penny duty per pound of tea.
But the colony did not want its tea to subsidize colonial rumbles, and this
fateful scal strategy would boomerang with revolutionary force less than
a decade later. Because of the tax, enterprising smugglers brought tea cargoes to the eastern seaboard of North America, and the East India Company
found itself saddled with large supplies of surplus tea. Given its balanceof-payments crises with China, it was determined to recover some costs
from the American colony. After extensive lobbying through parliament,
the British made a fateful decision. The Tea Act of permitted the East
India Company to restore the full amount of the percent duty when tea
was shipped from England, thus imposing a three-penny tax.54 This was the
nal catalyst for revolution, and tea bore the stigmata of injustice.When a
group of men dressed as Indians threw Chinese tea boxes into Boston Harbor, it was the nal dramatic act of a party that had been brewing since the
late s. In an illustrated poem of the time, this costumed appropriation
of an internal othernessand the disorder that it signiedwas explicated: With artful disguise, / And grotesque decoration, / Like sons of the
forest, / A poor imitation, / A score or more men on a night in December, /
Went forth to a deed the world would remember. 55
Illustrating the Boston Tea Party through the signiers of radical otherness (still negative and grotesque), the tea chestthrowers appropriated
the costumes of their own sons of the forest (both native and black), creating an alterity that challenged British rule. Still a poor imitation, it is
an appropriation that throws dominant constructions of a distinctly North
American body politic and its radical dierencenative savagery, African bondageinto the cauldron of revolutionary fervor.
Boycotts of British manufactures riddled transatlantic consumer trade
from this time onward and became a tangible and symbolic language of resistance.56 Signicantly, it was a womens organization, the Daughters of
Liberty, who boycotted tea drinking and brewed in its place Labrador tea,
an infusion made from indigenous herbs.57 During the early decades of that
momentous century, tea drinking was a positive symbolic act in the creative
reimagining of English manners; at the end of the century, it was a powerful marker of exactly the opposite. Tea was now marked as an alien product
(from China), and its destruction would signal a dramatic statement to the
colonys distant rulers.Yet it was precisely because of its quotidian presence
in colonial life that its destruction in the harbor could grow from a symbolic
act into political revolution.
a and b
Like Sons of the
Forest. Illustration by
H.W. M. Vickar,
from The Boston Tea
Party, .
Swaying the wide world, I have but one aim in view, namely to maintain a
perfect governance and to fulll the duties of the State: strange and costly
objects do not interest me. If I have commanded that the tribute oerings
sent by you, O King, are to be accepted this was solely in consideration for
the spirit which prompted you to dispatch them from afar. Our dynastys
majestic virtue has penetrated unto every country under Heaven, and Kings
of all nations have oered their costly tribute by land and sea. As your Ambassador can see for himself, we possess all things. I set no value on objects
strange or ingenious, and have no use for your countrys manufactures.This
then is my answer to your request to appoint a representative at my Court, a
request contrary to ourdynastic usage, which would result in inconvenience
to yourself. I have expounded my wishes in detail and have commanded
your tribute Envoys to leave in peace on their homeward journey.59
Within one century of this remarkable missive to George III, however, the
British exacted a great price from China.With a certain ruthless commercial
genius, they wrested the trade of Indian opium to the Indonesia archipelago
from the Dutch East Indian Company and directed its sales to China. Prots
from opium cultivation in Bihar (that antedated the tea plantations of their
new Raj) were ploughed back to pay for the cost of Chinese tea.60 In ,
the British East India Company declared a monopoly of the opium business
in India. By the end of the nineteenth century, this commerce in addiction
and the successful planting of Indian teahad nally broken the Chinese
hold over its most precious product, its green gold.
Rituals of Consumption:
Gender, Class, and Imperial Teas
Domestic Leisures
Consider this portrait of a poet, John Gay, and his sisters. All three avoid
your direct gaze. The woman in the foreground carefully holds a cup between thumb and forenger. Her gown folds richly behind her; her lap, on
which the other hand rests, hints at rounded esh. She oers the cup to you,
throwing it into bold relief. The other sister also holds a cup with precision. She sips. The man is framed within this feminine bounty. His table is
rich in its wares.The teapot, silver perhaps, shimmers.The eect is tranquil,
leisured. John Gay and his sisters, women of means, thus take refreshment
at their eighteenth-century tea table. They enact, for posterity, a ritual of
genteel and feminized civility. The idealized spaces of domesticity are thus
signied.
Consider, for a moment, the illustration that is juxtaposed to this contained image of plentiful domesticity. Painted by the satirist William
Hogarth in the mid-eighteenth century, Taste in High Life suggests an almost frenetic activity, cluttered with symbols of wealth and disorder. The
. Taking Tea in England. John Gray and his sisters, circa . Victoria
and Albert Museum, London. Reproduced in Anthony Burgess et al., The
Book of Tea (Flammarion: France, ).
woman who holds the cup, carefully, smirks; her body is clothed in a gown
that resembles a diaphanous tent. There is no hint of fertile, rounded esh.
Her interlocuter appears to be a dandy, sharp-nosed, almost a caricature.
Curiously, a monkey reads a script at her feet.61 In the corner, a richly gowned
younger woman holds the face of a young boy who looks brown, or black,
and who wears a turban with feathers. This is an interior space that is rich,
certainly, but conveys a certain unease: the exterior world, nonhuman and
other-human has intruded within. The old woman, at the center, is not
quite controlled in her body, dress, or posture. Her smirk suggests excess. It
contradicts, even mocks, the tightly lipped and self-conscious poise of the
foregrounded woman of the rst image. In both, the teacup signals order
and alterity.
Thus, the English aristocracy and its thirsty upper classes created iconic
and enduring images of leisureand femininityaround tea drinking.
Perhaps observations of the Chinese high culture around tea seeped into
the diaries of Europeans living on coastal ports. Perhaps, dazzled by accoutrements of porcelain and delicate bamboo whisks, they wrote home of a
beverage worthy of an emerging imperial nobility. European maritime journeys brought home the tangible signs and possibilities of wealth ready for
commerce and conquest. Tea, like other precious wares in the ships holds,
increased this thirst for other worlds. Images of plentiful domesticity suggest that this was a commerce both material and symbolic: a trac of goods
that would chart global imperial expansion through daily practices of consumption.
Sexual politics, class distinctions, and the creation of lush, exotic backdrops created cultural spaces, which presented the dominant ideals of an
emerging imperial body politic. The tea table and the delicately held cup
gesture toward travel and return, suggestions of strange places and home
places, imperial expansion and new national order. Through the intricate
and dialectical oscillations of British imperialism within and without, the
tea parlor symbolized a safe tranquility, a cocooned interior nurtured by
women.
Womens tea tables and parlors suggested not only a feminized fetishism
of the commodity, it was a feminization intimately connected to ideologies
of leisure. The parlor and the tea table are positioned in stillness and plenitude. The women are ever present in this tranquil picture because they are
not compelled to leave their interiors. They do not need to enter the public hurly-burly, the work of the exterior (outside the frame) is irrelevant.
Their actions of leisureholding a cup, playing cards, writingsignal the
privilege of not-having-to-labor and the class power that builds upon that
idealized, and patriarchal, vision of womens nonwork.
From its rst years in England, tea indexed its aristocratic qualities: Due
to its scarceness and dearness, [it] hath been used only as a regalia in high
treatments, and presents made thereof to princes and grandees. 62 Consider the English East India Companys gift to Catherine of Braganza in
, commemorated in Edmund Wallers eusive verse: Venus her myrtle,
Phoebus has his bays; / Tea both excels, which she vouchsafes to praise /
The best of Queens, and best of herbs, we owe / To that bold nation, which
the way did show / To the fair region where the sun doth rise / Whose productions we so justly prize. 63 This verse not only links this best of herbs
to a new queen, it simultaneously lauds the boldness of British mercantile
expansion and the richness of the sun-washed places where tea originated.
By the mid-eighteenth century, the tea table and the ideal domesticity
it invoked had placed tea and its accoutrements rmly in the laps of upperclass women. Anna, the seventh duchess of Bedford, is credited with establishing the afternoon teatime. She ordered tea and cakes to be served in the
afternoon, to oset the sinking feeling past midday and her ritual became
the vogue.64 An entire aesthetics of femininity built around women and
tea consumption became increasingly visible. A womans graceful but controlled body (like the poets foregrounded sister) would provide the frame
for these rituals of taste. Romance, and an incipient sexuality, was suggested
on this canvas: Her two red lips aected Zephyrs Bow, / To cool the Bohea and iname the Beau; / While one white nger and thumb conspire /
To lift the cup, and make the world admire. 65
A description of a well-known literary gure, Mrs. Montagu, noted that
when not dispensing tea with distinguished grace, she was hard at work at
her desk, with one eye on her correspondence and the other on posterity. 66
While dispensing tea, Mrs. Montagu domesticates her intellect; her writing
is steeped with grace and civility. Like Catherine of Braganza or Mrs. Montagu, women become aristocrats of the interior, their spaces clearly demarcated by private parlors, their tempos essentially leisured. The parlors thus
create the ideal private space for appropriate feminine comportment, its
attendant leisures, a powerful counterfoil for the masculine imperatives of
public work. Womens nonwork signaled the class and status position of
their families. There was no need to labor. Decorative and graceful, they
would create a space of return for that masculine necessity.
,
Spotlight moves toward the Narrator. It pauses on her. She gestures toward stage
left; the light obeys what seems to be a command. She watches the area of the
stage light up. Another table, chair. A young English gentleman, BertieWooster,
in the attire of an Edwardian dandy, face well powdered in white, sits on the
chair. A man in dark suit, Jeeves, stands, holding a brolly and a hat.
: (laconically). Abandon the idea, Jeeves. I fear you have not
studied the sex as I have. Missing her lunch means little or nothing for the
female of the species.The feminine attitude towards lunch is notoriously
airy and casual.Where you have made your bloomer is in confusing lunch
with tea. Hell, it is well known, has no fury like a woman who wants
her tea and cant get it. At such times, the most amiable of the sex become mere bombs that a spark may ignite. But lunch, Jeeves, no. I should
have thought you would have known thata bird of your established
intelligence.
: No doubt, you are right. 67
came a living metaphor, used less than a century after Vauxhall, to depict the
civilized settling of Indias jungles. Less than two decades after the rst
colonial tea gardens were carved out of this wild frontier, the Assam
Stall in the World Exposition in London would oer a striking diorama.
In it, East India Company subalterns wander in painted hills, with a dozen
or more servants looking after them, their baggage, their meals, their camping arrangements. Some of them wandered around the tea gardens. How
gentlemanly and easy it looked! 71
Global expansion, imperial conquest, and the social ordering within them
were enabled by thework of others settling their sweating bodies into assembly lines, on the edges of still parlors.Whether in the factories of the industrial revolution or in distant colonial elds, this was a theater of action that
could not disturb the idealized vision of a cultivated and interior landscape.
Thus, banished from the canvas, we see only women of privilege in their
bountiful parlors sipping tea. The construction of femininity through
these aesthetics of taste and domesticity lies at the heart of an emerging and
global empire.
This enshrined image of femininity and civilization soon became dependent on the commoditys production in the Indian colony, through the labor
of native women, outside the frame of the picture.The womans body disciplined into stories of ideal interiority and delicate, nimble work becomes a
bridge across the imperial/colonial/postcolonial pastiche.The narrative of
woman-as-tea is a feminized historical matrix of postcolonial labor and
imperial leisure. The trac between them is uneven; the bridge is made of
rope. It is frayed; it threatens collapse. But consider the rituals, for a moment, of all these bodies: bent backs, calloused ngers bunching the leaf,
carefully corseted waists, soft ngers holding a china cup to the lips.
orders (where even beggars sipped tea) was echoed in another comment: It
is the curse of this nation that the laborer and mechanic will ape the Lord,
and therefore I can discover no way of abolishing the use of tea unless it
is done by example. 79 Teas trickle-down created a specter of an unruly
body politic and undermined the purpose of nationhood. Indisciplinewould
seep into the assembly lines because teatimes were merely an excuse for
interrupting business or diversifying idleness, 80 where laborers lose their
time to come and go to the tea-table. 81 As such, teatime was an interruption of work, an insidious rupture within the rituals of factory disciplines.
A feminine ritual par excellence, teatime threatened a vital, indeed a masculine ethic of work, so necessary for the assembly lines of industry and its
progress.
If the eeminacy suggested by a quiet sip emasculated national virility,
how indeed could an Englishman nowdrive three Frenchmen before him?
How could the ideal mother, enfeebled by too much leisure, breed such
necessary men? Tea had, through its iconic association with women, thus
suggested femininitys negative and emasculating face: a siphoning away
of an ordered and masculine center that supposedly lay at the core of the
nation.82
However, this specter of emasculated and disordered labor was countered by teas advocates, who saw in the workers pause a rejuvenation of
his/her energy. It promoted, for instance, the sober and moderate cheerfulness which the Dutch rightly valued, and the stubborn courage which
had won for them the apprehensive respect of Europe. 83 Ironically, it was
John Wesleys call for temperance, and the temperance crusade it enabled,
that pushed tea into the camp of high morality. Seen as the alternative to that
great corrupter of work disciplines, alcohol, tea was placed in another narrative of moral discipline and national progress.Thus redeemed, teatime on
the factory oor now oered an illusory moment of leisure for the Victorian
working classes.
A Commodity of Desire
These travels of tea trace the contours of a leaf and beverage that has intimately connected the imperial fortunes of Europe and Asia. In its journey
from the mountains of southern China to the parlors of Georgian and Victorian England it became one of the most important commodities to circulate in the expanding trade on ocean frontiers. Through the economies of
barter emerged, nally, one of the most lucrative ventures of the East India
Company. Immortalized on the stone entrance of the East India Oce in
Travels of Tea, Travels of Empire
London, stand two Chinese gures, anking the company crest, carrying
bushels of tea.
The exponential growth in the demand for tea in Britain had much to do
with its birthplace, China, whose emperors exhibited such disdain for the
outer barbarians and their mediocre goods. When the Chinese Orient
closed its curtains early to European incursions, tales of its strange splendors trickled into the enthralled imagination of Europeans thirsty to taste
otherness and revel in its spectacle. Thus, one layer of value imputed to tea
was due to this direct association with the faraway celestial empire. Its
worth lay in the very idea that its precious leaves were steeped in the Orient itself, breathing the aroma of lands more distant and romantic than
where coee lives. 84 An exotic value thus permeated British rituals of
consumption, creating in its wake an entire culture of inside delicacy and
renement.
Chinese tea production and consumption encompassed a millennial cultural economy. It combined, within one cosmological universe, notions of
bodily order, delicacy, and harmony. Teas ancient pharmacological properties had imbued it with valuable associations of health moderation, and
aristocratic teahouses exemplied the pinnacle of etiquette and renement.
If Chinese tea performed as a key actor in this unveiled spectacle of cultural
renement on mercantile frontiers, it could only be t for a queen.
Social rituals of tea consumption in China, Japan, and England staged a
theater of high culture. These were symbolic stagings that created gendered and classed spaces in powerful ways. Certainly idealized through
visual and written texts, these were symbolic plays that oer a tightly woven
tapestry of class status, imperial power, and gender. The image of parlor
and garden also presents indelible associations between women and tea.
These signications of the feminine appear in narratives on labor practices in Chinese imperial plantations, and more visibly in European rites of
consumption.Within plantations, the discourse around womens labor suggests inscriptions of purity and cleanliness that are decidedly sexualized. So
powerful were these fetishisms of sexual purity that they dened the nest
grades of tea and measures of value with which the commodity circulated
in the vast regional markets of Asia.
The focus on womens handsnow holding the cupwill be uncannily
deployed in the imperial plantations of yet another Orient, India. It is a dismemberment and a fetishism that are commodied with two-dimensional
certainty as the xed image of women plucking tea, colorfully displayed on
tea boxes circulating in the twentieth-century global marketplace.
While no causal path can be drawn between the feminized and fetishized
labor of Chinese plantation women and the tea parlors of English women,
this construction of femininity (inected by class and status) is striking. Sipping tea in suburban gardens suggested a kind of leisure that was necessarily
gendered. Domesticity signied by such womens entertainment sat at
the core of Victorian patriarchies.The archetype of femininity qua womanhood, created around the interior of tea sipping or the romantic interludes
of a garden, was an iconic image of control. The disciplined feminine was
crucial for the construction of an interiority around which an imperial patriarchy would create its terms of civilization and order. Indeed, the iconic
connections between the British and tea endure into the present. It is a link
that weaves the strands of both nostalgia and leisure, of empires past but
continuously imagined in a quiet and peaceful sip in the middle of a hurried day.
Within the portraits of graceful pouring and romantic garden walks, tea
becomes imbued by the idealized signications of privileged femininity. It
was as if the careful delicacy suggested through immaculate plucking in imperial Chinese plantations had marked the beginning of a journey in which
leaf and powder, product and commodity, would create an unbreakable connection between women and tea in a new global empire: of ngers carefully
holding the cup, of the packaged image of womens labor as the picturesque, of tea-as-woman staging itself nally as the quintessential beverage
of femininity and empire.
Savage Parlors
Consider the signs of otherness within two engravings in which tea is featured: in the rst, a young black boy-servant oers sugar; a tropical bird
perches on a womans hand; the chained and grinning monkey coyly lifts
the womans gown. There is playfulness in this scene of interiority and its
othering.The domestic economy and the rituals of tea, which it circles, have
not been entirely elided from the narratives of a distant, and traversed, exterior world.The women contemplate the signs of this exteriorityits signications of wild othernesswith smiling fascination. The engraving in
gure thus suggests an explicit domestication of these signs of dierence:
to be seen, absorbed, consumed.85
In the engraving in gure , a scene from William Hogarths series A
Harlots Progress, wildness is fully enacted. The woman (the Harlot) kicks
the table, her breast is exposed, the teapot and cups fall to the oor, the
black/brown boy-servant carries a tea-kettle. He might have been about to
Travels of Tea, Travels of Empire
serve.The monkey turns back with fear, poised to run. Domesticity, in this
instance, is unmasked. Indeed, there is a white theater mask on a curtained
dresser. Quiet, feminine plenitude is transformed into naked disorder. The
womans body, now openly sexualized and agentive (consider the kick), is
also connected to signs of excess. The accoutrements of high life shatter to
the oor.
I have traced the overlapping cultural and historical economies of a commodity that has through the quirks of millennial fates and fortune conquered
the imagination and desire of regional and global empires. Through these
historical ows emerge themes of ritual and power that have marked the
rhythms of gender, class, status, and imperial otherness. A feminized and
feminine gure indexes labor practice and rites of consumption in iconic
and hegemonic ways.Yet it is the pragmatic and metaphorical translation of
these theaters of ruleparlors, gardens, and civilizationinto the Indian
colony which is my central concern.
Indeed, what these intriguing engravings oer us is not only the signs
of a privileged feminine interior.They also present us with the bodied symbols of otherness, of a wild within. The otherplumed, chattering, and
black/brownbelongs to a distant landscape, redolent of tropical wildness that is both dangerous and desirable.What strange but succulent fruit
to place on the tea table?
That tea, valued for its consumption of renement and otherness,
emerged as a central player within this particular theater of civilization, is
no simple historical accident. Its absorption into the quotidian cultural life
of Britain and its near mythic status as a marker of British gentilityindeed British civilizationdepended upon imperial expansion. Fueled by
the desire to taste otherness, this was an expansion that promised a bountiful conquest.Teatime in the parlor and garden became the living metaphors
of empire and the nation making it enabled.These were theaters that carved
out new boundaries of a gendered and classed social order, and material
tropes of leisure and labor delineated the contours of those borders.Though
mostly invisible, the exteriority of labor constituted the other within this
creation of a protected and leisured space.
However, another layer of otherness underwrote the romantic tales of
garden teas. The interior gestured to an ever expanding exterior: a domain
breathtakingly vast and full of promise. It was a tangible promise.The savage parlor epitomized the process of cultivation and its aesthetics of taste.
Like the ordered landscape of another garden, it suggested a primal cultivation: of domesticating wildness, pruning the tangled branches into a
civilized harvest. Imperial leisure and its in/visible other, colonial labor,
Travels of Tea, Travels of Empire
,
The spotlight moves from stage right in an arc, stopping briey at vignettes: the
gentleman and his butler (Bertie Wooster and Jeeves); the two monks (Trappist Monk and Lu Y) sitting in silence; Alice at her Mad Tea Party. It stops
at the Narrators table and brightens. There is a hint of movement behind the
curtains, center stage, but only a hint. The Narrator looks at her one hand with
long, painted ngernails. She exes them, looking at them admiringly, making
circular movements that look like the mudras of a bharata natyam dancer. Suddenly, she looks up from her preening and realizes you are watching. Somewhat
embarrassed, caught in her vanity, she picks up her wicker stool and the lantern,
and walks to Alice at her table. Alice looks at her curiously. She and her companions are still; they seem bored. The Mad Hatter ddles with his tea pot. The
Narrator speaks to Alice.
: What stories of oceans and emperors, ladies at tea. What revolutions
in a teacup, monks and feathers. Eh, Alice, Alice what do you say? This is
surely a tempest worthy of your Trip. Eh, Alice, help me untangle some
snarls, some riddles.
: (turning in a sudden urry of temper) I wish you would Stop! Stop!
Stop! First, I nd myself in this strange place, shrinking and expanding.
You appear and disappear like a stupid sorceress and dont let me speak.
I am sitting with a crazy animal and a creature with a huge hat and you
want me to help you with your riddles . . . the cheek of it. . . . Well, let
me tell you a riddle-tiddle about my story. . . . Here it is: Alice! A childish story take, / And, with a gentle hand, / Lay it where Childhoods
dreams are twined / In Memorys mystic band / Like pilgrims witherd
owers / Pluckd in a far-o land. 86 Can you gure that out? And then,
I might help you with yours.
and : (in a chant) Pluckd in a far-o land, /
Pluckd in a far-o land.
: (turning to you) Pluckd in a far-o land / Pluckd in a far-o land.
,
The stage is empty of the props and scenery of earlier scenes except for the Narrators table and Alices Mad Tea Party, where the Mad Hatter, the Narrator
and Alice still sit together. The Narrators lantern is on the ground. One half
of the backdrop behind center stage has a scene painted on it: a bungalow built
on stilts, a bright green lawn with bushes in the background. The other half,
stretched as a backdrop stage left, is still plain gauze. In front, on the stage,
a thin layer of brown soil. In front of the painted backdrop, a few colonialstyle rattan chairs, a low coee table. This area is dimly lit. The light comes
on Alices table. Alice mutters softly and then is silent when the Narrator begins
to speak.
: Poor Alice.What a trauma. First, seduced by what she believes beckons her at the end of the tunnel, she unlocks the door with a golden key.
Suddenly, she is hijacked into this strange tale, into its unpromised Wonderland. Poor Alice. This was beyond her reckoning.
: (interrupting in loud song) Up above the world you y / Like
a tea-tray in the sky. / Twinkle, twinkle. . . . 1
: Be quiet both of you. (turning to the Narrator) Yes, I did see this
lovely garden, but the door was too small and I was too big, and I wished
I could shut up like a telescope 2 so I could get in. And then, then
I drank something strange . . . and I could. All so peculiar. But I still
have not found the garden, only this maddest of tea parties. Have a
tart, have some tea. And then let me make a move on, I still have that
golden key.
The lights dim. Dancers behind the gauze curtain begin to move.They cast odd,
elongated shadows on the stage, upon you.
And then the jungle, the indescribable jungle! To the town dweller, it would
be a sinister home. Great snarled lianas stretch from tree to tree, and to his
eye they look like pythons lying in wait for him.3
curring themes of a paradise lost. In the Orient that was India, there was
now a paradise to be gained. Plantations could be imagined as a necessary
Garden of Eden, bringing to fruition, through their spectacle of cultivated
order, a moral vision of imperial light.Colonization and conquest could thus
be written into an enlightened tale of hope and redemption.
The cultivation of this wild and possible Eden was, however, a herculean
task. It was also an eminently practical task, because the apparently empty
stage of the moral theater was paradoxically and actually peopled.The garden, a living metaphor, was to be worked through the realpolitik of material histories. Indeed, cultivation was a project dependent on human
action. The act of planting through which the wilderness would become
a tea garden was predicated on this action. Laborcorporeal and imaginedlay at the heart of the cultivating enterprise. The settling of forests
was only possible if people could be harnessed for the task. The suggestion of edenic emptiness was an elaborate illusion, because the pragmatics
of labor procurement and disciplining drew the political and indeed moral
compass of the plantation venture on its new imperial frontier.
That this pragmatics became premised upon a racialized economy that
connected and characterized native essences to their customary work is
no accident. Inscriptions of primitivenessof a primal and topographical essenceupon the various communities brought into work oered an
analogue to the more abstract metaphoric suggestions of cultivating wildness. Settling the landscape through cultivation was dependent upon the
civilizing of native labor. Indeed, colonial discipline, rationality, and reason would harness that primitive body and the primal landscape into the
ambit of civilization.10
It was a civilizing process that would be the necessary foil for the imperial leisures of the Planter Raj. Colonial selfhood would be refashioned
again and again within the iconic encirclement of the bungalows garden,
the rounds of polo at the club, the punkah (fan) pulled gently by an attentive
native servant. The planters nonwork, his capacity to display this leisure,
was the sign of his civilized superiority: his empty time, made morally possible by the necessary labor of others.
,
The Narrator picks up her lantern and stool. She moves toward rattan chairs
in front of the painted backdrop. A man and woman sit in the chairs. Drink
decanters are placed on the low table next to them. She sits between them. In
the background, an attendant fans them slowly with a large hand-held punkah.
Cultivating the Garden
This is the British planter Burra Sahib and the British Memsahib in leisured
repose. Their faces are masks of powdered white. His white topee is on the low
table; a riding switch rests on his knees. She wears a thin cotton dress of the
late Victorian period. The lights are dim, but you can see the props and their
impassive white-powdered faces. Behind them, the painted backdrop is barely
discernible in the lantern light. Next to it, stage left, gauze fabric hanging in
folds forms a translucent background. It ripples slightly, as if touched by a breeze.
Sounds of the night in the background: crickets and the dham dham dham of
drums. The gauze curtains move, and the three Women begin to bend in dance
behind them.
: Banished to the fringes of an oriental garden, beyond the languid and
somehow wary gaze of the memsahib sitting on the verandah, a sweating
body stoops: hoeing and cleaning the earth, bending to put in the seeds,
plucking nally the lilliputian forest of tea bushes. See how she bends in
this dwarfed forest. See how she plucks the fruit of this strange Garden
of Eden. To whom shall she oer her fruit?
The Women bend and twist behind the backdrop and appear from behind the
curtains.They wear short saris and blouses, and one carries a basket on her back;
the others have a cloth pouch slung low behind their backs. The two ends are
knotted bandana-style at their foreheads.They bend forward and then arch their
bodies back. The knot on the forehead should appear like fulcrum, holding the
body in balance. Then, they shue in step, one arm free to mimic the picking
of leaf. Their hands make elaborate movements against the shadows thrown on
the gauze backdrop by the lantern light. They turn briey to the British Sahib
and Memsahib and the Narrator as they dance. Then, arms still entwined, they
shue out.
Tea Fortunes
Frontier Battles
These myths of origin could not elide the coercive theaterof territorial annexation in Assam and North Bengal. In response to the challenges oered
by many communities in the region, colonial administrators argued for a
China and Tibet. Indeed, the creation of a well-armed frontier would send
a cautionary message to other powerful actors on the interregional, Asian,
political stage.
Undeterred, the Bhutan court continued to collect rent from its old vassalage, and the East India Company did not have the power to halt this revenue collection. Symbolically, the battle lines were drawn.Only four decades
later on the eve of battle, the Company declared Bhutanese usurpation of
the Dooars.28 In , the uneasy tolerance ared into open military conict. Not coincidentally, the battle occurred less than a decade before the
Bentinck Tea Committees declaration of the potential of tea colonization in
India. Successful experimental plantations in North India now proved that
lucrative possibilities could be harvested in the agreeable climate and soil
of the eastern Himalayas.
Military strategies of conquest also encompassed a cultural politics of
divide and rule. Colonial administrators began to construct an essential
divide between the cultures of the hills and those of the plains through an
ecopolitical equation that characterized the Bhutanese as foreigners to the
kingdoms of the plains now rapidly being brought under British overlordship. Early colonial administrators dened an important pilgrimage site, an
ancient temple at Jalpesh (in the Dooars) as a pagoda of the Hindu workers
with which the Bhutiyas can have nothing to do. Yet this construction of
cultural impermeability was belied by centuries of contact through trade
and revenue collection. This was no more evident than in the presence of
the Dobhasiyas,29 a local community of Rajbansi peasants who, knowing
the languages of area, worked as intermediaries for traders and revenue collectors.30 By creating an essential cultural divide, however, the Company
legitimized its annexation and declared its intent to occupy tracts of country which are peopled by a race who have no anity with the Bhutiyas but
who are closely allied with the people of Bengal and were expected to cooperate cordially with British authorities. 31
In , the British emissarys encounter with Bhutanese barley paste catalyzed the nal military confrontation that resulted in the defeat of the Bhutanese king on November , .The ensuing Peace at Sinchula facilitated
the annexation of , square miles of North Bengal territory.32 Within
ten years of British annexation, British tea companies began mapping their
gardens in the Dooars foothills.
The annexation of the Dooars occurred with other military operations
in the Himalayan foothills most famous for their tea: Darjeeling. The East
India Companys claim to this area, lying just west of the Dooars, enacted
a strategic balancing act between the kingdoms of Nepal and Sikkim. Between and , the Nepali court controlled a region that had previously been under Sikkimese rule, and the British initiated an alliance with
the weaker kingdom of Sikkim. The colonial objective of this alliance had
Cultivating the Garden
,
The Narrator, British Sahib and Memsahib sit in the dark. The only light on
their side of the stage is the low glow from the Narrators lantern. The plain
gau backdrop on your right (stage left) trembles as if a quick wind has blown
through. Suddenly from stage left, a gure bursts onstage, the Son of the Forest:37 half of the Dancers hair is cut into a mohawk, the other springs with twigs.
His face is painted black and white, his body is vermillion red. He wears only a
loin cloth. He brandishes a bamboo torch of re, the mashal. His leaping on the
stage is done in total silence. The only sounds are the slap of feet, the thud of
body on the stage.The spotlight moves on him, around him.The sense should be
that the light chases him but cannot pin down his swift and erratic movements.
Suddenly he stops his frenzied movement, and ings himself into a tight foetal
crouch. At the precise moment of this cessation of movement, the drumming begins, like a surprised and fast heartbeat.There is that same unsettling wail, like
a dirge, and harsh harsh sobs. Lights go out completely.
encroached on those areas of local cultivation, disputes had to be adjudicated in local courts. Planters were thus advised by the local district commissioner to survey the boundaries of their property, since tea grant maps
were made piecemeal, and often in a rather hurried manner. 52
Tea plantation boundaries adjoined villages, and frequently adjoining
jotes (of the same class of land) were amalgamated and sold to the expanding plantations, a process exacerbated by increased land taxes. The district
administrations assistance in systematizing legislation such as the Wasteland Rules beneted the British tea companies who began to settle their new
property.
Colonial administrators also created government forest reserves, blocking o territories where they saw a potentially lucrative business in commercial logging. A newly appointed forest conservator systematized timber
logging revenues by controlling the business of local forest contractors and
a mercantile commerce already in place. Forest reserves were created to ensure a steady supplyof timber for public infrastructural consumption: timber
for railcars, a rationed supply of rewood for plantations, and controlled
private logging.53 Customary use of jungle clearings as pasture land was
not permitted and was characterized as indiscriminate grazing. 54 Pasture
lands were to be rented out by the forest department for additional revenue. Nepali and Mech trade in jungle products was considered merely a
subsidiary occupation to that of agriculture. 55
Forests not set aside as reserves were considered eminently suitable for
tea plantations because of the intrinsic value of jungle soil. One planter
noted that virgin jungle aords the best type of soil for tea cultivation, as
the initial fertility, tilth and texture of this soil is at a high level. 56 Here
was a scientic recognition of the abundance that created the tangled forest, a sense that the jungles innate fertility was the necessary base for any
plantation cultivation.
characterized as a nomadic working of the soil that exhausted the productive powers of the land. Not permitted to stay in forest reserves, these
communities became increasingly pauperized.58
Colonial land-settlement policies began to create important reservoirs
of workers for plantation settlement, road building, and army recruitment.
An immigration settlement policy 59 that targeted Nepali men for the British
Indian army 60 had the important eect of also supplying labor to tea plantations. Other colonial settlement policies were encouraged through missionary work. In , the Church Missionary Society was given a lease
of seventy square miles of wasteland for a mission among the Santhal
community.The Santhal Colony, as it was known, was successful for about
two decades, and attracted its colonists with the promise of free land and
rewood rations. In its heyday, every acre was under cultivation by
Christian and non-Christian Santhals, the latter who sign a pledge to
abstain from drink and heathen sacrices. 61
A cultural taxonomy that connected particular communities to the cultivating work they performed emerged out a variety of directed settlements.
These land/labor/communityconnections became essential inscriptions of
value that were indexed through an evolutionary continuum of development. At the positive end of this telos of cultivating development were
Nepali agricultural castes such as the Newars and Murmus, capital agriculturalists. 62 Their advanced forms of tillage were viewed as a necessary
example for those who inhabited the negative end of the cultivating continuum, the nomadic swidden cultivators: The Nepali system of agriculture is decidedly in advance of the primitive jhum method followed by
the Meches and other aboriginal people. It appears probable that as available jungle land for this nomadic method of tillage becomes more and more
scarce, the aboriginal tribes will gradually learn the use of the plough from
the Nepalis, and will adopt the higher system of cultivation practiced by
that class of community. 63 Nepali peasant labor, thus, contrasted favorably to its other, primitive swidden cultivation. It followed that the idea
of xed employment (i.e., wage labor) might come naturally to them.
Because Nepalis were a settled peasantry, they could also become ideal
workers, naturally productive for the wage work of the imperial army and
plantation.
In contrast, the Lepcha or Mech nomads, by virtue of their moving
cultivation were dened as indolent, a besetting sin because they detest
xed employment. 64 The Bodo and Dhimal, whowere similarlyconsidered
ckle and lazy, 65 were situated on the continuum between the Mech and
Nepali.66 Marked by their wandering work, these communities would be
Cultivating the Garden
a. Portrait of Sir Thomas Lipton visiting his Ceylon gardens, on his verandah, and at a
London auction. Triptych. (below) b. Garden scene. From an advertisement for Liptons
tea. Both reproduced in Anthony Burgess et al., The Book of Tea (Flammarion: Paris,
).
c. Sacks of tea on a
Ceylon plantation.
Photograph, late nineteenth
century. From Anthony
Burgess et al., The Book of
Tea (Flammarion: Paris,
).
Thus the impetus for settling immigrants and intransigent nomads was
ultimately the business of civilizing, of making human, the wild practices
of a savage landscape. Its divine mission was explicitly enacted through
the Santhal mission colony. The evolutionary logic underpinning the telos
of cultivating labor suggests, in one sense, the imperative of transforming
primitive labor and making the primitive into a civilized laboring being,
worthy nally of humanizing that original landscape.
Consider, for a moment, the gaze of empire.There is Lipton Sahib, the tea
baron commemorated in a triptych of his travels to the colony (gure a).
There, from his own railcar, a turbaned native servant in the background, he
gazes onto the landscape of his plantation. A woman worker, head covered
in white, bearing a basket, plucks leaf.
Now he has reached the verandah of his bungalow. He sits on the wicker
chair and gazes benevolently at you. The white-turbaned servant stands to
attention; an elephant and bullock cart signal an exotic and bucolic landscape. Finally, there is Lipton Sahib again, in top hat attending a tea auction
back in London, his colonial travels come full circle.
In the second illustration (gure b), a nineteenth-century advertisement for Lipton tea proudly proclaims its largest tea sale and emphasizes its victory in the British Section Worlds Fair, Chicago. The text runs
around the borders of the central image of the plantation itself: the dark silhouettes of women weighing their baskets of leaf and overseers in the eld.
Production and commodity circulation are thus carefully, and brilliantly,
conjoined.
But consider the nal image (gure c), a photograph. Here, the text inscribes the label on the gunny-sacks hanging on a line. There is a scatter of
tea bushes in the foreground. For a moment, look closely at the men holding the line upon which the sacks hang. One man, cheeks sharply outlined,
gazes straight at the camera. The sack almost completely covers his body.
In the corner of the photo, another man, lightly turbaned, also looks into
the camera. His gaze is enigmatic.
The natives alleged xed habits, their natural indolence and addiction
to opium, were another key to understanding their recalcitrance to engage
in wage labor.The economy of excess now embraced another trope. Assamese and Bengali villagers joined the powerful orientalist images of addiction:
undisciplined and lazy escapes into the debaucheries of the opium den.76
Noted one colonial administrator of his travels in Assam: The people are
naturally too indolent, and yet too low down in the social scale to exert
themselves beyond what is necessary to procure them the means of living
and wherewithal to gratify their passion for opium. Indolence was also interpreted as an almost subversive agency, an idea of conscious laziness
aimed at undermining the planters enterprise: The villager, on the other
hand, is master of the situation and he knows it; he works nowhere, but sits
down at his ease in the village and he eats his rice and smokes his opium
purchased with the money of which existing circumstances enable him to
fraud the planter with perfect impunity. . . . He lies down to sleep, to eat and
smoke, and sleep again. 77
Lights come back on the bungalow living-room scene and more dimly on Alice
sitting at her place stage right (to your left).The Narrator turns her lantern light
low. The low table is set as usual. There is a small bell.
: (ringing the bell sharply, exasperated) It is just so bloody
hot and the khansama [cook] has not nished preparing dinner. And
we have guests too! I tell you, these natives are lazy. And we must
not spoil them. They are born liars. And they steal. I caught a coolie
woman plucking roses from our garden the other day, and I shooed
her o. And they let their cows and bualoes into the vegetable patch
that Charles has planted at the back of the bungalow.We must not spoil
them. 78
: ( grunting) Darling, you know how it is. All that wonderful sitting posture is natural to the race, huddled up to the cooking res,
toasting their bodies, and smoking that universal panacea, the hubblebubbleregardless of their masters, of their wants. 79 If you go to the
kitchen, you will see that is what the cook is doing as we speak. (Takes
another sip of the drink in his hand.)
: (looking at you, perplexed ) Hubble-bubble. Hubble-bubble. Something
reminds me of Wonderland. (yelling across to Alice) Hey, Alice, help me
out. Do you have a lazy native in Wonderland?
the logics of settlement and the labor practices upon which they ultimately
depended.
Yet beyond metaphor, analytic rubrics, and the tools of explanation, such
narratives defy their own totalizing claims.The body rests against the trunk
of a tree for a moment. It sweats against its own inscriptions and asks for
water, cupping its hands and drinking deeply.The sun is high. It moves again
and bends low with the sickle.
the coolie depot, remain shrouded in the spaces of unwritten histories: they
can only be stitched together in the imagination, heard in the ickering moments of a womans song. Aiee, Aiee, between Ranchi and Calcutta / The
railcar overturned. / Many many people lost their lives. / Someones father,
someones mother, / Someones small child. / Mother weeps shaking, father
in the bazaar, / Sister wails, beating her breasts, / Sister wails, beating her
breasts. 99
A system combining both private contracting and the government-run
sirdari system constituted the modus operandi of recruitment schemes.The
contract system involved private, often unlicensed, contractors working for
particularagency houses or planters. Subcontractors, known as arkutti, were
allgedly responsible for the fraudulent methods and downright coercion that
characterized the rst phase of recruitment.100
During an investigation of these alleged fraudulent activities, some Santhals were called to oer evidence.We meet Jugal, a pargnait of Gopi Kandoo and his men from Damin-i-koh from the south end of the hills, 101
who says:
We now think people will go, because they can come and go. They did not
know before whether it was a good or bad country. Before people went
and did not return, so others were afraid. They have gone, leaving their
wives behind.We thought the country good, and the earth good, and drank
well water. The work was not excessive, and women and children could
earn something. Rice was dearer and sometimes our friends told us they
had to pay Rs. a maund. As a rule, people were satised, but on some
gardens they were not. In some, they were ned for petty oences. Some
said they were oppressed by petty ocers, i.e. sardars, jamadars.Very many
of our people also go to Chittagong. People who come from the depots,
complained of being phuslaoed [tricked].102
In contrast to private contracting, the sirdari system of recruitment consisted of such incidents as an individual plantations sending back a worker
who had been but a few months on the garden and has expressed the desire
to recruit his relatives. Because of the notorious repuation of private contractors, statements of village origin and intent to return with recruits, however, was to be checked.103 Most signicantly, these sirdars were created as
headmen who would wield considerable power over their recruits. In the
process, they constituted the most important layer of indirect rule within
the plantation: The best way of working with the nature of the coolie class
is to deal with them through headmen who understand their likes and dislikes in a way which no European can do. 104 The sirdar becomes a works
,
The light comes on stage left. The bungalow scene is almost completely dark.
On the forward right of the stage stands the Son of the Forest. The sound is of a
train: rhythmic clackity-clack-clackity-clack-whistle-clackity-clack.
In one case, I met a contractor at the ghat [docks] who was very indignant
because a batch of Azimgarh coolies had been returned on his hands as not
being junglis. I objected that were not, as a matter of fact, junglisto which
he coolly replied that there were as good junglis as a man could expect to
get at Rs. a head.115
Rs.
Rs.
Rs.
Rs.
for workers bya local contracting agency, Begs, Dunlop and Company, were
the following:
Planters also complained of the rising cost of the best types of workers:
In , the cost was rupees per month. Now the best coolies cost the
planter quite Rs. , and even Kols and Gonds from the Central Provinces cannot be obtained for less than Rs. . Inferior labor is cheap
this year. 123 The gradation in cost was directly linked to type of recruit,
with junglis being the most expensive to hire, followed by Bengalis and
northwesterners.
Thus, the labor cost of importing workers was factored within an equation of inferior and superior types of labor. Inferior coolies were calculated as a direct monetary loss for the garden: Second-rate coolies landed
on their gardens in Assam cost rupees, or in other words, . . . a garden making two annas prot per pound of tea has to make thirteen maunds
of tea before it has repaid itself for the expense for bringing up a single
coolie. 124 In this equation, prot was reckoned using a calculus of racialized labor value; the dierential pricing of pure aboriginal junglis and
northwesterners, superior versus inferior types of labor.
In the Darjeeling District, colonial administrators were dismayed to
learn that Maharaja Chandra Jung Bahadur Rana, the king of Nepal, was
also deploying parallel caste terms for prohibiting the recruitment of
Nepalis for military and tea company work from within Nepali territory.
Planters were told to abstain from recruiting subjects other than members of the Damai, Sarki, Kami and Gaini castes. 125 Despite planter objections that these Nepali strictures would result in a paucity of able bodied
labor 126 within the plantations, it was these same subordinate caste groups,
,
Four women, their heads covered by cloth (faces not veiled, only shadowed),
walk onto stage left. The backdrop moves. The bungalow scene just center stage
is dark except for the low light of the lantern. They wear the saris of women
workers: cheap cotton, no blouses. The bones of their shoulder blades are starkly
planed. Each carries a bundle slung on her back. You cannot tell whether it is
cloth or a child. They carefully set themselves down to a squat. One has a brass
pot; another a plate. They place these on the oor. One woman pulls out twigs
and a matchbox from her bundle. She lights a small re.
bands were originally illegally recruited and could not be sent down to
take up their families. 144
: (against the sound of rat-a-tat . . . rat-a-tat . . . tat tat tat telegraphic codes) Urgent telegraph from recruitment oce to plantation
oce. T-O-A-S-T-E-R: Sirdar brought in x single males, no relatives.
Shall I send? 145
: Shall I send?
: Shall I send?
Pause. The sound of rat-a-tat . . . rat-a-tat . . . tat tat tat
: Have you got a child?
: Yes, when a child is born, we get Rs. bakshish for each child.
: Were you paid when you were o work?
: We only get Rs. bakshish.
: Are you given special light work?
: No, we do the same work. 146
: (against the sound of rat-a-tat . . . rat-a-tat . . . tat tat tat telegraphic codes) T-E-N-U-O-U-S. Sirdar has brought in female labor N
who claims her husband is M on the garden. Shall I send? 147
: (together) Shall I send? Shall I send? Shall I send?
,
The lights focus brightly on center stage and the gau backdrop, part of which
is a mural depicting the exterior of a bungalow and a green compound.The Narrator surreptitiously moves her wicker stool to the side. On stage are the British
Sahib and Memsahib. They are joined by an Indian Sahib and Memsahib. The
men are similarly attired in lounge suits.The Indian Memsahib wears an elegant
silk sari, a strand of pearls around her neck. The British Memsahib is equally
elegant in a light cotton dress of oral pink. She too wears a string of pearls. Several rattan chairs and coee tables are grouped casually next to them. Servers
in frayed white uniforms and red turbans oer trays with drinks and snacks. In
the background light Western classical music can be heard, a tinkle of feminine
laughter, the quiet clink of glasses.The Narrator moves more to your left, facing
you. Her cowl is thrown back, her face is elaborately made up. Around her neck,
a glint of pearls.
: It was indeed a consolation, the club, housed in a grand bungalow in
the mixed style of EmperorWus palace in Peking, and Versailles, with tall
rooms, saloons opening up on one another. Situated in the pit of the valley, its wide verandah overlooked a vast polo ground, tennis courts, croquet courts and garden, all duly protected against the intrusion of black
men, wild animals, hungry goats and cows, by thick hedges and shady
trees. 1 So here we are at the Planters Club in Darjeeling.The occasion:
the Darjeeling International Tea Festival, . A fantastic spectacle, a
presidential party, hot air balloon rides, an auction on the mall of the
nest tea from the most famous estates.
(Balwant a.k.a. Bobby): (turning to the British Sahib, in perfect Queens English) Charlie, do you want to make a bet on Castleton
bringing in the best price? Remember when it sold for , rupees per
kilo, more expensive than gold? 2 And the Japanese, I am sure, will outbid
you European brokers.
: (in a quick but loud whisper) And the Japanese marketed that tea smartly,
in bone china containers made by the Ginori familyof Italy.What pastiche
Ming jars of the seventeenth century now Italian china of the twentieth. Circumnavigating the globe within the imperial collage, Indian tea
now weaves its own commodied magic. Green gold! Green gold!
: (responding to Bobby after giving Narrator an irritated
glance) Charlie, we hear the dances are about to begin. You know those
lovely Nepali and Lepcha dances that the workers would do for us at the
bungalow? They are going to do some on the mall. Pinki (turning to the
Indian Memsahib), Bobby, lets go. (They move to your right.)
On stage left, a Woman dances. She is colorfully dressed; she smiles as she
energetically stamps her feet. To the far left is an old and wizened Woman on
a high chair. She is mostly covered by a shawl. Above her a placard proclaims
her as the oldest living tea plantation worker. 3 This strange gure and the
sahib/memsahib party frame the dancers movement.
: (moving with the party of four but slightly stage right) Enjoy the picturesque.The hills, oh the hills with their majesty, their color, their shangrilas. (As she speaks, the light dims and a dull spotlight remains on the gure
in the chair.) Who is this? Who is this? She is a display, friends: a diorama of history, the oldest living tea plantation worker. She sits so still,
her eyes are barely visible. Her gaze is enigmatic.Where does she look?
What does she see?
The lights fade.
Mercantile and English state policy, beginning with Lord Bentincks Tea
Committee, was eager to assist capital investment by tea companies in their
new plantation ventures. English demand for this expensive and exotic
brew was growing exponentially, and the Chinese restrictions on company
trade from the Whampoa anchorage in Canton had to be bypassed. Early
experimental plantations in the Kangra and Doon Valleys were small proprietary concerns owned by English ex-soldiers, who were encouraged to
settle in the pleasant mountain valleys of this region.6 By the s, however, joint public stock concerns with capital assets in London and known
nessmen in Calcutta and other burgeoning towns in the Northeast were important early investors in tea and suppliers in the auxiliary small industries
and trade that grew up around the plantation enclave.13
Colonial planters created an enclave economy 14 with an outow of capital and prot from the region, but they also remained dependent on the social and economic brokerage of local suppliers for goods, labor, and starting
capital.The plantation economies were ef enclaves, certainly, but they also
created the terms of an isolated shadow economy within which the British
planter administrators were not the only, nor indeed the absolute, lords.
From the s, a triangle system of management was set into place.
As its apex, the nancial board in London controlled all investments and
distribution of dividends. In Calcutta, agency houses received tea consignments from the plantations and coordinated tea sales in Khidderpores auction houses. They also sent visiting agents, usually experienced planters, to
audit distant plantations. On the outer edge of this triangle, in considerable
isolation from centers of Calcutta business, were the plantation managers
who were responsible for labor management, tea production, manufacture,
and accurate shipments of manufactured tea.
Planters often resented the control and complaints of Calcutta accountants and agency house bureaucrats. They disdained the lack of practical
knowledge among these desk-bound workers and saw their control as interfering in the hardy tasks of tea cultivation and management.When criticized
for not pruning tea bushes during one winter season, a Darjeeling planter
noted with exasperation: I should like to point out that my policy in wanting to postpone this heavy pruning was not with a view to giving a small
increase in the prots but rather to keep the crop up to reasonable gures
by not cutting down a healthy block which was pruned two years ago. My
sole ambition and interests are for the improvement of Mim T.E. in every
respect but I feel at times that my hands are being tied. 15 Commenting on
these lines of communication and control, one late-colonial planter noted:
As far as our tea companies were concerned, policy came from London.
Action was in Assam. Initiative (from our oce in Calcutta) was impossible.
It was like being the curator of an obeliskso communications were very
slow and inecient, not just between London and Calcutta, but between
the tea gardens and the outside world. 16
By the end of the nineteenth century, the agency house system, owned by
sterling companies, dominated Northeast Indian tea production and trade.
So concentrated and immense was their scal reach that by Indian independence in , just thirteen leading agency houses controlled over
a profession of a high order, and into which men of the highest social rank
are entering. 27
The planter began to fashion himself explicitly as a genteel lord of a colonial manor. In the immediate pre-Independence period, said one of the
last remaining postcolonial English planters, We English all wanted to be
gentlemen, we were addressed as esquires and basically were landed gentry. 28 In the last years of the British Raj, the status of a planter was clearly
marked by a public school education and correct family connections.29
Another planter observed: Old Scottish rms liked their people to be classy
and recruited several Etonians: You have to be good oce material and have
attended a good public school, then you might be put in charge of a tea garden with , people when you were about twenty-ve. Most of us were
attracted to the job by the chances of shing, shooting and riding. 30
The planter would map his estate through metaphors of an edenic efdom: a civilized garden circling the center of a colonial manor-bungalow.
This was a tropical garden, however, and one that could never be an English garden. Laying out the garden was a joy in itself, noted one planter,
but for all its amboyancy . . . blaze of bright colors and luxurious tropical
fruits, no garden in the East can be compared with the kindly garden of old
England, and even the rose-scented muzzefepore lichee is not quite so delicious as a nectarine grown out of a south wall facing the sea below Sussex
Downs. 31 The planters new garden (he remembers with the ache of nostalgia) would always be an alien one: a amboyant oriental version of the
more subdued hues of a truly civilized English landscape.
Always threatened by a serpentine jungle on its borders, this oriental
gardens lordship combined a virile and iconically masculine pioneering
ethos, with equally powerful images of imperial leisure.The pioneer planter
was a hunter beating back the dreaded wildness with a formidable masculine tread. A planter lord who commanded a manorial estate, now vaster
than anything in England, described going out on a hunt: I thought I
would try the jungle for hunting, which was only a piece of about a thousand acres belonging to the companies and kept as rewood reserve for the
coolies. [While] shooting the leopard, everyone of the three hundred coolies
watched me in dead silence from the undercover of the banana leaves. 32
The awed native gaze suggests most palpably the planters own selfmythology and the necessity of impressing upon that large group of subordinates (the coolies) his supreme authority, his monopoly of might.
The coolies dead silence remains opaque, an unreadable and powerfully
enigmatic script.
The stage is empty except for Alice sitting quietly, listening. The Narrator has
taken her stool and lantern and sits between Alices chair and the now empty
bungalow scene. The plain curtain moves slightly. There is a slight clatter of
hoo
eats, the only sound.
: So here is Reggie, the randy chota sahib in Mulk Raj Anands Two
Leaves and a Bud, coming up to the workers in the eld, astride his mare,
Tipoo. Reggie dug his heels into her sides and pulled the reins hard till
the mare reared aloft. She had got into the habit of doing that. . . . Reggie
liked to imagine that he looked like Napoleon Bonaparte, as the Emperor
had led his armies across the Swiss mountains, or at least as the renowned
hero gured in the picture reproduced in the school history book. The
analogy invariably seemed to gather force as Tipoo fell into a trot and
Reggie saw the coolies clearing the undergrowth before him. He would
swing his whip in the air, and startle the horse into galloping again as if
he were going to storm a fortress. And he felt he would love to come up
to the coolies in the posture in which Napoleon would have come up to
his men, towering like a giant over the pygmies, and infuse them with
awe and respect for him. This childish fantasy had recurred again and
again when he rst came here, until now he could summon from his sub
. From the Tea Gardens to the Tea Pot. Publicity material for Liptons tea.
From Anthony Burgess et al. The Book of Tea, (Flammarion: Paris, ).
conscious and act it whenever he liked. And he often did that, because
emotionally and intellectually, at twenty-two, he was still very much a
school boy from Tonbridge even though he held a commission in the
army and was now an assistant planter on one of the biggest tea estates
in Assam. 34
Lights fade out.
From the s onward, the Indian Tea Association and its competitors
in Ceylon, began to build tea dioramas at world exhibitions and trade fairs
that were then in vogue. At the Chicago Worlds Fair of , the East India
pavilion served tea within a spectacular display of oriental splendor: It is
entered through a lofty gate surmounted by four minarets . . . profoundly
ornamented in an elaborate arabesque design. . . . Khidmatgars [servants]
dressed in red and gold uniforms completed the eect of an oriental magnicence. 35 Lipton won the highest honours at the same exhibition and proclaimed its supremacy through a baroque set of oriental images: elephants,
striding horses, turbaned natives, all heralding the Lipton Tea Factory in
the background and the suggestion of active laboring bodies. A Darjeeling
blend called the Light of Asia was sold at ve cents a cup. In , subscriptions were raised for an Indian Tea Cess Committee to coordinate such
marketing strategies both within the country and abroad.
The success of such a spectacle of marketing at the Chicago exhibition
laid the foundation for subsequent tea propaganda in the United States,
which, due to the events in Boston a hundred years previously, had proved
a signicant commercial loss to British tea merchants. A separate American
Fund Committee, subsidized by the Indian Tea Association, proceeded to
advertise through newspapers, leaets, postcards, and sample demonstrations. Specialty men, employed by tea distributors, accompanied salesmen
on other door-to-door demonstrations.This method of stacked advertising
(promoting tea with other commodities) continued into the s.36
Major tea producers, all handicapped by the slump in the world market
due to World Wars I and II, launched a joint eort to focus on the U.S. market.They concluded from surveys that advertising strategies were essential
because more than anywhere in the world, consumers in the USA are susceptible to changes in their habits through propaganda. 37 No concerted
eort around tea marketing, they noted, had ever been made.
Signicantly, the notion that tea was a womans drink, unt for and unworthy of a man unless he is a sissy, 38 was considered a serious obstacle
to its potential as a popular drink. Our advertising, noted the survey report, must endeavor to break down this deep-seated prejudice by stressing
tea as a mans drink and by enlisting to its support the testimony of men of
occupations and character the very reverse of eeminate. 39 The feminization of the commodity, so integral to English consumption and demand, was
a serious obstacle to the lost, but still vast, market potential of the United
States.
In the United Kingdom and continental Europe, tea propaganda kept up
a steady pace. The world wars compelled marketing strategies that focused
on the British and colonial armies, carrying special topical features dealing
with thewarand the part tea is playing in its conduct. 40 Thus, tea became an
indispensable wartime beverage 41 through advertising in cinemas, traveling vans, and window displays. Tea Revives You was a major theme of
advertising and a logo of Mr.T. Pott, and verses called Tea Cuplets were
used in leaets.42 Special eorts were made to introduce tea as part of food
rations to miners in South Africa, overcoming the disinclination of mine
managers to alter rations. 43
While international tea committees focused on the large, lucrative, but
elusive U.S. market, British Indian producers, compelled by the world wars
and the economic depression, also looked within at the potential of a domestic market in the colony.Under the auspices of the Indian Tea Cess Committee, the Indian Tea Market Expansion Board was constituted to plumb
the possibilities of this vast internal market. Pice [paisa] packets (individual cheap packets) were suggested as a way to get to the poorer classes.
Factories were already important sites of consumption, and demonstration
stalls were set up in these areas.
Through the s, samples and tea-making demonstrations were taken
to local markets and up the riverways of East Bengal to the most remote
villages. Tea demonstrators were permitted to enter conservative Muslim
households in Lahore, Lucknow, and Kanpur, and the women watched
from behind a screen. Very young men who could be regarded by middleaged ladies as more less children had easieraccess to these than older men. . . .
Educated lady demonstrators were employed, though in certain areas . . .
neither male nor female demonstrators could gain entry. 44
If Mr. T. Pott was extolling that any time was T-Time, thereby making
tea a staple in the trenches and assembly lines of Europe, a parallel economy of images was creating tea as a drink for ordinary Indians. By the mids, advertisements in Indian-owned newspapers such as The Hindu were
extolling the virtues of tea for workers, youth, and villagers. In the rst advertisement from the March , , edition of The Hindu, consumption is
aimed at an idealized image of a working-class consumer.The standing man,
holding a mug aloft, points energetically toward the smokestacks of a factory while his companions sit on the ground eating with their ngers.While
the more middle-class suggestion of saucer-cup-and-spoon foregrounds
the picture, tea is nativized into the frames of working-class masculinity.
Clearly, the text-image speaks more directly to the workers manager.Who
will, indeed, read the English of this text? Tea will oer stamina, and re-
Shadow Plantocracies
If tea was being constructed into a national commodity, it was also being
linked to another story of indigenous enterprise. The emergence of a colonial plantocracy is the most signicant and determining aspect of mercantile capital entrenchment and outow, from the northeastern frontier that
was connected by Calcutta to the center of imperial trade in London. This
circulation of capital and labor did not however follow a smooth road, or
river journey, once Calcutta was left behind. The isolation of the Planter
Raj, the presence of hostile local elites and kings, and an uncertain cash
ow meant that English planters were dependent on middlemen such as the
Marwaris for the scal and political navigation of an unknown, and often
hostile, landscape. Financial assistance in the form of cash loans suggests
that the local indigenous elite of Bengalis, Assamese, and Marwaris were
signicant players in the economic history of plantation settlements and the
tea trade.46
Whether creating a shadow economy through hundi loans or buying
up small landholdings for themselves in the late nineteenth century, local
elites are striking examples of indigenous entrepreneurship.47 Take the story
of Maniram Datta Barua, a minister of the last Raja of Assam, who introduced Robert Bruce to the Singhpos.The dewan (minister) as he was known,
was one of nine Indian shareholders of the Assam Company; he held percent of its stock and drew a higher salary than the majority of the companys
European sta.48 Yet the contradictions of being a key player in the project
of indirect rule as well as a protonationalist proved to be his undoing. ManiThe Raj Baroque
ram Dewan managed two plantations yet was hanged by the British in
for taking part in the freedom struggle (or Mutiny) of .
Both outsiders (as colonized and native subjects) and insiders (as
planters), the elites belonged to a shadow plantocracy: one that oered an
intriguing challenge to the overarching hegemony of the British plantocracy through the colonial period.These edgling native planters shrewdly
expanded their small plantation holdings and created styles of management
and rule that were close to the feudal norms of pre/colonial Bengali and
Assamese zamindari (landowning) cultures.
Ties of kin and family formed the basis of a decidedly Indian business
ethos, a corporate lineage that informs post- and neocolonial management
in signicant ways. Indeed, it is the colonized native manager and the
supporting clerical and supervisory sta of the old British plantations who
have stepped into the shoes of departing colonial planters. This was, for
the most part, a smooth transition, because Indians were deeply involved
with plantation enterprise, not only as its labor, but also as its architects,
suppliers, and investors.
The history of Bengali entrepreneurship in tea begins almost as soon as
the English began their plantation ventures in the Dooars.49 In , an ocer clerk by the name of Khan Bahadur Munshi Rahim Baksh, working in
the Jalpaiguri District Commissioners oce, persuaded his employer to
favor him with a wasteland grant of acres.The commissioners oce
was responsible for parceling out and legislating Wasteland Rules. The patronage of the district commissioner permitted Khan Bahadur to acquire
some land.50 Like many local native ocers of the Raj, he worked within
its system of patronage while creating the possibilities of its subversion.
Certainly, the terms of this favor was another layer in the bedrock of indirect rule. Its grant suggests the contradictory practices of a grafted and
hybrid feudal patronage system at the grassroots of local administration.
Jalpaiguri District, created in , was, as the range of investors backgrounds suggests, a settlers district. The immigration of merchant communities and lawyers from East Bengal was to shape local agrarian politics
in the most signicant ways. Before the infusion of tea and allied capital in
the area, the agrarian economy was run primarily by Muslim jotedars and
Rajbansi sharecroppers. The latter cultivated land with their own capital
and gave, according to customary law, a part of this produce to the jotedar.Often jotedars employed an administrative middleman to supervise rent
collection.51
As the process of settlement accelerated and land became available at
very nominal prices to outsiders, jotes (landplots) were acquired by absen
tee jotedars in the town.The initial purchase of jotes increased the capacity
of new jotedars to save, invest, and take some economic risk. An increased
alienation from land and the tendency of big jotedars toward dissociation
from the process of production was noticeable.52 Middle-class and uppercaste Bengalis were not customarily inclined to engage directly in commerce
or cultivation, though they did begin to get involved as lawyers in loan companies and small banks that were managing the scal aairs of the landowning class.53 Through these economic alliances with the local landlord class,
Bengali upper-caste lawyers and well-to-do Muslims immigrants began to
search for investment outlets for their own tidy savings.54 Investment in tea
promised to be highly lucrative, and some of the start-up companies oated
by Indians were proving to be protable ventures.
In , the rst Indian joint stock company was founded by leading
lawyers in Jalpaiguri who raised , rupees. The rules for buying land
were relatively exible.55 The district commissioner assessed the applicants
capital investment, and ability to pay the land survey cost of one rupee
per acre. A favorable assessment would mean a preliminary lease of ve
years.56 Another early Indian company, the Gurjanjhora Tea Company Ltd.,
was formed in , and its board of promoters included wealthy Muslims,
Brahmin Hindus, and a mysterious J. A. Paul, a Jalpaiguri merchant who
is registered as being Jewish. From an initial land grant of acres, the
Gurjanjhora plantations sold their rst tea in . In yet another fragment
within the bricolage of imperial tea commerce, this small Indian company
sent a consignment of its best tea for an exhibit at the World Exposition
in Mexico City and won a medal of certication.57
In the same year that Gurjanjhora began its tea venture, two Muslim
womenBibi Meherunessa and Bibi Gulabjanbought a grant of
acres.58 Nothing more is known of the Indian womens enterprise, except
that the company folded. The presence of native women in the new aristocratic commerce of tea suggests an innitesimal ruptural moment: a slight
counterhegemonic gesture to the othered tale of a native, but still masculine, plantocracy.
,
Spotlight on center stage, on the bungalow scene.The British Memsahib is seated
on a rattan chair. The Narrator picks up her wicker stool and moves to your left.
From the right, aWoman in a dark blue silk burkha emerges and pulls up another
chair. On the low table is a teapot with three cups, saucers, and silver spoons.The
British Memsahib checks the tea and begins to pour.
The Raj Baroque
: (speaking to the audience and her companions) Has anyone heard the
story of the memsahib of Mim, that garden in Darjeeling? There are several versions to the story that I have heard.The plantation was started in
and the investment was made from the estate of the planter sahibs
wife, and because of this the plantation became known as mem kaman,
the mems property.59 It was shortened to Mim. Another more romantic
version says the sahib was blinded and his wife took over the plantation.
: A pointed tale, certainly. I guess tea was not just the
boys playing polo and drinking Scotch.The mysterious memsahib is like
Karen Blixen and her coee plantation in Kenya. How was she received
at the old planters club up in the mall? Most of us were not so intrepid.
We did not have many choices.We ew in, we got married.We had two
options.We sat around all day doing nothing and hating India or getting
involved. . . . Sometimes it seemed as though we were to sit in the clubs
and speak only when spoken to, rather like a coming-out ball. 60 (Turning to the veiled Woman who unclips her mouthcover as she is addressed.) But
you . . . you were the most enigmatic.
: (taking a sip of tea, smiling) We sat behind the lattice of screens,
if we had the leisure to sit. But we saw you pass with your shimmering
parasols, pass our windows, looking straight ahead.We watched you and
then looked away; we met each other outside your gaze. Looking nowhere but straight. To you, our mystery was an essential commerce.We
traced the coins lightly with our ngertips.To us, it was so much simpler.
We only turned the coins over and over in our hands.Yes, there are ghosts
here behind the screens too, storytellers of what appears invisible. Light
your lantern, woman (turning to the Narrator) and scratch the quill. You
will see the possibilities are endless, endless.
: Gendered commerce has such countercurrencies. Womens capital
constitutes, necessarily, a bank of shadows.We sit behind lattice screens;
we count our coins of constraint and possibility; we emerge veiled and
unveiled; we make actual other elds of connection.
Light fades.
T, , the family history of the planting clan I encountered briey in Calcutta and Jalpaiguri at the end of . During the last
decades of the nineteenth century, Mr. Banerjees grandfather immigrated
from Bikrampur (British Indian East Bengal) to Jalpaiguris bustling township. He established a successful legal practice, and his family joined the
comfortable ranks of a Bengali-settler middle class. They entered the plan
tation business while working for the Bhutanese royal family, who had been
the overlords and rulers of the Dooars. Annexation meant that land upon
which a Bhutanese aristocracy had ruled was now subject to the legislation of European masters. Who but a successful Bengali lawyer from local
Jalpaiguri, the district headquarters, to facilitate these connections?
Not surprisingly, the Bhutanese royal family had joined in the plantation
venture and had hired Mr. Banerjees father to help them manage the scal
aairs of their property. Polashbari Tea Estate was bought in when the
family decided to buy out the Bhutanese by oating a joint stock company
of which they were to become majority shareholders. Polashbari Tea Estate
still remains the family business. This brief family history illustrates how
Indian entrepreneurship was a business of bricolage set against the backdrop of English settlement and colonial rule. On the ground, a motley crew
of displaced regional elites (the Bhutanese), new emerging elites (absentee Bengali landlords), and nancial brokers (Marwaris) enacted their own
lordship by manipulating, bypassing, and entering the ruling projects of the
Planter Raj.
Between and , Bengalis dominated indigenous investment in
tea.61 From to , Jalpaiguri-based entrepreneurs oated eleven companies with a total investment of . crores. During these few decades,
land acquisition was relatively easy and open to Indian investment. This
open market for indigenous capital investment was compelled by a crises
in the world market in tea which made overseas investors highly wary of
investing in the Indian tea venture.62 As a result, between and ,
percent of capital investment was Indian-owned and -controlled.63
These Indian companies would display their tea literally on a new
world scale alongside commodities manufactured by their colonial rulers.
Soon after Indian independence in , the Chairman of the Indian Tea
Planters Association () noted with proud exuberance: How the eorts
of pioneers of two companies in Jalpaiguri and Northern Bengal attained
a tremendous measure of success in the industry will be evident if I refer
to the World Chicago Exhibition which awarded the medals to these companies for the production of quality tea in . 64 Indian tea in its more
nativistic guise did suggest that indigenous entrepreneurship, a colonized
entrepreneurship if you will, could market itself with some canny audacity
and good fortune, within the pathways of imperial commerce.
The actual and situated task of carrying forward native entrepreneurship within the terms of imperial rule was, however, a daunting one. The
postcolonial rendition of a glorious history is, certainly, a necessary strand
of the incipient politics of nationalism that undergirded these ventures.Yet,
The Raj Baroque
,
Spotlights focus on the bungalow scene. British Sahib and Memsahib sit together.
He has a drink in hand and looks pensive.The Memsahib is embroidering something. In the background, a Servant pulls the fan. The background sounds are
of the night: crickets, a lone dog barking, a faint sound of drums: dham dham
dham. The Narrator sits at her table on your left, dipping a quill into the bottle
of india ink and writing. The light from her lantern is low.
: These damned Swarajists will peck peck peck at nothing.
They will bring down all that we have done. Reminds me of what that
wit wrote at the club: Babu Chunder Chatterjee / Bowbazar Swaraj
M.P. / Got up in the Viceroys Council, / Spoke of the planters everyday; / Said they most emphatically bully, / Weakly native, wretched
cooly, / Starved them, ogged them morn and even, / Robbed them of
their pay./ 77 (Takes a sharp swig of his drink)
: (clucking sympathetically) Charlie, it wont help to get
het up about this. Things will change. Why dont you go and see the
district magistrate tomorrow and see if we really are in any danger?
: (looking up momentarily to face the audience, as light fades on bungalow scene) Poor Charlie. Noncooperation raises its head even in distant
Assam. The natives are restive. Poor Charlie, he truly believed that he
had played cricket. All that he was concerned about was that everyone
should do his job properly. He upheld the simple law that any coolie who
worked hard was to be rewarded and any coolie who was lazy or made
mischief was to be punished. . . . Eciency above all else. Latterly, the
agitation of the Congress wallahs was nding echoes up in the plantation.
And, in his soul, he felt a certain panic whenever he heard of a terrorist
outrage in Calcutta. Not that he was conscious of the feeling of being
isolated as one of the white men among the coolies, but all the same he
was disturbed a little. 78
they marshaled considerable symbolic and material resources against colonial rule. As part of an emerging regional elite class, Indian planters could
invoke social allegiances with plantation and village communities by appealing to customary norms of feudal patronage. Though British planters
mobilized a hybridly feudal administrative system, their location as gora
sahibs (white sahibs) meant that considerable social distance was maintained from the older indigenous idioms of rule.
Recall, for a moment, Maniram Datta Barua, one of the last ministers
of the Assamese king who sat on the board of the Assam Company and
who managed two plantations. Suspected of being involved with political
organizing of the so-called Mutiny of within Assam, he was hanged
by the British. After his death, the two plantations under his management
were sold out of the company, though the new buyers, George Williamson
Inc., were beset with labor unrest. In protest, older workers, sta, and even
Chinese tea makers left the plantations.81
The story of the ill-fated minister and the workers exodus is a telling example of the contradictions inherent within regional administration and the
ssures in the bedrock of colonial rule. Barua was a powerful gure within
aristocratic circles in Assam, and like many other royal ocers in the subcontinent, he shrewdly joined the new ruling projects of the Planter Raj.
Through his lineage, relative autonomy, and formal involvement with the
Assam Company, he acted as a benecent and powerful broker for the new
sahibs. Yet his allegiances and alliances were layered and subterranean and,
in the end, more faithful to the political and cultural web of his native
Assamese elite class and the communities through which this class conducted its terms of rule. Native loyalty and momentary nationalist alliances across class lines were clearly manifested in the sta and workers
exodus from the two plantations.
While the case of the assassinated minister presents a striking example
of political subversion within the emerging Assamese Planter Raj, Bengali
lawyer-entrepreneurs and entrenched regional aristocrats began to build
upon their economic and political power within North Bengals plantation
enclaves. It was a process that involved collusion, granting of favors, and
a dependence on the British for most infrastructural needs. Negotiations
with local administrators and land consolidation strategies that involved
clubbing individual jotes (plots) permeated the economic subversion of
a system that explicitly privileged European commercial interests in planting. Within institutionally political frameworks, this shadow plantocracy
emerged from the community base that later became the lynchpin of the
Planter Raj.These were the classes of clerks, lawyers, and brokers that lubriThe Raj Baroque
The tea business is, thus, given an anticolonial and nationalist avor.
The commodity becomes a truly national product, blended together with
avowedly Indian expertise. The silver lining of its enterprise creates the
glittering backdrop fora truly national brew. During the aftermath of Indian
independence, another planter asserts: It is important to note in this connection that the capital employed by these Indian planters have been cent
percent Indian and the participants in the prots have been nothing but
Indian.The industry is primarily a national enterprise, and a national asset,
and this fact should be taken seriously into consideration by the government
in any scheme or future policy. 87 Indigenous entrepreneurship ran parallel to European pioneering and opened up the wilderness to industrial
progress. This progress was to be coded into the urgent economic projects
of a newly independent nation state, and a free Indian plantocracy would,
ideally, participate in such a shared endeavor.
Blatant Belligerency
Whether these postcolonial rhetorics suggest a coherent nationalist alliance
during the middle and late colonial period in North Bengal and Assam would
be a new arena of investigation. Certainly, these were rhetorics of alliance
that were determined by the class interests of the plantocracy. Its nationalisms were, not surprisingly, contained within the frameworks of class protectionism.Working-class movements in the tea belt, which challenged the
plantocratic base of both Indian and British companies, were, in light of
new legislation permitting union organizing, viewed as deeply threatening.
In , for example, the spoke against the blatant belligerency of
zealous social reformers and the importance of knocking the bother out
of their unreasoning charge of maldistribution of wealth. 88 Trade unions,
like the (Indian National Trade Union Congress) were accused of
openlyadvocat(ing) class hatred and revolt against the democratic method
of collaboration. 89 Labor movements were, in short, antinational, and the
experience of propaganda and political ferment are inseparable from labor
movements and have imposed increased responsibilities on the district authority for the maintenance of law and order. 90 In when newly legalized trade unions like the West Bengal Cha Shramik Union organized a mass
satyagraha,91 the remarked: The satyagraha might take the shape of
demonstrations, squatting, fasting before the oces of the and
[Dooars Branch of the Indian Tea Association] and the oces of estates. . . .
Other undesirable activities may be launched. 92 Undesirable activities
thus compelled the political parlance of colonial rule: law and order had
The Raj Baroque
Within postcolonial West Bengal and Assam, one dominant ethnic group
the Marwari business communityhas emerged as the dominant ownercapitalist class in the region. As local brokers and speculators in raw jute,
tea, and coal during the colonial period, Marwaris have emerged as among
the wealthiest business communities in the country. Names such as Birla,
Khaitan, Kanoria, and Bajoria are engraved on brass plates in the old mansions of Alipore, once owned by old Calcutta Bengali aristocrats and their
English overlords. Marwari corporate houses control the major industries
in West Bengal: jute, coal, mining, and tea. A settler-mercantile community originally from Rajasthan, this community created nancial alliances
with colonial and indigenous elites through banking and trade. Famous for
nancial speculation, Marwari corporate houses virtually own the industrial
infrastructure of West Bengal, which is governed by an elected () government (Communist Party of IndiaMarxist). The contradictory alliances
(and their attendant contests) between Bengali communist leaders and Marwari family-business capitalism shape the political and economic landscape
of contemporary Bengal.
Postcolonial capital ownership within tea is a variegated business. Small
individual family-owned plantations, large Indian-owned corporations,
family business houses, and multinational corporations encompass the postcolonial tea industry. In the rst phase of postcolonial economic consolidation (), British sterling companies with small holdings in Assam
and Bengal sold their stock to Marwari brokers. The English disinvestment
had begun in World War II, particularly among small companies in eastern
Assam which were facing the imminent invasion of Japanese forces through
Burma.93 The inevitability of Indian independence accelerated the process
of disinvestment. Departing English planters were replaced by a new cadre
of Indian management. The new sahibs came from good public school,
army, and aristocratic backgrounds. Anglicized manners and comportment
ensured their postings in agency houses that were still controlled from London.These sterling companies kept their distance from the new Indian corporations. Despite the presence of Indian management, the old status distinctions between sterling and rupiyah companies were maintained.
A second phase of disinvestment began in the mid s when the
national economic policy emanating from Delhi shifted to explicit nationalization of major Indian industries. The Indo-Chinese border conict in
where armed skirmishes took place near Tejpur, Assamalso provoked the departure of English planters. However, central government
legislation such as (Foreign Exchange Regulation Act), which dictated
that majority shareholdings of international corporations must be Indianowned, led to the departure of many remaining sterling companies.94 Until
, for example, percent of AndrewYules stock was European-owned;
percent of shares were sold to Indians, though percent remained in
British banks. In , British shareholders decided to sell their remaining
stock to a Marwari family corporation, a move blocked by the Indian government. The company was nally sold to the President of India and is
now a Government-of-India-owned company, with percent of its stock
in public shares.
Other large agency houses, like Goodricke, sold its Indian subsidiaries to
Marwari companies. The Goenka family, for example, owns percent of
Duncans, the parent company that managed Goodricke, one of the largest
companies in Assam. However, international capital investment continues
to play a major role in some of the larger corporations. Even if the majority
of shares are not foreign-owned, European stockholders have sizeable holdings in tea. The Lawrie Group of the United Kingdom, billed as one of the
largest producers of tea in the world, has considerable investments in Goodricke. In the early s, Inchcape, the multinational company that owned
sixteen plantations in Assam, sold its Indian subsidiarythe Assam Companyfor . million to an (nonresident Indian) company that has
interests in Canada, East Africa, and India.
Transnational capital, thus, continues to map the fortunes of the largest
corporations in Assam. When Brooke Bond and Lipton, tea blenders and
brokers who buy half of the tea produced in Assam, refused to participate
in the Guwahati tea auctions because of serious political unrest in Assam, it
was a major blow to an industry that depends on foreign exports. As subsidiaries of Unilever, the British Dutch corporation, Brooke Bond and Lipton
earn million from their Indian tea exports: percent of that tea is
grown in Assam.
These broad scal patterns suggest that a detailed economic history of
the Indian tea industry within global trade would reveal its dependence
on foreign-based capital investment. Given the export-oriented objectives
of the industry, and its economic survival in an increasingly volatile environment, hybrid scal alliances with international investors are a necessity.
For smaller companies, or successful corporate houses like Tata Tea, capital
ownership remains entirely Indian. Many of these smaller companies, particularly in the Dooarswhose tea sales cannot compete with the export
value of Darjeeling or the nest Assamese leafdepend on domestic consumption. Indeed, the internal market for tea is now larger than the highly
competitive international market and companies target the national market
for its sales.
Domestic Economies
If one set of nationalist images locates tea consumption within the ambit of
a rural and working-class masculinity, a feminized foregrounding creates a
parallel economy of signs.When one advertisement from a March , ,
edition of The Hindu exhorts the consumer to keep your family strong and
healthy with Indian tea, the nation has turned toward gendered kinship,
gesturing to its maternal body. It is not surprising, then, to see the woman
foregrounded against a bucolic landscape, her hand casually embracing her
young son. Indeed, modernity is presaged in the text itself when it notes:
The young rising generation is likely to nd its place in a more modern
social order than the one in which we at present live. . . . Indian tea is thus
contributing to a stronger and healthier Indian community. Rural modernity, and its community, signied by tea consumption is still predicated on
the nation, the family, and its maternal center.
If the rural woman-mother is not so directly placed within the text, the
next image frames the understanding women [who] never forget to see
that their men-folk receive the cup of kindness. Now, that womans home
contains its more middle-class inscriptions: a table, a woman pouring tea
from a teapot. The sketch of a womans face, with jewelry, marks a classed
femininity. Tea is now the only family beverage, and the woman engages
a familiar trope within the symbolic economy of tea consumption and its
circulations.The woman-mother stands at the center and the foreground of
this idealized framing of the family. A certain middle-class ideal of a unitary
Indian motherhood is idealized and linked to the commodity. Through the
ritual of the image-ideal, tea enshrines domesticity around the centerpoint
of the feminine, and feminized, gure of a now nationalized ideal within
the Indian colony: the mother-wife of the home.
If late-colonial advertisements in newspapers oer a familiarly gendered
economy of signs, the postcolonial imagery continues to enforce what are
now ubiquitous images of the ideal genteel, middle-class family life.95 A
woman in a pastel sari stands next to (presumably) her seated husband.They
look at each other lovingly. Behind them is an ornate side table; the table
cover is crocheted. Potted plants and ower arrangements are carefully arrayed. The message is clear: A certain elegance, a certain ease of living, a
certain avour.
Postcolonial Indian women represent the symbolic meeting point of this
ideal of urban class mobilityand arrival. Advertisements of wives and
mothers serving tea to their husband and children in urban middle-class
settings oer an archetype of national domesticity. The feminization of tea
has come in a spiraling journey back to its home in the colony, to be reproduced again and again within the postcolonial domesticities of an independent nation. Postcolonial Indian women create their own parlors. Sandwiches and samosas may be served. Immaculate and demurely beautiful,
she will enter the commercial screen of her neat living room with a cup of
Lipton tea. Her husband puts down the newspaper and smiles benevolently.
Lipton chai, aaram chai (Lipton tea, relaxing tea).
Yet, if the rst image of postcolonial feminine gentility produces a certain
idea of the nation, then other advertisements also mark another ambit of
production: the site of labor itself, almost as common an image as the pretty
woman serving tea. In one, a womans prole, body and face, is outlined.
She wears a ring, her breasts are contoured. Even as a sketch, she is sexualized, attractivean unsettlingly similar image to the middle-class housewife of the late colonial newspaper. In the other, a sepia-tinted photo shows
a smiling woman-worker, lifting some leaves of tea. Her hands are blurred.
She advertises the lore of tea for British Paintsa member of the worldwide Berger group. Both womenone a sketch, the other a photograph
suggest the Janus-faced nature of the commodity and its bodied histories
of connection and disjuncture. This, indeed, is the price of the fetish.
,
Light focuses on the Narrator. She puts down her pen and smiles. She takes the
porcelain cup and traces her ngers around its rim as she speaks.
: So, these are postcolonial teatimes. Come, let us join Alice for tea and
snacks.
The Narrator picks up her wicker stool and joins the Mad Tea Party. Alice pours
liquid from Mr.T. Pott.The Narrator helps herself to some tarts.The Mad Hatter and the March Hare go backstage with the Doormouse and bring out a large
kettle of tea and small paper cups.They start distributing it to the audience.The
lights come up entirely. In the background is the commercials trill: Lipton chai,
aaram chai.
As the tea service continues, on the audiences right, the curtain quivers and
moves. A Woman steps out. She wears a cheap cotton sari, her shoulders are bare.
She carries a metal tumbler. She walks over to the stage and joins Alice and the
Narrator.They look at her curiously but motion for her to join. Alice pours the tea
into her tumbler. She sits on the ground next to the Narrator. There is no sound
except for small sips.When everyone has been served, the light fades out.
,
Stage lights come on dimly. The stage, its props, and scenery remain the same.
Alice sits at her Mad Tea Party. The Narrator has moved back to her table to
stage right. Her lantern is on the table along with the other small objects. As the
spotlight focuses on her, she picks up each object to remind the audience of the
motley collection of which it is a part: the quill and bottle of india ink, a silver
sickle, nailpolish and clutter of false nails, the cup, teapot, some tea bags. The
oval mirror, with its ornate Victorian frame, ickers in the lanterns light. The
Narrators cowl is pushed back, her face is entirely exposed. Except for the bloodred mouth and kohl-rimmed eyes, her face is pale. Powdered. Her ngers move
across the objects restlessly.
Alice walks over with a small scrolled piece of paper and places it on the table.
: What is this? What is this? Another strange message from an oriental
Alice. Noa fragment of poetry to start us o. A clue for our Wonderland, our Garden of Dreams: So I have come / back to you, / not seeing
how / you beckoned before. / It was in an / early green light, / this
journey of / my return, / a light as transparent / as sun through / a blade
of grass: / my ngers / even they were/dappled green / and insubstantial. / A eeting peacock / in a ash of blue / changed the color / of
startled leaves and / I paused on / the path to breathe in / the brilliant
blue air, / the ickers of green. / What more to / expect from you, / my
Beloved, / but this gasping / green silence? This gasping green silence.
Light fades as the Narrator picks up her quill and dips it in the bottle of india ink.
Jalpaiguri,West Bengal
I leave Calcutta for Jalpaiguri in October, on an overnight train winding
upward through the paddy elds of South Bengal.The night air, blowing in
through the trains barred windows, is refreshing, the memory of a heavy
summer heat fades.The ancestral home of my hosts is modest, in a middleclass neighborhood, and there is no resonance of the anglicized style I have
come to expect of tea planters. It appears quite dierent from the baroque
and ornate architectural style that accents the palatial homes of South Bengali elites. One of my hosts, a tea plantation owner greets me wearing a
silk kimono-like robe. He carries a hookah and the image of nineteenthcentury bhadralog [gentleman] culture and its leisured smokes comes alive.
We take to each other immediately. He has an ironic gaze and is aware, I am
almost certain, of my assessment and its imaginative inscriptions. There is
a performed languidness in his self-presentation, and his awareness creates
a humorous backbeat to our brief encounter.
In the evening, sitting in a dining area separate from the main house,
we eat out of large brass plates and he begins to tell me about his familys
history as among the rst Bengali entrepreneurs in tea. I ask him about the
large World Wildlife Fund posters announcing a major tiger conservation
project that I have seen lining the road. He tells me that wildlife conservation around issues such as habitat loss for elephants, leopards, and tigers has
become a more visible business.
Then, taking a sip of water, he leans over and pats me on the hand: Well,
well, memsahib from America, I will tell you this. If you wanted to nd tiger
skin, it would be very dicult now. But if you want human skin, then . . . .
Disconcerted, I am aware of a certain exaggeration and a certain truth.
The ellipses chart the range of another moral compass.
The road cleaves straight toward the Dooars foothills from Jalpaiguri.
The ground is at, broken by a short incline sloping toward the Sevak
Bridge, which straddles the Tista River. At the bridge, a bus directly ahead
of us disgorges some passengers who pay obeisance to the goddess Kali residing in a nearby temple. On the other side of the bridge, the road winds
down into Dooars proper.
In the thick forests bordering the road, I suddenly glimpse a peacock
with an indigo neck. Startled, he unfurls his fan of color, swivels his head,
and rushes into the green cover of trees. My companions tell me that this is
a rare and auspicious sighting. I have taken to reading portents, good and
bad, in everything.The roots of rural East Bengal across the river and close
to my ancestral homes are digging into the recesses of a memory I have not
lived. The unfurled peacock speaks to this from his emerald place.
On the right, suddenly rising from a eld of tea bushes, is a Palladianstyle bungalow whose Grecian columns and high patio verandah manages
to eclipse the neighboring low-lying whitewashed factory buildings. This
imposing abode, the directors bungalow, seldom visited by the plantations
owners, is my home for my rst foray into tea country. It could not, despite
its grand emptiness, more concretely symbolize the absolute center of the
planters world. From my verandah eyrie on the second oor, I see the factory and the sta cottages lying in front and to the left, respectively. On the
right, the tea bushes begin.
The factory siren sounds loudly in the late afternoon, and I see groups
of women hunched forward, carrying large cloth pouches of tea leaf, pass
through the factory gates.The view is kindred to the framing lens of a cameras eye.Within one frozen Archimidean moment, thewomen become mere
objects: colorful, still, a two-dimensional movement against a eld of green.
Within a day of my arrival, I begin to experience the verandah eyrie and
its encirclement of apartness as a palatial prison. The burra sahib (senior
planter) appears nervous because I am a guest of the owner, but I am more
aware of gendered unease. Purposefully cleaving through such proprieties
of gendered status, I ask him about the possibility of visiting a sister plantation. He responds, He hobe, hobe. Yes, yes, it will happen, it will happen.
I will take you on a tour of the plantation in the next couple of days, but it
is best you stay here. If you have any needs, just tell the houseboy to give
me a message.
Estates of a New Raj
The paternalistic tone of the burra sahib is familiar, and I rankle at the
inside boundaries being drawn. Is this the neocolonial plantation zenana? 1
The server, a young man, keeps his eyes downcast when I address him.The
direction of his gaze begins to chart the feudal terrain of this sojourn. As he
serves us tea, the burra sahib suddenly moves to the verandah wall and yells
at a couple of women walking through the eld of bushes falling immediately to the right of the bungalow: Dont damage the bushes now. Your
work is nished for the day. Leave, leave. One woman shakes her umbrella
up at him and angry words are exchanged. Pulling out a handkerchief from
a pocket, and wiping his forehead, he says, Oh, I cant tell you how things
have changed.The coolies are more and more undisciplined. See how those
women screamed at me? It is all this union rongbaji [trouble making].
He soon takes his leave, and I am left to my elevated solitude. I imagine a nineteenth-century ancestress sitting behind a latticed marble screen
watching the world go by. If she is to descend into the dusty streets, her veil
must be long. She will be carried in a curtained carriage so the world may not
see her. Her feet must not touch the earth. In this solitary and strange splendor, I am aware of a certain late-twentieth-century kinship to her watching
but hidden gaze. The contradictions between the ideals of my research objectives and their repositioning within such feudal and paternal spaces are
palpable.
The next morning, I walk into the plantation oce and ask for a jeep to
take me to a sister plantation, whose manager, Nikhil Sinha, seems more
comfortable dealing with a woman outside. When I tell him that I cant
remain at the rst plantation, even at the risk of oending my hosts, he
oers me a place in his far more modest guest cottage. I ask him whether
my perceptions of gendered unease are correct. He smiles as he responds,
I understood what you were up to, this research on women, but he has
probably never met someone like you before. You have to remember that
most older planters have been here for so long, they dont realize how things
have changed.They are like in another country. I can imagine if you walked
through the elds, he laughs, he would send along a platoon of chowkidars [watchmen] beating drums to keep people away. I cant imagine him
permitting you to walk through the eld!
I also laugh, aware of his commentarys uncanny connection to my own
imaginative journeys into the possible life of a nineteenth-century ancestress.What heresy, to walk through a public eld! What ontologies of honor
to enact through the feminized body of privilege.
Three months after that rst glance down on a picture of women, I nally
reach what will be my home for the next year: Sarahs HopeTea Estate.Close
to the Bhutan border, Sarahs Hope T.E. is one of the largest plantations
in the central Dooars. Running about acres, inclusive of bungalows,
factory, and workers residences, the plantation has a decidedly prosperous
air. On the main artery of the high road, a large sign introduces Kolpara
Tea Estate, Sarahs Hopes nearest neighbor, with whom it shares not only
territorial boundaries but also histories, rituals, and sacred geographies.
The visible and prominent buildingsmanagers bungalows, a hospital,
factory, and sta cottagesrun parallel to the main road. The hospital is
large, with familiar, tall Grecian columns, and is set in a manicured, though
sparse, quadrangle of lawn. Its immediate neighbors are two small assistant managers bungalows. A slightly more imposing managers bungalow
anks the factory and oce compound to one side, while the burra sahibs
(senior managers) bungalow sits on the other. Unlike the startling edice
of my rst big bungalow, this is a handsome two-story structure set well
back from the main road. Its perfectly manicured green lawn and unused
swimming pool are only visible if one peers in from the front gate. On any
given day, no sta person or worker is found near the front gates of the
bungalows.
In contrast to the factorys perpetual buzz of activity, the adjacent bungalows appear silent, immaculate in their stillness. Arcing away from the burra
sahibs bungalow is a large open eld, around which, in an almost horseshoe shape, lie the small whitewashed cottages of the plantations clerical
sta. A sta club and large open building used for festivals, constitutes the
uppermost boundary of the plantation elites residences. It is a tightly knit
perimeter of power.
Only if you look carefully from the distance of the road, will you notice
rows of small, white-cement, two-roomed structures. These houses herald the labor lines, where workers families live. A brick wall behind the
sta cottages separates the labor lines from road and sta cottages. A wire
fence behind the bungalows similarly separates lawn from lines. Only those
workers who serve in the bungalowwatchmen, maids, gardeners and
cooksare permitted entry across this border of wire. At night, the only
areas lit are the perimeters of the bungalows and cottages: the labor lines,
hardly visible even in daylight, lie silent and in almost total darkness.
The stable bungalow, whose name suggests a horsy history, is an assistant managers bungalow and lies within the fenced perimeter. The sprawling two-bedroomed house, with an unused outhouse kitchen, is my abode
for the year I remain in Dooars plantation country. The bungalow system
of servitude ensures that even if the building is uninhabited, gardeners,
watchmen, and maids keep it outwardly groomed. Soon after my arrival, the
Estates of a New Raj
perimeter of hedges grows wild and the goats graze on the lawn. My neighbor, an assistant manager, takes me to task: It is important that your garden
is well kept. People from the road will see its untidiness and it will give the
garden a bad name. Make sure the gardeners work. Are they working?
Thus it is, within and beyond the small arc of soon-to-be-untidy lawn,
that I nally begin to visit communities living on the other side of the fence.
Anjali Mirdha and Sannicharwa Lohra, both assigned to work at the otherwise abandoned bungalow, live ve minutes from its borders, and it is primarily with Anjali and through her introductions to family and friends that
I enter Sarahs Hopes villages. Though I am no longer in the splendid isolation of a palladian second-oor verandah, and left mercifully to my own
devices, there could be no mistaking my indelible marking as a memsahib.
Yet, despite (and because of ) the contradictions of that location of power,
it is with a palpable sense of reliefof escaping the cocoon of feminine
privilege signied by the shuttered windows of the bungalow parlorthat
Anjali and I unhook its unwieldy back gate.
Managing Distance
Colonial planter rule created itself around an authoritative center, beginning with the person of the planter himself, who was known as the maibaap.The mai-baap was more than the personhood of the planter, however,
and came to signify the very texture of plantation patronage and power.
Combining symbolic displays of aristocratic leisure, paternal adjudication,
and coercive disciplining, the mai-baap served to cohere dierent facets of
planter power into one organizing metaphor: the family. The family became the rubric under which the ideologies of rule could frame the terms
of consent and the appearance of legitimation.
The planter was distilled into a curiously transgendered ideal. He became a symbolic father standing at the center of the plantation family in
which workers were, most denitively, his children.The planter came to jus-
Well, in the sahibs time, one day, a worker took his bow and arrow and was
going through the garden. And the sahib saw him, and the sahib asked him,
Where are you going with that bow and arrow?
The worker replied (fool that he was), To get a bird.
Then the sahib took the bow and arrow and told the man to sit down.
(The arrow did not have the real tip you know, where it would stick to the
body.) And the sahib shot him. The man went, Ow! Ow!
(He mimics him, contorting his back and laughing).
See, memsahib, the sahibs could do what they wished. On their hunting expeditions, they killed what they wanted.We, ha, if we had bows and
arrow, we could be thrown into jail. Yeh bat he. This is the story.
This postcolonial parable, even through its laughing mimicry, is signicant in the tale it tells about mai-baap power, its coercive edge.
Yet it is paternal benevolence that draws out the parameters of my time
at Sarahs Hope. For three months before my settled sojourn at Sarahs
Hope, I have been moving nomadically through plantation bungalows and
occasionally meeting workers involved in a United Nationsfunded familyplanning project. Myoscillation between various planter hosts, and the deep
suspicion of the few women and men workers I manage to speak with, takes
its toll. I am aware that if I dont settle into one plantation, I will not be able
to conduct any research, let alone have the chance to build some bonds of
trust. Given the political gulf between bungalow and labor lines, this autonomous territorial placement is crucial. Eorts at renting a small place
in the town are fruitless. An unknown single woman/tenant is an uneasy
proposition for most townspeople.
My father in Calcutta, a veteran manager of jute factories, hearing about
plantation politics, suggests that he should accompany me for a short visit.
He and I recognize that a certain sexual politics underwrites this unease
with my wanderings. I am a ranghi (foreigner) with my connections to the
United States, yet I appear to come from a bhadraghar (civilized home). My
father understands, before I do, that his presence as a bhadralog (gentleman) would vouch for my character. His paternal umbrella might shelter
me from disdain long enough for me to secure a place to stay. I am fortunate that a senior planter and his wife who have sheltered me on many other
occasions agree, and within the ambit of their combined kindness, this is
how I come to be assigned to the stable bungalow at Sarahs Hope.
My father meets Anjali and tells her that he has given her the responsibility for my welfare. My daughter, he says aectionately, is a pagli
[mad girl]. Who knows where she will go and what she will do? Tell her
what is right, and what is safe. I know she will not have much to do with
the managers, so if anything happens, only you will know.
Anjali takes the paternal order seriously and senses my sadness at his departure. Come on, didi, come to my home, she says. I will introduce you
to my father who has worked here for fty years. Heworked in the bungalow.
We can have some biscuits and chai.
Her elderly father greets us at her small two-roomed home, but seems
scared. He does not look at me directly and says a soft Namaste memsahib.
He jumps quickly to one side as I walk by him to enter the house. I am disconcerted, and again palpably aware of the embodied costs of power. In the
dark, sitting on the verandah oor by one oil lantern, Anjali and I sip hot
mugs of liquor tea.
Cultivating a Center
Imagine the old planters song about playing polo in Assam. Imagine him
sing a stanza in a wavering reedy voice as he sucks on a pipe: Sitting astride
my pony, / Riding my old brown mare, / Chasing the white ball up and
down, / Hitting it here and there, / Riding like
ll with excitement, /
Doing my utmost and best, / Give me my chukker of polo, / And Ill leave
you to take all the rest. 3
If polo is not played so frequently in the old planters clubs in the Dooars,
its overtones of aristocratic leisure continue to permeate the games of postcolonial planters and their families. These families live in considerable distance from one another, and as with their colonial predecessors, the club is
the only social space in which they meet and mix informally. Bingo nights
organized bya memsahibs committee and lavish buet dinners are frequent.
Women focus on the numbers being called out on the microphone while
their children race around the large room. For younger children, ayahs are
brought along and they chat with the drivers outside while keeping an eye
on their eet-footed wards.The burra and chota sahibs (senior and assistant
managers) retire to the bar with cigarettes and Scotch. No women enter this
masculine space, and if drinks are required, a chivalrous planter will oer
to fetch a glass of what is required.
Polo matches have been replaced by football (soccer), and intergarden
tournaments are held every year. Sitting on old rattan chairs and fanning
themselves, the memsahibs look bored. Teenagers sporting Levis jeans and
Nikes cheer as a goal is scored. Most of them study in boarding schools in
Darjeeling, Delhi, or further north in Nainital and Ajmer, and their public school manners oer the styles of a hybrid aristocracy. These are young
Estates of a New Raj
aristocrats of new and old empires. They wear the jeans of the new and
accent their talk with the old. Their schools (Doon, Sanawar, Mayo College, St. Pauls) are prestigious British Indian models of Eton.They embody
the Rajs pedagogies with a postcolonial twist. Nikes signal other imperial
aspirations.
Months after this rst encounter with rattan chairs, Levis, and postcolonial soccer matches, I meet an assistant manager and his wife who host me
for a couple of days in a plantation where a rare social welfare project around
maternal and infant health is under way.One afternoon I am taken to another
club, more modest than any I have been in. My hosts want to play a round of
golf. The three of us are alone on the weedy golf course, which is bordered
by the Himalayan foothills. Rather than sit alone on the clubs dilapidated
patio, I follow my hosts around the course. They are bedecked in madras
plaid shorts and Lacoste T-shirts. I shut my eyes and imagine them in a New
England country club. When I open my eyes, I am only too aware of this
Kaaesque landscape and its strange display of neoimperial gentilities.
The cultivated mask of the golf course is a thin one, the untamed hills
crouch too close for sustaining such an illusion. At the edge of the golf
course, a goat herder chews slowly on a stick. He sits on a boulder on the
edge of a ditch, and his face appears at some distance, impassive.
Masculinity and Lordship Picture for a moment, again, an image of the
nineteenth-century planter creating the cultivated landscape through his
reasoned enterprise. Among the many threads of planter self-representation, the image of hardy pioneering gives shape to a persona that is remembered and reinvented by postcolonial planters.The image of the pioneering
frontiersman, indulging in the leisures of hunting, produces the symbolic
eects of an active gentleman, a squire of the outdoors. As huntsman lording
over a vast colonial estate, this image renders its own colorful story about
the cultural styles of a new imperial gentry. The rst planters clubs of the
nineteenth century brought together the small community of planters and
their wives for drinks, billiards and polo matches.The enactment of English
manners, a reinvention and mimesis of metropolitan renement, is recreated in the postcolonial styles of the bungalow. In these elegant parlors, the
combination of pioneering masculinity and elegant comportment remains
an enduring legacy of the British Raj.
The genteel manners of the contemporary planters household enhance
the aura of leisure that permeates the big bungalow at Sarahs Hope. It
is a style redolent of the Raj. Nostalgia peppers the talk of veteran sahibs
who reminisce about the rst aireld in the Dooars and their billets under
non/work creates its inevitable alterity. His labor is reasoned and acorporeal; the bodied labor of others is its necessary foil.Through the lookingglass, then, that labor made invisible (orcaptured within the commodity picturesque), lies at the core of this cultivation of masculine authority and rule.
Memsahibs and Another Tea Party If masculine courage is one important facet of the mai-baap image, then the balancing image of leisured nonchalance is created by the inside worlds of planters wives. The plantation
bungalow, that architectural symbol of power and leisure, is most denitively the world of the memsahib. As in metropolitan corporate cultures, the
wife entertains and governs a phalanx of servants, through whose labors she
can present an immaculate dcor and superb cuisine. Her kitchen, lorded
over by a veteran cook, oers banquets that can challenge the nest culinary
oerings of city restaurants.Tea plantation hospitality is famous forculinary
largesse and exquisite service. For many burra memsahibs (senior planter
wives), hosting company guests in such style is mandatory. Her renement
and elegant hospitality indexes her husbands status and accomplishment as
a burra sahib.
News of her largesse (or lack thereof ) to bungalow workers reaches well
into thevillages. Some burra mems manage small farms within the bungalow
precincts, with cows and vegetable gardens and enough surplus produce to
sell in the local town markets. Much like the wife of a local landowner, she
retains considerable power over her large household. Occasional stories of
an English memsahibs presence in the lines, or walking her dogs through
the paths of the plantation eld, are in singular contrast to the assiduous distance maintained by her postcolonial counterparts. The postcolonial memsahib remains isolated in her bungalow. She is rarely seen by the rest of
the plantation communities, glimpsed eetingly, perhaps, in her passing
chaueur-driven car.
The cocoon of the bungalow parlor and its internal politics manifests
a patriarchal and caste/class-inected language of rule. It scripts the imperatives of a protected, rened, and feminized domestic world. Its literal
invisibility to the outside reects a dominant and hybrid vision of the
memsahibs status and position. It combinesVictorian and indigenous patriarchal ideologies into one integral display of rule.6 For one, the depiction
of the plantation parlor and its leisured domesticities throws the outdoor
and masculine image of the planter-sahib into greater relief. The ideal of
a sheltered, indoor, and eminently feminized world stands as an eective
counterpoint to his outdoor, vital, and masculine one. Indeed, the construction of either remains profoundly dialectical, making possible an unequal,
but powerfully coupled, vision of aristocratic rule within the plantation.
I spend some time with a new chota memsahib (assistant managers wife),
Rina Basu, who wrestles with her new status and isolation from the urban
hurly-burly of Calcutta. Since she is only a few years younger than I am,
and new to the plantations, we share candid views about the gendered and
status expectations of being a young memsahib within the plantocracys
social webs. Codes of visitation between burra and chota memsahibs are
as elaborate as the rites of calling among late nineteenth-century Victorian gentlewomen. Memsahibs also create their own kitty parties, bridge
games, and organize social events at the faded planters club, even if largely
invisible to wider plantation communities.
She remarks, Oh, it gets really lonely because he is gone most of the day
and I cant take any walks beyond the bungalow garden. We have our club
outings, but it is rare to meet women my age and I cant just land up at a
burra bungalow for a visit. There is a denite hierarchy maintained within
the company. Of course, in terms of people who work in other companies,
it is a little freer. But in the club, everything is assessed and I have to be
careful. My husband is an assistant, he is good at what he does, but I have to
be careful about his position. Sometimes I dont want to wear a silk sari to
an evening function at the club, I have some nice salwar kameezes [tunics
and pants], but he will insist that I am dressed more formally. Plus, everyone
knows we were recently married and I am a new bride. . . . But I will tell
you one thing. It is the other memsahibs you have to watch out for, what
they will say about what I wear, my manners. Like you, I love to sit about
and chat, but when I am mixing with them, I cant do this. I tell you, I miss
being myself.
We both know well that a womans physical self-presentation in public signies not only her status; it symbolizes her husbands position. For a
young wife, sartorial transgressions would reect negativelyon her husband
and might hamper his professional advancement. A familys status is maintained, or enhanced, by his masculine managerial progress, but codes of a
domesticated femininity also chart its routes.Within the circumscribed ambit of the plantations corporate culture, invested in its grand displays of rule,
a memsahibs manicured elegance is an essential foil to the sahibs lordship.
Rina comes from a close-knit middle-class family in Calcutta and is
slowly getting used to the astonishing isolation that marks the daily tempos of her life. Like many other memsahibs, she often visits her family in
Calcutta. Within her spacious bungalow, she directs the domestic work. A
young boy from the plantation villages cleans and cooks, and for larger
dinners she can ask for more help. This servitude is free for the assistant
manager because the boys wages are paid through the main oce. A burra
Estates of a New Raj
Alice and her companions sit at the table, while the Narrator speaks from the
darkness of her corner table, lit only by the low ame of the lantern.They speak
their lines as if they have already spoken them in the past.There is no reenactment
of the scene, just repetition in exaggerated, high-pitched tones.
: Reect on Alice as she joins the Mad Tea Party. Alice, Alice, with her
long hair, petulant and annoyed at her strange encounters. Consider the
Mad Hatters disdain and their collective reluctance when they see her
approach. But Alice is Alice. She insists on joining them for their tea.
, , : (crying out in unison) No room!
No room!
: (indignantly) Theres plenty of room!
: (encouragingly) Have some wine.
: (sounding puzzled and angry) I dont see any wine. . . . Then it wasnt
very civil of you to oer it. I didnt know it was your table. . . . Its laid
for a great many more than three.
: (who has been looking at Alice with great curiosity) Your hair wants
cutting.
: (with severity) You should learn not to make personal remarks. 7
Lights dim. The only light left comes from the lantern.
not be extricated from its own specic placement within a social history that
is also colonial.Within such a historical framing of dominance, subordination is doubly coded. The outcaste adivasi is also the primitive jungli.
The indigenous upper-caste ideology of a laboring outcaste is coded in
dyadic contrasts and inscribed within feudal practices in which an adivasi is
viewed as innately inferior. Tribalness and jungliness are mirrored against
the similarly innate but rened behavior of upper castes. For many middleclass and upper-caste Bengalis, such ideal comportment is considered bhadra: civil, leisured, charitable. A bhadramahila is a gentlewoman, and much
like her English counterpart, she epitomizes a rened interior comportment.
Her working-class or village counterparts, marked by necessary labors,
cannot remain so contained. For livelihood and survival, they spill over the
lines of the parlor and courtyard, the hegemonic ambit of a civil, and indeed
civilized, interior. The adivasi inhabits a space millennially marked. Uppercaste scripts of originary exclusion twine with Victorian dichotomies to be
recrafted into a postcolonial and middle-class ideology of feudal privilege
and power.
Acts of separation are cultural and political acts.They wrench dierence
into the glassyand refractive surfaces of negation. Something extrudes from
such a hard body of reection, birthed by a violence of its own making.
Drunk Others The road rushes past in that third dusk I have spent in
North Bengal. I am being driven toward the Bhutan hills, into the heart of
plantation country, in speed and silence, betting my station as memsahib.
A gure lurches onto the road, barely stumbling aside, as the car swerves,
narrowly missing him. Turning back, I see that it is a man. He falls, though
I am certain we have not hit him.
I ask my driver, Phirku Tamang, what is wrong with the man, and he
says, Eh, memsahib, that is a matal [drunkard] from the garden. It is market day and he has had too much, you know water. When I ask if there
are many fatalities on the road because of this, Phirku laughs and says with
cynical clarity. Listen, memsahib, one thing you will learn quickly. Hum
log to chagri aur kute he, we people are goats and dogs. If a car hits one
of us, well, so what? One less goat to bother with. If I hit something, I
go on.
His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror.They are mocking. I am conscious of the chilling and ironic bite of his glance.
I had heard the term mataldrunkard, alcoholic, good-for-nothing
in Calcutta, and I knew it was a powerful and dominant inscription of laboring otherness. A young scion of a Marwari planting family in Assam asserts,
The problem is that these tribal people are backward and dont want to
work. They are like herds of sheep and must be treated sternly. The worst
thing you will nd is that the men are drunkards, matal, who will use every
excuse to miss work. So the manager who is mai-baap has to be alert to
these tendencies . . . and problems. The women are not such a problem
though. They are good disciplined workers but the men are real badmashes
[ruans].
This alleged proclivity to alcohol consumption ascribes a racialized and
masculine otherness onto the bodies of the plantations working men. It is
a characteristic invoked repeatedly by the managerial elite to suggest an almost innate lack of control and indiscipline. It justies not only the need
for stern disciplining within labor regimes but oers a foil to the planters
own upright sense of sober, masculine, and classy personhood. Indeed,
the postcolonial planter sense of sober civilitythe careful distancing from
the drinking habits of male workersis strikingly like the British planters
own construction of genteel Victorian-colonial masculinity, whose own foil
was the dirty and naturally undisciplined habits of native labor.8
The essentialist construction of the matal, which becomes an iconic
marker of postcolonial jungliness, is embedded within its own historical
economy of control. Not only was the colonial government invested in revenue taxes of an increasingly lucrative commerce in alcohol, but planters used
it to justify the extraction of labor power. These currencies of control went
well beyond descriptive metaphor. They oer a narrative of management
that constructs its other as both pathetic and dangerous, a body always in
complicity with its own inherent caprice. Reasoned and rational disciplining
was necessary for such irrational complicities to be brought to order.
One colonial planter commenting on customs and traditions of his
native workers commented that their worst nature involved a certain
amount of debauchery on every native holiday . . . of nautch [dance], carousing and drink. He elaborates further: They unquestionably lean towards
a too ardent admiration for strong waters and will do any amount of extra
work if there is a bottle of rum at the other end of it. For an additional few
annas, the value of the rum, they would not undertake an hours labor beyond the regulation quantity. At times of heavy ush or a backward state of
cultivation, when something must be done to increase the labor powerof the
garden, brandy or rumthe more ery the betteris the only inducement
that can be held out where money fails to succeed. 9
The use of alcohol as a strategy of extracting labor became a custom.
Bablu Gond tells me how his grandfather had come to the garden, a three
days walk from Chotanagpur. All this area, memsahib, he remarks, was
heavy jungle. Huts were built close together because people were so scared.
Estates of a New Raj
The mosquitos were so big [gesturing with his hands] and the children were
dying. So they did think about staying in this sasan [punishment]? But then
the sahibs told him they would give them good dawai [medicine] and half a
bottle of daru [liquor] would be given to each man for the day. After drinking, all they could do was work and then fall asleep. This is how all this
drinking became so bad.
Against these lurching narratives of bodily destruction, assertions of
honor and personhood are powerfully made. Mongra Oraon, a watchman,
walks back with me one night from someones home in the village. Pointing
out a pothole on the path with his ashlight, he renders a tale of humiliation.
I know he is inebriated, and this is perhaps what gives him the courage to
talk. He had gone to the oce that afternoon and had already drunk some
handia (rice beer). In the oce, while picking up his wages, a senior member
of the oce sta mocked his drunkenness in public.
Turning to me, he shouts: Memsahib, what did he thinkthat I dont
have izzat [honor]? I was with my granddaughter, and he asks me this in
front of her and in the oce. I wash his plates and touch the remains of his
food which are polluted. . . . I even massage his feet. . . . Yes, this is what I did
for the chota sahib and if this babu [sta ] gave me that order, I would have
to do it as well. . . . What, memsahib, am I not a person? I will never wash
his dishes again. Nothing like this has been said to me in twenty-ve years.
Mongras slurred outrage gestures toward the frames of consent and
legitimation through which the terms of patronage, and personhood, are
ordinarily understood. Izzat, or honor, is a ubiquitous and powerful building block within the edice of patronage. When Mongra remarks that it
is the public nature of the babus mockery that has insulted that sense of
honor, he knows that his charge will be located within the mutually recognized vocabularies of patronage. It is a charge that demands that though
he is prepared to render feudal service (massaging the feet of a member
of the managerial elite), its agency demands a reciprocity that minimally
recognizes honor and personhood.
Patronage, and its feudal norms, deploys a common lexicon. When a
chota sahib asserts that maintaining face while confronting a leopard is
an important act of disciplined courage in front of his watching workers,
then he too invokes the same syntax of honor and personhood as Mongra.
Even if the grammar of honor/personhood/patronage is a performance (of
obeisance or courage), it cannot be consistently fractured. A layering of
such workers losses of face aects the managerial elites reputation. If its
sedimentation becomes too thick, too collective, it can threaten his administration and burst into open rupture. The narratives of the matal are not,
then, hegemonic icons of masculine otherness. They are historicized chartings of an alterity that indicates the many faces of patronage. Marked on
the body-to-be-controlled, these are stories that gesture to the shared and
unequal codications of patronage, its colonial-feudal distinctions.
,
The Narrator turns up the light of her lantern. She picks up her quill pen to dip
into the bottle of india ink.The light comes on dimly center stage where the gure
of the two burra Sahibs can be seen. They have a decanter on the table, some
pegs, glasses in hand. Suddenly from stage left, the Son of the Forest bursts onto
the stage. He carries a brown paper bag. He wears frayed cotton shorts and vest,
rubber ip-ops. He weaves his way around the stage to where the Narrator sits.
She has turned in surprise, interrupted in her writing, as he lurches across the
stage toward her. He sits down on the ground next to her, taking swigs from a
bottle in his brown bag.
: (in a slurred voice, drawing out his words) Meemshhahib . . . what are you doing, meemshhahib? Put the kalam [pen] down
and listen to me . . . hic. . . . Today I came back and poured kerosene on
my wifes kilo of rice that she bought from the market . . . hic. . . . She is
weeping and threatening to tell the sahib. My children are hungry, I am
hungry too (suddenly starting to sob) . . . but what am I to do? Meemshhahib, the daru is too much in my blood . . . and when the nights are cold,
oh it warms me, it warms me. (Turning to the silent gure of the watching
Sahibs with a gesture of disgust) Tomorrow the sahib will yell at me after
she has gone to him, maybe he will take my wages.
The Son of the Forest does not wait for a response. He picks himself up and wends
his way across the stage. He pauses in front of the Sahibs sitting silently center
stage and takes an exaggerated sip from the bottle in his paper bag. They shake
their heads as he lurches on. One pours a drink for the other.
He reaches stage left and collapses into a huddle. Four Women appear from
behind the gauze curtains. They sit in a circle and, clapping softly, begin to sing
what sounds like a lament. It is a song about the ravages of alcohol. They sing
in one language of the garden, Sadri.The translation for the song is provided in
your program. As they sing, they glance at his huddled gure with expressions
of pity, anger, and sadness. The lights dim.
Gendering the Racialized Boundaries Plantation women drink, and they
also make and sell the customarydrink, handia (rice beer), a crucial source of
Estates of a New Raj
and location indeed. Consider how quickly a worker will snap his umbrella
shut if the sahib is walking by. Consider its signications of royalty and
power. Though not markedly darker or lighter than before, my movement across the terrain of power was being traced upon my appearance
(Already, I see the dierence).
Women from various working communities will comment on the fair
or dark complexions of maijis. Isolated in the clustered arc of sta cottages, these women are rarely seen. Their children play soccer in a large
eld separating the main road from their homes, and they will occasionally
be glimpsed taking walks with friends within the small perimeter of their
childrens play. Some women who live in the villages near the cottages will
comment on the beauty (almost always dened by complexion) and fashionable styles of younger wives and daughters. One evening, Julena Lohra,
whose house is close to this area, tells me with satirical air: They come out
only in the evening wearing their saris and ornaments as if they are in Calcutta.They parade up and down and look past us if we are walking by.There
are some maijis who are very nice and treat their basha (cottage) servants
well. One is very beautiful, she has skin as white as milk.
These commentaries followed one scathing observation about how these
same maijis quickly shut their windows in order to evade the gaze of workers
returning home from the end of a days work: It is as if our nazar [look/
attention] will turn them black.
For many women workers, the maijis shuttered windows suggest a symbolic shielding against the deling blackness of their very being (transmittable by even a gaze). Their commentaries underscore with a dramatic
clarity connections made among status, gender, and race.The feminine, interior world symbolized by the closed windows present an image of peaceful
domesticity. It also appears to those watching from an exterior and laboring perspective that the maijis shutter themselves against the threat of an
ontological blackness, a bodily delement of their very status.
The gendered veiling of social distance is presented dramatically during
the most important Bengali ritual of the year, the Durga Puja. In the large
open building adjacent to the arc of cottages the maijis make their only collective public appearance of the year during this panplantation celebration
(administered by the sta ).They sit to the left of the goddess Durga, hidden
behind a screen, in contrast to their visible husbands, brothers, and sons,
who supervise the festivities. Veiled behind the screen, the maijis become
symbolic shadows of their menfolk. Like their superior sisters, the bungalow
memsahibs, they too become (momentarily) receptacles of honor, vessels
of status for their families and communities.
Estates of a New Raj
,
FourWomen emerge from behind the gauze backdrop stage left.Theyare the same
dancers from prior scenes. All four carry parasols. The sounds in the background
are repetitive, mechanical, and strange. After a few minutes, the audience recognizes that they are the sounds of doors and windows shut, bolts being drawn.Then
the sounds of the madol (drum) begin: dham dham dham.Colored spotlights are
placed behind the dancers and their shadows against the gauze are elongated and
colorful. They leap around their section of the stage with great athleticism. Two
pose as a planter and his wife. Their faces are painted in white and black. The
dance is an energetic parody of obeisance and mockery. They open, they twirl,
they close their parasols.10 As they dance, from stage left, a gure emerges. She
is a goddess. She wears the costume of a bharata natyam dancer, but with one
dierence: she wears a mouth veil. Her eyes are characteristically elongated and
huge. In her left hand, she carries a sickle. It is held at waist height. She holds
her right nger out in a famous mythological gesture of Krishnas: the sudarsan
chakra. A spotlight plays on her motionless and watchful gure. Only her eyes
move. The dancers complete their choreography of leaps. The lights dim. The
dancers exit, shadows aswirl, behind the gauze backdrop.
Relations of Pollution
In the tea industry, it is entirely Indian and drawn from the so-called bhadralok class, except for posts of sardar. Bhadralok means respectable parentage.
It corresponds to what in the U.K. is known as the black coat class.11
The plantations clerical sta, known as babus, assist the managers with
duties primarily in the factory and the oce. Three sta members, known
as garden babus, supervise eld production, taking orders directly from the
manager to the head overseers. Unlike the planters who routinely shuttle
among plantations as they attain seniority, sta members inherit jobs from
their fathers and remain in the plantation over generations. Hired during the
colonial period, in a practice common to colonial business establishments in
Calcutta, most of the oce sta are Bengali.Usually men from middle-class
and upper-caste backgrounds, the British recruited them in the nineteenth
whose managerial lineage stretches back six decades remarks, In the British
period, the babus were a dierent social strata which was racially distinct.
Today the gap between the babu and manager is still maintained. What is
still maintained is the colonial culture of management.
Because of the planters dependence on the sta for daily administration,
the separation is not as palpable within the oce. However, babus have their
own sta club and organize some of the important Bengali religious festivities, such as the Durga Puja. In some cases, assistant managers will participate in these occasions. Nonetheless, these schisms of status and power
between the two strata of the plantation elite index the manner in which
colonial cultures of management continue to have enduring salience in
the plantation.
Though the sta cadre continues to be dominated by Bengalis, a few literate members of the adivasi and Nepali communities have climbed into
the much-coveted clerical positions. At Sarahs Hope, unusual for Dooars
plantations, three sta positions are occupied by members from the Catholic Oraon and Santhal communities.Yet only one of these families resides in
the sta compound.The Santhal sta member lives in the factory line, after
his cottage in the division section of the plantation was stoned repeatedly.
Apart from oce work, these new babus do not socialize frequently with
the Bengali sta cadre and their families.
What were the terms of distinction created and maintained on the other
boundary of the sta elite? How is the construction of a superior babu identity perceived and constructed both by the communities of workers who
border the sta compound and by members of these families?
According to one prominent union leader, sta-worker relationships
continue to index historical distinctions. He notes, During the era of the
English companies, the sta would not mix with us at all. Like the sahibs,
they had fear and distaste of us. But in the more desi bagans [of-thecountry gardens],16 the babus would mix with us more. This gardens customs are more angrezi [English], so the same distance remains. Here, these
old things are alive. However, a few sta sons, some of whom are unemployed, remain involved in union politics both within the plantation and in
the nearby township, serving as an important link between local-level union
leaders and the wider political activities in Siliguri and the rest of North
Bengal.
Most sta families adhere to upper-caste traditions, particularly such
members of the older generation who follow strict codes of pollution and
commensality. Adivasi and lower-caste workers, who work in the sta cottages as cooks, will comment on how they are not permitted to touch certain
cooking utensils and vessels and, in some instances, not approach the small
altars in the house. Ritual feudalisms are augmented by servitude on the
land. Sta families who settled on the plantation were given large plots of
land for khetibari (cultivation). In an arrangement kindred to surrounding
peasant subinfeudation, babus hired workers to till the land as adhiars (sharecroppers).While these extra holdings technically belonged to the landowner
(the tea company), customary labor-on-land resulted in land inheritance
from one generation of sta to the next.17 However, with plantation extensions, land used for private cultivation has now returned to the company,
and these practices of labor extraction are no longer common.
Because of the nature of plantation clerical work (organizing leaf weighment, accounting, and garden administration), most sta members are in
consistent and dailycontact with workers, more so than the planter.Theirencounters are conned, however, to administrative operations and distance
is assiduously maintained. Nonetheless, a daily interface perhaps helps to
explain the focused racialized discourse that delineates the terms of social
distancing.
Touching Bodies and Ghinna It is through this quotidian interface that
one demarcating category of pollution emerges within various commentaries about these discourses of negative dierence.The term, ghinna, connotes both repulsion and disdain. It is recognized through bodily acts.When
I meet Mina Mahato for the rst time in her house, soon after I have settled
in she asks me my title or surname.When I tell her, she exclaims, So you
are Bangali [Bengali] and bahman [Brahmin]. She oers me lal cha in a steel
tumbler. Lal cha (red tea), as it is known in the villages, is made from the
remains of processed tea in the factories, which is given to the workers as a
portion of their ration allotments.
When I ask her how she understands this, she is blunt. Look, memsahib,
dont mind me. You dont seem to have any shame about mixing here, so I
will just tell you. You Bengalis dont even want to come near us. Some of
the women from the village who have come to assuage their curiosity, sip
their tea and nod in agreement. I am puzzled, intuitively aware that for her,
social distance is created literally through bodily proximity and space.
I will tell you what I mean, she continues. Sometimes a couple of
babus will come to our houses.This is if they are close to my son or husband.
If any of us stands too close, they will tell us to move away. I remember once
we were returning from the town after going to the market and as usual the
bus was very crowded. So I was carrying my son in one arm and my things
in the other when his foot touched the knee of a babu who was sitting down.
It was a mistake. I dont know why he got so angry but he started giving me
Estates of a New Raj
gali [insults]. He started saying all sorts of bad things. I was with a friend
and we were tired and we got really mad. We started screaming and told
him that if he did not shut up we would take o our slippers and slap him.
He became quiet quickly. But I never forgot that. My son is only a child.We
were not taking his seat. He had ghinna [repulsion] because we were mazdoor
[workers] and adivasi. You people are a big caste, this is why.
Bodies thus script the quotidian languages of separation and status. Daily
memories of seemingly insignicant and eeting encounters build up perceptions of power and its deferrals.
Connections that bridge these separations are gendered ones. As Mina
notes in her commentary, some members of sta families (generically
known as babus, even if they are not directly employed by the plantation) do
have friendships with men from the plantations villages. These are crossclass and masculine kinships that can create political alliances for union mobilization. Links between union politics in regional centers like Jalpaiguri
and Siliguri are brokered through these alliances.
I am not privy to any open discussion about these alliances and stay away.
Stories about union politics are ltered through womens observations, and
some discussions with union leaders prove fruitful. I want, simply, to avoid
the familiar paternal condescension and disapproval of men from my own
community. When I meet some individually, or very rarely when I am invited to someones home, there is both warmth and curiosity.Yet an unease
with my connections to sahibs and transgressions on the other side of the
fence remain a constant subtext.One day, I am caught in Bhagirathis kitchen
while she cooks dinner. It is an encounter that embarrasses the man (a member of the sta ) who walks around the corner to buy some Bhutan rum from
Bhagirathis store. I am sitting on a gunny sack, playing with a goats ears.
We mumble pleasantries. He looks aghast.
About six months after Minas commentary about ghinna and my encounter in Bhagirathis kitchen, I accompany Munnu and Anjali to Jalpaiguri.This is a rare outing for both, and theyare dressed in their nest clothes,
Munnu is splendid in bright pink. They instruct me not to wear my usual
uniform of baggy skirt and shirt.They will be embarrassed, they say, of my
naked legs (We feel shame for you). I am appropriately dressed in a salwar
kameez.
As we wait for the bus, Munnu, who works in the neighboring plantation, Kolpara, asks whether I have noticed that the sta at this plantation
were laughing at me when I had visited her natal home. I have not been
aware of this mockery, the ltering out process has already begun, and
her question rankles. It is because of what you look like, didi, I think that
,
The Narrator turns up her lanterns light where she sits, stage right. She has been
writing, and she puts down her quill to look at the audience with an expression
of regret, puzzlement, and anger. The gure of the Goddess, in her dancing costume, sickle in one hand, emerges from your right. She holds a pirhi, which she
places on the ground and sits on. She moves her mouth veil to one side. A light
Estates of a New Raj
focuses on her. She and the Narrator sit on either end of the horseshoe stage. Alice
is present but silent, only a dark shadow in the background.
: I have another riddle for you, Alice. Or for you, Goddess, with your
sickle and veil. It comes in my worst dreams, those that edge into terror.
It is like this.On a mahogany table is a box made of lacquer and enamel. It
is as large as a con. I reach over and untie the strings that hold this box.
I nd in it . . . a dark corpse. In its belly, I nd another box, another body
inside. Boxes all the way down, each beautifully inlaid, each holding its
treasure of dead esh. In the end I am left with a midget whose belly
contains a box the size of a pin. Even my long false nails cannot open its
lid. . . . I try and try. I use their edges, but my cuticles bleed. I think I will
nd a jewel, a ruby, after all this searching through the clammy entrails
of death. But there is only silence around me, and my bleeding desperate
hands.What is in that last box? Why is there such silence?
: (reciting as if she is reading a poem) Those who see wont say
anything. . . . He who opens his mouth will die. This has happened before. Will happen again. Once in a while, it is necessary to rend the sky
with leaping ames and screams of the dying, just to remind the harijans and untouchables that government laws, appointment of ocers and
constitutional decrees are nothing. Rajputs remain Rajputs, Brahmins
remain Brahmins and Dushad-Chamar-Ganju-Dhobi remain lower than
Brahmin-Kayasth-Rajput-Bhumihar-Kurmi. The Rajput or Brahmin or
Kayasth or Bhumihar or Yadav or Kurmi is, in places, as poor as or even
poorer, than the harijan. But theyare not tossed into the ames because of
their caste.The re god, having tasted the esh of forest-dwelling blackskinned outcasts during the burning of the Khandav forest, is fond of the
taste of the untouchable poor. 18
The Narrator gazes intensely at the gure of the sitting Goddess. She looks even
more puzzled. The Goddesss words do not seem to satisfy her. She clutches her
head for a moment, picks up the quill, and starts to write as the spotlight on her
fades. The Goddess looks over, shrugs, picks up her pirhi and moves ostage.
through which these dierences were charted had to rely on the consent
of a small stratum of men from the communities of new im/migrants.This
new class of workers were the sirdars, created to serve as the rst link between foreign planters and their new workforce. They were sent back to
home villages to recruit and to organize the new batches of workers. Because they had the ear of the sahib, they had enough power to make
it decidedly uncomfortable for any individual who sets their authority at
deance. 20
In the most signicant way, these newly created headmen 21 constituted
the political fulcrum of the plantations own version of indirect rule. In
some plantations, recruitment sirdars became eld and factory overseers. In
others, an entirely newclass of garden sirdars were created. As sirdars established themselves with their recruits batches, they also began to occupy
supervisory positions in the factory and the elds of labor. They begin to
constitute the overseer strata of the plantation eld and factory. Planters
paid commissions to recruitment sirdars who were also responsible for wage
payments.22 The political economies of indirect rule and consents to the
regimes of wage-labor constituted the coin of the realm. For the theaters of
patronage and the control of large, displaced and often recalcitrant workforce, it was a small price to pay.
If the plantations new headmen agreed to bow to the planter-lord in exchange for money and authority in the emerging villages and labor lines,
the planter-lord also relied on another class of workers to act as a network
of surveillance. Chowkidars (watchmen) were hired to observe and report the movements of all bad characters within his locality and the arrival
of suspicious characters in the neighborhood. . . . Any incidents of Murder, Rape, Dacoity, Robbery, Theft, Riot and Administering Steepifying
Drugs 23 were to be noted.
Though the sirdari system of recruitment and commission payments is
no longer in place, its eects are palpable. In signicant ways, the sirdars
status and authority has transformed into other positions of power within
the work hierarchy. The netas or union leaders are situated in the rst tier
of this postcolonial labor elite. They have inherited the mantle of the colonial sirdars status and embody the upper layer of the overseer cadre. Signicantly, the more prominent trade union leaders create a buer zone of
patronage between planters and workers.
Trade union activism in the plantation region has been the single
most important political transformation of the postindependence period.24
Through its umbilical links with state and national party politics, it has
shaped the political landscape of North Bengal. However, there is no visibly
Estates of a New Raj
are historically transformed, but they are living residues of that same past.
For example, the colonial sirdars name may be commemorated in the memory spaces of the plantations villages and elds. I am told, for example, in
one of my rst walks through some of the villages that one stretch of labor
lines is called the Japiyasirdar Line. Within the eld itself, tea blocks are
occasionally named after a sirdar. Descendents of these lineages can inherit
the old mantles of authority through histories of legitimation, from above
and below. Because the social distance between planters and the mass of
workers is still stringently maintained, a sirdari familys customary access
to the planters attention and favor is signicant, since it charts the routes
of familiarity.
At Sarahs Hope, two of the four most powerful leaders in the ()
and Congress-sponsored unions are direct descendents of well-known sirdars. In one case, a leader spoke of his great grandfather, Ganesh Sirdar,25 a
founding fatherof the Factory Line: He came from Nepal, memsahib, when
there were very few people in the bagan. In the s, it must have been.
Other sirdars were angryat the power he had. It is said hewould snatch other
sirdars workers on horseback. His son, Siva Sirdar, even visited Calcutta
in .
During the colonial period, the customary payment of commission to
sirdars for their challans (worker batches) and his disbursement of wages,
constituted the economic terms of subpatronage.There was no uniformity
about giving commissions to garden sirdars. . . . A garden sirdar usually
has laborers under him. 26 According to Ganesh Sirdars descendent,
these commissions were paid by Sarahs Hopes planters as late as . Most
importantly, he also asserted that sirdari commissions have been translated into payos for union leaders. Another union leader remembers his
fathers position as a community leader who held a khawai (feast) every year
in which he gave workers their Puja season bonus.27 The feast was funded
by the planter who might have made a brief appearance.
Because of demographic changes and unemployment, the union leader is
a postcolonial rendition of the colonial sirdar. He, too, is a broker of employment. Men and women, desperate for a permanent job have to appeal to him
rst. Jobs are acquired and a lucrative black-market economy thrives in the
villages, and union leaders can earn a sizeable commission from buyer and
seller. The political economy of legitimation is thus constructed through a
cash economy. Bonuses in kind and under-the-table payos lubricate the
wheels of postcolonial patronage.
Somra, another union leader characterized his ancestor as a head of department, an apt description (in English) of his own position as a plantaEstates of a New Raj
tion neta. Somras direct access to the planter has led to extra privileges,
and visible signs of higher status for his family. His position as community
leader is visible in the layout of his house: a large courtyard, kitchen garden, and electric power lines. Since other houses do not have electricity, this
is an open signal of the planters favor. A gravel path, painted blue, winds
through an open gateway into an annex with verandah and cane chairs. For
Somra, his imposing residence and its apartness, gesture toward a special
dispensation. His sense of pride in his residential distinction is clear: If you
walk around anywhere in the labor lines, you wont nd a home like this.
I am a union leader. I believe you have to do work yourself. I do my work
myself. I have earned this.The manager tells everyone, Look at how Somra
keeps his house. Learn from him.
His own self-representation also suggests a striking reinvention of personhood. He makes himself in the cultivated image of the planter. Look,
memsahib, I changed. We did not know what curtains were before. I saw
that the burra bungalow had tobs [plant pots]. So I wanted tobs. I bought
them and painted them and put plants in them. I liked chairs, so I got cane
chairs.The problem is now that people dont care that everything is chowpat
[upside down]. There is no sense of competition. If he [any worker] looks
at my house and thinks, Well, why cant I be like that, and then works to
do that, this would be good. But now, people are too lazy. They drink, they
dont save. Nothing. In this symbolic mimesis of mai-baap style, Somra
links his own sense of status and legitimacy to his own ability to advance
himself in a strikingly individualistic and entrepreneurial manner. Signs of
imitation are also then signals of individual will and power.
While this leaders sense of superiority is mimetically coded, his power
encompasses the wider universe of political institutions. This wider political legitimation of various unions through a state government, itself run
by the (), leads to a managers dependence on the loyalty and acumen
of a handful of union leaders. If he cannot ensure a threshold of compliance, union leaders will appeal to wider regional and state-level mobilization against management. In that light, this new big man is dierent from
his sirdar ancestor in one critical way. He can, through the states political machinery, challenge the planters enactment of absolute power. As a
result, managerial strategies involve a careful balancing act. The planter
placates leaders by granting them behind-the-scenes favors but also exes
his muscles when necessary. In some cases, such a political balancing act is
thrown awry by union leaders who do not compromise. Such leaders, who
have braved police guns or shouted down a sahib, are remembered with
some awe by ordinary workers and villagers.
Yet such legendary challenges are a thing of the past, and ordinary
workers remain considerably dependent on union leaders for permanent and
casual employment, conict arbitration, and wage negotiations at the district level. In this web of obligation and favor, leaders create a powerful
level of subpatronage. Such a sense of authority is explicitly stated by one:
I am like the manager here. People will come to me rst and I will do phesla
[adjudication]. Like if someone is having problem getting a labor quarter, or
casual work.The sahib has given me that responsibility. Only if it is a really
dicult case will I take it to the managers oce. Everyone comes through
me. In this way, I run the garden.
Ethnic Cleavages Selection and maintenance of power within the broadest nexus of indirect rule cuts across caste cleavages, though some basic
patterns of preference can be gleaned. Field overseers, the daadars, are
from various adivasi and Nepali communities and some are bhagats (faith
healers/doctors) and thus socially prominent in the villages.
Many of the watchmen, often the sahibs informants, are Nepali. Managers will characterize Nepalis as braver than their adivasi counterparts.
It is a positive and essentialist ascription that has resulted in this communitys employment in factory and other substa positions. Assorted factory
jobs include carpentry, machine repair, and clerical jobs. While carpenters
and electricians come from a variety of communities, the head mechanic
and his team, whose task is to maintain and repair factory machinery, are all
Nepali Kami. The Kami are a dominant blacksmith caste within the wider
Nepali community of workers, who repair tools and hammer out sickles and
knives in the villages. This customary tool work has translated into some
assignments in the upkeep of the factorys machines.
In addition, managers generally view Nepalis as a disciplined and hardworking community. These are generalizations that also include an ascription of a erce courage. Perhaps this essentialist ascription of valor explains why they are employed as factory chowkidars. As the surveillance
team of the mai-baap, watchmen have been one of the most important arms
of plantation law and order.Though they are dispersed throughout the plantation, it is the oce and factory watchmen who guard against thefts of tea
from the factory by organized gangs.
In one dramatic incident of such a theft, factory chowkidars turned on
the siren, and proceeded with khukris (traditional Nepali knives) aloft to
chase the alleged thieves across the factory roof. In so doing, the Nepali
chowkidar who related this story to me creates for himself a heroic image of
courage. It buttresses the dominant and favorable inscription of an essential
bravery. Not surprisingly, these inscriptions of discipline with their sugEstates of a New Raj
pable in rituals, marriage rules, and within issues of commensality, a common working experience obscures much of the ethnic and caste dierences
in the eld. If missionya men dominate as factory sirdars, their wives and
daughters are eld pluckers. If a Nepali chowkidar is also a union leader,
many members of his community are daily-rated eld and factory workers.
the child stretches through the night? Does she make you shine a copper
bowl twenty times?
If a woman is frail and in ill health, the bungalow job is desired. Anjali,
who has had a serious gastrointestinal condition and is still recuperating,
has had to leave eldwork due to her poor health. Because she has a permanent job, inherited from her father, who worked in the burra bungalow
for years, the managers decision to permit her to continue in her fathers
line suggests the benevolence of access. She squats on the back steps of the
kitchen and sifts through grains of rice. She remarks, I was a very good
plucker. I had a good reputation with the overseers. But when I got ill, I
could not go on. They could have put me in the lata kam [light work], with
the old women and children, but my father spoke to the manager directly.
That is how I got this job. It has more rest, but I am very alone here. This
bungalow has just remained empty for so long. So I come, dust the place,
and then leave. Or I sit for hours and my eyes go back in my head. Look at
my eyes. I worry so much. Anita and Rajiv [her young children], what will
they do?
She rubs her eyes wearily.They have the sad transparencies of endurance.
We sit quietly. Her ngers whisper over the small grains of rice.
in all eld tasks, and basic literacy are the explicit criteria for holding this
oce. Time-tested loyalty to the planters order is also a prerequisite. An
assistant manager remembered one munshi: That man was great. He was
my man. He told me everything. I know everyone called him my chamcha
[informant], but he was a good man. He reported everything to me.
This possessive ascriptionmy manwas corroborated by a leader
who, in a union meeting, asserted a multiple possessive: the munshi, boidar
[time keeper], and daadars are the companys men. This union leader was
also a senior boidar. In a vivid metaphor invoking an almost princely representation of labor rule, one assistant manager described the munshis position within the overall chain of command: He is the driverof mychariot. . . .
It is a twenty-horse chariot where he holds the reigns. And I hold him.
Situated directly below the munshi are two boidars, who bicycle in at
the beginning of each shift to mark the muster (labor roll), and corroborate
their gures with those of the munshi. The boidar, in crisp shorts and shirt,
with a large conspicuous watch on his wrist, is a visible gure of authority.
The watch and small notebook combine in a symbolic coupling of one aspect of plantation disciplines: the management of time. One of the boidars,
a union leader, checks muster around the bungalows on his scooter; a vehicular connection to his assistant managers, who wheel through the eld
on scooters and motorcycles.
Four chaprasis supervise the last and largest cadre of overseers, the daadars. In the colonial period, sirdars employed daadars directly to organize
their work batches, and planters noted that as a consequence nine-tenths
were useless for work. 30 As foremen of gangs, they were controlled by
chaprasis who controlled several gangs or section of work. Signicantly,
in the commerce of reserve forests, a class of subcontractors called daadars
supplied wood to timber merchants.31 More directly, colonial administrators described the daadar as the unscrupulous contractor of the emigration
system. The daadar, one noted, is an excrescence of the free emigration system who has lately come into prominence and only exists on account
of the unlimited prot in the passage of coolies from one middleman to
another. 32 The historical use of the term suggests a folk recognition of an
extractive middleman class already working within other feudal structures of labor organization.
In the postcolonial plantation, seniority and the good nazar (attention)
of the sahibs inform daadar and chaprasi status. Signicantly, their gender
distinguishes them immediately from the bulk of ordinary workers. Approximately thirty daadars supervise the separate groups of women, children, men, and convalescing older workers.Though no specic caste pattern
Estates of a New Raj
can be discerned among this group of overseers, membership in union coteries and respected positions within plantation villages index some common
trends.
Take for instance, the fact that every bhagat (faith healer) I met in the
plantation from a variety of dierent communities was either a daadar or
chaprasi. Birsa Bhagat, one such Oraon faith-healer, understands his status
as an overseer within the customary syntax of faith healing within his community: I am like the guru of cultivation. The garden is ours. As daadar,
I remain a daktar [doctor]; but I am also like the manager. I want to keep
peace in the plantation, make sure people have jobs.
While these suggestions of customary prominence remain signicant in
the constitution of an overseer class, measures of good work in the eyes
of munshi, chaprasi, and sahib are equally important. Note the managers
written commentary on criteria of selection: Explicitly, management has
no categorical norms in allocating certain occupations to certain groups in
written or unwritten forms. It is decided according to individual garden
level performancethat is, by assessing ones individual skill, eciency, or
by observing ones knack or performance tendency towards a job entrusted
to him. This does not mean that certain groups will get certain jobs. The
managers emphasis on individual skill is paradoxical, because it obscures
the structural locations of subpatronage and the gendered privilege that permit entry into the elite strata of overseers.These include not only the sahibs
favor, but also the union leaders, for it is upon their recommendations that
the planter increasingly depends.
The pool of candidates for the entire overseer cadre is culled from the
largerconstituencyof male eldworkers. Indeed, though mobility to higherstatus jobs is limited for male eldworkers, as suggested by the selective
politics of patronage, it is possible for some to rise into the highest ranks
of garden operations or enter into factory and oce occupations. However,
for the bulk of the eld laborwomenthis is an impossibility.
To the majority of the plantations working communities, the layered
hegemony of the supervisory strata is well understood under a rubric of
legitimation. Acceptance of feudal norms is a given. It denes the companys men as bara aadmi (big people).
Anjali, sifting her rice in the sun, comments: These people [union
leaders] are alada manush [separate people], mukhiya [community leaders]
. . . like the chaprasi, boidar, munshi, and neta, they are the ones that make
us work.There are only certain kinds of people who can make us work.They
make more money than we do. If you, memsahib, ask me to clean the bungalow, I do it. But if someone else asks me, I will not. They are mn aadmi
[main people].We are the mazdoor [workers] who are at the bottom.What
are we, memsahib, we are nothing.
,
The Narrator picks up her wicker stool and lantern and moves from stage right
to the empty side of stage left. She places the stool in this extreme end, stage
left, and sits. From behind the gauze, center stage, come four Women, in old
cotton saris, with sickles and twigs in hand. They squat on the oor next to the
Narrator. One Woman chews on a twig. Another pulls out some tobacco to roll in
the palm of her hand. Their faces are weatherbeaten. They look relaxed.
: ( pulling out a piece of paper from her pocket) Let me read you something
from a novel by Mulk Raj Anand, Two Leaves and a Bud. A conversation between two workers in Assam: the ill-fated Gangu, whose daughter
will soon be the object of the planters desire, and his neighbor, Narain.
Gangu, who has been beaten, whose wife has died, whose dreams about
the new life promised have shattered. He asks Narain about the sardars
position, and Narain answers: The sardars are favoured people. What
they say goes. The sardars have land to cultivate, but I have none. The
manager pays the sardar, the sardar pays me what he likes. I want some
land. But can I get it forcibly? The managers gives it to the sardars, and
we cannot get it from them.The sardars, the babu, the chaprasi, the warders, have all got land. . . . That Neogy Gurkha who is the sardar over
my wifes work in the garden, has got another ve acres. Do you know
why? Gangu responds by saying no. Narain goes on, Because . . . . the
Ashahstant Planter Sahib likes his wife. 33
: (chewing and spitting out her tobacco) Does this sound strange to
you, oh memsahib with the quill and long nails? This is only a icker of
what can be told.Who are we? We are mere blurs in the green distance.
Then you come close and nd that when we bend, our movements may
gesture desire.When we move and bend. Oh, when we move and bend.
: We are watched.We are watched.
: The land was never ours. The land can never be ours.
: But we also watch.Our eyes are not lowered absolutely.Our eyes
are not so still.
: Our eld occupies the memories of silence. Oh, when we move
and bend.
The Narrator holds out her hand for some tobacco, which she rolls in her hand.
They sit quietly as the light fades.
Estates of a New Raj
Planter Powers
Rita Chhetri meditates on the mai-baap We meet toward the end of my time
in plantation country. Rita is from another plantation, active in its union, and
we meet one day to go to her village. As we walk to her house, she tells me
that a particular eld hukum (command) was ruining the bushes.With some
exasperation, she notes, They are making us double-prune the bushes, and
it is because of this V. A. Sahib [an external manager], wherever he sits in
Delhi, Calcutta. Does he have any idea about a tea garden? The poor burra
sahib, he has his hands tied.Why, he was telling us that he was just a jharuwallah (broom-wallah/sweeper), so I told him that if he was a jharuwallah
then I guess we really are only patiwallahs (leaf-wallahs/people). The way
I look at it is this. I respect the sahib because he is like my mai-baap, but
when I know something is wrong, then I wont know my own father. We
are all human beings arent we? He may sit on the sofa and I on the pirhi . . .
but how did he get to sit on the sofa. Where is that sofa from? This is why
I have no longer ghinna, sharam aur dar (repulsion, shame and fear). . . . I
had all this at one time but now I have let go of all of them.
The mai-baap is the symbolic, metaphoric, corporeal, and cultural core
around which the geographies of cultural power are mapped.The mai-baap
has been deployed to suggest both the personhood of the planter and the
political culture through which the architecture of patronage and power is
constructed.The planter must wear the cloak of the mai-baap, but it reaches
beyond his own individual personhood. It wraps itself around a much larger
social body.Within its mantle, the sahib attempts to create an aura of legitimate rule through garnering the consent of an overseer cadre. The recognition of a cultivated core of power is, however, crucial. It is created by
Yet the terms of domination that constitute the warp and woof of plantation patronage suggest that an emphasis on the coercion aspects of plantation history and political culture can take awayfrom those who remain
subordinated within itcertain forms of agency. This includes both the
subtle (and not so subtle) ways in which people articulate their opposition
to coercion, and the ways in which they simultaneously agree to its unspoken compulsions.
There is, in fact, a frequently used term for command that encompasses
the thick, contradictory texture of patronage.This word, hukum, asserts the
planters directive. It gestures toward threat (if the hukum is not followed)
and the mai-baaps capacity to coerce workers into compliance. Simultaneously, the planters desire and wish that the hukum be followed is suggested when he states after a given order, Yeh mera hukum heThis is
my desire/command. Workers perceptions of that desire, and thus the importance of following its direction, is also succinctly expressed when asked
about why a certain task was being carried out: Because this is the sahibs
wish. It is his hukum. In this way, the semantic fullness of hukum conveys
the simultaneity of coercive and consensual forces within the enactments
of daily patronage.
And the sahib said: Dont you think she has carried it long enough?
Now it is your turn.
He laughed as he related the story to me, and I asked him whether he had
laughed while witnessing the incident. He responded: Oh, how could we
laugh in front the sahib? He would say, Eh, why are you laughing! and
then beat us.
I agree with the sahib and what he did! Why not! But you see in those
days, there werent all these unions and party politics and the sahibs could
do anything. I remember in front of my eyes, on the factory verandah, men
being beaten. Now things like that cant happen.
planter, comments: There are many cases which would come to me before,
but now this has changed. Often it would go like this: If Budhua (the man)
has kept Mongri (the woman) for a whilethey may even have children
then the elders of the community will insist on some ceremony in which the
couples families feed their clan. If the couples families refuse to do this,
they will come to me for arbitration. However, the sahibs arbitration is a
last resort, arrived at as the end of a process of adjudication between village
councils and the families involved. In short, if all eorts toward consensus
within the villages have failed, the matter is taken to the oce.
This involvement of the planter in the most intimate altercations also
occasions his presence at marriage ceremonies of prominent workers. The
invitation might come from an old sirdar who arrives with betel nut and
fruit. At the actual ceremony, the manager is presented with his favorite
brand of cigarettes and whisky. The planters presence in the home of a
prominent sirdar will signal the latters authority and status.
Since these occurrences are considerably rarer in the postcolonial plantation, they will gesture to the special attention of the mai-baap. At Sarahs
Hope, the senior planter stands aloof from most events, deputing junior
members of the managerial sta to attend these or conduct arbitration. A
labor welfare ocer is now structurally located to oversee labor issues
on the plantation. This junior manager presents his role as one of stewardship, in which he, with the help of important workers solves every problem
amicably. His involvement with marriages now involves settling monetary
advances so families can aord the increasingly costly ceremonies. As an
institutional innovation through which managerial attention is focused on
labor issues, the labor welfare ocers job (ideally) encompasses a continuous, daily interface with the plantations communities. However, for most
workers, the labor welfare ocer holds a managerial post, and many still
prefer to take disputes straight to the burra sahib, the nodal gure of patronage.
At Marybank Tea Estate, a neighboring plantation, the burra sahib has
initiated a labor day once a week, when, sitting behind a grilled window,
he listens to specic complaints and attends to disputes. Even here, matters
of sexual politics will come to the mai-baaps attention, which he adjudicates
orally and informally. In one case, the family of a pregnant fteen-year-old
woman came to the senior manager for arbitration: the purported father,
to escape future responsibilities, had left the plantation.Though the village
council had decided in the womans favor, it was necessary for the sahib to
ensure the alleged fathers return. Using his access to a wider intelligence
network, the burra sahib located the man in a neighboring plantation, and
through its managers, ensured his return to Marybank.
According to this particular burra sahib, the need to be involved in labor
matters remains critically important: It is not right for some burra sahibs to
allow or expect their assistants to take care of all arbitration. It is a shirking
of responsibility. After all, the mai-baap is still important, even though the
old hukum is gone. The manager still has authority. It is a one-man show,
and the involvement with personal matters is very important. Otherwise,
the manager can be cut o from the roots.
To some workers, past managers are remembered for both the personal
attention they paid to individual and community issues and the kind of arbitration they exercised. Personal attention from the planter is viewed as a
special dispensation.To have come under the planters good attention is remembered for years as a measure of his benevolence. Thus, one old watchman recalls proudly how, when he had cut his foot, the sahib had tied his
own handkerchief around the wound and taken him to the hospital. To the
old man, this personalized and focused benevolence will sediment the maibaaps reputation in positive ways.
Conversely, a managers distancing from all aspects of workers lives
is perceived as ghamandi (pride). The perception of ghamandi informs the
workers own measure of the mai-baap. On one occasion recounted to me, a
senior planter had come to inspect a damaged house. He was invited for tea,
but refused.The woman of the house told me: Memsahib, I had a lot of dukh
[sadness] because of this.What could it have done to him? This sahib is not
a good sahib. In the most important ways, workers recognition, and acceptance of mai-baap benevolence are informed by their own evaluations
of appropriate behavior. The planters willingness to arbitrate and engage
in some of the more important rituals, are not only viewed positively, they
are seen as honorable acts.
The ideology of honor encompasses a sense of collective community as
well as individual personhood. It involves, at the very least, a performance
of basic respect and the saving of face within public settings. This maintenance of honor is indexed and measured through the language of address
between sahib and worker. While workers, whether women or men, will
rarely address the sahib directly, if they do, they will begin with the term
that is the high-status marked appellation for you in both Hindi and Sadri:
aap.38 Managers, in most cases, will address workers with the familiar tum,
which is acceptable to both parties. However, in some cases, managers will
use the appellation tu, which signies the lowest relational status. Tu is often
,
The lights come on slowly. The Narrator still sits to stage left, on her mora. The
fourWomen squat next to her in a half arc.One rolls the tobacco, another scratches
the earth on the stage with a twig. She stirs up some dust, a barely discernible
cloud of brown air.
: So here there we have it. Mai-Baap.The mother-father, how odd, what
gender-bending in this claiming of the Mother. But there we have it.
And the body of hoof beats, some whispers of kidnapping, a few tales of
plunder.
: (lifting the twig from the stage and shaking it at the Narrator, mocking) Shhh. Shhh, memsahib, dont give up the ghost of the story so easily.
Dont even think about entering such labyrinths of esh and stone. You
may unleash a monster with three heads.
: (shoving Woman playfully) Titch. Titch. Why are you scaring
her so? She is doomed to tell these stories. Memsahib, enter the labyrinth.
Go on. Be brave. There are corpses hidden in its catacombs, but, who
knows, they might be friendly. The dead like to tell a tale or two when
they have a chance. There are not many who will listen to them, no?
: What would Gangadhar say, I wonder, if he sat up on his bed of
ashes. That poor coolie, that poor father. Consider his impotence when
the sahib comes for his daughter, Hira.
: Hira, the jewel of the sahibs desire. The sahib accompanied by
a chowkidar of the bungalow came to Gangadhars hut and renewed his
proposals, which were refused. About nightfall of the th of May, the
sahibs bearer, Nasim Ali, asked Hira to accompany him to his masters
bed. The demand was refused.
: Enraged at the refusal, late at .., the sahib arrived at
the scene armed with a revolver and called out Hira, Hira. 40 Hiras
I learn about one particular postcolonial liaison and its rupture from Prem
Kami, a Nepali chowkidar. Apart from a few union netas, he is one of the
few men in the villages who will speak to me on a consistent basis. Most
signicantly, I have met him alone in the kothi (bungalow) when he makes
his rounds of the bungalow perimeter. Because many of our conversations
about Nepali histories and cultural politics occur within the hidden radius
of the bungalows parlor, rumor and innuendo about our meetings do not
circulate in the villages. Or so I think. Later, he takes me to his home in the
outer perimeter of the Factory Line to meet his wife.
We sit on the living-room oor, sharing the ubiquitous biscuits and mug
of tea. He tells me of encounters with elephants on the edge of thevillage and
forest, some of the history of the community from the desh (country/Nepal)
and then (to my surprise) the story of a transgressive sahib (manager). He
knows, already, that I am interested in narratives of, by, and about women.
This whole thing happened many years ago, and it involved a woman
from my community. She is not from the garden. The assistant manager,
who lived in this bungalow was known for his nazar [attention/eye] on
women. He was a Punjabi, not a bad manager. I was the watchman and I
knew women visited him. All right, so this happensI didnt recognize
anyone from the garden, and some women were memsahibs like you. Then
one night, I heard this man, not a Nepali, telling the sahib he would be back
with a woman. So I was curious and waited around. A few hours later, this
man came back with a woman from my jat [community].What was strange
is that they met in the garage, and the sahib had some food and drink.
When I saw this Nepali woman, I became very angry and I immediately
went to the line and told my union leader, who raised a commotion, and we
caught the three of them in the garage. This is the thing, memsahib, that
woman was behaving like a randi [prostitute]. Even if she had no izzat for
herself, she was dishonoring her family. It had to be brought out, that is why
I reported it. And the sahib: he got into trouble because the leaders took
it to the senior manager. He got suspended for a few days and then transferred to another garden. I dont know what happened to her. Her family
must have done something, sent her awaybut people will always remember her name. She was stupid. Nothing ever can really happen to the sahib,
but everyone in her community will remember her.
When I ask him about how common these cross-class alliances are, he
remarks, Of course these things happened. Particularly in the angrezi zamana (English period), and we could do nothing. But now, sahibs have to be
careful. Because of unions, they will be challenged.They should be careful.
This incident of bhinjat (cross-community/caste), cross-class sexual
Estates of a New Raj
Jungli Parlors
In the parlors of the old bungalow, the tea is ne. The leisured ambience is
safe. Exhausted sometimes by the alterity of the gaze, I sometimes escape
into the cocoon of luxury, into the cradle of entitlement. One evening, I
squat in Munnus kitchen sipping handia. Two days later, Mrs. Singh and I
sit and sip tea and talk of painting landscapes. These sudden switches are
disorienting and problematic.What liberal epistemological terrain of power
do I enact as I leap through from bungalow to village? There can be no disentanglement of these journeys; they remain irreducible; they sustain the
edge of a blade. But I have also transgressed in my shift from the parlor, the
andarmahal (inner palace) of cultivation, which is apparently my birthright.
I leave behind the delicate lattice that bounds such interiority to be faced
with the unmasked and legitimate anger of another gaze.The paradoxes are
inescapable.
I realize that this search for escape tracks the perimeters and aporias of
privilege.The women I come to know cannot escape the eld. If they are to
enter the parlor, they will enter it, eyes downcast, with a perfectly ordered
tray of tea. No conation of these paths can be asserted, even implicitly,
through the moral economies of text.
Yet in some moments, we walk a few paths of connection. If I disappear,
they tell me they will get on a bus to come to this big bungalow and meet
Mr. and Mrs. Singh. They assert this to me: Tell the sahib we will come if
anything happens to you. We wont go to our burra sahib, we will come to
him. Straight to his bungalow. Their words are remarkable. It is a hukum
to be listened to because it is an assertion of a kindness that connects, in one
ickering instant and only for one ineable moment, the eld and the parlor.
What more to learn from these pedagogies of eldwork? What more but
to listen closely to my teachers of the village? We lower our eyes, we look
up, we sip from our careful cup.We remain silent in a parlor of dreams.
Fingers
Hands rest on a bed. The knuckles are curled in, pressing against a scab
slightly open, a hint of blood. In this rare moment of rest, the curled ngers
do not evoke sentiment. Their tension, that inward turning into the palm,
does not mark any other fact than this: calluses can be painted black by natural ink, the trees juice feathers into the palm and stains its hard whorls of
esh.The landscape of the forest has imprinted its own theater of roots and
branches in this small partially covered stage of the palm, green turned to
ssured black. A nger traces the delicate ligree.
Such a vivisection of the body in repose, creates its own peculiar and
dangerous illusion.The scalpel naturalizes the separation of esh from esh.
The hand does not rest in still separateness. It lifts hair from the brow, it
moves down with a sigh, it touches the waist, and slips back on the bed.The
body and its suggestion of form, its integral connections, is gestured in this
sweep from forehead to bed.
Yet, dismemberment creates the fetish. See the hand now poised over a
small tree, holding two leaves and the plants bud. Dismemberment suggests
an aesthetic of the feminine. Notice the long tapered ngers, the bracelets,
the careful display of leaf. Is this ritual a worship of the trees fruit or the
lovely ngers and wrists so carefully displayed? Is it both? Or does the fetish
suggest the need to indelibly connect foliage to esh, the natural world to
Nature, inextricably and essentially marked by the titillating and nurturing
aesthetic of a feminine hand and the body to which it gestures?
In this portrait of delicacy and dismemberment, search for movement
that animates connection. See the shift from the bed to the tree as part of a
ow in which the bodydemands its own integrity. Imagine the ngers reaching for the childs face to caress, clenching into a st, opening the blouse to
suckle a baby; spreading, preparing, and kneading dough; grasping a branch
to break it for wood and its necessary res. Consider all this in its entirety.
The ngers anoint the bodys integrity in toil and in celebration of its own
being. Consider the wholeness of this in the story to come, as a series of
gestures in esh, shadowed, and beyond the fall of a capturing gaze.
and men are disciplined into work, it provides the cultural, political, and
bodily meanings through which social power creates the terms of its various orders and disorders.The planter animates the ideological and practical
center from which such power is deployed. Dispersed into a constellation
of the plantations elds and villages, his command, the hukum, is absorbed,
translated, and challenged. Power laces spectacle, turns into the grandiose,
and spreads through mimicry and resistance. Beyond any singularity, it
expands, contracts, and creates the manicured economy of the controlled
forest. But it also ickers in the shadows, the thorny edges.
Management, in turn, shapes the narratives of cultivation, its terms predicated upon shared understandings of what constitutes rational planning
and behavior. Indeed, this managerial rationality itself rests at the core of the
daily discipline that constitutes the plantations order. Order and discipline
are the twin arms of this dominant ideology of rule: eciency, productivity,
and prot along its most important arteries.
Rationality is deployed through spectacles of rule, the Euclidean landscape, through rituals of its own reason. The colonial planters displays
of both hardy vitality and splendid leisure has been translated through
postcolonial mimesis with an indigenously feudal twist. The postcolonial
planters social distance from the workforce is enhanced by a sense of superiority that has naturalized a basic understanding of colonial rationality
and its capacity to order and civilize. Within such a philosophy of rule,
only a few have the innate skill to rise above the compulsions of the body
and its inherent unreason. The primitive, or the jungli, signify unreason
in their wild bodies. Their essences must, and can, be brought to cultivation by the disciplines of reason. Cultivation is thus an ontological act.
The body of its labor is a eshy cartography of mind-over-labor, as much
as it is the anvil upon which fortunes gold coin is hammered.
Coupled with this philosophy of innate mind-over-body superiority are
far more ancient caste-based ideologies of pollution, commensality and
hierarchies thus engendered.2 Upper-caste, and sometimes anglicized, the
postcolonial planter deploys a hybrid and complex ideology of rationality
and order. The junglieither lower-caste or adivasiis xed in a place of
lack. She thinks, but hers is innately inferior thought, for she is trapped
within the cycles of her dark body.
Illusions If management, based on rationality, abstracts itself (as a
philosophical imperative) from the disciplines of the body, it creates for
itself a powerful illusion. Because it is indeed through the body, in the acts
and gestures of bodies in landscapes of labor, that cultivation enacts the
managerial logic, the reason of its being: prot, productivity, and eciency.
When those bodies are racialized and gendered within the intricate hierarchies and organization of labor, then the dominant ideologyof separateness,
of a superior mind-which-does-not-need-to-work, collapses into its own
illusion. Its own logic of corporeal inscription denes, and dees, its frames
of control.
When bodies themselves are fetishized in acts of labor because they are
femaleto pluck with delicacy and to sell the commoditythen the illusory division between rationalitys management and bodily toil is blurred.
When those same bodies are conated into the natural landscapes within
which they are disciplined to work, because they are women, the very terms
of separateness are challenged and recongured.
Cultural and historical meanings of work, when read through narratives
of the body, can be viewed not merely as reexive of the disciplines within
which they are constrained in certain moments. They can also be seen as
idiosyncratic, individual, and alternative commentaries about the terms of
those very separations.The reecting consciousness cannot be so easily denied. Not neutral, not dismembered, not bled of its own skin, the body thinks
through a history of constraint, of possibility, its own alterities.
,
The light comes on slowly on the Narrator on her stool, the four Women on the
stage oor. The Narrator exes her ngers, scrutinizing them against the light.
One of the Women looks up at her movement and shakes her head.
: This is no natak [theater], memsahib, why do you move your
ngers so?
: The body makes its own swollen journeys through history, memsahib, the answers are not written in your ngers and the pen which you
hold. The body has no calligraphy to decipher.
: But oh, maybe it does, maybe it does. Like a faint swell in the
ocean of your words, memsahib, perhaps a body speaks through secret
hieroglyphics. But you look strained, memsahib, run your ngers against
your other ngers.The esh contains its crevasses, its whorls of absence.
Perhaps, they tell a tale?
Lights fade.
Fields
A Landscapes Cosmology
I enter a path into a eld of green, eight years after I saw it rst, to walk away
from the cacophonous town. The bonsai mathematics that creates such a
landscape of precision does not dim the pleasure I take in this momentary
escape. My walk is one of leisure and of solitude. It recreates the plantation as a garden that is silent, solitary, and splendid. Aware of the danger
of such romantic thoughts in this landscape of predilection, I consider its
other cosmologies.
I recall my rst walk into the eld that autumn almost a decade ago. A
helpful senior planter is taking me on a tour of the eld. An old man crossing our path on a cycle jumps to attention, falling o his seat, becoming
entangled in the cycles wheels. The sahib admonishes him, gently, though
the old mans fear is a tangible thing.We have walked to the edge of the eld
and into a village area.The sahib introduces me to a bhagat, ordering him to
answer the memsahibs questions. Disconcerted again by the mans nervousness, I request that the sahib leave us. His order, however, sits with us
like an old ghost, impossible to exorcise.
The bhagat and I walk back into the eld. He talks about his village and
his work as a ritual master and elder. I am hesitant to ask any questions, constantly aware of the parameters of coercion within which we take this walk.
We are on the edge of a square block of tea when the bhagat suddenly clambers over a fence and climbs a shade tree that has a broken branch. Using
a large sickle that he has been carrying, he saws at the branch till it breaks
away cleanly.
Gasping in the heat, he says, Memsahib, there is one thing you must
know. I am like a daktar [doctor] to these trees. Each tree, each tea bush,
I have supervised in planting.When I was young, I used to plant the seedlings myself. When I see one injured like this, I feel pain. This is why I am
helping this tree now.
There are myths of power and meaning constantly grafted into this landscape. There is romance and fear, reverence and obeisance, ritual and remembrance. There are cosmologies that rest in the human claim of a torn
tree branch. When I tell Bhagirathi of the pleasure of a solitary morning
walk into the plantation eld, she is aghast.Why would I want to walk there
and alone? This desire is incomprehensible, though amusing, to her. Her
place of bodied labor and sweat is my space of contemplative leisure.
Maps
The management of cultivation in the plantation is worked on multiple axes.
The most noticeable rendering of its sense of order is embedded in the landscape of the eld itself. The tea bush denes the eld, a primal center of the
nascent commodity. As a wild plant, the tea tree can grow to twenty-ve
feet, and its transformation into a waist-high bush is a result of four-year
cycles of pruning and plucking. Initially, a nursery of plant cuttings is prepared, carefully protected from extreme weather by a tarpaulin. Careful attention is paid to each individual plant, and every cutting is placed by hand,
light work that is often done by elderly and ill women and small children.
After six months of careful tending, the young tea plants are transferred into
a newly hoed plantation area and placed in precise rows. This spatial precision of planting is worked through a careful calculus of soil productivity and
land use economy. Following the design of the older square blocks of tea,
known as chopols, it is this mathematical work of planting that constructs
the at and even map of the tea elds. The grid of young tea bushes interspersed with shade trees creates the latitudinal and Euclidean perspective
of the landscape.
As the plant grows, careful pruning determines its height. The plants
center stem is cut at six to eight inches after eighteen months, stopping the
growth of that stem and promoting lateral branching.The plants tending is
aimed at maintaining the foliage through alternations of plucking and pruning. A tree is thus transformed, through bonsai-like cultivation, into a tea
bush. Leaf plucking begins quite early, before the central stem is cut again,
in the second year. Left untouched after this second cycle of pruning, the
mature tea bush is ready for a full season of plucking in its third year.
It is, however, a series of pruning cycles during the bushs winter dormancy, that is most critical to its maintenance and regeneration. The bush
gets a light pruning in the rst winter, leaving percent untouched. In the
second dormant season it is not pruned, but in the third medium ski
pruning takes approximately inches o the height of the plant. In the
fourth year, light ski pruning removes just the uppermost growth. Each
year, a fourth of the eld is pruned, and thus in each four-year period, the
entire cultivated area has undergone one cycle of pruning.The precision of
these pruning cycles, and the skill required to measure the action of the various sickles and knives used for each kind of pruning, is embedded in the nal
result of such eorts. This combination of surface grid and vertical truncation creates the at and linear horizon of a strikingly and mathematically
rationalized landscape.
Cycles of plucking and pruning are organized by block, each one of approximately . hectares. Individual chopols are marked chronologically in
the blueprint of the eld from which the managers will determine pruning
and plucking cycles. Chopols are classied numerically according to their
order of planting. Since four-year cycles are critical for determining these
pruning and plucking rotations, measurements of time are inscribed within
the spatial measurements of the eld. Indeed, one history of the plantation
can be read in the chopols numerical classications. Not surprisingly, the
expansion of cultivation moves outward from the center of a plantation:
the oce, factory, and bungalows. The oldest chopols are found nearest
to the center of this managerial arc: a double numerical coding marks each
square: number is (the year) ; number is , and so forth.
If a history of numbered reduction charts the map of tea cultivation,
where a calendrical year punctuates a certain point of origin, there are also
other histories inscribed into these squares of cultivation. There is, for example, a narrow ravine called the Umesh Kholla, which cleaves through
Sarahs Hope and its neighboring plantations. Its run through the chopols
is punctuated by a small temple at what I have called elsewhere Sivas Rock.
The sacred borders the spaces of mundane and daily work. In certain plantations village rituals take place in the center of the cultivation eld. If we
follow the Umesh Kholla into the neighboring plantation, Kolpara, we read
suggestions of ritual histories that spill into the places of popular memory.
Distinct from the ritual spaces of the Umesh Kholla, but registering a certain kind of ritual history, the Ram Dhan Chopol commemorates the life
of a respected union leader and village elder. In another case, the spreading
branches of an old jackfruit tree oer shade to the small white-washed tomb
of a Muslim elder. Signicantly, the tea bushes are planted around the tree
and the tomb: neither the tree nor the tomb are touched or removed.
On the northern side of the road lie the bungalows and expanse of the
Hospital, Mission, and Factory lines of Sarahs Hope. The southern expansion covers the largest section of the eld. The stretch of tea is punctuated
once by a small forest, which is maintained as a rewood reservoir.On its far
eastern border, is a plantation extension begun only fteen years ago near the
semi-isolated Tin Line. At the edge of the Mission and Purana Line, on the
plantations northern border, lies the newest plantation extension, Sarahs
Hope II, where some workers once tilled their own small plots of land.
This new plantation extension borders on both the Christian cemetery
and the Umesh Kholla. A sacred tree, herald of the Bhutanese hills to the
north, stands sentinel to this arena of nascent cultivation. Sarahs Hope II,
or the naya bagan (new garden) as it is known, is a space not yet fully captured by the precise mapping of the old plantation. Its planting will begin
in earnest toward the end of the monsoons and will be managed by unemployed young men from the community who receive a contract from the
manager. In its state of half-cultivation, Sarahs Hope II remains a territory
still touched by a hint of unfurled wildness.
The landscape is dominated by a Euclidean logic manifest in an almost
abstract precision of green. Yet there are fault lines within its hegemonic
reach.Time ssures the land into a story of staggered genesis. Ritual spaces
chart other logics, and human agency, though invisible in the dispersed
vastness of the eld, commemorates itself in popular memory through the
landscape. Order and its alterities write many histories of rationality. The
landscape begs an excavation of itself, beyond the steady illusion of atness,
deep into the rituals of its own mystery.
slower pace of winter tasks, and the more hospitable weather, this is a time
when marriages and visits with family in other villages are commonplace.
Thus, two basic seasons chart the contours of theyearlycalendarof work,
marking times of labor intensity and some leisure. Agrarian cycles frame
the management and ow of this rst phase of plantation production. However, cultivation, one of its central facets, is but one major aspect of the
plantations entire productive process.
Manufacture, this second phase of production, takes placewithin the concentrated radius of planter power: the factory. A large white building lying
adjacent to the managerial and sta oces, the factory is the end point of
the plantations productive logic. In its concentrated locus of machinery and
manpower, it sits in striking contrast to sections of the eld that are being
prepared for planting. If the latter suggests a space of half-wildness, then the
site of manufacturewhere tea leaf is transformed into a product readied
for commodicationrepresents the place within which the deployment
of rational management is most focused.
Work within the factory, though nally dependent on the seasonal production of leaf, is ordered in ways more like the assembly line rhythms of
an industrial workplace, where the relationship of machines and bodies are
placed in a certain synchronicity. Work, as human action on the environment, is thus redened. Machines replace the tea bush as a site of human
reference, and it is a shift that constructs dierent modalities of labor.
Historians, most notably E. P. Thompson, have argued that nineteenthcentury industrialization transformed the customary rhythms of agrarian
work. Task times, upon which the seasonal harvests of farming depended,
shifted into quite dierent temporal and spatial modalities. Both symbolically and materially, the clock and factory siren now marked the beat of
daily life.3 Thus, disciplines of time, coupled with the spatial regimes of the
assembly line, began to dene the ecient economies of factory work that
underwrote the prots of mass production and manufacture.
Tea factory management follows the logic of the assembly line in its division of labor and in the ways that the machines of manufacture dominate its
large internal spaces. Yet, unlike the common image of a crowded factory
oor, the tea factory is spacious, well-lit, and only in one large room do its
boilers emanate intense heat. Neat white signs label a particular phase of
manufacture, and a large clock on the front wall signals the management
of time. Synchronized with the factory siren, it is this clock that marks the
day of work, not only within its immediate ambit but in the sirens sound,
which reaches into the eld.
The factory, set within the locus of managerial power, is a place that animates the planters ideology of order and rationality with clarity. Not only
are its various work disciplines within the immediate surveillance of the
senior manager, but its visual and spatial placement resonates with symbolic power. Its work tempos, though dependent on the cycles of the eld
season, are charted in ways strikingly dierent from cultivation in the eld.
Embraced within the administrative and masculine regime of the plantation, all the factory workers are men. Indeed, factory work narrates its
own bodily tales. Manufacture is, in this folk history of work, an essentially masculine business. Indeed, essentialist assumptions about gendered
incapacity to do mind work and sexual dierence ensure that women are
wholly absent. Rationality, once again, denes itself through a certain kind
of lack.
As the home of the clock, however, the factory comes to mark the temporal parameters of the day, housing as it does the omnipresent siren. The
siren, which used to be a loud hand-beaten gong, sounds eight times during the day, beginning at six in the morning. Most symbolically, residues
of colonial time schedules remain within workers perceptions of the sirens
call. During the colonial period, the sirens clock was advanced by half an
hour, creating a temporal schism: Garden Time and Indian Standard Time.
Thus when it was actually : in the morning by Indian Standard Time,
the siren would sound the beginning of the : factory shift. Prior to labor
legislation, planters manipulated daylight hours to stretch the working span
of the day.With postcolonial legal stipulations of six- and eight-hour days,
Garden Time is strictly obsolete and its earlier extractive objectives cannot
be met; even if the clock was to advance by half an hour, only the stipulated
legal hours of work are permitted. At Sarahs Hope, the siren sounds Indian
Standard Time. Workers, nonetheless, continue to perceive this artifact of
colonial scheduling as somehow present within the logics of the contemporary regimes of work.
Unlike a productive process that is entirely dependent on factory manufacture, the plantation is ultimately dependent on the quantity and quality
of its tea leaf. As such, even the tea factory cannot be understood as a site
entirely removed from the agrarian rhythms of the eld. Its system of work
is linear, its times marked by the clock, but it remains connected to landscapes of labor that remain truer to earlier agrarian rhythms. The waxing
and waning of seasonal production is, itself, dependent on the rains. If there
are early rains, plucking will be phased in from the end of February, though
in most cases, it begins in March. From the beginning, then, regimens of
clock times must contend with the seasonal ows of rain and the tea bushs
own oerings of leaf.
The annual calendar of production and manufacture in its ebb and ow
denes not only the tempo of work; it also determines the wage calculus.
With the onset of plucking in March, work tempos are paced by a calculation of daily wage within which task and clock times cohere.The task-based
component of the wage focuses on the amount of leaf plucked.The ticca dictates a minimum quantity of leaf, which is slowly increased as the tea bush
oers a larger harvest. Between February and April, when the rst ush is
small, the ticca is about eleven kilos.The basic daily wage, called the hazira,
is paid for attendance at both morning and afternoon shifts of work. However, to receive the hazira, a woman must pluck the entire ticca and attend
the full shift of work, if that is required.
As the season peaks into a full ush, the actual time spent in the eld
becomes more important. The ticca (minimum weight) is now raised to
kilos, and is attached to an added incentive of half a rupee per kilo plucked.
This incentive, called doubly, together with the ticca, determines the actual
hours spent in the eld. During the times of peak harvest, when the siren
sounds at : .., some women may already be in the eld; they will
work straight through the day, with less than half an hour break for lunch.
The task incentive thus compels the actual workday to stretch beyond the
stipulated six hours of plucking into eight. As the season wanes with the
approach of winter, work again becomes only task-based, and during winter pruning, one morning shift of six hours can complete the daily ticca
for a set number of bushes to be pruned. In short, wages of cultivation are
based on grafting agrarian task-based logics to the temporal regimes of an
industrial clock.
In contrast to the task component of the eld labor, factory and oce
work follows the regimes of the clock entirely. The task component of the
wage is absent. Factory wages are calculated on a daily hazira and overtime
pay is paid on an hourly basis. Nonetheles, factory work remains dependent
on the amount of leaf plucked. In the height of the peak season, when factory
troughs have an abundance of leaf, the two-shift day is expanded to include
a third, night shift. By the end of November, factory operations close down
for machine overhauling, and the small number of men who work there are
redeployed to dig drains and clear roads within the plantations villages.
The plantation encompasses a hybrid cosmology within its landscape
and in the labor disciplines to which this landscape is connected. Tasks of
cultivation, though close to the farming toil of adjacent villages, are regimented by the terms of wage labor: of bounded temporal shifts of work,
surveillance, and complex alienations from the fruits of that work. Geared
toward a global marketplace, labor practice is organized into hierarchies of
control and sexual divisions of labor and is embedded within the landscape
itself.
Though the language of command is ideally abstracted through these
pyramids of control, fetishisms of work and its genderings erode the call
of the siren and its more abstract breakdown of the day.4 The factory, most
removed from the alterities of wild borders, is still hooked into the eld.
It dominates the landscape to a certain point, but becomes invisible, in the
far reaches of the eld. Its rationalities are simultaneously hegemonic and
illusory. The eld, with the factory that it also contains, oers a cosmology
peculiar to itself. It is simultaneously a theater of the season and of the clock:
a cosmos of system and machine, some fetishes, and the rituals of the actualized landscape.
Fieldwork
The lights come on stage. The four Women have left. The Narrator gets up,
carries her wicker stool from stage left to center stage, near the shadowed bungalow living-room scene. She sits next to the British Sahib and Memsahib. A
faint drumming begins.The gauze-curtained backdrop begins to shake as shadow
Dancers begin to bend and move behind them. The movements are slow, the
shadows thrown are elongated.
: What a jatra [theater] to be imagined in this work of the eld, which
we now come to nally. Fieldwork, Fieldwork. Only a backdrop to the
humming of machines. Consider all the acts. The big house, the clanking machines, the scratching ink pens on account ledgers. Each act in
miniature, each scene touched by the paths of the villages. What is this
constant painted backdrop, this green and dwarfed forest, the shadowy
gures barely discernible? The eld is at and constant, so we imagine. The spotlights play on dark and light, there are murmurs, gestures
stooped, a sudden curtain of water. But wait: this is no at screen of
wood. Our gaze has been deceived. This is a gauze curtain of green, it
moves with the wind. Behind it the shadows shift: an arm, a hand, a suggestion of breasts. A body braced against some erce onslaught of rain,
hunching forward to carry the heavy cloth pouch of leaf. An outline of
an umbrella against a tree. See how they bend and carry the umbrella
Discipline and Labor
now, held against water and sun. See how they le through the light,
the muslin, the play of water. Consider how they vanish and stay, vanish
and stay.
Lights fade out.
T of the plantations pulse at the end of February, heralded perhaps by a bright thin layer of green, discernible on some
of the tea bushes. The rains have yet to come, but the yearly holiday and its
attendant revelry of marriages and visits to relatives on other plantations
are coming to a close. Anjali tells me one morning that the rst aurat dols
(womens gangs) will be sent for plucking within the week. I have been at
Sarahs Hope for less than a month and am eager to nally encounter women
in their elds of labor.
The back gate of the bungalow has been unlocked daily, and Anjali has
slowly introduced me to a small radius of the Factory Line. The men remain visibly uneasy about my daily walk through the canteen math (canteen
eld). Most know about the patronage that has brought me to this particular
plantation. The important union leaders skirt me cautiously, and thus from
the very beginning, it is women who begin to draw me into the worlds of
their families and communities.
My arrival during the last weeks of winter is fortuitous, because Anjali,
and the women I meet through her, have time to speak with me. Though
consistently generous with their time, which even in winter is packed with
household tasks, I recognize that my research, and its demands for conversation, is itself dependent on leisure, its free and oating determinations.
While conversation, a dialogical act, is certainly one place where a deeply
human encounter can occur, it cannot be excised from the conditions of its
making. As we become acquainted, that winter just before the call of harvest, I am aware of constant motion: bending over to stack the rewood
carried miles from the forest; hitching the baby higher on her back; quickly
making tea. Knowledge production is, I learn with some immediacy, also a
process of extraction, and the body, in both listening stillness and in necessary movement, is implicated.
When I return, seven years to the month of my rst winter conversations with them, I remember this and the relationship of their work to my
research, and its terms of leisured extraction. When I mention the issue of
their giving time, Munnu smiles. It was not that much trouble to talk,
we did what we needed to do. But you see, with you there, I have an excuse
not to work as well. Things wont be said, if you know what I mean.
Plucking
In early March, the manager gives the command for the rst round of plucking to begin.The evening before the rst day of plucking, the information is
yelled in the villages by watchmen, who also announce the precise location
by tea block numbers where the women must assemble in the morning.Two
hours before the rst call of the siren at six, the women are already on the
move. Bhagirathis three sons, the oldest of whom is eleven years, have to be
fed, and she cooks enough rice, vegetables, and lentils for her family of six.
With barely enough time to eat herself, she rolls up a chapati (our tortilla)
and dips it into a hot glass of tea. Her own food is an afterthought. First, the
small house ritual must be conducted, followed by cooking. Munnu, whose
house is around the corner, begins her walk to neighboring Kolpara Tea
Estate. It is going to be a long walk, with her two-year-old, Bina, hitched
on her back.Though she has married into Sarahs Hope, she has never given
up her inherited job in Kolpara. Though pressured by her father to give the
job to her brother, she has refused. Though this means a long, tiring walk
back and forth between the two plantations, she explains that the job is her
strength.
In , eight years after the ethnographic present of this eld text, Bhagirathis three boys are older, they tend to family business, and help their
mother with cooking. Munnu has exchanged her job with a woman from
Sarahs Hope who married into Munnus natal plantation, Kolpara. She does
not miss the long walk.
The morning shift in the early peak season technically begins at
: .., though in practice, the chopol is reached (particularly if it is distant) at around : .. The munshi (senior overseer) in the garden, who
takes his orders directly from the garden sta and the sahibs, has cycled into
the eld to begin checking the attendance lists with the boidar (time keeper)
and the gang overseers, who have already reached the area.The senior manager and his management sta have met in the preceding days to organize
their strategy of plucking rotations and give their hukum (order) to the garden sta and supervisors earlier in the morning. By :, the cluster of eld
overseers milling around the factory compound have headed out to their
designated chopols.
Most women do not walk alone into the eld but meet their friends on the
main road.This informal grouping of friends reects the kinship ties of their
respective villages. Up to fteen women will walk in dols (groups/gangs)
to their assigned area of the eld. Almost all will use the paths that circle
around the factory area. From April onward, in the height of the peak seaDiscipline and Labor
son, garden sta and managers park on side roads to discipline tardy women,
either by sending them home or by sharply admonishing them. These reprimands are resented by some of the women, who will remark that they are
dependent on the timings of the public water taps and that they dont wear
watches.
Bhagirathis dol of sisters-in-law, sisters, aunts, and friends is tightly knit
because most of them are from the same jat, the Kumhar, and they live close
to each other in the Factory Line, the village cluster lying immediately behind the factory. As a community who view themselves as a bara jat (big
community), which distinguishes itself as sadan (general caste) and not adivasi, it is a prominent community within the diversity of the plantations
villages.This sense of superiority is enhanced by its relative economic success. Bhagirathi and her family run a small but successful store, and many
of the menfolk have garnered some of the elite jobs in bungalow and factory. Most signicantly, Bhagirathi, her sisters and aunts, have never left the
village through marriage. Rather, their husbands have married in from
Bihar: theyare ghar jamais (house son-in-laws).Their sense of claim, to their
village and to their labor, is empowered by this historical and semimatrilocal
continuity.Two generations of women have remained within.That sense of
place and history is palpable as we walk to the eld.
The overseers announce the ticca of eleven kilos as the women assemble.
Gesturing with his stick, the daadar points to the aisles between each bush.
Around Bhagirathis dol, three hundred women move into two chopols.
About twenty overseers, themselves managed by an aurat chaprasi (womens
senior overseer) gesticulate with their switches and shout.5 About half of
the total number situate themselves on one end of the large block, to move
in one direction toward the other end of the rectangle. This strategy of deployment is to ensure that if there is a stray leopard crouching in the center
of the chopol, it can escape. Bhagirathi explains that incidents of mauling
are not infrequent and she will show me a one-eyed woman in the village.
The spatial ordering of women follows the mathematics of tea bush layout. Its linear aisles dene the womens positioning and reformulates the
cluster of womens dols.The womens spacing indexes not only the linearity
of organization; it suggests also a highly individualized movement through
the eld.Yet, the organic roundness of the bushes and the womens conversations create a mesh of camaraderie across the verticality of the rows. In
contrast to a factorys enclosed space, where such a criss-cross of chatter is
mediated by the noise of machines and monitored by oor supervisors, the
plantations landscape of horizontal dispersionand its silencesmakes
such camaraderie possible.
weighment and wage, this sirdari artifact underscores the indelible and signicant ways in which paternalism charts the terms of managerial power.
Men from the community of workers were, historically, given the women
to manage for the planter. The postcolonial planter, still distant from
daily management, has continued the same traditions of masculine control. Though these feminized lists appear insignicant in the wider plantation system, they build the foundation of a cultural politics of labor within
which womens marginality is assumed and naturalized. Indeed, customary norms of village patriarchies are, through such legitimations, further
strengthened.
Soon after the muster is taken, a panniwallah (water carrier) with two
heavy cans of water, cycles on a path alongside a large group of women.
After balancing the cans on a bamboo pole, he enters one corner of the tea
block, pouring water into the womens cupped hands from a small mug.
Nursing mothers who have left babies in makeshift hammocks, take time to
breast-feed their infants. Small daughters, or other young kinswomen, will
accompany new mothers into the eld, to help mind a particularly young
infant.
The sun is blazing, but the rhythms of work keep pacewith the easycamaraderie between the women, who banter with their overseer: Hey, brother,
what is your news?
Conversation halts momentarily when the garden sta and assistant manager arrive on their respective motorcycles.They yell loudly: Hath chalao,
hath chalao [Move your hands, move your hands]. Their combined bellow
is met with a smatter of derision. Bhagirathi shouts: Hey, sahib, we have
reached our ticca, so what are you shouting about?
Yet some women enact, with some humor, their own subversions of these
ordered inscriptions. In the daily log, only rst names of women are given.
I am told that women create their own names for these registers of control. Sometimes, their names are anonymous, indicating only the day that
they began work: Budhni for a woman who started work on Wednesday
(budhuwar), Somri for Monday (somwar). Apparantly, these too are colonial
traditions. When an exasperated babu would be faced with a silent recruit
who refused to give her name, a day-name was given.
Silence was, then, refusal. Perhaps done out of fear and subconscious
recalcitrance, it coded a certain noncompliance. Multiple Wednesdays
could only be distinguished by their sirdar groupings. But women subvert
this calendrical anonymity even further. They name themselves for reigning lm heroines: Sandhya may become Madhuri; an older woman, Mita,
is Meena Kumari, and Munni becomes Rekha.8 This name play suggests a
counterclaim of the alienating conditions of work, where anonymous lists
are tricked into a certain playful individuality but where the totalizing claims
of the plantation system are symbolically thwarted. The village is a place,
then, where ones identity is not so wrenched into an exhausting alienation.
In these home places, then, the birth names can remain true.9
The siren sounds the end of the rst shift at : .., and after packing the leaves down with their feet, the women haul the bundle of leaf onto
their backs. Since the weighment shed behind the factory is about two miles
away, it takes the women thirty minutes to reach it.
I walk back with Bhagirathi and her kinswomen.We move down the path
in a safe cluster. Shifting the leaf s weight more evenly in the heavy cloth
bundle on her back, Bhagirathi wipes her brow: You will see how hard this
gets in a few months. This leaf is nothing. There is not much pressure now.
But if you want a story of tea, tell whomever you tell that this is our life: in
sun, in rain, we do this. If you dont even see our sweat, how can you write?
Weight
In September, months before this particular walk to the factory weighment
shed, I had watched from afar women, in lines, wending their way from
the eld to the factory gates. Then, in full harvest, the bundle of leaf overwhelmed the small and bent-over bodies. Heads bowed, eyes focused on the
ground, the feet shuing along.The large sacks on their backs, inverted and
Discipline and Labor
old glass bottles and money changes hands. Sometimes a customer does not
have cash and puts his or her payment on credit. She makes quick calculations in her head, and with remarkable recall, makes sure that her eldest son
will record cash income and amounts owed. On any given market day, she
can make a forty-rupee prot, more than her daily wage. Almost directly
behind her, Munnu begins to sell home-made handia, or rice beer. She has
spent two days preparing this popular drink. Selling handia supplements a
meager income, and on a particularly warm and lucky afternoon, she can
earn a handsome hundred rupees.
bands may help in tending a store, for example, other household tasks are
distinctly feminized and remain a womans responsibility.
Kitchenwork, however, cannot be understood in the middle-class terms
of a separate and contained domestic economy. Cooking is the endpoint
of a labor that includes long walks for rewood, water collection around
public taps, and the growing of vegetables in a small kitchen garden. It also
involves a feminized collective, where daughters and other kinswomen will
help in various phases of preparation.
It is indeed dicult to splice this ow of work into the dichotomies of
public and private, of domestic and outside labors. Pregnant or nursing women who work in the eld belie such divisions through the active
presence of their bodies in labor, so to speak. Fieldwork is thus mediated
through a uterine and sexual economy that encompasses tasks of cultivation, the maintenance of households, and the tempos of social life in the
labor lines.12 Cooking, ostensibly the iconic task of interiority, is dependent
on the eld and forest for its possibility. It is enabled by womens continuous travels through village, eld, and forest. This is an economy of ow,
and of bodily travel, mediated through womens bodies, which cannot be
contained analytically within the binary of public and private.
While the body cannot be reied as the only template of womens
multiple experiences of labor (and certainly their own commentaries work
against such reications), there are important ways in which their own narratives through (and not of ) their bodies compell a rethinking of labor as
a daily experience of both constraint and excess.
Embodiment does not permit easy lines of demarcation. Certainly,
women situate themselves within the command of the rational landscape
and work their necessary hands into the foilage, enacting an ordered harvest.Yet within and under the palpable and stiing control of the gaze, inside
its voices of command, a subtext of bodily presence erodes the landscape
of lines. Subtle spirals of the erotic lace the huddle of womens talk in moments of rest.The body burgeons into the possibility of new life as it bends,
with a ponderous yet paradoxical elasticity. After some months, in the time
between such bending, there will be time to suckle.
Plucking Intensity
By mid-April, when the premonsoon rainfall has fallen steadily, the ticca
is increased to twenty-ve kilos and the monetary incentive of doubly
or half a rupee per kilo above the ticcais in place. This shift in the wage
calculus and the incentive transforms both the pace of work and social life
in the eld. Because of the incentive, many women will now reach work
before eight in the morning, thereby accelerating their already hectic morning routines. Simultaneously, surveillance of attendance is intensied, and
even the burra sahib will wait near the main path into the eld to turn away
latecomers.
This tight supervision of tardiness adds a palpable tension, and the overseers call to move quickly seems sharper. The trickle-down of the hukum
(command) is thus understood.The earlier banter between the overseer and
women, and the easy camaraderie between women, is almost absent. The
concentration on plucking is singular. Some conversation takes place when
the siren calls out the shifts end, and they pack their leaf into the bundle,
to start the long walk back to the weighment shed.
Subtle temporal coercions increase the duration and intensity of work
in important ways. Because the overseer owns the only wristwatch in the
eld, he eectively controls information about time and shift duration. It is
a secret knowledge that compells a microextraction of labor power. The
monopoly of that knowledge does not, however, go unnoticed. The siren,
women recognize, sounds a few minutes later than standard time and will
begin to stop work a few minutes earlier. An angry overseer yells that ten
minutes of the shift remain. Moniki Mosi points out the discrepancy in time
with a tartness that is explicit.
In high sun and sweat, even this quick thrust and parry between women
and overseer, is rare. Angry and loud responses are reserved for the garden
sta: Why, women will yell, are you barking like a dog? Arent we pulling your ticca? Quietly, on the path to weighment, Moniki Mosi remarks:
This work is sasan [punishment] for us because we hear yells from every
side, sahib, babu, daadar. What to do, didi? Khato aur khao [labor/suer
and eat].
Not only are the tensions within cultivation greater during the peak season, the duration of work is transformed. A large green-wire mesh trailer,
the weighment truck, arrives mid-morning and afternoon and punctuates
both shifts of work.The quantity of leaf plucked will be too heavy a load for
ing the peak season. Because labor laws require additional pension and inkind benets after sixty days of continuous work, bigha cycles are kept to
days just below that number. A subset of the bigha batch, known as daily
voucher workers, are hired for ten-day cycles of work when the volume
leaf is particularly high.
When daily voucher workers are to be selected, a line chowkidar (labor
line watchman) announces the openings. Candidates line up at the factory
window, where an assistant manager will listen to each candidates need,
and cross-check his list with the union leaders preferences. Though selection is mediated by political benevolence and structural need, a womans
body can determine the choice.
In one instance, the chota sahib deployed a calculus of a womans height
and its inuence on the shape of the tea bush: To be honest, selection for
daily voucher can be quite arbitrary.When they come to the window, I will
try and choose a taller woman, because when she is taller, it is easier for her
to pluck. But more importantly for me, with longer arms she can reach out
further, while if she is really short, the bush can become cabbage-shaped.
We have to aim for evenness, you see.That is crucial. Though most women
workers are quite short (a tall woman is a striking anomaly), and the managers commentary perhaps an exaggeration, it is an equation of an ideal
that combines labor mathematics with a fetish: the womans body dening
the potential quality of her labor and its dependence, on the rational aesthetics of the tea bush.
Bigha women enact quite dierent temporal and spatial rhythms from
their sisters in permanent work. For one, they are separated from their permanent sisters, and their dols are deployed to areas furthest from the factory. This is a reprieve for the permanent women. The bigha work begins
at : .., and the rst weighment truck enters at : .. This midday weighment occurs later than the permanent womens eld weighment,
because bigha women will not return to the factory for a lunch break. By
: .., they wash themselves at the water tank and begin to eat lunch
brought by their children, who have cycled in. Because the bigha shift spans
the entire day, there are more babies in the makeshift hammocks hanging
between the trees. Older siblings will occasionally enter the eld and help
mothers or sisters with plucking.
After a very short lunch, eaten with their dol under an umbrella for shade
in the hot sun, the women are back at work. Technically the day ends at
: .., but because there is no siren to signal its end, their work often
stretches for an extra fteen minutes. Once again, because only overseers
wear watches, most women are not precise about the clocked synchronicity
of the sirens. The garden sta, seen only occasionally among the larger
groups of permanent workers, is present at lunch break to ensure that bigha
women take the shortest possible time to eat their lunches.
The intensied disciplining is explicitly noted by Mona, a bigha worker:
Look, memsahib, no one cares for bigha workers. If you dont pull kilos
ticca, they will ask you if you want to work.They will never lower the ticca
for us. There is hardly any time to eat; you will see a woman eating and
continuing to work. But we need these jobs, so we take it. In other plantations, the manager gives six months bigha work, but here we only get two
months. Economic desperation thus outweighs a conscious sense of injustice at their dierential treatment. It is, as it is for many in the plantation, a
matter of both survival and endurance.15
I can tell you the Planters Law of the Medes and Persians. Two Leaves and
a Bud, Plucked Dead Level.17
of mangerial coercions. They are not, as Moniki Mosis countercommentary suggests, one-way streets. However, for young managers, these acts of
microdisciplining are cornerstonesand indeed proofsof proper initiation into the rites of planting. Note a careful entry made in the daily ledgers
of a rst-year assistant manager: I have been making a random check from
time to time of the leaves plucked by individual workers in the bigha mela
to make sure that they only pluck what is necessary. On Friday, I caught
two women plucking broad leaves from the side of the bush along with old
leaves and twigs. They do this to increase their weighment so that they get
paid more. On reporting to the manager, I had their work stopped for the
time being.This had to be done as a necessary step against bad plucking. 19
Consider this postcolonial commentarys synchronicity with a colonial
sahibs observation of plucking and his argument against incentive payment: Very often, when there is heavy ush, pice [paisa] is paid to coolies
for extra leaf. This must never be done in the rst two ushes and only in
exceptional cases in the third ush.The coolies pull the leaf o anyhow unless watched for the whole day, duadar pick for their wives, and neglect
their work, any amount of damage is done to the garden and a lot of coarse
tea is made for certainty. 20
The colonial and postcolonial disciplining of the women gestures to
another implicit axis upon which plucking surveillance rests. The presence
of twigs with leaf is detrimental to the overall quality of tea. Following in
the steps of the alert assistant manager, overseers will rie through individual bundles of leaf to check for bad plucking.Veteran senior overseers
recall how in tougher times, if the womans hand slipped, she would be
sent to detention.
Now, the loss of daily wage is the only threat against what is seen as a
conscious carelessness. In most cases, the assistant manager will permit the
erring woman to spread hercloth and sort out twigs in the eld itself. In sum,
workers strategies to erode the hukuma woman padding the weight of
leaf with twigs, an overseer helping his wifesuggests the small backbeat
of resistance to regimes of work.The managers own consciousness of such
strategies reinforces and creates the terms of plucking surveillance.
The pragmatic and even prosaic nature of such surveillance is inected by
the planters own fetishisms of plucking, heightened by early observations
of work and the ritual folklore of consumption. In one colonial observation,
a certain orientalization of plucking techniques is explicit: The black tea
maker plucks the leaves with great rapidity, with both hands, using only
the forenger and cuts them in the hollow of his nail. 21 Consider another
colonial planters commentary on the work of Chinese tea makers: While
Discipline and Labor
others were heaping into the grates beneath the cooking pan logs of wood
to feed the ames, which caused the leaves to hiss and crackle, the chopsticks in the nimble hands of the Chinaman rattled their accompaniment on
the sides. 22 Such a peculiarly detailed description of the Chinese tea maker
(the focus on nails, the nimble hands) creates an aura of connection between the fetishisms of womens plucking and this premachinery work of
manufacture.
One postcolonial manager denes plucking as an inherited craft. He remarks, Women pluckers are like those weavers who make dhakai [Dacca
muslin]. It is the same ne quality that is our objective.This is why weaving,
like plucking, is hereditarywomen can pass their skills to theirdaughters.
Tea plucking, in this analogy, is elevated to a craft whose skill is inherited and
takes on feminized suggestions, even though weaving is a transgendered
craft. The inheritance of plucking jobs is a complex business, and a lineage
of women is dicult to trace. Indeed, many young bridesmarried in from
other plantations and villagesinherit jobs from their husbands.
However, the idealized analogy is striking, in that weaving is inected
by an aesthetic of seduction and allure. Dhakai saris are high-end luxury
items, so ne and transparent, the saying goes, the face of a bride veiled
in such muslin can still be seen. As analogy and referent, the conation of
two fetishismsand their signications of the feminine in both work and
productare telling.The value of tea, as with muslin, is intrinsic. Its worth
is enhanced by feminized tradition. The labor that creates such products of
value is to be protected and disciplined. Surveillance, then, is the cost of
romance and its seemingly transparent seductions.
The stage is dark. A backlight is turned on slowly, enough to show the silhouettes sitting at the Mad Tea Party table, stage right: the Sahibs and Memsahibs
sitting center stage; and the gure of the Narrator, who rests on her mora just
left of center stage. She leans over and turns on the black oil lantern at her feet.
There is movement, extreme stage left. A woman Dancer comes out from behind
the gauze backdrop. She carries a mora and sits next to the Narrator.
: You summoned, memsahib.What for?
: I have been reading in the dark, some poems from other places, other
languages. I wanted to share one with you. Thats all. Only a part of it, I
promise. It is not long.
: Go on, memsahib. I can rest my feet.Go on. Is it a song, this poem?
As she talks, she reaches into a fold of her sari and pulls out some leaf and tobacco.
She begins to roll it as the Narrator responds.
: Yes, like a song. A man writing for his lover, an ode to her hands. It
is called Girl Gardening, Oda a La Jardinera. Yes: I knew that your
hands were / a blossoming clove and the silvery lily: / your notable
way / with a furrow / and the owering marl.
(Pause) Odd, to not know the language of his words, translating this for
you in an alien tongue.
: Go on, memsahib, I am listening.
: The whole / of you prospered, / piercing down / into earth, / greening the light like a thunderclap / in a massing of leafage and power. /
You conded / your seedlings, / my darling, / little red husbandman; /
your hand / fondled / the earth / and straight away / the growing was
luminous. 23
: (After a long pause and inhaling her bidi ) In a massing of leafage
and power. In a massing of leafage and power. (She repeats the phrases
slowly.)
The Narrator turns the lantern down completely.The stage lights fade into total
darkness.The only light is the glow from the bidi glowing, an ember in the blackness. The sounds are of rustling crickets, the unquiet dark. There is a stirring.
Quietly, the Dancer gets up and leaves, stage left.
Ethnographic Leisures
June is bursting with leaf, and the pressure of work is constant. Some days,
I walk into the eld with Anjali and we visit Bhagirathis dol. Even though
they are welcoming, their exhaustion limits our conversation, and we sit
quietly in the shade. Many afternoons, I remain in the leisured isolation
of my bungalow venturing out in the late evening when I assume that the
women who have befriended mewill have completed their necessarychores.
Yet again the awareness of the sharp divide between my leisured privilege
and their constant labor is acute.
To mull over that divide, in a feudal system within which structural inequity is a given, appears facile and indulgent. Yet, because of the basic
tenets of ethnographic eld research, I must carefully consider the historically specic terms within which my own experience and understanding of
womens laboring takes place. To do so is not to absolve myself of the inescapable conclusion that I reach about my eldwork experience: that it is
extractive, that my unease in taking time both within the laboring eld
and in the village is ontologically and politically fraught and cannot be sidelined within ethnographic translations that make certain kinds of knowledge claims. In this specic instance, laboras bodilydiscourse that denes
plantation womens experiencesrests at the center of narrative assertions
about plantation disciplines and its patriarchies.
The eld and eldwork take on a theoretical double entendre that
cannot be obscured. In the plantation, the eld has a descriptive actuality
that is created through bodily disciplines. Likewise, eldwork is realized
by hard labor, which I do notagreeing to the terms of its feudal codes
participate in. The ethnographic eldemptied of specicity into abstractionis impossible to assert within a landscape that itself depends on
a coercive illusion. My own nonlaboring body and its observational stance
appear to reproduce the terms of that illusion within the text, in a language
that may register the Euclidean and Cartesian logic of a disciplined landscape.
I risk this splintered register in order to underscore the artice of the
ethnographic story: its production and manufacture and the kinds of bodily
labor that are absent in its making. This ethnography cannot be about anything but labor. The story about eldwork, like its tea, is a tale about the
price of romance, its seductive disembodiments.
The narrative artice of eldwork is complicated further by the oral and
dialogical nature of anthropological experience. When I lie alone and at
leisure in the bungalow, my notes and authorial pacings are the highly individualized products of solitary mind work.Yet when I return to the villages
with these reections grinding into the pestle of my unease, they are reworked through partial, collective, and dialogical encounters. I continue
only for the human surprise that can emerge, glistening, within such a baroque dialectic. I enter the miasma of unease in a hopeful way. I reach cautiously through its vapors, not searching for space innocent of power and its
paradoxes, but for a place that oers the possibility of a pedagogy through
which human community and connection can also be celebrated.
So let me go back to Munnus kitchen, back to the time when we sat
together in the light of a ickering lantern. She kindles the re to prepare
the lentils. I play with her baby while her daughter Savita peels some garlic. I tell her about my unease, that my sense of purpose, in the projectto
listen and tell womens storiesis waning. I tell her that I am paralyzed by
its contradictions. Didi, she says, I dont understand what you are doing
and why. But dont worry so. It is not your responsibility, our condition.
Learning to Labor
It is here, in the small kitchen, that Munnus three daughters become vivid
reminders of the past and future of the plantation. Childrens worlds spill
into their mothers labors, their parents aspirations for their education constrained by the necessities that demand that the entire family earn some
wages. Children who are too small to work, and infants not taken into the
eld, can be left in a small crche next to the factory.The manager employs a
few maids to look after the babies, and sometimes milk is provided.Toddlers
are left at home or with relatives, and mothers are secure about their safety.
The home, in their sense of things, encompasses the village with its extended ties of kinship.The household is not a discrete and autonomous unit,
and children thread familial bonds across the village. A small governmentrun primary school (up to class ) oers a morning shift of classes, but the
teaching is desultory.
Childrens, particularly daughters, education takes place in the village
and in their mothers landscape of work. A young boy is not as visible in
assisting his mother, and if economically fortunate, will be encouraged to
attend the neighboring Hindi high school. As in other parts of the subcontinent, a familys meager nancial resources will be focused on a boys
education. Most girls will marry out of the plantation and in their in-laws
villages will take up wage work.
Rita Chhetris story is, unfortunately, a common one: I was a restless
child, I had a fast mouth and would answer back. Yes, I had a good mind.
I went to school before my father retired and completed up to class in
the town school. The teacher let me skip two classes because I was smart.
But then my father retired, and it was decided that my brother would con-
tinue studying and I would take my fathers job and support the family.Yes,
I had pressure from the family. He was the only son, and I was told that if he
passed his class , he would get a good job. But he did not pass, and now
he is unemployed and my life was ruined.
A daughter assists her mother from an early age. Savita and Sabina, who
play in the village while Munnu is working, will return to help with household chores once the last siren has sounded. During the day, the two sisters
will accompany other small friends into the eld in search of tea owers,
which grow at the base of the bush. Cooked with cummin, coriander, and
onions, the tea ower curry is slightly bitter but palatable. Munnu tells me
that when money is tight, and there is barely enough to buy enough vegetables, the children will collect vegetables and forage for rewood. It keeps
them busy, and it helps me a lot. I did the same when I was small and before
I started work in the plantation.
If work is inherited by one of the children, or bought by a parent, then an
explicit pedagogy of wage labor begins. Bhagirathi began work at twelve,
about fteen years ago, when an old gardener (who had sheltered in her
family home) decided to give her his job.The burra sahib checked my teeth
(to approximate her age) and allowed her to join a childrens dol. Sannicharwa, a bungalow watchman, remembers beginning eldwork when his
teeth had not lled his mouth. This was the only way that the sahib could
gure out age, but it all depended on him. If you and your family really
wanted to start, he would usually allow it.
The custom of children working in the plantation is as old as labor recruitment itself. Family settlement of new workers included children, and
from the very beginning children joined their parents in cultivation. Planting and weeding were the rst tasks given to minors, a task they shared with
the elderly or ill women. It is a tradition that continues to this day. Children
conduct other forms of informal work. This is a labor that spills over from
the village into the eld. Daughters who mind infant siblings in the eld
may pluck to help their mothers.When an elderly person or ill kinswoman
works in lata buri kam (weak, old womens work), she may be accompanied by a child who will help her plant tea seedlings in the nursery. Small
children catch insects that cause the dreaded tea blight and bite womens
arms and ngers while they pluck. They put the insects in cylindrical bamboo containers, for which they receive a small amount of money from the
overseer.
Postcolonial labor legislation rules against child labor,24 though it does
permit a highly malleable adolescent category. Despite diculty in ascertaining the boundaries between child and adol (adolescent), teenagers
are placed in adol dols and during peak season, both chokra and chokri (boys
and girls) and adol dols cluster together. Signicantly, gendered divisions
do not occur at this stage. Only when an adol girl becomes a woman, a
boundary marked by the onset of puberty, does she move into the aurat dols
(womens gangs). However, both groups of youngsters will, at some point
in their initiation, work alongside the experienced women workers to take
explicit directions from them.Watching and doing, mimicry and commonsense action, root the early pedagogy. A senior overseer recollects his rst
experience of pruning: I watched people doing the kolom [pruning] when
I was maybe fourteen years old, and then I tried it once. I did not realize it
but even in that rst cut, I had done it well. An overseer came and asked me
if I had pruned before and I told him no. He praised me and immediately
put me to work. Kolom is hard and it needs skill. This is what got me the
job: my skill when I was a young boy.
Winters Labor
Aye gele naya kuli, de dele kalam churi,
Alam jalam kalam katu dagi ke saman re.
Aye gele naya kuli, de dele kalam churi,
Alam jalam kalam katu dagi ke saman re.
Here are the new coolies, give them the pruning knife,
Cut, cut the bush exactly to measure.
Here are the new coolies, give them the pruning knife,
Cut, cut the bush exactly to measure.
Aye gele dari phut, de dele biri phut,
Alam jalam kalam katu, dagi se saman re.
Ucha Neecha bheley, kamdari naga kara,
Alam jalam kalam katu dagi se saman re.
December has nally arrived and though plucking and other tasks in the
eld such as weeding and hoeing continue, the harvest is well past. The tea
bushes have entered dormancy and turn a uniform dark bottle-green. BeDiscipline and Labor
cause of the paucity of leaf, casual workers are no longer employed. Most of
the permanent women and men will be deployed for hoeing and pruning.
In the words of a colonial planter, pruning is an exacting task because
the longevity of the tea bush is dependent on it. Close supervision is imperative: After he [the manager] has pruned as he wishes the work should
be done, he should teach the overseers who will be in charge of the work
and make them each prune for a day or several days until he is satised with
their work. Then a small muster of coolies should be started at work and
gradually increased until the whole muster is on. The work requires a great
deal of supervision and the coolies should never be left until the manager
is positive that every individual coolie knows what he has to do. 26
If the colonial planter himself demonstrated pruning to his new workers,
contemporary workers will comment on their own monopoly of skill: the
postcolonial sahib is seen as ignorant of such immediate and bodily knowledge.Consider Mita Ghatwars memory of a lesson in pruning: No one here
knows the work like the coolies. Look, the sahib barely gets out of his jeep!
What does he know? Remember when I told you I fought with the sahib
about kolom [pruning]. It is hard to do it just right, and you can destroy the
tree if you are not careful. So I was trying, and the sta who was supervising screamed at me. I lost my temper and told him I would be thankful if
he showed me how to do it himself. Now he could not show me, because
he did not know how to do it. So he got angry because I put him down in
front of the others. He told the manager, who tried to put me down. But
couldnt.
Bina, Munnus one-year-old daughter, sits in the kitchen making a slight
lisping sound: Seeerr . . . seeerr . . . seeerr. Munnu grimaces. Listen to
the sound she is making, didi. I make this when I am working, and she has
picked it up. Two months before I gave birth to her, I was doing pruning
and because it is hard, I was swinging the sickle and making this seeerr . . .
seeerr . . . sound. I did not realize that the chota sahib was standing right
behind me. I was so embarrassed. He asked me why I made the sound, and
I told him it was the only way I can get the work done.
Anjali, sitting in the kitchen with us, admonishes Munnu. You should
not prune when you are so pregnant, Munnu. It can damage the child because all your strength when you swing the knife comes out of your stomach,
where the child is. That is when you swing from the waist up. That is why
your breath comes out seeerr . . . seeerr . . . seeerr.
Munnu winks. Perhaps Bina heard the sound when she was in my stomach. No, I think she hears me now when I take her to work.
The rhythms of winter work are markedly dierent from the speed, in
tensity, and surveillance of plucking in peak season. For one, daily wages
are entirely task-based (e.g., x number of bushes to be pruned), and no incentive is given for extra bushes. Once the specic allotment of bushes are
nished, the worker receives the daily wage and is free for the remainder of
the day.
The only incentive is temporal, how quickly one can nish the task requirement. As a consequence, Bhagirathi and other members of her dol will
try and enter the assigned area as early as possible. Since time is not stringently clocked, the dol will not arrive in one group. A day can begin as early
as .., when it is still very dark. Fear of leopards who take shelter in the
elds at night is a constant, but the desire to nish the task quickly is greater
than this fear. Bhagirathi, who is particularly swift, will nish her task by
ten. She cooks her familys lunch when she returns in the late morning. As
such, her predawn household tasks are conned to a quick wash before dashing to the eld. Because the time to complete the task depends ultimately
on a womans individual strength and speed, arrivals and departures are a
dispersed business.
Dependent on a specic rotational cycle, dierent kinds of pruning are
assigned. Women can be assigned to or light pruning. Swinging a
twelve-inch sickle with her arms, twisting her upper torso, she will slice a
few inches o the top of the tea bush. Her precise swinging arc is colloquially called ainchy (inchy) kolom. The English command, to clear an inch of
leaf, is thus coded into the plantations own vernacular of labor. Labeled
as light pruning in managerial parlance, the strength, speed, and stamina
necessary for the grooming of bushes, an average task, is considerable.
A woman must ensure that every tea bush in her ticca is matched in tabletop evenness. Her overseer must supervise pruning into a collective and
synchronic precision.
Bhagirathi, pausing in between the swishes of her sickle, gasps: It really
feels as if the power comes from my stomach, rising up here (pointing to
her chest) and then in through my arms. It burns. This is hard work. You
have to swing through in one motion, and if you dont, you splinter the
branches.
Power emanates, then, from a bodily center and in a space where a baby
may have rested. It ows into the arms and nally creates the physics of the
sickles swish. The body narrates the breath and hiss of its own parabola.
The tea bushs tabletop evenness depends not onlyon the powerful swing,
but also on the quality of the sickle, the jhurni. Garden sickles are often
blunt, and workers will invest their own money to purchase newer tools.
This internal economy of sickle making and sanding is controlled by comDiscipline and Labor
munities who are traditional blacksmiths, such as the Nepali Kami. In the
eld, a blunt blade is sharpened by a senior overseer carrying coarse sand in
a small bamboo container.
While managerial surveillance of time is less intense in pruning cycles,
careful attention is paid to the quality of pruning. Both the colonial sahib
and Mitas postcolonial commentary attests to this. Careless pruning can
destroy the tea bush, and if a woman does not have the aptitudephysical
strength and speedshe will be assigned to late plucking rotations or other
eld tasks. Considerable practice, and an early tutoring in dierent kinds
of pruning, is enough to ensure consistent skill. Overseers will regularly
identify and select skillful women as pruners. Because most managers do
not themselves know how to prune, a lack mocked by women like Mita, experienced overseers are left to organize and supervise these morning shifts
of work.
Though the senior planter will wheel by fora few moments, his gaze lacks
a certain edge.Women are quick to take advantage of his eeting and supercial presence. Family members will join a woman with their own sickles
and help her to complete her allotment. In contrast to plucking, when only
a younger kinswoman may very occasionally assist, husbands and sons will
help with pruning. An inside agreement ( girmit) is sometimes made with
water carriers who will, for a small commission (up to rupees), prune the
bushes. Strictly speaking, such assistance is not allowed, and the informal
workers will drop their sickles as soon as the jeep or motorcycle of a manager is sighted. Overseers are more than aware of these customary practices
of labor assistance but will simply look away.
Though women are liberally deployed to do certain kinds of pruning,
men are selected carefully. The gendered body is a measure, again, for this
managerial judgment. A man, they remark, has greater upper body strength.
For hawa kolom (literally, air pruning/light ski ), the sickle must only skim
the bush. It is entirely dependent on upper-body strength, and women apparently cannot sustain many hours of this pruning. Jhumpa kolom (medium
ski, or chicken claw pruning, to describe the knotted stem and branches)
requires a large degree of physical force and strength. These pruners use a
large inch sickle to sever half the bush with one sweep of the arm. Men are
preferred for this task, and the managers will consult with senior overseers
to select the nest and most powerful pruners.
Gendered dierences in physical capacity and ability are shared among
the managerial cadre and the workforce. That men will help kinswomen
with pruning attests to this wider recognition of gendered physicality.While
these dierences are bodily coded, it does not prevent women from prun
ing. Indeed, women are quick to assert their strengths in pruning, rather
than their lack of physical capacity. Kamzorior weaknessis not a common descriptor of dierential pruning, because a considerable number of
women continue to wield the sickle. In contrast to the feminized and fetishized task of plucking, the bodily calculus of pruning and its gendered
inscriptions of physical power is muted. In the general talk of work among
both planters and workers, pruning is not unilaterally or stridently dened
as masculine work. Though a gendered equation of the body is made, it
is not as remarkably underscored as the feminized fetishisms of plucking.
Munnu, about six months pregnant with her fourth child, is weary at the
very thought of pruning. She sighs. This year I am not going to do it. I
have to tell the overseer. But I know it wont be good for me. I feel the baby
too much in my stomach. He wont be happy because I can do pruning well.
Even hawa kolom (she swishes her arms like large scissors). Oh, he will
let me go, but I do have some shame about telling him.
For one season, pregnancy obviates the sickles swish. Other women,
judged in lack, work the earth.When pruning abates in January, gangs are
put to eld tasks like cheeling (turning the soil), clearing the jabra (twigs,
branches) between the rows of bushes. Cleaning the undergrowth between
the aisles of bushes follows the familiar and linear mathematics of plucking. Now, the women bend from the waist, cleaning and turning the soil in
unison.
Divisions
The arrangement that women should be plucking in one part of the garden
and men hoeing in another is the best.27
The separation of women and men workers, even when they are engaged
in similar tasks, translates a body politics into elds of labor. These are cultures of separation that reproduce social norms of appropriate gendered
behavior in which naturalized biological dierences, sexuality, and codes of
shame and honor are all implicated. The fact of separation, most obviously
charted in the spatial distance between womens and mens gangs, is located
within subtle, explicit, and often contradictory discourses, in which gender
dierence is the sine qua non.
By describing the cultural praxis through which gendered dierence encodes labor organization, the stories of the eld have begun to esh out
the social meanings given to daily experiences by women who enact this
Discipline and Labor
and nervousness constrain our dialogue. Its limits are dened by the very
terms of separation that I seek to examine.
In one assistant managers bungalow, such constraint is not palpable.
Our ethnic, class, and upper-caste connections temporarily outweigh the
gendered divide, which among his senior colleagues translates into heavyhanded paternalism.This particular chota sahib, however, is unusual among
other Bengali planters, in his frank discussions about gendered distinctions
in the eld.
Naturalized assumptions about heterosexual norms underwrite the terms
of distinction. If women and men workers were not separated, sexual politics would naturally occur. The fact is that men will make passes at
women, Sujit Mitra says, and we wont be able to get any work done. Signicantly, the responsibility of disruptive sexual politics is placed on men
workers. Sexual agency, even when ascribed as a negative characteristic for
labor discipline, is a masculine imperative. This characterization of mens
proclivity toward sexualized indiscipline laces ascriptions of a general masculine unruliness. In a connected commentary about sexual politics, the
sahib remarks, the men are hooligans. They are more unruly than women.
I have dierent medicines for them. Women have a tendency to be docile,
and I have a dierent medicine for them.
Within one dominant narrative arc, heterosexual politics within the eld
is explicitly connected to a dangerous and entirely masculine agency. Disruption is initiated by men, and women react to, or are mere receptacles of,
male sexuality. Most signicantly, disruptive irting hints at a larger problem. This is an unruliness that can are into more serious political threat. It
seethes in dangerous contrast to the essential docility of women.Within
this reasoning, the sexual division of labor is necessary as frame of containment, a potential hooliganism nipped in the bud.
Signicantly, within the sexualized narratives of separation, women
workers are nonagents. Their own recognition and judgments of sexual
norms and behavior are not suggested in the analysis. The ascription of
docility reveals both ignorance of womens worlds as well as paternalist
assumptions about an intrinsic passivity. Yet assumptions about such passivity are also beset by contradictions. In response to a question about why
women are not selected as overseers, another assistant manager remarks,
Women workers have authority in the crche house. No woman sardars
existbecause of their lack of leadership qualities, lack of command, and
their dominating nature. Overall, they are lagging behind in concentration
and to some extent, they are self-oriented. And many of them lack personality, though they are cunning.
Discipline and Labor
Men are dangerous with a dierence; their hooliganism cannot be underestimated. Women, within this garbled but bluntly misogynistic commentary, are essentialized into another kind of threat. Womens cunning and
mental incapacity to supervise hint at an agency that not only relegates
them to the lowest strata of labor but also imputes a devious and dangerous
consciousness to them.
The separate eld suggests a feminized erotic in no simple way. There
is a hint of relative autonomy in the space, and place, below the overseers
gaze. Even if men are not present in the eld, the sexual politics of the village ripples into the realms of cultivation. One woman screams shrilly at
another, accusing her of having an aair with her husband. A st ght is
narrowly averted.
When asked about the demarcations between women and men, Menu
Mosi says, Oh, that is how it should be.There would be problems like when
we might need to relieve ourselves. It is just a matter of shame. It is better
this way. We are more open as well. The paradox of this ideology of the
gendered division of labor is thus set into place.While paternal assumptions
about mens sexuality and womens lack create the social terms of separation, it is that very reasoning that oers a space that is, within the duration
of a shift, a forced freedom from other kinds of demands that are made
once the day of labor is over.
Dierent Tempos
Even if one assistant manager underscores mens indiscipline as a potential
political threat, the daily disciplines of marad dols do not translate into increased surveillance or pressure. Mens gangs are assigned to areas furthest
from the oce, and many will cycle to and from work with umbrellas and
packed lunches strapped on the back of their bicycles.Two senior overseers
and four eld overseers supervise the men for the entire season. Morning
shifts begin later than womens, at : .., and the day ends at : ..
Lunch is eaten in the eld. The uid shifts of work are punctuated by the
weighment truck. In contrast to the surveillance of women during peak harvest, the supervision of men is muted. The lunch pause at : .. is not
broken by the overseers edgy call to quickly resume work. So relaxed is this
break that men bathe with water from the larger water truck parked nearby.
Overseers will eat their own lunches with the men.
The cadences of a working day, where men supervise men, contrast the
attention paid to womens work. Mens camaraderie cuts across the hierarchy, and a heightened surveillance only occurs when the senior managers
jeep comes into view.Though managers are explicitly wary about a masculine threat to labor disciplines, a masculine autonomy and ease is palpable in
mens plucking rotations.This autonomy contrasts womens laboring spaces
in two ways. Both the greater intensity of surveillance on womens plucking and the legitimation of mens supervision of, and over, women compel
women to enact a camaraderie that cuts across, above, below, the authority
of the overseer.
Because of eld assignments in areas furthest from the factory, mens dols
are diused into the landscape.Theydo not remain within the more immediate and visual arc of planter power. Spatial dispersions not only permeate
the dierential supervision of mens work; they also enable dierential mobility. For instance, cycling to work is clearly a mans prerogative, and he
can ask for a loan to buy a bicycle.The speed and mobility of a bicycle fundamentally alter the length of a working day. Because they can strap leaf on
their cycles, they use less physical exertion.When asked why women were
not encouraged to bicycle, both managers and sta were perplexed.
The social reasoning of appropriate gendered behavior was a given, its
logic naturalized. When I ask Bhagirathis dol about mens bicycles, they
agree that cycling would conserve energy, but the thought of their cycling
was a source of amusement. Once again, lajja (shame/shyness) codes socially acceptable behavior.
Men work in other eld tasks, such as digging ditches, cleaning drains,
and xing fences. They can work as assistants in the oce. Theirs is a lateral mobility, at the base of the hierarchy, which is not open to women.
Managers dene these tasks as too physically demanding for women, a
characterization belied by the similar work done by women in the hoeing
and clearing of tea bush aisles. The ascription of bodily strength is analogous to the gendered measures of pruning.Yet, in contrast to the latter, these
eld tasks are not open to women.
Another eld task limited to men, and which poses high health risks for
them, is the pesticide spraying of tea bushes. Monetary incentives for this
corrosive and dangerous work is the payment of a double daily wage for two
short shifts of work. Though covered shoes and masks are required by law,
most men wear open-toed rubber sandals and are bare-chested. Strapping
small plastic tanks on their back, they spray the bushes. Economic necessity
far outweighs explicit knowledge of bodily harm.
Lalchi (greed), the old overseer tells me, is destroying the land. When
I ran the plantation for the English sahibs, you could not dig too far. The
soil was hard and strong. Now it is loose and weak. The dawai (fertilizers/pesticides) that are put now make the bush stronger. But it not only
Discipline and Labor
weakens the tree, it destroys the soil.This way, the plantation will die. Men
will continue to die sooner in this work. Of course. But so will the bushes,
which means the plantation. And then we are nished. If the bushes do not
live, how will we?
Anjali, sitting with us as the old man speaks, nods in agreement. Later,
as we walk through the village, she tells me, Didi, we get sores in our feet.
This did not happen before. We use raw tea leaf juice as a medicine and
tie bandages from old cloth. This should not happen. Our bodies are being
eaten away.
The factory rests at both ends of the plantations productive logic. Its
siren clocks the morning shift, its large interior spaces receive the leaf for
its nal journey into commodication. In the old colonial factories, known
as teahouses, before the advent of machines of withering and rolling, tea
leaf manufacture was a labor-intensive and more bodied task. Accounts of
the careful attention of rolling and cooking leaf in the nimble hands of
the Chinaman 29 were made.
Indeed, in the absence of machines, dierent phases of tea manufacture
required intensive bodied attention, and the fetishisms of the hand spilled
into the teahouse. Sketches of the hand, and only the hand, underscored the
attentive intensity within which the leaf was manipulated: The left hand
grasping the leaves about to be rolled, resting in the little nger; the extended right hand with the ngers close together, except the thumb, which
is stretched out, ready to be placed on the leaves received from the left
hand. 30
This ornate and detailed description of the hand receiving the leaf, orientalized in its connection to the Chinamans nimble hands, underscores
the sense of human craft with which tea plucking was becoming invested.
Indeed, a sense of a lost art is explicit in the following nostalgic reference
to the premachinery era of tea manufacture: In these days, we do not pro-
duce these wonderful hand-sorted grades with their bloom on the leaf, or
those thick liquory malty teas, the result of the old tea makers art with a
hand-fed drying mat. 31
By the turn of the century, the advent of machinery had shifted this
earlier romance of hand-crafted manufacture into another gear. A bodied
aesthetic would be eclipsed by a new language of technical rationality that
would require disembodiment.The rationalities of manufacture now spoke
languages of eciency. Technology would script a new equation between
machine, labor power, capital cost. The body, operating the machine, becomes a mere sign in this new calculus of control.The relation between machine and human laboring, equated with cost and value, eclipses the earlier
fetishism of the hand rolling its leaf.
Gopal Fitter, as the chief mechanic is called, and his team have spent
the winter overhauling the factorys machines. The heart of the factory, the
generator, has been a particular focus.When leaf begins to pour in from the
rst ush, everything must be oiled into action. As women empty their
rst bundles of leaf in the second-oor drying trough, factory workers are
galvanized into action.
The leaf s journey of transformation into ne black powder begins in
these large withering troughs. Prior to the large electric fans, both women
and men workers used to spread the leaf on bamboo and wire mesh racks,
stacked four stories high. Even now, a few men crouched on either end of
the trough manually turn the leaf. From withering, the leaf is moved on a
conveyor belt through a funnel into the cut, tear, and curl () machine,
located in one large corner of the building. One overseer supervises eight
workers through the four phases of the .
In the largest interior space of the room, cut leaf is spread out in
neat rows by another group of men. Spreading the leaf quickens fermen-
tation, and the small curls of cut leaf turn into small shrivelled mounds.
Another overseer supervises this move from cutting to fermentation. The
large room within which this critical phase of manufacturing takes place
suggests light and space. Its cavernous interior contradicts the more typical
image of crowded assembly lines and the din of clanking machines. Both
this sense of space and the hum of machines eclipse the mens movement
on the oor.
The impression of light is dispelled in the second section of the factory,
where the drying, sorting, and packing of tea occurs. Large drying machines
are fed their necessary heat from a furnace stoked by hand. Men, stripped to
the waist, their skin burnished orange by the ame of the boilers shovel coal.
Through this ickering heat of the last drying machine, the leaf is transported on a labyrinth of conveyor belts into the last stages of sorting and
gradation. Six overseers regulate the temperature and weighing of the nal
product.Tea dust is swept to one area, while the good tea is funneled directly
into tea chests handmade in the factory. It is this tea dust, mixed with the
lowest grade of tea, that will be rationed to workers. Memsahib, someone
says in the factory, come to my house to have biskit and lal cha.
During February and March, early in the peak season, only two eighthour shifts run concurrently in the factory. The morning shift begins at
: .. and ends at : .., taken over by another group till : ..
When the harvest is full, more shifts are staggered into this double shift.
The clock is ever present, but the seasons of harvest dene the labor muster
and the number of shifts. When leaf is abundant, the factory operates for
twenty-four hours a day, with three concurrent shifts of work. Signicantly,
overseers organize shift durations and timings themselves. At the machine, four shifts range from six to two hours in length. As a result, factory
workers can stagger their eight-hour workday into multiple minishifts.
This seasonal exibility is noted in colonial ledgers: Working hours are
not bound by any hard and fast rules as the leaves cannot be sent to the
factory until they are well withered which depends solely on weather conditions. 32 Such exibility, particularly in the colonial period, contained its
own coercions. Alcohol, for instance, stretched the workday. One old overseer recollects, The sahibs would give us daru [liquor] to make us quiet
and drunk, so we would keep on working.We were given half a bottle each,
and there were no limits to hours worked. This extraction of labor power is
one of the many faces of the idealized masks of eciency demanded by the
colonial factory sahib. Note his rendering of ideal and ordered work: Three
gangs of youths rapidly lled trays with withered leaf and dead on the gong
beat ran with absolute military precision into the rolling room and lled
three rollers. 33 Yet the postcolonial factorys multiple shifts oer another
face to the marching precision of the long-gone, gong-beat-regulated steps
of men carrying baskets of leaf.
The overseers freedom to create malleable schedules suggests that factory organization marks a dierent disciplinary register from the eld. For
one, it is located within the immediate radius of administrative power, next
to the oces of the senior planter and his sta. The factory sta and the
senior manager can stride in at any point to check machines, the quality of
tea, and the work muster.Yet, in spite of this location in the very nerve center of planter power, surveillance of work is not as intensely palpable as it
is in the eld. Perhaps this is so because of that very proximity to power,
and continuous surveillance is not deemed necessary. Problems can be xed
with some immediacy. The overseers relative autonomy within this ambit
of powerand his mens ability to stagger shifts also suggest that factory work
does not entail the same patriarchal weight of the surveillance of women in
eldwork.
women sorted leaf by hand, though the advent of sorting machines led to
their displacement.The three women who do work within the factory compound are viewed with slight suspicion by eldworkers, who emphasize that
each woman has had strong and personal relationships with union men.
The innuendo is only a whisper.
Womens displacement from customary rural work, compelled by technological innovations, is an important and recurring story in rural India.35
The fact of displacement, however, must be framed within the cultural and
patriarchal logics that inscribe an essential lack of, or bodily ambivalence
about, womens capacities to work with machines.When asked why women
are not trained in factory work, one factory sta responded with seeming
transparency: Women do not have a natural bent towards machines like
men. And their presence may cause trouble in terms of other things, you
know, with men.
The implicit suggestion of sexual politics is kindred to commentaries
about the elds gendered divisions. The explanation of the gendered incapacity of women to work with machines is echoed by a senior factory
overseer: Look, memsahib, this is work of the mind. I am a sirdar because
you need some education for this work.Women dont have this, so there is
no point training them.
The factory thus encompasses a masculine space whose work rhythms
follow the clock and remain, simultaneously, dependent on the vicissitudes
of the season. Equations of eciencythe calculus of machines, men, and
timeand the numbing repetitions of an assembly line monitor the conceptual templates of its labor organization: its formulas of input, output,
and capital costs. Yet within its daily pragmatics, perhaps due to the seasons caprice, the tempos of work are surprisingly exible, and the planters
hukum (command) is ltered through a certain devolution of power.
Stories about tea plucking, and the fetishisms of womens bodies that
they underscore, oer a denition of production that is both corporeal
and romantic.That is to say, suggestions of a natural craft within the tamed
forest of the tea bush informs not only the folklores of consumption but permeates cultivationand hence productionin the most denitive ways.
Delicacy, nimbleness, and craft transform the product into a commodity of
worth: the aura of the natural female hands attention creates its values of
seduction.
Consider the contrasting description of the manufacturing process, a
turmoil [that] seems incompatible with the peaceful product whose grateful and refreshing qualities survive the rough usage that calls them forth. 36
Unlike cultivation, manufacture enacts a certain violence on the body of the
leaf, causing discoloration of the leaves by rupture of the small sap vessels
and cells 37 . . . Such colonial planter narratives about the manufacturing
process suggest that the cost of the noisy, though necessary, machine in tea
production is the unmasking of its own mythos of nimble romance. It is a
dissonance that jars the melodic allegories of a naturally feminine labor and
its seductive commerce.
Technologies of Power
Rodh rodh kamalo, pani pani kamalo.
Sardar baksheesh debe ki nahi?
Sardar handia debe ki nahi?
the sahibs oce, within the relative autonomy of the eld, and through
rhythms of exclusion within the villages.
The planter mai-baap belies the transgendered sense of that term and
exercises his authority upon labor disciplines as lord and patriarch. The
family of labor is, in this instance, most denitively, predicated on the
disciplining of women-into-work.The managers exercise of poweralso displays a coercive patriarchal edge.Though he may enact a judicious balance
in village arbitration, it is the coercive and punitive nature of his surveillance that is most vivid in the eld.While he may be the nodal point of such
power, his assistant managers share and legitimate the edge of disciplining.
If the senior planter nds a woman carrying twigs for her hearth, he will
shout and, depending on his mood, cut a day of her wages. For a woman
suddenly thus confronted, it the sahibs actual presence that compells both
fear and shame. Munnu speaks of one unlucky instance when, carrying a
dead tea bush, she encountered the burra sahib of Sarahs Hope: He was
suddenly there, didi. I was walking home in the evening, and he gave me
huge scolding. Shouting at the top of his voice, he told me, You should be
ashamed of yourself. After all, isnt this bush your bhagwan (god)? Dont
you have any shame? I was ashamed and scared. But because I worked at
Kolpara, he let me go.
The managers sudden appearance and his shouts become entangled with
the plantations dailydisciplines.Womens perceptions of the managers ultimate powerto re a worker, to cut wagesis measured in the quick reexive folding of an umbrella, the eyes suddenly downcast, an alert stillness
when the jeep is sighted. Indeed, their knowledge of the managerial imperative to punish informs all aspects of their work, even if it involves carrying
rewood home.
While women and men workers are aware of transgressions that can result in more serious punishment, there is also a sense of arbitrariness about
that exercise of managerial power. Shouting an admonishment at an individual woman is common, but whether that shout will be transformed to
charge-sheeting (where a worker can be expelled from a permanent job) is
not assured. Signicantly, to be reprimanded for individual misdemeanours
with shouting is an acceptable norm of punishment, but if punishment is
taken to the stage of a kamjam (work stop), retaliation can occur.
I am told by one group of women about a sister who was caught with
rewood: One day she was getting the small dead twigs from inside the
bush, which were dry, and the chota sahib caught her. . . . She refused to put
the wood away, telling him: You come to my house and tell me that I dont
need this; that I dont need to cook for my family. The woman involved
adds, The manager got very angry at my talking back like this and told the
overseers not to give me work the next day. I went as usual for work, but
when I was not allowed to work I headed to my union leader. He did not do
anything, so I got the gang and many other women to come to the oce.
We were shouting that we would cut this manager to pieces, with our jhurni
[knives], we will cut him. If they do not give us enough rewood, how dare
they stop a womans work, kick her in the stomach like this. The woman,
now supported by a loud collective of other women, had to be mollied by
the senior manager. Her daily wage was not cut.
It is relatively rare for an individual misdemeanor and its disciplining
to result in wider collective protest. Managers, however, are alert to what
they perceive as more collective, and conscious, acts of sabotage. Signicantly, mens acts of indiscipline are taken more seriously than womens.
Managerial perception of danger in collective acts of erosion of a hukum is
heightened when men are involved. Masculine agency, fed by hegemonic
assumptions of an essential unruliness, is viewed as threatening in ways that
a womans recalcitrance is not. In fact, the few written commentaries about
illegal incidents in the plantations Law and Order les were primarily
concerned with mens acts of sabotage.
Noted one diligent assistant managers capture of tree pinchers: I
made surprise checks through the garden and have found thirteen men cutting trees and branches. On Sunday, I went to the garden at .. and
tracked the laborers cutting trees. I took them to the oce and conscated
an axe they were using.They will be charge-sheeted on Monday. I have also
organized chowkidars to go with me at night through the garden . . . but
we have not caught any shade-tree pinchers yet. Managers suspect men of
organizing and enacting acts of sabotage, from stealing sections of irrigation pipes to setting re to the tea nursery and orchestrating an economy of
local tea-selling. Perhaps because women workers do not have easy access
to public markets and the black-market economies that are sustained there,
men become the rst suspects in cases of theft.
Though surveillance of men workers and any subsequent punitive action
present the coercive edge of planter power, it is within the daily cadences
of work that women experience the continuous threat of coercion.The violence of a raised voice, the substance of a threat, denes a managers reputation for fairness and balance. Threats of violence are absorbed with trenchant humor.
Take womens response to an assistant manager who kept them waiting
in the sun for two hours because they refused to leave their rewood: Look,
we all know he is a little crazy. So we laugh, and that gets him angrier. He
Discipline and Labor
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told us he would shoot us, put us in a gunny sack, and drown us in a river.
Angered at the transparency of the violence in the managers commentary,
I am puzzled by the womens response, which is both amused and tolerant.
When I express this unease, they shrug: Look, we all know his craziness,
so we dont take it so seriously.We must have some maya [compassion]. He
did not touch us, and he humiliated himself.
Tolerance of verbal insults is quite elastic, but bodily touching or shoving
can are into open confrontation.When the same crazy assistant manager
shoved a driver in the factory compound and broke a chair in his rage, a
crowd of both women and men demanded the senior managers intervention.Though reluctantly oered, the apology did come with an explanation
that not all ngers in one hand are the same.
The gendering of postcolonial feudalism in the plantation can be traced
through the strands of its coercive webs. Consent is both fragile and measured for the cadre of workers who enact the planters terms of rule. A senior
overseers authority is enhanced not only by his higher wages but also by the
planters trust and his ability to extract the necessary labor from women. An
ordinary eld overseer may be more willing to undercut regimes of work,
but even then, his authority over women is palpable.
Plantation patriarchies, manifested through labororganization and practice, are not only multiple and layered; they are inextricably linked to the
colonial and feudal politics that asserted the metaphorical and pragmatic
The eld whispers, but its laughter is earthy. Its talk happens below the
horizon of the gaze. It is still the managers attention and desire that cuts
across the plane of his surveillance. I am told of a gora sahib (white sahib)
who looked intensely at a beautiful woman.This I am told by a young man.
His great-grandfather, recognizing the planters attention and unable to halt
its logical progression ordered his daughter to return to their home village
in Orissa, where she would be tatooed in designs known as khodna. Such
patterns on the skin, read as scars by a desiring Englishman, would protect
the woman. What she may have thought of this shield of indigo is lost to
the wind.
Some women tell me that it is a matter of izzat to not meet the gaze of
senior sahibs. Fear, obeisance, and shame chart the path of a downcast gaze.
Speculation surrounds the intentions of a young bachelor assistant manager. He, the dol tells me with some amusement, has the eye. The intent
of his attention does shape the perception and contours of ordinary eld
surveillance.
The perception and eects of a sahibs attention is itself imbricated within
powerful and ubiquitous folklore about the positive and negative, even psychic, powers of the eye. If it watches with ill will, you must ward it o
with a talisman, a potent mantra. If your spirit opens to enlightenment or
you are otherwise gifted, a third eye may open. In the close knit and multigenerational lineages of the plantation villages, the interpretation of a gaze
can rupture kinship. This is a moral economy where all human relationships are calibrated, and a young assistant managers possible desire will be
thus read.38
Yet it is women who will hold themselves, and other women, responsible for less philosophically inected acts. Rumor and speculation feed the
story of a young woman and the same assistant manager. Its veracity is not
as signicant as its interpretation as a possible liaison. In Munnus kitchen,
a sheltered space for such talk of taboo, Mita Lohra ponders on the rumor
making its rounds. It is like this, didi, she says, as a woman you must
know your own place and your izzat.The sahibs are big people, like you are,
bara aadmi. Nothing will happen to him! We saw her with our own eyes,
wearing new clothes and lippy-shtick [lipstick] and swinging her hips looking at him. We have noticed this many times, and we have told her to be
careful. I have heard that one day after work, the sahib helped her put some
grass on her head. Maybe nothing has happened, but we all wonder.
A story of mild irtation is understood as a transgression on several
fronts. Not only is the class/caste order shaken (the sahib is a bara aadmi),
the codes of gendered honor are threatened. Signicantly, the woman is held
responsible for actions that are frowned upon publicly. A womans honor
knots into her sense of status and place and is linked intimately to sexual
propriety. Women consistently remarked that nothing really could happen
to an errant manager, but a womans reputation would be ruined.
Social transgression is dened then as a discourse that seeps into public
commentary and layers collective memory. Discourse can be understood
as material, linguistic, and symbolic acts as nebulous as a gaze. Though
mundane conversations in a kitchen cannot mark the facticity of one minor
incident, let alone speculate on the frequency of such transgressions, these
are interpretations fed by memories of a time when liaisons between planters and women workers, however fraught, were more open secrets. The
labor hierarchy thus contains within its own structures of separation the
conditions for a sexual politics as quotidian and (almost) indiscernible as the
mundane tempos of daily work.
Julekha Shaikh, who works in a nearby plantation, tells me that she had
noticed one managers focused gaze for days and was uncomfortable. She
told her gang, who veried that his attention on her was singular. A friendly
eld overseer casually mentioned to her that the manager had been asking
about her. Now acutely uneasy, Julekha decided to act. When she saw him
approach her area of work, she sat under under the level top of bush. As he
casually came closer, she sprang out in front of him screaming and ailing
her arms, as she puts it, like a mad woman. As I start to laugh at this image,
she too shakes with angry amusement: My friends thought I was crazy to
do this, but I was angry. Very angry. If no one will protect my izzat, who
will? He never bothered me again, he avoids the area I work.
The political economy of the eld is thus a sexual economy.The laboring
body is not neutral within the fall of a desiring gaze, the ambit of gendered
honor and its hip-swaying transgressions. Eyelids are downcast, the distance between women and sahib enacts the vast cleavages of power and
status. Yet the patriarchal command, unspoken and open to its many interpretations, winds tightly into the same bodily economy that bends and
resists its will.
These economies of desire and power create one layer of dierence and
marginalization within womens work experiences. The gendered experience of labor is not merely dierent: it textures and denes the bodily
margins of plantation power. Organizations of space and time demarcate
the subtle and explicit ways in which such marginalization is created. Cultural acts layer such subordination and aect, in the most immediate and
detrimental ways, the quality of a womans life.
Womens daily work ows through several shifts. The time needed for
Discipline and Labor
household chores, which extend back into the plantation and forests, adds
a considerable burden on their already depleted stocks of physical energy.
Because the reproductive work of pregnancy and childrearing is embedded within the daily experiences of productive labor, the ontology of
womens labor might be best understood as a ow, not in the connotations of abstract ease, but as a corporeal recognition of the integral nature of
its practice.39 Within the customary patriarchal norms of the villages, cutting through a range of communities, the responsibility of family work is
primarily womens, and the measure of her labor value encompasses both
her willingness to labor for wages and to shoulder the customary burden of
household chores.
Within wage labor itself, the consequence of the spatial and temporal
dierentials between women and men is a greater intensity and duration of
labor. The clearest advantage for daily-rated men eldworkers is that fact
that women are not transferred laterally to the more physically demanding tasks of ditch digging or pesticide spraying. A move vertically up the
chain of command, into the supervisor cadre is extremely rare.Wage calculations based on task and time components are particularly extractive when
contrasted to the entirely time-based calculus of factory wages. Incentives
in the factory are not task-based, and overtime is paid for extra hours that
are clocked. Wages for plucking, on the other hand, are predicated on a
minimum weight of leaf.
If a man works a factory shift for ten hours he is paid a haziri of .
rupees ( cents) and . rupees ( cents) per hour of overtime.40 Bhagirathi will receive her daily haziri of . rupees ( cents) only if she
plucks kilos of ticca.To earn the equivalent of two hours of factory overtime, she must pluck an additional kilos of leaf. Though it is dicult
to calculate with any precision the time it would take to pluck kilos,
women workers have to work at greater physical intensity to achieve parity
with factory counterparts. A -rupee dierence is still maintained between
daily-rated eldwork and factory work. In addition, till , wages of both
women and men pluckers were kept unequal: a symbolic extra rupee was
paid to men.41 [See appendix, tables A.]
Though men eldworkers earn their wages within the same regime as
women, their spatial and temporal deployment suggests some advantages:
their having bicycles tempers the physical eort of manually hauling leaf to
the weighment shed. The camaraderie between overseer and men workers,
like the heightened tension between overseer and women workers during
peak harvest, is also gendered. The lunches and rest pauses the men share
with overseers allows fora masculine bonding that cuts across the labor hier
Ritual/Labor
Consider the green print of rows and squares, the containment of a stunning logic drawn into the weft of the land. Here and there, in some stray
block of green, stand large branched trees with more than a hint of reaching encirclement. On the edge of another block, is a bamboo pole, a ag
commemorating a village ritual.
The trees and the ag gesture toward a cosmology that couples with, rests
alongside, and erodes the plantations emerald order. They signal paradox
and simultaneity.They oer subterranean tales as signicant as the will that
bends a body over a stunted tree. Labor disciplines also enact the rich culDiscipline and Labor
tural life of communities inextricably linked to a life of the soil, the rhythms
of the season.The bodily ontologies of labor are embedded in a ritual history
in which the actualities of material toil and cultural meaning are combined
to create historical praxis. These are ritual political economies which spin
other cosmologies of labor. Alienation and connection, corporeal claim and
loss, fetishisms and prayer all tell tales about the cultural processes through
which the eld is imagined, historicized, made fertile by its own cycles of
death and harvest.
The sacred chants underneath the long whine of a profane siren. Alterity
moves through the ineable.
Sacred Patronage
The bhagat (faith healer/doctor) ordered by the burra sahib to accompany
me on my rst tour of the eld, saws o the torn branch of a tree with a
healing claim. Clambering down and joining me at the fence, he shows me
the space where he conducts a gaon puja (village ritual). He becomes more
animated as he explains his role as a ritual master and organizer of the yearly
event. A donation from each family (the amount is agreed upon by the village council) is collected for the feasting that takes place aftera simple ritual.
Though these gaon pujas do not have set dates, they occur just before the
heavy onslaught of monsoon rains in June. The burra sahib will be asked to
donate some money, and if he is particularly benevolent, he may match the
funds raised. He will, however, rarely attend the festivities in person.When
asked why he contributes, one burra sahib, Rohan Aggarwal, replies, It is
mai-baap. They expect it and why not? It hardly costs me anything, and it
makes them feel that I am being respectful. They will think: yes, this sahib
is not so bad.
There is, within the eld itself, a small ritual which the planter must attend.The bhagat explains, If the manager is good then he may donate some
money for the gaon puja. But he must come to the new planting, when the
new tea trees are shifted from the nursery. He will break the earth and put
the sapling in. I will put a coin in the hole and he will give a sweet. Then
we will get some baksheesh. The symbolic and material exchange is coded
into a religious idiom and claim: Though the garden is ours, the sahib is
our guru.
In this small drama of ritual and patronage, a claim on the plantation is
made alongside a benevolent denition of the planter as guru. Ascriptions
of planter benevolence and workers claim on the land demonstrate how
rituals can be perceived within the currencies of legitimation for both the
planter and his overseer. A minor pause in the day, perhaps, but it remains
a recognition of harvest and the highly unequal but mutually understood
alliance between a village elder and his sahib.
At Kolpara, where Munnu works, her dol lays a similar claim on the maibaap. Plans for the ritual were made a few weeks before the rst day of
plucking. Fifty rupees were collected, and a box of sweets and several garlands of marigolds bought. The women asked their overseer to notify the
senior manager to visit their area, and the manager duly arrived in his jeep.
The dol asked the overseer and sahib to stand next to their cycles and jeep.
After garlanding the tea bush, lighting incense, and arranging a small plate
of sweets, the women garland the manager, his jeep, the overseer, and the
overseers cycle. Amidst considerable, and demanding laughter, the planter
presented one hundred rupees to the dol.
Humor and parody are the expressive styles of this small theater of patronage. Munnus dol enacts a basic and customary understanding among
numerous plantation communities that soil, rocks, and plants possess a life
force, a diusion of divinities.Though garlanding a jeep and cycle might be
a laughing matter, garlanding the tea bush might also involve deeper cosmological meanings. Signicantly, the expectation of a bonus underscores
the ritual economy of the event. Summing up the rituals success, Munnu
remarks, We asked this sahib specically, because he is not stingy.We knew
that. For rupees, we got rupees back. Not much of a loss, and we got
some rest.
At Sarahs Hope itself, in contrast, these rituals of the eld are rare. Kolpara, Munnus natal plantation, which was never an agency-house British
garden, is owned by a Bengali planting family. Its tolerance for ritual interruptions is a result of a historical recognition of indigenous traditions. A
planter who has worked in both British-style and smaller Bengali-owned
plantations contrasted these traditions explicitly: Look, the British did not
humor pujas and what-not in the eld, though they would have contributed to a gaon puja. But in Bengali gardens, I have noticed that there are
traditions which we, incoming managers, are expected to maintain. The
habitus of patronage is thus distinguished by the indigenous, more native
recognitions of shared cosmologies.
Though village rituals among the tea bushes are absent at Sarahs Hope,
there is a wide arc of new plantation that is cleaved by the Umesh Kholla
(where the rock associated with the god Siva is located) and bounded on
its eastern border by the Christian cemetery. On one of these edges of the
plantation eld sits a peepul tree, held sacred by various communities who
live close to it. An elderly Nepali overseer, supervising the new planting,
Discipline and Labor
tells me an old folktale. Vishnu, he says, rests within the broad leaves
of the peepul tree. No-one knows where the seed of the trees come from.
Perhaps brought by the wind, or on the wings of a bird. My grandfather
used to say that the seed of the tree we are looking at fell rst into a ring
of thornbush and from within this protection, it grew and grew. And you
see, memsahib, no one can uproot this tree because those roots are like a
womans hair. It has spread far into the earth. Even we, all the way here, are
standing on its roots.
Though theVishnu aspect of the trees sanctity is more familiar in a Hindu
cosmology, the Oraon do share the Nepali overseers recognition of its ineffable power.Their gaon puja is held at its base. Asserting an almost agentive
divinity through the sacred reach of its subterranean roots, the tree secretly
reclaims the territory about to be cultivated by the disciplines of another
cosmology of power.
Though planters who are asked about these stories dismiss them as mere
superstition, at least one has had to contend with its xity: a senior manager, planning the new extension, who asserted that the tree should be removed. I am told by Munnu, whose in-laws live in the old line near the
tree, that the sahib was aware of the trees ritual importance. He circulated
a story that some spirits had come to him in a dream and instructed him to
uproot it. Much to the consternation of the village, he arrived with a bulldozer and tractor. Because of the strength and reach of the trees roots, this
eort to dislocate it was a failure. Though the two-decade-old story could
not be corroborated with the planter in question, its sharp recollection and
its retelling imply important symbolic contests. Like other stagings of innitesimal rupture, the sahibs loss of face served to strengthen the social
faith of the communities who held the tree potently sacred. In so doing, the
planters public failure spun out another small thread of history and alterity
within the natural and human claims on the landscape.
Sacred Bodies
The cosmologies of the peepul tree and a shared recognition of a rocks
divinity, animate a basic belief that certain spaces and entities are imbued
with the extraordinary, coupling the sacred and the quotidian, expressing
through the ordinary moment a daily divinity. Within such a metaphysics
of encompassment, the tea bush occupies a singular space.
As the focal point of disciplined labor, the planters command imputes
layers of value that construct the tea bush into a fetish: the purity of its
gift of ora and the pristine quality of leaf create the millenial romance and
discipline of tea plucking. Analogies of the idealized and natural craft of cultivation are made through the essential link between womens ngers and
the tea leaf.The latter is the primal site of value. Fingers actualize that value
through nimble worship. The hegemonic and ritual stories of the tea bush
and its leaf rest alongside other narratives of claim. Women and men who
work the leaf and plant the saplings, create anothereven competing
layer of cultural meaning around the bush.
Bush gestation and regeneration, enabled by the cycles of seasonal labor,
present the rst suggestions of a primal, embodied and analogical claim.
Babulal, an overseer of sapling planting notes, The tea plant is in the nursery for nine months and then is ready for planting. If the new plant is left in
the soil for more than nine months, it will not survive. Like a woman may
not survive. It is dicult for a woman if the child is within her too long.This
is why we give our maya [compassion] to the bushes.We must take care of
them from the beginning.
Pancultural and common metaphors of planting leading to birth and of
a pregnant earth nurturing the plant to young growth dene the overseers
own idealized philosophy of work. Aective nurturing through compassion is the idealized claim and method of his own laboring sensibility.When
shade baskets are placed around the saplings to protect them from a harsh
sun, the anthropomorphic claim is total: Through this kind of protection,
we care for the trees, as though they are our children.
The old senior overseer who criticized the use of pesticides evaluates
the planters knowledge and wisdom regarding tea bush longevity. He laments the use of pesticide on the tea bush by drawing an analogy to the
human body: It is as if you rub a mans body with kerosene daily. You will
get bad results. When you care for your baby, you are careful to see that
the water does not get into her ears. Everything now is about greed. Keep
planting more and more. This gardens sorrow is great. The urea in the soil
makes our feet raw. Before, the roots were strong and spread wide.You could
take cuttings to make new plants, but these bushes will not last. They are
too weak.
For this overseer, the weakening of the bush is a direct result of greed,
lalchi. Greed creates a sorrow that spreads through the entire garden. Cosmologies of aective connection that once informed the human acts of the
natural worldthe tending of a tea bushare eroded by a physical corrosion that speaks to moral and bodied depletion. Indeed, this juxtaposition of nurturance with greed suggests a moral universe of work that, for
the old man, is being challenged by amoral economy, which threatens the
plantations longevity. This sense of longevity and regeneration is linked to
Discipline and Labor
community survival. In the middle of plucking, Bhagirathi oers a historical claim: This is our garden.When the sahib goes after six or seven years
to another garden, it is we who will remain here. This is why sewa [service]
to the tea bush is so important. If we dont do this, one day, we wont eat.
Tea bush sewa, a term that connotes service as duty, asserts the communitys dependence on the trees survival. Basic economic survival through
careful labor writes the syntax of survival. Women will also comment that
the companys greed for more leaf can, and does, damage the bush. Pressure to pick fast can lead to jungli (wild) plucking. Thus, some women and
men perceive in these new commands a threat to both social and botanic
health. Regeneration and a bountiful and balanced harvest are necessary
for social and economic survival. Yet work disciplines coded into sewa and
nurturance present a construction of laboring personhood that remains inextricably connected to the community and its landscapes of regeneration.
Planters also deploy metaphors of botanic corporeality through which
they construct value and fetishize the tea bush. One planter explains how he
orders pruning: I tell them this. If you love a tree, it will love you. I look
at the tea bush the way a mother will look at a baby. Like a baby getting
hungry, so does the tree. Remember the Hindi and Bengali word for tea
cha. Think of chawa, in Bengali, which means to want. I also tell the labor
that the bush is like a baby cow, it wants milk, nurturing. . . . As from a cow
you raise and feed well, you will get milk.
This sense of holistic demand for nurturing labor is anticipated by a colonial predecessor, albeit with a more evolutionary emphasis: It would be
well to bear in mind more frequently than is done, that the nal end of the
tea bushs existence is not merely the production of leaves to be converted
into black tea, but like every other living thing, the development of the
individual for the cultivation of the species. 43
The postcolonial planters use of corporeal analogiesthe bush as baby
to be nurturedposits a shared script, but it also emphasizes the way in
which the tea bush is constructed as the fragile centerpoint of all labor. If a
worker draws an analogy to gestative vulnerability, then by invoking the infant metaphor, the sahib underscores an essential fragility. This suggestion
of infant fragility serves to justify disciplining workers when they are perceived as damaging the bush. Such fragility, made corporeal, lends itself
to a fetishism that cannot be unhooked from managerial disciplines. The
tea bush is constituted as an embodied and larger-than-life symbol of the
plantations raison dtre.
Within this construction of fragile centrality rests the coercive edge of
the hukum. The overseer who props his foot on a bush is made to genu
ect three times; a woman collecting twigs for rewood from beneath a
bush may lose a weeks wages. Coercion is articulated through metaphors
of the sacred.When Munnu is admonished for carrying a dead tea bush from
Kolpara, the sahib shouts, You should be ashamed of yourself. Isnt the
bush your god? Yet his disciplining can be juxtaposed to her pivotal role in
organizing the ritual of planting in the eld: the garlanding of bush, sahib,
and jeep. This ritual of humorous subversion suggests that subversions and
disciplines share a language that is Janus-faced and porous.
The rituals of the bodied landscape layer various fetishisms into the daily
habitus of labor.The sacred is also the productive, and patronage must enter
worship and the cycles of watched nurturance. The imperatives of labor
disciplines are understood within a moral economy in which aective connection presents a judgment against the hukums own cosmology of ordered
prot.Claims of laboring connection rest alongside the alienations of work.
Analogy, metaphors, and allusion are literary and discursive tools that
are carefully deployed by sahibs, overseers, and ordinary women and men
workers. While they do oer alternative and even competing cosmologies
of labor, they cannot be conated. A tea bush is not a human body, though
laborconnects the body to it.The bodyand its labor is dependent on the fruit,
which is made possible by acts and meanings of that very labor. Ontologies
of connection made through the richness of symbolic language cannot collapse the distinctions of human and natural worlds in these commentaries
of discipline and consent. Rather, they oer critical and compelling suggestions about the experiences of both connection and disconnection, consent
and resistance.
Sacrice
Alienation, as a condition that fractures work and its fruit from the integral
connections of community and selfhood, ickers most palpably in the machined spaces of the factory.Gendered divisions and womens ambivalences
chart the cultural topography of manufacture. In contrast to some cosmologies of connection within the eld, the relationship between men and machines resonates with a negative ambivalence. It suggests a possible tearing
of the connective tissue between personhood, community, and work.
Machines claim blood. The boilers furnace is a ery pit for the unwary.
Machines can be possessed by capricious spirits who hiss stories of necessary sacrice. These are colonial and gendered tales because they say that
machines demand the bodies of virgins.This sexualized history of alienation
is itself connected to a wider universe of belief in which human sacrice is
Discipline and Labor
anointed. Even the burra sahibs sons small cycle has been brought from
the bungalow. When asked why every single machine had to be anointed,
Jaman Singh is clear: These machines have souls and spirits, and when we
show them izzat in the way we are showing them, then accidents will not
occur. His companions all concurred, invoking the tragedy of the six-yearold decapitation as one instance where the puja was not performed.
The folklore of sacrices and the belief that machines require blood to
function oer the most vivid commentary on certain kinds of labor alienation. In contrast to the cultivating eld, where traditional cosmologies can
recapture the plantations spatial regimes within terms of cultural meaning
and connection, machines signify a most dangerous loss of human control:
literally alien technological gods, who demand their womens bodies and
lifeblood.
Embodied Alienations
Pregnancy also makes the body soft.The analogy of conditions of laboring to being pregnant implies a profound connection of labor to its bodily
origin.The philosophy of introversion, blood to water, is the same. Munnu,
stroking her swell of stomach, explains: Because I have this child inside
me, I have more water in my blood. It makes me soft. This is why I cannot
sweat and bend so much. Bodily softness weakens the body in work labor.
It is not clear if pregnancys softness is also a condition of weakness, though
the connotations of introversion as weakness are strikingly analogous.
In a similar vein, breastfeeding a child is like satisfying the tea bushs demands. My daughter, says Anjali, drank milk for four years. This is our
custom, but it is also why we are so thin. Half of my body goes to the child,
and half of my body goes to the work of the garden. My milk is also my
blood, and that is taken by my child. The tea bush takes the rest. 45
Strength, in blood, is siphoned from the body through the simultaneity
of many labors: plucking, sickling, gestating, suckling. The body demands
integral narratives.
Kasht (suering) and khatni (labor) are words commonly used to describe
the immediacy of alienation. Work, I am told, is a matter of kasht. If
it was not so, how could it be work? Yet, even when women are explicit
about their kasht, they will emphasize their pride in having a job. Munnu
asserts this frequently: I never absent myself from work, even in the last
months of pregnancy I will work till I absolutely cannot. All my friends tell
me that I am nishing my life this way. But what is my life without work?
What will happen to me if I dont work? Touch my arm, feel how hard it is.
Like a piece of wood. I wont break so easily.
The conditions of alienation are situated also in paradox: what takes also
gives. Fetishism is contested. For women, wage labor is both burden and
possibility. Their own consciousness of its termsthrough parody, confrontation, and trenchant commentariescreates a spindle, a top: woundup, spinning alterities.
It is August , ve days before Indian Independence Day. The women
are assigned to the tukra bagan (piece garden) directly in front of the bungalow. They are relaxed because there isnt much leaf, and some lean against
the bushes chatting. Moniki Mosi keeps plucking, and her kinswoman mock
her playfully. Hey, why are you plucking? There wont be doubly [incentive
pay]. Dont be foolish.
Someone chuckles, Oh, you people dont understand. Moniki is giving
her body to the company. Her body for the companys benet.
Another shouts, No, no. She is working for the countrys freedom.
,
The lights come on slowly, shadowing the stage. A spotlight focuses on the Narrator sitting o center stage. From stage left, the four Women emerge from behind
the gau backdrop behind the eld. They are clapping lightly. They gesture to
the Narrator, as if giving her permission to speak. She smiles, lifts her shoulders
wryly, and gestures back to them. They bend their torsos, they lift their hands,
they keep clapping and shuing their feet. They repeat over and over again in
Sadri, the following song.
: (in chorus, singing as they dance) O Mother, you gave me birth /
Digging your nails into the earth. / You brought me up by feeding me /
On morsels of rice. / O my poor mother! / You lost me for one lota [pot]
of water. / You had kept with care the leaves of saal. / Now you throw
them away. / You have thrown away all your leaves.
They repeat the chorus twice. The lights fade out into complete darkness as they
shue out, stage left.
her village from a dangerous forest constitutes the secret knowledges that
are shared between women. These are the seemingly invisible histories of
bodies shamed into registers of public silence. When I ask other women
about redress through the formal judicial system, Balki Mahato remarks
with some cynicism, The courts are far, and who trusts the police anyway?
The womans izzat is already torn. What has happened has happened. She
copes with it.
Then, hesitantly, I am told about an event that occurred a few years
ago, involving one of the few men who had assisted me with eldwork. On
two separate occasions, he had allegedly assaulted young girls from the village. Both incidents were publicized and reported to the senior manager.
Though he was not red from his job, the villagers took justice into their
own hands: he was whipped publicly. However, this act of public shaming did not prevent him from attacking again. I recognize, with both anger
and sadness, the ironies of this research process and its telling craft. The
gendered specicities of ethnographic production are implicated through
paradox, gouged within the moral economies of power, which it seeks to
texture and nuance.
The cultural matrix, within which a particular event of violence is publicly recognized as a rupture of the social skin, is constituted through an
intricate codication of gender, class, and ethnic inequalities within the
plantations villages. Acts of violence aimed at women constitute one of the
more vivid strands within cultures of power and subordination. The lack
of a public discourse about a lone attack in the jungle presents a striking
contrast to a communitys own brand of public justice against the alleged
sexual assault of two girls within the village. It is a contrast that gestures
toward contradiction.
Social silence is juxtaposed to a public shaming, where justice is underscored by the fact that the alleged perpetrator keeps his high-status job as a
watchman and roams freely in the village. Adjudication within the formal
judicial system, through the manager and then the courts, is a marginal
business. Elision thus draws the coercive parameters of patronage.
The political cultures of the plantations villages creates a layered and
plural moral economy. The terms of cultural dierence, inextricably connected to rituals of hierarchyand separation, invest these cultural economies
with a particular feudal force. Indeed, the ideologies of patronage, enacted
through the hukum (order) and the outwardly benevolent reach of the maibaap, are recrafted within the cultures of village authority and power.
Adjudication of alleged assaults, arbitration of marriage conicts, or deliberations about a job allocation are in the purview of village and union
leaders, who head their own councils. These councils or panchayats work
their customary jurisprudence in the shadow of the wider system of planter
patronage. Political power in the villages, legitimated within the terms of
the mai-baap, stages itself through a theater of mimesis and customary autonomy. Patronage in the village is charted through caste and ethnic dierence, and masculine authority is a given.
This is a moral economy located in dialectical, creative, but concrete
choreographies of power.1 Cultural practices such as marriage, ritual, and
adjudication are only some manifestations of concrete acts that construct
community history and politics.Women and men dene and make community through a cultural praxis in which contest, negotiation, rupture, and
solidarity are the grammar of collective politics. Gender, class, caste, and
ethnicity are the analytic categories embedded within the actual practices
of hierarchy, dierence, and power.
Three vectors of analysis are realized in this examination of village
politics: gender positionings, caste and class separations, and the politics of ritual. Within the narrative, these vectors can be viewed as threedimensional planes, angled and meshed together through dialectical linkages. Indeed, working-class cultures cannot be reduced to static mappings
of labor.The politics of dierence interpellates through work into the realms
of the household, the secrets of violence, the murmur of rituals.
Processing Method
The winter break has passed, and with the call to harvest, the tempos of the
village have shifted imperceptibly.There is no longer time for the long walk
to Bhutan. Anjali and I walk through quiet villages or visit women in the
eld. The methodology I am developing through the process of research
is dependent on the contingencies of labor and the habitus of political isolation. These are communities who are not used to strangers trying to get
information about their families, households, wages, and work conditions.
As a consequence, the research method follows a many-branched path.
Its contours are shaped by political constraint.Oce ledgers, daily registers
of the workforce, and wage accounts are left for me in the oce. Eorts at
a more detailed survey of household composition are not successful.When
Anjali and I approach a home not directly known to her, its residents disappear or dont respond.
Since I am eager to mark the boundaries of community in the diverse
cluster of villages and learn about the histories of territory and space on a
larger scale, these silences are frustrating for me. I recognize with clarity
Village Politics
The spotlight falls on stage right, where the Narrator sits at her original seat, her
chair at the table with its mirror, its bric--brac of quill, india ink, and porcelain.
Her head is cowled; she moves the objects restlessly with her hands. Turning to
look at the silent and still tableau of Alices Mad Tea Party, she motions Alice
to come over. The spotlight moves with her beckoning gesture. Alice yawns and
walks over. She sits on the wicker stool that the Narrator has carried around the
arc of the stage. Her eyebrows are raised, questioning.
: Ah, Alice, now I understand your tantrums. I have been magnied,
telescoped, placed inside kaleidoscopes. I think now that this walk from
your mad tea party, to the sitting room, to the eld, is kindred to your
looking-glass journeys; those falling, shrinking, sleeping, bloating journeys of yours. (Pause) But history is a spiral, I thinkstrange parabolas
that loop around to come back again and again to not-quite-but-yet-theVillage Politics
beginning.Where is the angel who dances on these arcs, these half coils?
Tell me, Alice, you traveler through the looking-glass . . . tell me, what
is it that I seek?
: ( yawning) I have watched you silently. Your movement from space
to space, place to place.Where is time in all this, all this time for tea? It
is not endless, I know, I know. But your search for an angel on the coil,
on its arc, from this spot to the next, is futile. Or maybe just elliptical.
Dot. Dot. Dot. Why not jump from dot to dot? Why not take the quill
and map its curves? Designs might be revealed.
: But I am tired of maps, Alice. I prefer ether. Perhaps I search too hard
for some secret signs.
The Narrators ngers move restlessly over her objects. Alice picks up the false
nails and starts applying them. Her expression is sympathetic.The Narrator rubs
her forehead tiredly. The lights fade.
S and consider for a moment the
shadows that lie behind the imposing edice of the bungalows and thewhitewashed perimeters of the factoryoce. In the dusk, the two-roomed cement
houses, and those made of thatch and mud, alert you to other home places.
These are the Labor Lines that, through one level of nomenclature, chart
the territorial spans of plantation power.The Factory Line fans out directly
behind the perimeter of factory and oce; the Labor Lines are further away.
The label labor lines is used most commonly by planters and sta. Its
classication suggests a homogeneity that is contradicted by the immense
diversity of the boundaries drawn within it. Indeed, those who live here will
assert that they live in a village or gaon. Because the village/line is also categorized by ethnicized and caste subgroupings, this appellation is necessarily
twinned. For example, the Hospital Line includes a distinctive subvillage
called the Missionya or Girja (Mission or Church) Line, which is distinctively marked by its freshly painted blue gate posts and small church.While
other non-Christian families live inside the wider compass of the Hospital Line, the decorative boundaries of the Christian subvillage within it is
conspicuous.
The Factory Line, which extends beyond the Bungalow Line, likewise
embraces numerous communities. It fans out around a prominent gathering
place lying just behind the back gate of the factory: a laborcanteen (managed
by a prominent union leader), a small temple, a workers club, and a small
two-roomed primary school together create an important meeting place for
a large number of communities. Once a week, the haat (plantation market)
transforms what I have called the Canteen Field into a space of concentrated
and informal economic exchange: vegetable and fruit vendors, women selling kerosene oil from large tin cans, and shopkeepers selling sweets, occupy
the markets lively three hours of buying, selling, and busy sociality.
Village Politics
here. A palpable sense of shared history, through journeys from the Chotanagpur Plateau, has created bonds of solidarity over generations. Family
groups were brought from the same homevillages, and the memories of such
shared territories are vivid. Chonas, a prominent member of the Mission
Line, remarks: You see, memsahib, when you rst came, you settled around
your sirdar (recruiter) and clan. All of us who are missionya [Christian] came
from specic places.Those in Tin Line came from Berwe in Madhya Pradesh
and we [in the Church Line] came with Simon Sirdar, who is Petrass father
[Petras is a union leader]. Though they are Catholic and we are Germaniya
(German-Lutheran), what of it? In the old country, we shared walls. As we
do now.We are one samaj [society].
Many sections of the lines were named after principal sirdars, and some
lines continue to be remembered by those old names. One interesting example of historical shifts in residential naming is indexed in the Mission
Line itself. Previously called Simon Line, it changed its name to the Mission
Line at the prompting of a senior planter in the late s, who suggested
to the communitys elders that they should call the line after their religion.
This was the same planter who, in a masterful strategy of religious divide
and rule, also argued that Christian workers should not dance in the yearly
dance festivals because they were Hindu rituals.The absence of the large
Christian community in these customary dance festivals did lead to their
decline as important performances of pancommunity solidarity.
Historical claims are made through the memories of ritual. Time, inscribed within geographic space, becomes a sacred referent for the other
histories of power. Birsa Bhagat, an Oraon faith-healer, recalls the stories
of entire villages that moved during the time of the angrezi sahibs [English
sahibs] because of the obha, a dreaded wind of misfortune: It used to be
believed in those old days, when our people were new here, that misfortune
would come from any place, like the obha that carries in its path the stench
of death.Then, even the sahibs could not stop us, we would do a prayer and
then move our bamboo huts to another place.
Another fragment of history frames a territorial claim. A Santhal elder
recalled a legendary ancestor whose reputation of both toughness and prophetic acumen was respected by the English planter. In one story, the ancestor was approached by the planter about a piece of land to be used as a
site for sta homes: When the land around the bashas [sta cottages] was
going to be cleared for the babus [sta ], one sahib came to my grandfather
to ask if land was good. It was all jungle then, as far as you could see. My
grandfather agreed to conduct some prayers. He was like a bhagat, you see.
He took a black chicken to the eld in front of the sta home and told the
Village Politics
sahibs that if the animals didnt eat it overnight, the land was ritually clean.
The chicken was not eaten, and the sahibs did what they had to do.
Through its ritual inscriptions on the otherwise sacrosanct territory of
planter power, the story of the Santhal oracle (and its retelling) claims history. In so doing, it hints at subterranean ssures that underlie the cultivated
maps of the emerald eld.
Contesting Communities
,
Spotlights focus on the Narrator, sitting stage right. Her cowl is thrown back.
She opens a drawer in the table she is sitting at. She takes out a book and opens
it. She looks at you directly. A faint but steady drumming can be heard in the
background. She reads slowly from the book, as if reciting a poem.
: Like the famous line from the Arabian Nightspuriya ke andar puriya, uske andar puriyain the matter of caste and community, too, there
are stories within stories. Dig for the earthworm and, unwittingly, youll
unearth a dinosaur. 2
they are embedded in the global histories through which they are dialectically enabled. The regional politics of West Bengal, the international borders of other nation-states, and the production of a commodity traded on
a worldwide scale, splinters the analytic boundaries of the local and the
community. In framing this part of the narrative within the ambit of the
local and the specic, I oer a perspective that moves outward, gesturing
always to the dialectics of its making.
A Categorical Politics
Two anthropological categories, tribes and castes, emerged as a set of
organizing labels within which colonial rulers catalogued and administered
workers cultures. Earlier, I argued that classications in district handbooks
and censuses constructed a taxonomy through which particular communities came to be inextricably connected to customary work. A telos of labor
underwrote the system of classication. Among the important reasons that
tribes were placed within the ambit of primitivism was because their
customary workswidden or shifting cultivationwas viewed as primitive. Agricultural castes were favorably contrasted to this primitive
movement because they were settled. Though this work-communityclassication presents one strand in the cosmology of the caste: tribe (civilizedprimitive) binary, it is salient for an examination of a cultural politics where
communities were recruited, and administered, for the primary purpose
of labor.4
Local and indigenous categories entered the administrative parlance of
district handbooks and planter reports. Communities indexed as tribal
(such as the Oraon, Munda, and Gond) were also called madesia, people
from the middle country, or Chotanagpur. Madesia were contrasted to
Nepali immigrants, the paharia, people from the hills. While the madesiapaharia dichotomy is not expressed frequently in the postcolonial plantation, it indexes a major ethnicized division. Nepalis will distinguish themselves from adivasis, a subcontinental indigenous category that denotes an
autochthonous and often outcaste status. It is a term that has replaced the
older rubric of madesia. The term adivasi is deployed by various second- and
third-generation communities from the Chotanagpur to distinguish themselves from other groups, specically, Bengali, Punjabi, and Nepali elites.
For this reason, and despite its own homogenizing eects, I deploy it in the
narrative.
Another broad and self-referential category opens up conceptual space
for understanding community within vernacular mediations. In numerous
Village Politics
reservation. The lines of contradiction between status and class are thus
drawn. The two other women, who have listened to the hierarchy mapped
around them, smile and nod. There is some irony in their quiet assent.
Later I ask Anjali, my constant companion, about the sadan/adivasi distinction. She appears uneasy, curiously puzzled. All this upar-neech jat is
not good. In the garden, we are from many jats and we are all poor. So
I dont understand it. Perhaps the ingrained codes of subordination creates the general, and evasive, terms of her comment to me. Perhaps it is the
boldness of the more advantaged who can choose to articulate the terms of
power and distinction.
Anjali and Bhagirathi, who claim their jat identities as Bajania and Kumhar respectively, are rm friends. Inscriptions of superiority and inferiority in these dierent positionings are spoken about carefully. Friendship
and supportduring illness, economic hardship, or a dicult childbirth
are constantly emphasized during any discussion about jat dierences. The
quotidian and interdependent terms of these relationships are signicant.
Didi, Anjali notes, yes, there are all of these things. Which jat is better
than the other, who wont eat with who. It happens between us also. I have
friends who dont eat with me in certain places, but in the bagan (garden/eld), we all have to drink the same water. If I dont have any rice
for two days and cant feed my children, Munnu will bring me some. Or
Bhagirathi will. This is how we help each other. We are poor, didi, this is
our life.
The moral economies of the village thus contain the conscious silences
through which solidarities created by a common gender/class experience
of impoverishment can be maintained. Calibrations of kinship are nely
gauged and fragile. The kinship of gender and labor travels across the lines
of jat. It is a solidarity that cannot be betrayed, even in casual conversation.
Anjalis own family and jat history is pieced together slowly. She tells me
she will have to ask her father and try to remember some stories. People
think we are a lower jat. . . . My title [equivalent to last name] is Mirdha,
and we came from Dumka, and there people speak a language which is like
Bhojpuri. In Balurhat we are all called Bangali [Bengali] and Turi, and our
title there is Singh. We are bajania [musicians] . . . we play the dol [drum]
for marriages . . . like when a higher jat like the Ghatwar [shermen/wharf
keepers] have a marriage, they will pay us to play the drum, give us food,
but we will cook this food on a dierent stove.We are a very small society
here, but we are not such an inferior jat as some people in the village think.
I dont know if it is true, but someone from here, we think it was a Santhal,
spread a rumor that he had gone to the home country and seen that our jat
did the work of doms [cleaners of carrion]. That we were covering up who
we were. This is just not true, we are bajania, not doms, but whether or not
it is true, some people treat us like a small jat. . . . Arrrreee, in the end, I
dont know why all this pollution stu is still so important.
Though Anjalis community is small, her story about its history of identity presents the multiple and contested nature of jat ascriptions. In this instance, lower-caste Bengaliness is connected to a distinctly North Indian
title, Singh, and the ascription of outcasteness (dom) permeates others
perceptions of community status. Anjalis father, for example, claims a certain Bengaliness by conducting a Kali puja (one of the most important Bengali Hindu rituals) as his households annual house ritual.
Anjalis presentation of this blurred history suggests a possible archetype
for the negotiations of community identity and status. Jat selfhood is understood as being in ux, multiply ascribed, and always relational.The story of
jat demotion (not accepted by the community but registered by others) also
suggests the process by which customary and ascribed status distinctions
are transformed through labor migration. Downward shifts in status, particularly if a jat is numerically small, can be hastened by something as subtle
as a rumor. A jat is made and unmade through the subtle registers of time,
perception, and demography.The ambivalence of process and the tracks of
bodied movement constitutes the history of the out/caste. The fact that
a Santhal catalyzed this interpretation of a demotion of jat status begs further scrutiny. Why a Santhal? What deeper histories of conict might lie
between these communities elsewhere in Bengal? Is this another form of
internal othering? What might a Santhal woman say? The questions remain
unanswered.
Munnu, who is Oraon, asserts her kinship across jat, but speaks openly
about issues of status. We are a lower jat, she notes, but there are many
of us here.The Purana [Old] Line is almost completely Oraon.We also have
many rules about mixing with bhinjat [noncommunity]. But things have
loosened up. That early winter, when I meet Munnu for the rst time, I
learn quickly about the syncretic ux of community life. In the small and
dusty courtyard of her home, she and her husband sit quietly in the center of a noisy house ritual, following the instructions of the bahman [brahmin priest]. Her husband, wearing white, lightweight cloth, is silhouetted
against the smoke of the small re made temporarily sacred. There is a full
moon when I walk back to the bungalow. Munnu darts toward me, her eyes
shy. Grabbing my hands, she asks me to visit again.
Because I knew Munnu was Oraon, I expected a ritual closer to the old
cosmologies of the Chotanagpur: a sacred grove, theworship of a tree, some
Village Politics
a superior distance is made explicit. Look, says a Nepali woman who lives
close to my bungalow, we are Hindus. We are a big jat. Our chal [movement/customs] is dierent from these adivasis. It is just like that.
Because Anjali, Bhagirathi, and Munnu are the primary triage of my connections in the village, my conversations with Nepali women are not frequent or sustained. Though I accompany Munnu to her natal village, and
am invited by her Nepali friends to various cultural activities, our conversations are not consistent. Only toward the end of my rst sojourn here, upon
which much of these narratives are based, do I meet a Nepali woman, Rita
Chhetri, with whom I can engage in an ongoing dialogue about politics. She
does not live at Sarahs Hope, and our conversations focus less on questions
of Nepali identity and more on general politics, because she is active in
her plantations union.
It is perhaps not so ironic that my lack of connection with Nepali women
at Sarahs Hope is striking.Though I do meet a Nepali man who is a powerful union leader, I am aware that there are other Nepali who are prominent
in high-status jobs and work in the unions, and that the distance they keep
from me is assiduously maintained. I recognize that perceptions of my own
ethnicity (Bengali) and class (memsahib) denes the miles between us. I do
not push against the membrane of their resistance.
However, I do learn about the sub-jat distinctions that undergird the
wider rubric, Nepali. Customary occupational titles chart important internal hierarchies within the Nepali community.Though a majority of families
are Kami [blacksmiths], Chhetris,Tamangs, and Dorji who are customarily
agrarian castes in Nepal claim a higher status than the numerically dominant
Kami. Not only are these few families more prosperous than their neighbors
in the Factory Line, their men, like the one who spoke to me about the price
of cauliower, are powerful members of unions and village councils.
[lay catechists] explain that their own Roman Catholic community is the
largest of three denominations in the village.The other two are the GermanLutherans and the Church of North India, who have two small churches
that ank the larger Catholic grotto with its statue of the blue Madonna and
her child.
Christian missions were established in Ranchi and the Chotanagpur Plateau in the late nineteenth century. Indeed, a close relationship between
labor-recruiting agencies and the Catholic Labor Bureau channeled new
converts to the railway depots. Italian priests settled into the Dooars only in
the s and began to create their parishes. Though isolation was a major
obstacle, they enjoyed the favorable attention of British planters. At Sarahs
Hope, the large, imposing Catholic church, partially funded by a benevolent burra sahib, is a signicant meeting area for panplantation celebrations
of important ritual events in the Christian calendar.
Though European missionaries visited their isolated congregations,
these communities built their own places of worship and prachers (who led
the missionya village councils) had considerable political autonomy. The
postcolonial Catholic Church, however, has grown with the arrival of various orders of priests and nuns. Mission-run schools have ensured a steady
growth of literacy in the community. As a result of access to this education,
Catholic men hold higher-status jobs in the factory. Signicantly, because
of the custom of managerial benevolence, favorable essentialisms around
discipline and cleanliness remain powerful in the postcolonial period. In my
numerous conversations with lay catechists and parish priests and nuns I
learn that the Catholic community carefully coordinates its cultural activities through a parish council. It is a coordination that not only presents the
visible and formal organizing structure of the larger Church but provides
social access to the outside worlds of privilege, such as boarding schools,
education in English, and the like.
Because most Catholics are also adivasi, their sense of community is
double-pronged. Though the immediate denition of missionya personhood is religious, a persons relationship to being adivasi (as for example,
Oraon or Munda) is continuously, if not explicitly, negotiated.Cultural practices that existed before the mission and that are perceived as dening adivasi identity, such as dancing in the mixed jatras [festivals],7 or drinking
rice-beer during ritual celebrations, are widely debated.
Prior to Vatican II, Catholic orthodoxy did not permit or integrate these
older customs, and the liturgy was celebrated in Latin and not in vernacular languages.8 Julian, a prominent member of the parish council, remarks
that afterVatican II, when attention was given to local practices, free think
ing and discussions about our old customs were brought into the Church
rituals. And this should be the case. I am a Catholic, but I am also Oraon.
But now the children dont want to be identied as adivasi, so they have
stopped dancing.We have to have pride in being adivasi.
Within the political climate of Hindu nationalism, such debates have
taken on compelling urgency. Julian comments, There is a certain Oraon
in Bihar who is a [member of parliament] who has declared that
Christian adivasis are not really adivasis and they are trying to create an Englishsthan (English land).9 This is really bogus and dangerous because there
are many Christians who are Bengali, Nepali. . . . What they are basically
trying to do is to say that we are not Indians. Because of this mans comments, there were tremendous problems, and a church has been burned.
When a jats identity is explicitly Christian, then the tensions that arise
among histories of conversion, the transformations of Church policy, and
the contemporary politics of Hindu nationalism beg detailed analysis.
Here, I will simply note that debates in plantation country about the primacy of religious practice and connections to adivasi identity wrestle with
these explicit ideologies of authentic Indianness based on notions of unitary Hindu identity. In the words of an idealogue in not-distant Bihar, the
mythical creation of an Englishland binds the Christian adivasi, through the
potencyof anticolonial rhetoric, into the place of the foreign, the noncitizen,
the enemy.
Though these religious contests over what constitutes authentic citizenship have trickled into the plantation, they appear muted in daily practice.
Missionya and nonmissionya emphasize that tolerance and equilibrium have
not yet been rocked by the political storms of the outside. Thus far, the
contests of religious dierence are played out in a more subtle theater; they
have not exploded into public ruptures of violence. Yet.
I learn about the Christian community through narratives almost entirely created by prominent men.They provide a striking gendered contrast
to my other teachers of the villages cultural choreographies. I do meet a few
nuns who organize womens societies but nd it dicult to speak to ordinary Catholic women workers. The mens measured hospitality shepherds
me into the terms of another kind of distance. The absence of a sustained
dialogue with missionya women begs the question: Who, indeed, speaks for
the jat?
Though the Christian community is a minority religious community in
the plantation, they are large enough to be visible and distinct. In contrast,
the Muslims are a very small community of four households. A neighboring
plantation, formerly owned by a Nawab of Jalpaiguri has a far larger Muslim
Village Politics
presence, and I am told that the four families are linked to panplantation
gatherings in a neighboring mosque. On several occasions, I am hosted by
one of the more important factory overseers, who is Muslim. His wife and
daughters have never worked in the eld. It is a matter of honor that they
dont.
During the annual celebration of Id, I accompany a woman, Suneeta
Khan, to his house for lunch. She tells me she is Muslim and that her other
name is Jahanara. Puzzled by this double naming, I sense a considerable reserve toward her on the part of my hosts. She tells me later that her mother
is not Muslim but an adivasi Lohar [blacksmith]. Her father, who is Muslim,
traveled with a troupe of mendicants and found a home in the village where
he became involved with this Lohar woman. He married her, but then left
her for another woman.
Jahanara/Suneeta, who uses her Muslim name when introducing herself
to other Muslims, sits in twilight. She is accepted by neither community. I
even hear whispers from other women: Her father was not a good man . . .
be careful of what she says, you dont know what she gets up to. . . . Her
reputation with men is suspect; sexual innuendo peppers these comments
about her visible participation in unions. Perhaps the suspicion is deepened
on account of her bodied and transgressive hybridity.
Jahanara/Suneeta and I wander through the more distant section of the
line where she lives. We do not spend much time reecting on the enigma
of her jat identity. She is far more interested in discussing her experience as
one of the few women active in a local union.
In my uid rendering of some jat stories, a few basic themes emerge.They
are not essences of xed collective subjectivity but accumulations of the
daily processes, and histories, of social life.They are told through particular
locations, rooted in the ambivalence of power and dialogue, and within this
creative ux, identify the nodes of cultural order and action: () subgroupings within the overarching rubric of the wider apellation adivasi negotiate
hierarchy and distinction in intricate ways; () a central dichotomy between
Nepalis and adivasi is discursively maintained, despite shared labor practice;
and () the primacy of religious ascriptions and denitions is coupled with
other markers of identity. In many instances, these social texts of distinction
are written in terms of izzat (honor). It is a script that inscribes gender as the
corporeal measure of separation and superiority; a womans body becomes
the tabula rasa upon which power manifests the terms of community.
Village Politics
situation is inverse and a Nepali man wants to marry an Oraon woman, the
mans jat (in this instance understood as a subcaste, e.g., Kami) will have
to buy a title for her, that is, literally pay for someone of a lesser jat to
come into its fold. These reparations for inclusion can cost up to a thousand rupees. The payments index the political economy of transgression.
The social costs of bringing a woman in are considerable, but far less than
the price paid by a woman who dares to marry out. She will become an
outcaste, disowned by the community into which she is born.
Gatekeepers of Distinction Among the Kumhar, the gatekeepers of marriage are women. Bhagirathi and her dol (labor gang) are outspoken and
authoritative narrators of jat customs. She and her aunts assert that cross-jat
alliances are strictly taboo and that social ostracism of a family is the ultimate sanction. As we eat some snacks one evening, Bhagirathi comments,
I can tell you some things about marriage customs. Anjali tells me that you
are interested in these things and I dont mind telling you some things.
Our husbands come to stay with us when we marry.They are called ghar
jamai. My husband came from the country [Bihar] to marry me. I dont remember how old I was. Anyway, the thing is that we must marry within our
own jat. That is what is most important. If something happens outside this,
then as a clan we conduct a kamkriya [funeral rites]. A kataha [big man,
arbitrator] is called from Bihar to read mantras and he is given some clothes,
shoes, and rupees. At the kamkriya, the men will sit together around the
kataha, who faces the re. Only the men, in a circle. This is the maradhana.
The women will sit outside the circle. There is one black goat sacriced for
the samaj [society], and one white to the suraj bhagwan [sun god]. After the
kataha and the men have eaten, then we will eat.
Before the kamkriya, the society will have agreed to punishment because the family will not want to leave the jat. But they will have to do many
rituals like this funeral rite and have to feed the whole society. They have
to pay for everything. In one case, a Kumhar girl and Lohar boy ran o
together. Her parents had tried very hard to marry her within the customs,
but she left with this man. Now she will never be able to come back to her
mother and father. Once the funeral rites are completed, she is dead to her
family and to the society. The mother and daughter can never speak, and if
they do, we will catch them.To this day, we women do not look at her face.
Startled by this emphatic disciplining, albeit discursively emphasized, I
ask Bhagirathi why the daughter is so stringently ostracised. Is it the same
for a Kumhar man if he marries a bhinjat woman?
Look, didi, Bhagirathi says, a daughter is like a earthenware pot. If
she leaves for another jat, she breaks. Like a broken pot, she falls apart.
Because she breaks the izzat of her father, which is why the honor of her
jat is broken. This is why her mother and father will turn their face away.
Bhagirathi crafts a customary metaphorthe object of the Kumhars traditional earthenware workto explain gendered honor and the womans
transgression: the woman-pot must not shatter.
She continues: If a Lohar woman marries into the jat, she will be slowly
accepted by the jat. But, for the boys family to climb up into the jat, this
means that they have to feed the clan and conduct a ritual. This can cost
between , and , rupees [ and respectively]. The only restriction for a bhinjat woman who marries into our jat is that she cannot
conduct the funeral rites for her in-laws, and when she dies, the Kumhars
will not do her last rites, though her own society still can, if they acknowledge her. You see this is why it is important that we try to marry within.
In the end, when you are dead, who will conduct your funeral? If she is
banished by her jat, then this is a curse.
Transgression, thus, exacts a steep price, and a political economyof social
value is charted through rituals of arbitration and scal sanctions. However,
a Kumhar family pays the highest price when a daughter transgresses. Her
misalliance will cost her family not only two major rituals but also a lifelong loss of aective kinship. In contrast, a Kumhar sons misalliance will be
incorporated after ritual payments have been made. Most signicantly, his
children will belong to the Kumhar. Patriliny and jat reproduction are thus
intimately linked. Her power lies in her capacity to literally bear the community.To take that power elsewhere constitutes the betrayal of community
in a most immediate and bodied sense.
Signicantly, it is Kumhar women who oer a theoretical and pragmatic
legitimation of the disciplinary practices that enact the terms of community. It is an authority that presents a paradox. On one hand, their wage
labor and marriage value ensure a certain gendered authority and prominence in the village. It is one that could (and does) challenge their jats and
the wider plantation patriarchies in signicant ways. Yet, in their location
on the outer perimeter of ritual, their subordination is also starkly drawn.
From that position, they still police the borders of community cohesion in
the strongest terms. Their wrath is nally aimed at other women.
This too is the politics of patriarchy. Women uphold its terms by sanctioning the punishment of other women. The pot must not be shattered.
The frontiers of community solidarity are protected by the rules of
marriages whose outlines are often made manifest through transgression.
Negotiations and disciplining of bhinjat alliances are shared by many communities. Its ideology presents the basic contours of plural but shared patriVillage Politics
Like Bhagirathis immediate family, the Sonar Bihari are also a class of
shopkeepers and moneylenders. In contrast to Bhagirathi, however, Sonar
women are not permitted to work in the eld. Jayati pulls her sari low over
her forehead when she walks the village path. Her eyes are veiled. She tells
me that not entering the eld of labor is a matter of family honor.This sense
of superior apartness, indexed by the relative and extractive prosperity of
shopkeeping, indexes internal class divisions.
The tensions of class and jat burst through the ssures of uneasy tolerance. The break is codied through gender and a sexual politics of honor.
I learn that Ganesh has ed from his house and taken shelter with a Kumhar family.The Oraon woman, Budhni Oraon has accused him of rape. Her
family arrives with the long bamboo sticks to beat him. The family that
shelters him denies his presence and seeks union and panchayat arbitration.
Because of its escalation to the brink of violence and the growing number
of people involved, the scandal is hotly debated. Consider the following
fragments of the discussion.
(Lohar): If the man was an upright person, this would not have happened. I heard that he was crying when he was being protected by them.
So what! He should have thought about his wife and children. If she is
pregnant, he must take care of it or nish it o.This is his responsibility.
(Toppo): Dont be silly. When X had her belly so big, did the man
who was responsible admit to it? That would never happen. Ganesh will
deny it all, and her clan will not support her. If she is going to have the
baby then. . . .
(Oraon): She is in my clan because she is related to my own sisters
in-laws. I have heard many bad things about this Ganesh. That he has
done this to other women. I know that something was going on, but she
insists that it became bad, and he did rape when she wanted him to take
responsibility for her pregnancy.
(Singh): I am a friend of Jayatis. I know the family. He may have
done a bad thing, but this does not mean that the wife should also be
attacked. I heard that Budhni actually hit her. I now hear that the Oraon
women want to beat up Surbhi, the woman who sheltered him, because
she insulted them. I have heard in the eld people saying sala Bihari ko
pakarlo (expletive, get that Bihari.)
From several sources, I hear that a large panchayat is being called. The
senior manager is kept apprised. The Oraon panchayat of the village involved has demanded , rupees. Ganesh must close down his business.
Village Politics
If he does not close his shop, they threaten to burn it. I am eager to attend
the meeting but am told I wont be welcome. The managers have been informed but will not intervene.Thus far, it has remained an internal matter.
Though disappointed that I will not be able to witness a major event, I know
I will hear detailed accounts.
Mongri Oraon tells me excitedly: Oh, it was big. I think about one thousand people. I sat with the women of my clan. The men sat in front, there
was more than one panchayat gathered in front. All the union leaders were
there. The woman sat quietly, but her mother got up and slapped the man
with her slipper. Our jat [Oraon] was there so nobody could do anything.
There was a lot of commotion, but in the end, he agreed to pay her family
money and give food for a big feasting for the jat and clan who live there.
He had no choice. People were very angry.They were going to break down
his store.
Public shaming and reparations constitute the sealing of this rupture.
Though men orchestrate the actual public ritual of arbitration, it is womens
conversations and acts (of protection) that create its backdrop. The character of the alleged victim and the sexual behaviour of the alleged perpetrator quickly become the stu of public currency. Signicantly, it is an
outraged mother who repairs her daughters collective dishonor with a slippered slap.Yet this disciplining occurs despite other rumors that the woman
had consensual sexual relations with the shopkeeper. Veracity appears to
take a backseat to the staging of a political theater more signicant than the
specic truth about what transpired between them.
Sexual transgression, in this particular and exceptional instance, works
in favor of the woman because her accusation catalyzes class and jat tensions simmering within the existing structures of power in the village. Her
accusation infuses a script of collective and community honor with new
life. Sexual politics becomes the mode through which the potent tensions of
jat and class inscribe themselves upon the purportedly desecrated site of a
womans body. The Oraon community challenged the daily domination of
a general caste/class, which dened its superiority explicitly, because of
its numbers and the clear simmering resentment predicated on a history
of proteering and extraction in the villages. In itself, the womans dishonor
would have remained in the darkest recesses of the subterranean, where
most cases of domestic violence and assault hide.
implicated. In one case, a Nepali woman claims her incarnation as the Goddess. In another cosmological web, an Oraon woman is called a witch: her
powers reside in the spaces of absolute threat to community solidarity. If
suspected, she may be stoned to death. She inhabits an economy of both
misfortune and secrecy.
the Dara Bhoot, who will bring death and disease to the village if the Sarna
Puja is not done. The women clean their own homes with cloth, and the
older women collect these from all the dierent houses and put them across
the border at Umesh Kholla. Munnu draws a line across her palm to emphasize this idea of the border: This is called simran par, to place the dirty
things of the house across the boundary, to another country. At the border,
a stick of incense is lit and prayer given.Only the older women do this. Expanding on the theme of an earlier home ritual, Munnu says that the men
do a separate ritual, and we are not allowed to take any of the meat. In the
evening, when we sit and drink the handia [rice beer], we will eat and drink
separately. This is what our jat is like.
The gendered division of ritual labor suggests several things. On one
hand, ritual masters such as bhagats and village elders, who are all men,
enact a certain orthodoxy: the sacrice, libations of handia, and chants at
the base of an old tree. The gendered separation is imperative. Yet women
enact a separate part of the ritual that does not appear to only supplement
the ritual masters work. Indeed, older women who pray at the border can
be seen as laying claim to a relatively autonomous and authoritative space
for their own ritual voice.
In the Sarna Puja we see the transformation of customary practice into a
hybridity that refracts the specic history of the plantation: the living artifacts of the sirdari khawai and the ways of the old country commemorated
in the prayers of the bhagat. Consider how the contours of community are
reimagined through such ritual practice. Though this particular Sarna Puja
is enacted by the Oraons of the Old Line, it is shared by other communities
from the Chotanagpur. The Munda, Gond, and even jats that dene themselves as superior (like the Kumhar and Goala) recognize its ritual lexicon.
Spoken in a dierent language, and perhaps charting a dierent commensality, its philosophy of worshipdivine animations, sacred connections
of earth/tree/skyare widely shared. The old peepal tree, for instance,
is claimed as sacred by other jats. It is, after all, an old Nepali watchman
who shares a story about how the seed of the peepal fell from the wings of
a bird and how Lord Vishnu rests in its leaves: This is why the tree can
never be taken away, memsahib, this is why. During the actual day of the
ceremony, non-Oraon communities participate in the nonreligious aspects
of community making.
Village Politics
left two people dead, occurred in this area. Because temple activities were
patronized by a union whose power was on the wane, its rival decided to
challenge its patronage of this temple by building a small temple to Siva
in the Canteen Field. The axis of village patronage soon shifted to the important social arena of the Canteen Field. Among the principals of this old
drama was the patron of a Bajrangbali (Hanuman) temple in the Canteen
Field, who remains a major union leader and runs the labor canteen next to
the temples.
Priestly legitimations and political patronage of certain ritual sites are
shared within more Hinduized practices and sadan customs. Signicantly,
the narrative of union battles around the old and now deserted temple is
also shared by some adivasi (and nonsadan) men who are bhagats, ritual
masters among a range of adivasi communities.Union leaders, bhagats, and
priests all stage symbolic tussles over a public legitimacy that is decidedly
masculine. Their interactions indicate the unravelable weave of the politics of ritual and patronage, through which big men create themselves
into charismatic leaders. Signicantly, such contests over ritual space oer
one strand of the web of patronage that permeates community politics and
patriarchies.
Below the surface of such ritual legitimations of masculine authority are
other ripples. Anjali and Bhagirathi laugh uproariously when I tell them
that the wandering priest had pulled out his dentures to get money from me.
Bhagirathi looks annoyed. Munnu remarks that the same priest had tried to
become her sisters guru,12 but when he oered to massage her sisters stomach with oil, nonspiritual matters were suggested. Munnu remarks wryly,
Many of these people make a lot of money o us, but when a man is not
clean, it is bad. I am glad you sent him away.
Though women cannot climb the apex of ritual power and the public
legitimizations of such power, a few claim a more immediate and direct access to the sacred.Theirs is a patronage of a ickering and feminized alterity.
I learn that another Nepali Durga Mata (Mother Durga) lives in a small
town near the plantation. She has gathered a large coterie of women around
her and has a larger following than the Durga Mata who lives in the Factory
Line. In contrast to the latter, this Durga Matas followers are women from
the town, though some women workers also come to her. Local Marwari
women, from the prosperous shopkeeping class of the town, have donated
an image of Durga and raised funds for a small temple to be built in her
courtyard.
The second Durga Mata schedules her ritual of possession and healing
every Tuesday morning. When she propitiates the Goddess, she speaks in
rapid Nepali, though the anxious women who surround her throw questions to her in various languages. A Bengali woman who is clearly distressed
throws herself at the Matas feet, asking for treatment for dizziness and
her daughters marital problems. It is striking that all of the Durga Matas
patients are women and they come to her with a range of reproductive and
counseling problems. Many seek her healing touch for problems with fertility. All want a son.
This is a constituency of women, but it is also riven with jat distinctions.
Munnu and Anjali, who accompany me oneTuesday morning, also ask questions. After we return to the plantation, Munnu says, Did you hear what
she said when she was in possession? She kept saying that there is a black
person in the room who is unclean. I know she was referring to me.
This Durga Mata and I have numerous conversations over the next few
months, and she is welcoming and willing to talk about her gift of possession. I am nothing without Her, she remarks. She started coming to me
when I was young, and at rst I did not understand what was happening.
Now I realize that this is a gift. It may not happen tomorrow. She may stop
coming to me. So I try to help people, though many say bad thingsI am
making money from people. But I take what is given. I ask for nothing. I
wanted to build a small temple outside my house, but others in the village
threatened to take the cement. I wanted to make the temple outside because
I did not want my family to benet from the donations.When it is Her birthday, it is big feasting, and I pay for it through selling my betel nut for around
, rupees []. But donations are given. I try and help people, but
there are misunderstandings.
The Durga Mata ritual economy spells out the material possibilities
and constraints of spiritual success. Donations made by a constituency of
women who are from a business community create a feminized patronage
that is resented by the community around her. Signicantly, this village is
not her natal community. She has married into it. Patronage and a growing popularity create an aura of public legitimation around her religious
power. When she seeks to construct a ritual space outside her home, the
limits of that public legitimation are made clear. Claims to certain kinds
of sacred power are limited territorially by suggestions of her outsider status
(as a daughter-in-law), her patronage by non-Nepalis, and the class power of
some of her more devoted constituents.The political economy of the sacred
is caught up in the triple helix of gender, jat, and class.
Indeed, Durga Mata comments explicitly on the gendered contests
around sacred claims and their public legitimations. She tells me of a wellknown wandering guru from the north, whose public meetings, and growVillage Politics
ing popularity in the area suggest considerable economic power and organization. She had been invited to a dinner where he was a guest of honor.
Other guests were referring to her as Ma, or Mother, and he asked her, in
a neech [condescending] way why she was called this. She said, I did not
like the way he was asking me this. I told him that my in-laws lived here and
my house is here. I am bou-ma [daughter-in-law].13 I stay here. My children
call me ma. My mother-in-law calls me ma [mother]. I am not like you. I
cannot move around meeting my devotees. If I make a mistake, my family
suers. If I kill myself because I have dishonored my family, will my son be
able to hold his head up?
The guru, apparently taken aback by her vehemence, challenged her
knowledge of textual mythological history, and her insignicance within it.
He asked me where I was in the itihas [history] and I told him that just
because you read and write does not mean you know. I do not read but what
I know is within me. She tells me all.
Her brief but sharply contesting claim to sacred knowledges, and indeed
to a certain understanding of history, presents a gendered analysis about
ritual power and legitimacy. Indeed, such contests of symbolic power mediate larger spectacular claims around the Goddess.
The October Durga Puja is one of the most important festivals of Bengali
Hindus. The plantation sta, and some of the managerial elite, celebrate it
with gusto.Workers and sta will donate money, deducted from their wages,
to construct the structure in which the Goddesss protima (statue) resides.
Though some workers will sit on an organizing committee to work on the
program, most will speak scathingly about the distinctions between upper
and lower jats that are maintained in the grand ritual spectacle. Mita says
bluntly, I dont mind giving the money, but sometimes we are treated like
animals who should not stand too close to the Goddess. The maijis [sta
wives] sit behind a screen because they cannot be seen by us. Though
some of the younger sta encourage village children to dance in front of
the Goddesss statue, most villagers do not participate within the ritual. At
night, the Goddess is splendidly lit. Her spectacular presence demonstrates
one communitys power to mobilize resources, garner the patronage of the
manager, and assume the consent of working communities that may or may
not share the particular rites and celebrations of a Bengali goddess.
The embodied claims of the Nepali Durga Mata present a counternarrative to these spectacles of power. Certainly, they share a basic cosmology,
within which Durga is but one manifestation of the many faces of feminized divinity. Reverence for the Goddess as well as ontological and bodied
claims moves within a shared mythography.Yet cosmologies are manifested
in the specicities of historical landscapes. When feudal distinctions between communities are explicit, then claims to the sacred will also chart the
parallel contours of plantation power. A Nepali womans bodied claim to a
goddess who sits in the center of a particularly Bengali pantheon is an assertion that is both ritual and political. It is, like the Goddess who possesses
her, many-armed.
Durga Mata knows this well when she admonishes the guru for patronizing her. Her direct access to the sacred bypasses his textual monopoly and
asserts another modality of knowing. It is also the reason why her practice
belongs to the heterodox. Its immediate knowledge does not require the
intervention of a male priest. In becoming the Goddess, she challenges
the very modality of mediation. He must act, move toward. She is.
Yet her temple cannot be built outside her home compound. This does
not prevent her from contesting the priests ritual work in the neighboring
Durga Puja. On the Tuesday of the Durga Puja, she says, Yesterday I had a
dream. I dreamt of re. I dreamt that re would consume me. Today, I nd
out that the pandal [structure] is half-burned because the pandit [priest] was
careless with matches. This is what happens when you are sinful.
Sure enough, the roof of the tent is singed. Ontology is not merely functional.This may be a convenient dream. Perhaps, She does dream. Perhaps,
She celebrates a direct ame.
Initiation into ritual status and power involves learning some basic disciplines that are dependent on the particular circle of the guru bhagat: fasting,
eating certain kinds of foods, abstaining from drink, learning exorcism and
herbal medicines are all part of the training. A bhagat may not claim to be a
teacher; he might also have learned his skills from a grandfather or father.
Munnu introduces me to Lohra Bhagat in neighboring Kolpara. He remarks,
It is simple really. We believe that each tree, each plant, has life. We are a
small group here because in the old country, a bhagat can go into the jungle
and be by himself. Here, I do the garden labor and my strength is lessened.
But I also treat snake and scorpion bites and know medicines, which is why
I am a doctor. At the hospital, they laugh at me when I say this but it is true.
We dont only do jhar-phuk [exorcism].
Bhagats are navigators of the spirit realm whose denizens threaten a mundane mortal existence with their caprice. The darha bhoot, Munnu tells
me in hushed tones, is very bad, and this is why we do the house rituals.
Usually this is the spirit of someone who dies suddenly. He becomes a big
man with a turban. We are sitting in the low lantern light of her kitchen
with Anjali, who nods and says, Yes, there are things we dont understand.
I know someone who was pregnant, and this ghost slept next to her and
she thought it was her husband. But her husband knew something was very
wrong. He felt a great pressure next to him. So the Gaya Bhagat was called
to do a ritual. He said there was a bad spirit there.When the womans baby
was born, it had three heads. It died immediately.
Death sits in the twilight of the inexplicable. Shadows rest in dark corners. Worse, there are no shadows, only entities felt in sleep. Spirits also
people the moral economies of the village.What explains a strange death, a
freak birth? It may be a spirit, jealousy, the evil eye. The borders between
human and supernatural are straddled by acts considered deviant because
they cause harm. Such acts are deeply subterranean, and if humanly willed,
they must be apprehended. The bhagats divination may pinpoint not only
an evil spirit, but a human one who has set it to its terrible task. The sacred
wrestles with its own negation.
Enter the daini, the witch. Evil enters a woman. She has no shadow.
A man may be a witch, but in the plantation, this is rare. There is, as the
novelist-activist Mahasweta Devi notes, nothing xed about this daini
business. Men or women whom you may meet everyday may suddenly become dains ordainis. If there is a daini in thevicinity, astonishing things happen, which no one has ever seen, though everyone has heard about them. 16
A dainis mastery of the sacred threatens the bhagat. Says Mongra Bha-
gat, A real bhagat can make a daini dance, beg for mercy. A daini has two
and half gun [mantra/power], an ojha has one and half, but a real bhagat
has ve gun, which is why a bhagat can make a dain dance. A mathematics
of ritual mastery is thus plotted. The hierarchy is manifest.
A daini can challenge a lesser shaman, an ojha, but not a true bhagat.
But she still poses a threat. Where does a daini learn her sacred tricks? All
is secret, I am told, but be careful of those who envy you. Mongra Bhagat
says, They come out only during the Kali Puja, when there is no moon.
They dance around the tree that sits on the border, near the Umesh Kholla.
They dance naked. My grandfather who was a great bhagat caught them
once, made them unconscious while they were dancing. In the morning, the
village found them there. Then everyone knew.
Stories of witchcraft capture the moral economies of village patriarchies
in indelible ways. I hear only of one woman bhagat in a distant plantation.
Most are men, and their powers are publicly legitimated; they become respected elders.Women can seize the sacred but must do so under the cover
of night. The negation of the sacred wears a gendered body. It is usually a
woman who dances madly.
Women will accuse other women of witchcraft, though often through
innuendo and suggestion. So-and-so, says Somri Ghatwar, is a witch. I
had loaned her money but she did not return it and we had some words.
Next day, my son had a terrible stomach pain. Dont tell anyone and drink
anything there. She knows you and that I am with you.
I hear other whispers. An old woman is beaten to death by her own sons,
accused by them of being a witch. She was a retired worker and a widow.
She was living in her own labor quarter, refusing to leave. Three cows died
in one day in this and neighboring homes, and she was accused of killing
them through witchcraft. They killed her in front of the village. The matter is reported; the sahib shakes his head; the police are called; there are no
witnesses. The matter is dropped.
The women shrug their shoulders when I suggest that property inheritance battles, widowhood, and isolation may have caused her death.17 The
political economy of her death, like the conict over a loan, now resides in
the catacombs of dark rationalizations. The secret and the sacred encompasses a space where value is coded through the ephemeral.This is no simple
place of mystication. The body is still implicated in its very annihilation
and within the insubstantiate spirit world in which it may roam.The sacred
contains a political economy. Political economy implicates the patriarchies
of the sacred.
Village Politics
,
The lights come in, subdued. A spotlight moves from the Narrators seated gure
till it stops to stage left. From behind the gau backdrop, the four Women
emerge. Each carries a large earthenware pot on her head. They walk in single
le, they face you, they shue.There is a faint sound of drumming. For a minute,
they shue to the sound of the drums. Suddenly, all sounds cease. There is a
heart-stopping moment of silence. It is broken by a loud, shrill sound. The four
Women are startled. Several pots fall and break.Two of the Women bend to pick
up the shards. The others, stand, alert, breathing heavily. They clutch at their
breasts.
: What was that? That earth-shattering wail.
: It is the witchs cry. I have heard that her screams tear the sky
to shreds. 18 Quick, quick, we must return to the village. She has come,
bringing with her pestilence and death.Quick, we must gatherour stones.
They rush out. The drumming begins, quickly reaching a cacophonous pitch.
Again, sudden silence. Low spotlight moves across the stage to the Narrator.
: (as if reciting from memory) Nature is their only hope. If it rains, crops
grow, the forest ourishes, roots and tubers are available, there are sh in
the river. Natures breasts are dry with no rain. So they hold the daini responsible, and are angry. The people of Bharat [India] dont want them.
If nature, too, turns away, they will be wiped out. (She pauses) The daini
stands up. She doubles over, then limps forward. She stumbles again and
again. Its fruitless to throw stones in the jungle. The trees trap them.
Anh-anh-anh! The howl is at times a roar, at times an agonized scream. 19
The drum beats begin. The lights fade out.
A Coupled Patronage
Village hierarchies are manifested through complicated intersections between patriarchal norms and customary jat distinctions.These intersections
do not constitute historically inert registers.They cannot be separated from
the enclaved pasts within which communities were placed together for the
primary purpose of labor. This history of displacement and its forced diversities have shaped the plantations political culture in the deepest ways.
Like the lingua franca of the villages, Sadri, which brings together the patois
of the old country with the hybrid languages of labor, the boundaries of so
cial identity and politics are in continuous ux. Such ux cannot, however,
obscure the terms of power and agency through which gender, jat, and class
are constituted.
Imagine their links within biological frames. Consider their mesh as a
tissue that wraps around a central helix. Picture power as blood, trickling
through the membranes that separate gender/jat/class. It both re/constitutes those porous walls and slips through them: a thin gel, sticky to the
touch. It seeps through the tiniest pores. It creates, separates, and gells the
tissue of a human and social will. Perhaps it marks the terms of a primal,
though not original, agency. Imagine such possible frames.
Multiple Patriarchies
Consider the lexicon of such organic, cultural will and the moral economy it
suggests: honor, shame, jealousy, acquiescence, the mai-baapwithin. Staged
through rules and transgression, these are cultural economies of patronage worked out in the planters shadow and through relatively autonomous
customary practices. The latter, such as the legitimation of the bhagat or
priest, confers a customary authority that appears distant from the planters
command. Nonetheless, such customary patronage is only relatively autonomous, because it is still inected by planter power. A ritual master will
garner more prestige if he is a union leader or an overseer.Wearing multiple
hats, these village patrons are primarily men.They sit within the ubiquitous
and powerful panchayats and arbitrate cultural events, marriage practices,
and social conict.
During the colonial period, when plantations were tightly controlled
efs, the planter played an active role in dispute settlement. Marriages,
which might result in a loss of labor power, were monitored closely. This
control of matrimony was essential for protecting economic loss, and
the plantation into which a woman was marrying had to pay rupees,
to cover the expenses of her natal plantations recruitment costs.20
Whether or not this payment reected a consistent policy across the plantation belt is dicult to ascertain. It suggests, however, the inextricable connection between labor, value, and gender politics. The planter-father, so to
speak, initiates his own system of brideprice. It is layered into the customary
economies of marriage.
A colonial planter commented more generally on the importance of a
sahibs arbitration in the villages: The planter had to keep up the White
Mans reputation for fair dealing which would require hours of patient hearing of a dispute and then a just and equitable settlement. If complicated, this
Village Politics
The planter may rule in favor of the woman and punish the erring husband. Amit Chakravarty, a senior planter, comments, You have to understand that many men live o their wives and are drunkards.They exchange
their permanent jobs when they marry, so she goes out and does all the hard
work. Then on top of it, if he starts to beat her up for wages so he can buy
daru [hard liquor]. Then I see red. The women are the hardest workers, and
if someone appeals to me, I will ask around, and if her story can be corroborated, I will tell him to stop it. I will put other kinds of pressures. For a while
he might stop, but usually the cycle continues.
Benevolent paternal adjudication is corroborated by Soni Mirdha, a
friend of Anjalis: There is a lot of unemployment in the garden, so a job
will never be given up. It stays in the family. But there is a badli niyam [exchange custom] when a new bride comes in.The husband will give the wife
his jobto work in the gardenand he will try to nd work outside and
temporary work. I will say that one out of ve families in the Factory Line
has done this. My own husband tried this trick. He took me into the oce to
talk to the senior manager and change the names but the sahib said to him,
Why do you want to sit and make her do all the work, eh? My husband was
shamed and could not look at the sahib straight. Moniki and others were
there in the oce and they heard. They said to my husband Chi chi, wanting to eat from your wifes earnings. Dont you have any shame? After this
he learned his lesson and never tried it again.
Womens perception that the manager might be approached directly, and
that he may protect them, suggests not only their own agency, but a certain
understanding and claim to the terms of patronage. A decision to bring a
household conict directly to the manager takes considerable courage, but
it also reects a historicized understanding of the managers role as maibaap. It is his duty to assist. A managers response to a womans appeal will
be known in her community and village. It is a response that will shape the
evaluation of his patronage. Signicantly, the direct approach oers a subtle,
but powerful, commentary about the coercive edge of customary patriarchy
in the village. An appeal to the manager is an often desperate gesture against
the absence of accountability within customary adjudication.
I meet a Santhali woman, Deepa Murmu, on a few occasions in a friends
home. She is deeply reserved. One night, I ask about the business of panchayats, if, and how, women are involved.We are sitting and sipping handia.
Deepa looks intently at me. Someone responds, Oh, that is mens work.
I think this is the same in all the jats but you should ask others. . . . The
men involved are mukhiya like bhagats and netas.We women can sit, watch,
participate in giving opinions, but they will ultimately decide. Usually most
Village Politics
issues are small, and then only one of the mukhiya will come and speak to
the family. Lets say there is ghting between a man and woman, then the
mukhiya will come and talk to both people. But if it gets to be a bigger thing,
lets say her family gets involved or she leaves, then everyone will sit.
Deepa interrupts suddenly, Memsahib, my jat [Santhal] is rigid. Only
men arbitrate. If a man is beating up his woman, then it may be brought to
the attention of the panchayat. If the judgment is made against the man, he
may be ned. But it will be drunk by the panchayat with the man there.
She laughs cynically and continues. Look, even if it is a small quarrel, it
will go to the panchayat, but then a woman has to stand up in front of all
the men. Sometimes this is very hard. Sometimes she will call her friends to
come and support her. But many times she wont want to do this. But you
remember meeting Mona in the eld. She is from my jat, she is tough and
will ght with the elders. Public shame, dishonor, and an understanding
that the panchayat is a maradhana [mens space] thus constrains womens
participation in a formal political arena though it doesnt entirely silence
their participation from the margins.
Adjudication processes in the plantation villages are not only profoundly
gendered, they encompass a spectrum of political action.While women are
not customarily permitted to become mukhiya in any jat, they can participate in public negotiations and consensus making. If a woman has brought
a case, however, her participation is mediated by a sense of shame if there
isnt support of other kin. Participation in unions, womens organizations,
or a womens society can bypass these limited paths of conict and negotiation. However, a masculine hegemony of union leadership ensures that
the avenue for leadership is opened only if singular and exceptional women
ght for it.
Yet an understanding that the planter can adjudicate in their favor and
the fact of his paternal benevolence present an important paradox. On one
hand, the sahibs legitimation of netas and mukhiyas in the labor lines cements male authority; on the other, his individual judgments in favor of
women workers can undercut that very authority. This situation indicates
how patriarchies, and the cultures of patronage, are layered and multiple.
The planter can, and does, override decisions made about what are viewed
as more serious law and order problems such as homicide and looting. Indeed, in such cases even the elders will rst approach the manager, because
of his access to the larger judicial system.
The planter is a distant mai-baap, but he is the pivot of the entire cultural
system of patronage. Through labor disciplines, his patriarchal power encompasses both men and women. Within the villages, his power to punish
Waging Paradox
If village councils, ritual masters, and union leaders create the mantles of
gendered subordination, then the fact of womens wage labor opens another
window to the cultural economies of power. The bodied registers of labor
and discipline have already demonstrated how womens subordination is
essential to plantation production. Yet its material rewards for women, in
the very stu of currency, presents a complicated story of empowerment
and disempowerment.
Women who are permanent eldworkers, collect their wages, ration, and
rewood allotments once a month. Cash wages vary according to season
and are calculated through a piece-rate system. A eldworker earns a hazira
(daily wage) of . rupees a day though she must pick twenty-ve kilos of
leaf at peak season. Foreveryadditional kilo of leaf, shewill earn half a rupee
doubly or piece rate. An extremely able plucker can pick kilos in two
shifts. Munnu and Bhagirathi, who are highly experienced workers, average
rupees a day. A high-end weekly income is rupees. (See appendix,
table A.)
One rupee equaled about cents at the time of this study, so it is not
surprising that in a single-wage household, even a reliable and stable wage
barely covers essential food and clothing for a family of four.23 Within
households of ve or six members relying on one stable wage, like Anjalis,
the amount and kinds of food she can aord is severely constrained. Meat,
for example, is a luxury. Kitchen gardens and a little livestock rearing oer
some additional income in kind.
Wage earnings create the avenues forcertain kinds of struggles to emerge
against patriarchal constraints.The openings created by wage might allow
a woman to articulate a general dissatisfaction with her position as a eldworker or assert her understanding of gendered oppression within the larger
Village Politics
someone who has a permanent job. She will marry away from us, probably
into another plantation. This is the custom.
When I ask him whether it would have made a dierence if she did have
a job, he responds, Yes, but she would have to be married. It depends on
whether the groom has a job in his plantation. If he does not, then he will
come here, but usually what happens is that the daughter leaves and we exchange or sell her job. Someone else in the family will take the job. This
Nepali fathers commentary oers an economic logic that is informed by the
social devaluation of girls and the practical concerns of employment. It is a
deeply meshed habitus. In this particular case, however, patrilocal marriage
takes precedence over the girls hypothetical employment.
In a telling contrast, Munnus determination to keep her job when married out created considerable tensions with her father, who wanted to sell
her job. Indeed, Munnu, who herself asserts an explicit sense of wage empowerment, is quick to dispel any generalized assumptions about the nature
of the freedom it suggests. Didi, she remarks, I dont know how it was
in the old country, but I think it has always been hard for women in our jat.
We have always worked. As a young girl, I worked in the village land my
father owned and also worked in the plantation. My brothers were treated
dierently.They did not work all the time. But we never saw the money that
came from the village land. Sometimes, I had to wear an old sari with no
blouse, all tattered. I am still ashamed when I think of that. This is why I
fought to keep my job, and my brothers and father could do nothing because
it was in my name.
Munnu is lucky to have married into a neighboring plantation. If a marriage had been settled further aeld, she might not have won this particular
battle. For most women, out-marriage means just that. Patrilocal norms ensure territorial estrangement from aective ties in natal villages as well as
employment. Munnu has walked an extra ten miles daily, carrying her infant daughters, to work in her natal plantation. She asserts that her aective
ties to village friends who are part of her dol and her wage are worth the
bodily costs of traveling this extra distance.
In , a woman marrying into Munnus natal plantation from Sarahs
Hope exchanged her permanent jobwith Munnu at Kolpara.With the money
she received from having her name cut from the wage registers, she
nanced additions to her home.
Many new wives will try to work up the ladder from temporary eldwork
to a permanent position.With jobs selling at a high price, such purchases or
exchanges are dicult to acquire. More frequently, another custom of exchange takes place: permanently employed men who are eldworkers will
Village Politics
attempt to give their names to new wives, and search for seasonal employment. Because a familys scal strategy for economic survival may require
that a man search for jobs elsewhere, a public trac not appropriate for his
wife, the intentionality of badli (exchange) custom is complex.
However, its eects are clear.The gendering of labor value and the concomitant devaluation of eldwork as iconically low-status womens work
are manifested in these economic exchanges. Because of the diculty of
eking out a living from temporary work or because he simply chooses not
to work, a husband may live o his wifes wages and continue to assert that
those wages are his. Despite the fact of her labor, his claim to her wages
manifests a sense of patriarchal entitlement. He still considers it his job. Isolated in their patrilocal marriages and negotiating the politics of in-laws, a
new wife will frequently relinquish her control on the purse strings.
The conditions and costs of womens labor are thus detached from her
wages. It is a detachment that maps patriarchal de/valuations. Signicantly,
this badli custom occurs most frequently with the low-paying and status
job of eldwork. By giving the labor to their wives, men acquire a certain freedom from the most protracted and lowest paid manual labor, while
demanding and retaining control over her earnings. Value is marked most
clearly by the kind of labor that is exchanged. Because a woman eldworker does not move up the chain of labor command, her overseer husband will rarely give her his name. Measures of value are connected to
the status of labor and its bodily costs.
In striking contrast to what happens in these customs of husband-towife exchange, a womans wage employment can transform the terms of
marriage and residence. Among Bhagirathis Kumhar community, women
are powerful gatekeepers of jat continuity, and many have not married out
of the village. Instead, their husbands become ghar jamais (house son-inlaws) who come into the village from Bihar.24 They tell me that an ancestor
expanded and strengthened his lineage by refusing to marry his daughters and nieces out of the natal village. This new matrilocal custom did
not erase other patriarchal norms. Kumhar women, for instance, continue
to sit on the outer rim of the ritual circle. Yet, as a consequence of this
partial reversal, Bhagirathi and her kinswomen are powerful and authoritative spokeswomen of community customs and labor politics. As a twogeneration matrilineage, they have become signicant power brokers in
village and eld.
They also assert their jat superiority and Hinduness by becoming the
gatekeepers of distinction. In so doing, they engage the paradox of feminized wage power that also reinforces patriarchal caste norms. While they
Violence/Silence/Solidarity
I know a woman who will go hungry for four days because he has stolen
her money. . . . I know how he has thrown kerosene in her rice the day she
bought it with her money. She had to beg for stfuls of rice for her children
who were starving. . . . It is not my fault that I am so dark and my face is
so big. It is like you have a wound, even after twenty years you will know
there is a wound. He beats me because I am not beautiful and he drinks.
I know there is another woman and if she is ever brought to this house, I
will throw boiling water at both of them. . . . I was pregnant and he used to
fall on my stomach. Fall on my stomach. . . . I sit in a meeting of women in
a plantation I have never been in before. A piece of paper is passed to me
with a womans name scribbled in Hindi. Another woman watches this calligraphic exchange with hungry eyes. She passes a fragment of paper with
nothing written on it. Blank. She stares out into her own passionate silence.
Dont mind her, memsahib, she is mad.
Writing women/violence into this alien-tongued text, into its calligraphies of literate privilege, is an act of betrayal. Perhaps, it is necessary.There
are paths to create through canyons of silence, in and out of narrow gorges,
into the pasture, through deceptive valleys. Yet it is betrayal.
I search through the thickets of notes and recollections, tracing out the
spaces of possible entry.There are no oral recordings of such discussions. If
a tape recorder rested next to a lantern when someone wept, it was switched
o. But there are scribbles that outline such cries of anguish and rage.They
record the silences of weeping. If I nd a space in this retrospective tracing,
my nger penetrates into the word.
How to write about violence through the violence of text? How to write
about silence without silence? What makes this violence dierent from
the violence of labor and hunger and an alienation that makes a man drink,
which prompts him to lament his loss upon a womans body? How to thread
the violence of his negation through the violence against her?
The heresy of the body is this: that it cannot, nally, be caught by the
written word. The heresy of silence is this: that it cannot be understood
Village Politics
through language. But we are human, and our desperation seizes impossibilities.We are architects of another heresy.We create our own jat through
customary desperations. We write against the annihilation that rests in the
abyss of the irreducible.
A serious problem with alcoholism among men has transformed gender politics in households. I am told that domestic violence stemming from
alcohol abuse, triggered by struggles over wages, is common. The history
and politics of liquor has a long historical trajectory: colonial administrative policies controlled liquor licenses so that government revenue was ensured, and, though many British planters lamented the unruly behavior
of a drunk worker, they also used alcohol as a strategy of labor control and
discipline.The iconic matal, ordrunkard, typied maleworking-class otherness, though the political economy of his drink was itself implicated with
the wage-labor regime.
The postcolonial legacy of such policies are deeply gendered. Because
women are the primary wage-earners, mens experiences of alienation
through alcoholism and the terms of local patriarchies have had lasting and
tragic consequences on village households. The othering of working-class
masculinity suggests an experience of alienation that is about emasculation, an erosion of customary authority and its masculine honor.When this
is coupled to womens wage labor, which entails a displacement of power,
alienation turns into violence. The drunk body is a site of numb loss. A
womans body becomes the template through which this sense of lack is
exorcised. Violence is the modality of both power and its lack. Its theater is
raw with coercion and penance.
Eh, memsahib, dont stand so close to me. I am a ma . . . tt . . . tt . . .
aaaal. Memsahib, eh, memsahib, dont walk away like that. I wont harm
you. I want to ask you something. . . . Dont leave. Memsahib, I wont harm
you. Memsahib, the nights are cold. Long.You see how we live.What else
to do?
Women will be quick to point out that there are two kinds of alcohol, which have dierential eects upon household economies. Daru, distilled raw alcohol, is sold at government stills on both sides of the IndoBhutanese border. It is this raw alcohol that devastates mens health. Handia
or rice beer, on the other hand, has great ritual signicance. Munnu tells
me, as she mixes medicine with the fermented grain: If the devta [God]
has asked you to have handia for the puja, to oer to the devta, then how
do you say no to it? As long as handia is in our rituals, nothing will stop
us from drinking it. In most of our rituals, chickens are killed and handia
is given. Apart from its presence in rituals, it is oered through the terms
of daily hospitality. On hot summer dusks, you will be oered a cool tin
mug of handia. I have been told that the medicine put in the handia and
the kind of fermenting induced has considerable nutritional and medicinal
value. During attacks of gastroenteritis, a frequent cause of death in the villages, handia is given because it doesnt eat up the insides. Because of its
rice base, it is also drunk when food is scarce.
Indeed, it is also on these Monday market days, that Munnu prepares the
rice beer with her kinswomen. After picking up her wages at four, they set
their large pots of handia close to the gates of Munnus home, and soon
there is a steady ow of customers. On a good summer day, three women
can earn up to rupees, a signicant supplementary source of income.
However because planters, who sporadically motor through the village
on market days, still consider this rice beer illegal, women are quick to
move their pots indoors when a planter approaches. The extent of planter
control, now, is to pour handia into the ground, ensuring that women lose
their supplementary income for the week. Within these terms of legality,
handia and daru are conated. Because of the supplementary income that
handia provides and its customary social importance, some women assert
that the liquor problem rests elsewhere. Indeed, liquor dealerships, a transborder business, are controlled by men who are not from the working communities. Local supply to small village shops ensures tidy prot margins
on both ends of supply. This wider economy is based on a political nexus
of outside business interests, government revenue shops, and cross-border
supplies.
Some womens resistance to these economies of violence is explicit.
Silence, for many, is not an option.The fragmentary commentaries I oered
earlier are no simple rendition of victimhood. Some women who ght and
endure this violence are clear that their wages are one of the reasons for
being beaten.While many are trapped by the conventions of patrilocal marriages, they are women whose natal homes are in neighboring plantations.
Natal kinship connections stretch across plantation borders, and women will
leave abusive situations and stay with their natal families for months. An
individual act of exodus might force an arbitration between several village
councils for divorce and reparations. Alternatives to abuse are shaped by the
specics of a womans natal connections and the support she may receive
in her new village.
Collective protest catalyzes another level of challenge, which brings to
the surface the powerful cross-community, cross-hierarchy alliances that
are ranged against women. Though a formal antiliquor movement has not
emerged in this plantation belt, there are some signicant moments of rupVillage Politics
The lights come on slowly but stay low. A lantern on the table where the Narrator
has been sitting burns brightly. The Narrator paces on stage right, around the
table toward Alice; she carries a book in her hand. She appears agitated. She
takes a deep breath and turns to the audience.
: This is a ne moment to introduce Dopdi/Draupadi to you. Mahasweta Devis Dopdi: that ctional woman, adivasi, Santhal, subaltern,
fugitive, jungle dweller, Third World dalit, black, who is most wanted,
most wanted. How she is hunted, how she hides in the fathomless reach
of the old forests. How she is apprehended, marched to the encampment,
interviewed, and then the police ocer gives the hukum: Make her. Do
the needful. Make her? Make her what? (reading directly from the book)
Then a billion moons pass. A billion lunar years.Opening hereyes aftera
Village Politics
million light years Draupadi strangely enough sees sky and moon. Slowly
the bloodied nailheads shift from her brain.Trying to move, she frees her
arms and legs still tied to four posts. Something sticky under her arse and
waist. Her own blood. . . . She senses that her vagina is bleeding. How
many came to make her?
Suddenly, from extreme stage left, the four Women dancers burst through the
gauze-curtained backdrop. Each has a piece of paper. One steps forward, holding a piece of paper in front of her. Another stops her and speaks directly to the
Narrator.
: Why so upset, memsahib? Remember the end, memsahib? Remember. Remember how she refused the cloth they give to cover herself
withafter that night of horror. She walks directly to the sahib who had
given the hukum, naked, with her two breasts, two wounds. And none
of them can stop her. Listen closely, memsahib.
: (holding her paper out in front of her and enunciating slowly) Draupadis black body comes even closer. Draupadi shakes with an indomitable laughter that Senanayak simply cannot understand. Her ravaged
lips bleed as she begins laughing. Draupadi wipes the blood on her palm
and says in a voice that is terrifying, sky splitting and sharp as her ululation,Whats the use of clothes? You can strip me, but how can you clothe
me again?
: Are you a man? She looks around and chooses the front of the
Senanayaks white bush shirt to spit a bloody gob at and says, there isnt a
man here that I should be ashamed. I will not let you put my cloth on me.
What more can you do? Come on, kounter mecome on, kounter-me?
: (slowly and with great emphasis) Draupadi pushed Senanayak
with her two mangled breasts, and for the rst time Senanayak is afraid
to stand before an unnamed target, terribly afraid. 26
As she nishes speaking, the lights must go o suddenly, without warning, there
must be a sound of a thunderclap. Then, pitch black, nothing.
chapter Protest
Shadow Fields
,
Lights come on, brightly.The Narrator sits at her table, stage right. She is reading a book. She looks up, as if noticing the audience for the rst time. She begins
to read from the book. She speaks slowly.
: The historian transforming insurgency into text for knowledge is
only one receiver of any collectively intended social act.With no possibility of nostalgia for that lost origin, the historian must suspend (as far as
possible) the clamor of his or her consciousness (or consciousness eect
as operated by disciplinary training), so that the elaboration of the insurgency, packaged with an insurgent-consciousness does not freeze into an
object of investigation, or worse yet, a model for imitation.The subject
implied by the texts of insurgency can only serve as a counter possibility
for the narrative sanctions granted to the colonial subject in the dominant groups. The postcolonial intellectuals learn that their privilege is
their loss. In this, they are the paradigm of the intellectual. 1
The Narrator closes the book gently, thoughtfully. She picks up the quill. The
lights fade out.
I , the year is to end soon, and I have yet to talk to women
who were involved in the union battles of the late s. I have heard some
whispers about men with bows and arrows hiding in the forest, internecine
union battles, and police with guns. I keep asking for some stories about
womens participation and am met with a blank silence, sometimes a shrug.
Ay, didi, we were too young then, Anjali says. There was ghting and
we were told to stay inside. But yes, the pata-pati [party party] trouble was
a bad time for us.
One day, casually, Munnu mentions that there is a woman I should meet.
Her name is Churamin . . . she is tough. She stays away from all the party
things now, but once upon a time, everyone knew her name. I will try and
nd out if she will meet you. She stays very far away, so I will ask her to
come to my house.
So one evening, sitting on the step of Munnus verandah, I begin to hear
the fragments of a remarkable history. Churamin looks old, though I know
that women in the plantation have lived too many lifetimes through their
bodies, so it is dicult to discern her real age. She rolls tobacco and grins.
There is a glint in her eye.
So memsahib, what is it you want to know?
Anything, I respond, Anything.
She responds, We would need to speak for many hours, memsahib, who
knows what time is left. But I will begin to tell you. I have heard okay things
about you.What does it matter anyway? . . . Do you know that I used to be
so well-known that the rival parties like the Congress, I was in the (),
would say, If we catch Churamin, we will make chakma [a snack] of her. 2
They had a song about that. You should get the song, I have forgotten it.
(She laughs) Yes, I gave my blood for the communists, the leaders, I was
the only woman from here who had that courage. I did not care what anyone said. I even went into the jungle when I was pregnant, when we had to
run and hide. I remember that well. They had to keep me in the shadows
because when the moon was high and it was like daylight in the forest, my
body would show that I was a woman.You know that my belly was big then.
I had to stay in the darkness. Yes, this is what I did. But what happened is
everyone forgot. . . . Leave it.What can be said about any of this? But this is
also what I did, when my belly was so big (reaching her hands out around
her stomach).
Turning to Munnu, she says, Ay, chori, bring us some rice beer. Another
day, I will tell the memsahib more.
I am haunted by this image of a full moon and a pregnant woman in the
darkness of the old jungle. There are some shadow texts here.
I dont meet Churamin for lengthier discussions.When I return six years
later in , the late monsoon season, I read out this opening passage to
Bhagirathi, Munnu, and Anjali, translating it line by line. Munnu listens intently.We discuss my use of their names, particularly around some stories of
protest they have shared. The issues of literate accessibility, language, and
recirculation in the plantations are explored. Though most of the narrative
fragments about protest are shared by people who are, hopefully, protected
by pseudonyms, and because these women and I have already discussed
some of the ethical concerns around naming and representation, I want to
resume the conversation by sharing with them a tangible product: the heap
of white paper, the black marks on them. I emphasize that the actuality of
text, as a book, may have eects that are unintended by myself as an author, particularly if it circulates in plantation country. In our discussions, we
recognize that given its literate circulations, and its language, it will probably not have much eect, or aect, within village communities. Anjali says,
Didi, we cant read it. So I am not sure it matters at all. However, there is
a remote possibility that managerial perceptions might lead to forms of retaliation. Most planters can read English. In more complicated ways, union
leaders and regional party bosses might interpret dierent moments in the
text in negative ways.
As I speak further about the snarls of interpretation, I recognize that
such a discussion says more about my own authorial anxieties around the
inescapable and irreducible problems of translation than their material concerns.What possible relevance do such ruminations have upon the political
economy of their daily lives? I realize as we speak, and as I distill our various
discussions into revisions of written text, that the politics of translation
of languages to language, orality to writing, its gendered and classed permutations, its cross-bordered reachcannot be reduced to a safe point, a
singular hypothesis, a transparent moment.
Because I have been toughened by the vagaries of interpretation during
eldwork itself (inscribed upon my body, through rumor, through spectacles in which I was an unwitting performer), I fully recognize that local
interpretations will cover the gamut of possibilities, if the book circulates
here at all. Most probably, it will index the irrelevance and disdain that was
present in many commentaries during the research process: So you want
to learn about the plantation? Are you a doctor? Are you from the welfare
department? No? Then why are you here and what does it matter?
Yet, despite the futility of anticipating such discursive eects, I insist on
reading out fragments of the text to Anjali, Munnu, Bhagirathiand later,
Ritathe women who have been my primary interlocutors in this plantation ethnography. I do so because I remain concerned about the subtle and
unsubtle ways in which repression can be enacted.
Bhagirathi shakes her head and says, We have told you many things
and who knows what you will say. But these things happened. Change the
names if you think the burra sahib will be upset that we spoke to you. But
we are not scared because these things are actually open.We are not scared
of some sahib getting angry. Arrrey, what can they do?
I push into her comments despite her assertion that the secrets of the
plantation are an open business. I am also aware, in that monsoon of AuProtest
gust when we are having this discussion, that they are embarking on
a self-help initiative, an informal womens organization, in which I am also
somewhat involved. After some more intense discussion, and listening to
portions of my analysis from this chapter, they tell me the points where they
would like names to remain, and where pseudonyms are advisable. They
choose the names, laughing as they do so.When I tell them that a long chapter on daily work also contains stories about sexual politics and back-talk,
they tell me that this is such a regular occurrence, it really does not matter
whether they are mentioned by name. They groan when I ask if I can read
out portions of those chapters to them. Clearly not. It is peak season that
August and they are giving me some precious time. Getting bored would
be a waste of that time!
Before we move into a discussion about future meetings, Bhagirathi tells
me that Churamin died a few months ago. She had come to Bhagirathis
store seeking help to get to the hospital because she was ill. Munnu tells me
she remembered Churamins presence and her history of shadows. But,
she reminds me, I was also embarrassed because she kept asking you for
money. Dont you remember that?
Forest Cover
The jungle, we have seen, is imagined by the planter as a place of considerable danger: serpent-like, fathomless, and a primal threat to his elds of cultivation. It is a place also of human retreat, a space from which the ordered
annexation of land hastened by colonial settlement could be challenged.
There are sudden ssures in the written record that suggest innitesimal
ruptural and episodic moments that run alongside Churamins fragment of
postcolonial history.Within the signals of subterranean womens histories,
these are moments that meet.
Consider what, in , was dened as an insurrection in the Baikunthapur forests. A large body of banditti, also known in colonial parlance
as dacoits, held the entrance to the forests against the company troops until
they were starved out and ed to Bhutan. A noted leader was a woman
dacoit called Debi Chaudhuri.3
Almost a century and a half later, in , after wholesale settlement of
forest reserves on the boundaries of plantations,4 the ocial planter record
oers a vignette of tea plantation workers poaching in the forests:
They [forest guards] lay in wait and saw a large number of coolies emerge,
armed with bows and arrows and carrying the carcass of a sambhar deer. In
the tussle that ensued, the man caught by Bhimbahadur Rai, a heavily built
Santhal, broke away, tted an arrow to his bow and at point blank range
shot at the man.The scattered poachers were armed in the direction of their
assailants and being outnumbered by ten to one, [the guards] decided that
discretion was the better part of valour and escaped into the deep forest,
chased by poachers whowent shouting, Goli mara, goli mara! Maro salo ko,
faras ko admi chor tir. (They shot at us, They shot at us! Beat the salas.) 5
The planter analyzing the encounter asserts that a bow and arrow is a
weapon potentially far more dangerous than a long bladed knife or short
sword even. I would almost be prepared to say, than a revolver. It is dicult
to understand why they should be exempted from control. 6
The specter of a group of adivasi workers with their traditional weapons
of hunt is for this planter too primal a threat, one requiring the draconian
threat of colonial legislation. By chasing the forest guards into the deep
forest, the adivasis actions make transparent the anxiety and fear of a small
colonial elite facing an increasingly and openly hostile political landscape
in the twilight years of their Planter Raj.
Yet the inscription of this dangerous primitiveness upon working communities is shared by a postcolonial planter, Joy Sinha, who related one of
the rst laboroutbursts hewitnessed as a young manager in Assam. Lighting a cigarette, he reminisces: The incident happened very suddenly in the
isolated division of what was a rather large plantation. I had heard rumors
that my senior manager was not liked by workers. One day, he was suddenly surrounded by a group of about thirty angry men. Someone grabbed
him from behind and held an ax at his throat. I dont remember what really
caused it. Maybe he slapped someone. I was a young manager, just starting
really. It was touch and go.We had to negotiate the entire day. Later I learned
that the workers thought that he was a demon because of his continuous harassment of them.You see these tribals are normally placid people: they will
take and take. But then we forget that they also have that tribal primordial
instinct. Once something sets them o, they will kill.
Joys memory of one dramatic moment of conict is telling.While in his
analysis and description he recognizes the reasons that catalyzed the incident, he completes his story by invoking a now familiar and essentialized
inscription of primal, and primitive, behavior.
Despite the reasoned possibilities behind such a spontaneous and violent action (a reputation of harassment, a sudden slap), the nal reading is
that of essential irrationality. Placidity turns to uncontrolled fury; the
sudden shift to be explained in the last analysis by the descriptors tribal
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and primordial. Fear creates the specter of savagery. Power creates its own
absolution.
,
A spotlight weaves across the stage as lights come on behind the gau backscape,
stage left. The Narrator sits on her stool center stage, near the bungalow livingroom scene.There is the noise of excited children, some recrackers. Drumming.
Dham dham dham. These merry noises come around and through the audience.
Figures move on to stage left as the Narrator sets the scene. She speaks from the
background. The words are said slowly, sonorously.
: The stage is set on the edge of the forest. There is no proscenium, no
arch, just a stream bed ringed by hungry-tongued children. Theirs is a
magic circle.They clap with glee, they know the joys of bacchanalia.We
sit to the side, twisting our opal rings and humming with unease. The
air is pregnant with the smells of strange fruit.Welcome to the jatra! Do
you hear the pounding of the dol, its dham dham dham sounds emerging
from the forest? Who shall appear rst, the wide-eyed children wonder.
The sahib with his topi, carrying an umbrella? It is dusk, there is a small
moon, some lanterns on the banks of the dead stream. Suddenly, a gure
leaps from a corner of the jungle. Eeeeh! the children scream, It is a
rakhoshi [demon]! (As she speaks, the gures onstage mimic what she says.)
He leaps and cavorts, he is blue-bodied and red-eyed, he wears a loin
cloth, he carries a gun. Suddenly he is joined by another gure. This apparition wears only safari shorts and a split mask, black and white. He
carries no gun.They cavort around each other in silence.The only sounds
are of the drum. There is a movement in the shadows. A sari-clad gure
emerges quietly from the right, weaving slightly, drunk perhaps. Is it a
woman? Is it a man? Its face is covered by a veil of head cloth. A hand
moves the veil slightly, we glimpse three faces. In one hand, it carries a
sickle.
Lights fade out.
A Historical Theater
The choreographies of resistance, within the heuristic connes of one plantation like Sarahs Hope, will be placed against a sketch of the longue dure.
I have gestured to powerful fragments already: ritual, corporeal, and oral
The Narrator sits on her stool, center stage, next to the rattan chairs of the living
room, slightly toward stage left. Her lantern on the ground is lit, the ame low.
On the ground is a cup. She holds the small sickle, her ngers run up and down
its blade. The British and Indian Sahibs sit on the chairs next to her. They are
in darkness.
: (as if reciting from memory, staccato tones) Erena Telenga.
Charged for trespass. The accused stated that he came here for the purpose of speaking to the workers about desher katha, the story of their
own country. He was caught and held by the chowkidar. 28
: It is my opinion that the present labor we are dealing with
here is not suciently advanced for trade unions. Trade unions would
lead to trouble and for that reason I say that we ought to keep our roads,
and exercise control over the people that come in. 29
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and had kinsfolk working in the plantations, these were connections that
held rm.
The Communist Party of India () began organizing in , and labor
unrest through strikes accelerated in the last decades of colonial rule. In
September , a peasant movement that demanded a redistribution of
two-thirds of the crop to sharecroppers swept through North Bengal. The
Tebhaga movement, as it is known, called for direct action against landowners. An armed volunteer force, comprised of villagers and tea plantation workers who were kinsfolk or retired time-expired workers, looted
jotedars granaries.32
Communist organizing and the emergence of a red ag union within
plantations added to what was already a turbulent political landscape in
rural North Bengal. Police and planter repression against any sign of red
ag activity within individual plantations was continuous, and any worker
suspected of this activity was quickly expelled.33 By the time of Indian independence, planters knew that labor legislation permitting open trade union
organizing was inevitable and began to support political parties that opposed the radical ideology and mobilization of the Communist Party of
India.The ruling Congress Partyagreed with the planters, and in , when
it constituted the rst national government of free India, the was formally banned.
While union activity was legally allowed through the s and s,
and other political parties created a web of patronage of local unions,
the relationship between individual plantation organizing and regional or
national policy making remained a distant one. It was a distance charted by
an urban/rural, north/south divide within the state-level politics of West
Bengal. Furthermore, the ethnicized dierence between the Bengali leadership (often underground, if they were members of the ) and its constituency of adivasi workers, marked a social distance that still denes plantation
union politics within the communist-run state government. In the decades
before the ascendance of ocial communist rule in West Bengal, however,
the political culture was dened by the terms of the old Raj. Its geographical isolation from the centers of rule in Calcutta, and even regional centers
like Siliguri, underscored the fact that this enclave economy continued to
be a political enclave in denitive ways.
On paper, unions were permitted. In reality, repression was a constant,
and responses, though episodic, were also violent. In the mid-s, the
split in the communist movement sparked one of the most important peasant
rebellions in postcolonial Indian history: the Naxalite movement. Beginning in a village in North Bengal from which it takes its name, Naxalbari,
this was a political movement that rst involved villagers and local communist activists, working with explicitly Maoist strategies of peasant guerrilla
warfare. It quickly captured the revolutionary imagination of college and
university radicals in Calcutta, and its sudden spread fueled immediate and
widespread repression by the then Congress Partyrun state government.34
An entire generation of radical intellectuals was decimated by police repression.They were killed, tortured, imprisoned, or went underground. It is
a history that has returned to the subterranean, except in political and theoretical analyses of its failure and in the anguished stories of mothers who
kept daily vigil for sons who did not return home, a history that continues
to rage in the village and jungles of northeastern India.
I stumble into this powerful and tragic theater of revolutionary history
as I begin to listen to the many histories of North Bengal. Sarahs Hope
lies a few hours by bus from Naxalbari. Like the Tebhaga rupture of the
mid s, alliances between plantation workers and villagers occurred in
a variety of ways: through daily forms of support, such as hiding activists
from the towns, to participating in union battles in the plantation. Internecine ghts between now fragmented communist-run unions and Congress
Partyrun unions pepper the memories of plantation workers of this time.
I hear, again, fragments of this history through the words of Churamin
and even Munnu, who remembers hiding in a barrel when a party person
was fed and hidden for the night. She says, My family had supported the
lal jhanda [red ag] party for a long time, so we were trusted. All I remember is that suddenly some Bengali man would come for the night. We gave
them all the food we had. Some of these people are now big leaders, but
we would never see them again. I was too young to be really involved, not
like Churamin, but because my family had a long history, I would see these
things. Most of us were not directly involved. I remember many times that
police jeeps would come to the garden.
The Narrator sits on her wicker stool. She turns up the lantern light.The Sahibs
have left the stage. She is joined, quietly, by a Man. His head is covered by a
shawl and he wears a lungi [sarong]. He carries a metal tumbler. He squats on
the ground, pulls out some bidis [handrolled cigarettes], lights two, and oers
one to her. They inhale deeply. Silence.
: Here we sit, smoking and drinking glasses of sweet hot tea.You, incognito, sitting huddled against the smoke that has betrayed you. You, who
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Unruly Women
A shift from the wider historical and cultural landscape into the connes
of a few plantations can only serve as a heuristic framing. I have suggested
that these macrohistories are highly porous.The plantation spills in and out
of them. However, the shift into an analytic conne is signicant because
of limitations within histories and historiographies, which are partial and
gendered. It is, for one, dicult to trace the presence of women within this
grand arc of historical narrative. It is a gendered macrohistory in which
I have only suggested, through gestures within my narrative, the place of
women. Like the histories of the plantocracy, we can only discern sudden
twists within what is still an overwhelmingly masculine historiography of
subaltern politics in the plantation belt of northeastern India.
The unusual mention of a woman bandit in the Baikunthapur insurrection of suggests that organized resistance, and the important histories
of union movements and larger more public social movements, suppress
the role of women as signicant players within these histories. Literacy, and
literateness, the capacity to write, remains the purview primarily of radical
elites who are men and sometimes, but rarely, men from the communities. It
would be an important and revisionary project to both read carefully against
the written sources as well as collect fuller oral histories in order to document what are, for the most part, shadowed scripts within the contiguous
and ruptural ows of subaltern plantation histories of northeastern India.
There is a triple reading against the grain that is demanded when one
seeks the shadow histories of women.Take for example, the Telengana peasant rebellion of and the importance of womens testimonies/oral histories in deepening our understanding of rural social movements.35 Village
women fromTelengana were deeply involved both in thevanguard of political upheaval and organizing.They cooked, cleaned, joined guerrilla bands,
and faced equal hardships as male organizers. Only recently has this history
been rendered visible, along with the insistence that the public domain of
political action must be understood through the warp and woof of the private. Indeed, the economy of political action is simultaneously the economy of a private body politic: one that is gendered, sexualized, procreative,
and quotidian.
Underscoring womens daily acts of nurturance and support within social
movements is not only a resuscitative move. It challenges our very assumptions about the nature of collective mobilization. If we are also interested
in the full, complex, and often contradictory cultural meanings that are the
fabric of such politics, then the careful rendering of a gendered, and indeed
a womens, history is critical.
Certainly, Churamins pregnant selfhood and the bodily meanings that
she gives to the memory of her involvement in the ruptural histories of the
late s are not mere resuscitative moves. Her fragmentary comments
suggest that our understandings of the history of North Bengal is problematically partial. By gendering our analysis of daily history, we nd that the
doubled or tripled invisibilities of conventional historiography elide the
issues of structural power within which women remain marginalized. An
emphasis on their actions and their consciousnessfragmentary and partial certainlysuggests that this is a marginality that is both contested and
endured in potently re/visionary ways.
Within the narratives that follow, I make no easy claim for historical
visibility or the plottings of insurgent-consciousness. 36 I recognize unbridgeable gulfs. Yet, because of my often tense ramblings through these
landscapes of memory and power, and because I met and spoke to some
women who also urged me to tell stories, I lay claim to certain unsimple
subterranean eects. These are the quotidian eects of partial perspectives, situated actions, and intellectual/political location. They trace the
subtle cadences of work, the daily talk of the kitchen, the inections of the
body in ight, the murmurs of endurance. Through these particular framings of power/dialogue, they register oppositional eects.
The Narrator picks up her stool and moves to stage left. A spotlight follows her.
Another falls on one of the four Women, who has walked from behind the gauze
backscape. She squats on the ground next to the Narrators stool.
: ( pulling two rumpled pieces of paper from a deep pocket in her robe) Pretend I am a British sahib and you are Miriam Mussulmani. Here, take
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this paper. I tore it from one of the old books from the British zamana
[period]. You read Miriam Mussulmani.
: (straightening out the paper) Why? You are crazy.Why?
: Because in making you read, I pull you out. Does this hurt, this yanking? Is this because you, in the context of my production here, are more
deeply in shadow? 37
: What is all this shadow-fadow? I dont understand this. Arrey, I
will do it. You are the sahib; I am this Miriam Mussulmani.
: What do you wish to complain about?
: I want to get my name cut o the book so that I can go back to
my own country.
: Were you beaten?
: Yes, by the babu.
: What were you beaten with?
: With a cane.
: Have you any marks?
: Yes, on my arm.
: The witness exhibited a bruise in the form of a double line, several
inches long on the lower arm, which in Col. Russells opinion was probably not caused by a cane. 38
The Narrator and Woman put down their pieces of paper. The Woman looks at
the Narrator and shrugs. She pulls out some tobacco and begins rolling.The Narrator picks up the papers, rumples them, and places them in her robe pocket.The
lights fade.
both know that Siva is heralded by a cobra. I am only pleased that we did
not step on it as we alighted from the bus.
We decide to meet in my bungalow for some tea after Munnu and I have
rested, and to talk about the day. Munnu comes back with two kinswomen.
In the bungalow kitchen they go to the fridge and pour three glasses of cold
water, drinking deeply, delighted at its crispness. Munnu laughs and declines the water, saying, If I drink this water, it will become a habit. She
spreads out the bamboo mat in my bedroom to sit on the oor while we talk.
Her companions look around in amazement. Sunita Oraon, one of Munnus
kinswomen, tells me it is her rst time inside a sahibs bungalow.
Munnu reaches over to my small tape recorder and a clutter of cassettes.
I suggest that she listen to Billie Holliday. The melody of Strange Fruit
lls the room. Munnu looks closely at the cover picture of Holliday: Is this
memsahib of America? But she is not white. I then tell her that there were
gardens in America as well, and that people were brought from elsewhere
to do the work. And they were black. She interjects quickly, Are they black
the way we are black?
I am not sure how to answer this but talk a little about plantation history in the Caribbean and southern United States. Munnu listens intently
and is mostly interested in the kinds of bodily work done in cotton and
sugar cane elds. Since I have only seen pictures or read descriptions of
this work, I draw an analogy to pruning in the winter season and the way
that the force of the body from the waist is used to swing the large sickles
through the tea bushes. We talk a little about the blues. I tell her that they
came out of the plantation experience and that many women sang these
songs of their sorrow (aurat ki dukh, womens sorrows), and many songs
were about men leaving women in search for work and leaving them for
other women.
She listens again with some intensity, and then breaks into my halting exegesis about the blues: Have you written what she [Lachmi Maya
Chhetri] said? Have you? Can you believe the stories she told us about the
English period? Have you written it down yet? Have you? Did you write
about Jaman Singhs sister also . . . what she said about how she had been
doing pruning, and she came back to eat one piece of bread before going
out to collect grass, and when she got home the dog had eaten the bread.
And she did not have anything else to eat. Did you write that? Her words
come to me in a torrent.
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Framing Protest
Womens narratives of resistance and protest can be situated within a spectrum of conict: of escalation, negotiation, resolution, and rupture. At one
end of this spectrum rest events of open rupture: incidents between workers
and managers that halt work in the eld and/or factory. Yet, because of the
spatially diuse and temporally dispersed organization of work, an incident
may not involve the entire workforce, or the entire span of villages. More
frequently, one section of women may suddenly mobilize against a specic
order, and stop work in one area of the eld. These ruptures are remembered by workers who either witnessed the incident or participated in both
its escalation and denouement. These are the sediments that form history.
They are episodic and fragmentary.39 They circulate in whispers. They are
not forgotten.
In some instances of explicit larger collective protests, managerial interpretations and the legitimation of measures to regain control are critical for an understanding of the nal demarcations of power and patronage.
What are the commentaries that draw the outer perimeters of mai-baap rule
and its terms of legitimacy? How are these gendered? Open conict and
its containment are mediated by actual location in eld or factory. A common strategy of containment is to move participants, often women, into the
factory compound and its concentrated arena of administrative power. It is
here that union leaders may take over negotiations.
Conversely, a similar event within the factory can catalyze a spontaneous gathering of the workforce in ways not commonly seen in the eld.
Here, union leaders may play a primary organizing role. If not, they will still
present a show of support to the constituency of aggrieved men. The scale
and signicance of each collective act of protest is unconsciously, but critically, measured by a gendered litmus test. The importance given by both
workers and managers in their response to each locus of protest is strikingly
dierent. A threat from the eld can be moved into the center of power,
the oce compound, and paternally diused.
At the other end of the spectrum of resistance are the more daily forms
of protest, almost imperceptible shifts in the cadences of control that permeate plantation patronage. When womens politics are rarely seen within
union policy making, both at local and regional levels of administration,
then it is signicant to read their informal commentaries about plantation
labor and its coercive paternalism.40 Yet these acts of historical consciousness are not located within analytic dichotomies: collective/individual, private/public, informal/formal, primitive/rational, and women/men.
Union Talk
There are some singular women who participate with great energy in union
politics. I meet Rita Chhetri, a woman from a neighboring plantation,
toward the end of my year at Sarahs Hope. She and a friend nd me at my
bungalow. She has heard about me through kinswomen who live at Sarahs
Hope. She is active in her local union and tells me she has no problem
speaking about these issues. At the outset, I tell her that I know the senior
manager of her plantation, and she must judge whether she should speak
to me. She is not disconcerted by this information. Didi, everyone knows
who you know, why you are here, she says. Things that could happen are
for everyone to see. I know what can happen, but that is not your concern.
It remains an ethical concern. I tell the manager, Joy Sinha, that I am
conversing with Rita and our discussions are general. He has been supportive of my research presence, but I have not moved into his villages
and am not condent that there wont be pressures on Rita. Informing him
directly is a strategically preemptive act of protection. It is a strategy that
has worked well in other cases. He assures me that there will be no ramications as long as I do not talk about pending cases. I ask Rita to let
me know if there is any retaliation, but since most of our conversations are
about what goes on in the communities, she and I anticipate that retaliation,
if at all, would come in the form of innuendo and rumor from within the
village.
I ask her specically about womens participation within the organizational structure of the union. She says, It depends on each plantation, but
I can speak for mine. We have a mahila samity [womans society] within
the union. I am its leader, though also its secretary treasurer and also vice
president of the union. Yes, we arbitrate about womens things, like when
a man is beating a woman and she complains to us. We may take it up in
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the union. The man will have to come in front of us, and if we decide that
he is to be punished, it may end with ghting. Many times, he will refuse
to come to speak with us as a group. Then we will pressure the council to
arbitrate. If this is not done depending on how bad the case is, it will go to
the center, the burra sahib, for negotiation. The thing is that there is union
ka bat [talk of the union] and there is samaj ka bat [talk of the society].
If some kind of molestation has taken place, then the woman will usually
go to the samaj, to the village council.
How is it then that a woman is elected as the secretary of the mahila
samity? Rita responds, She is usuallya worker, and if the samaj wants her to
stay then assistance will be given.41 If a samaj does not want her to stay, then
a meeting will be called and a majority of the voters will have to place her
back as the secretary. The executive committee of the union has thirty-one
members, and the womens wing has twenty-ve. If someone is willing to
put in time for a leadership position, she will be given a chance.The problem
is that usually this is not the case.
Two sets of issues appear ambivalent enough to compel more questions
within Ritas sketch of womens participation in one grassroots union structure. I am rst intrigued by both the overlap and the distinction made between the samaj and union talk. What are issues of enforcement around a
judgment made by either group? Could she give me any examples of such
conicts within a concrete case? The second set of issues cohere around
customary norms and pragmatic issues that might inhibit women to join the
union organization.
Well, memsahib, let me give you one samaj case, she responds, something that happened to a close friend of mine, Mala. Here in the villages,
many things have been said about her.Where did she get her clothes from?
Why did she wear lipstick? This one Nepali man, a man from our community, who had one wife and children, started saying bad things about
her. You see, once he had said to others that he wanted to marry her. Then,
he started spreading rumors that made us, and her, angry. One night, she
took a knife and was going to cut him to pieces when some adivasi boys in
her line stopped her. They really helped. They said this should be taken to
the samaj.
She continues, So in the house next door, we were having a meeting
and the man sent some people from his family to nd out what we were
doing. He did not have many people here, so he got his people from other
gardens. We insisted that he come to face Mala which he had to. Didi, she
spat on him so much he was dripping, and then she slapped him with her
slippers . . . across his face and he could not do anything. In fact, the men
insisted that he place his head at her feet for forgiveness. She slapped him
again. His family was alone, which is why he did this. But how could he
have said all these bad things about her? My village knew that she was a
good person.
Malas status in the village, culled from a long family history and her own
courage, coupled with the support of young men in her village resulted in
a favorable outcome. Signicantly, the alleged slanderer was isolated in the
village. The story, Rita agrees, would have taken a dierent turn if he came
from a family that was well-connected in the village.
What, I ask, did the union, then, have to do with Malas case? Rita responds, There was nothing direct from the union. It was resolved through
the men in the village taking action because they felt Mala had been wrongly
dishonored. Also, she was ready to take action and her friends would help
there. It is indeed striking that though an energetic participant in union
politics, Rita herself did not take Malas case to her union directly.The negotiation occurs within the village, and the union is not involved. Ritas choice
reects the fact that unions are inconsistent in their response to sexual politics and the limitations it places on womens mobility and independence.
Rita is a remarkable woman and though there are other singular women
like her elsewhere, she (like them) is an anomalous gure. Recall Jahanara/Suneeta, my twilight companion who is neither Hindu nor Muslim.
Like Rita, she is unmarried and, in the customary norms of both communities, reaching a stage where her unmarried state can be stigmatized.42 Because she does not have the structural protection of a husband, she is vulnerable to charges of sexual impropriety.This is coupled with her strikingly
liminal social position. I am told that her father is a shadowy gure, and
there is a story of conversion. Is he Muslim? Is he not? Why does it matter?
What does matter is that Jahanara/Suneeta embodies transgression. As a
woman of two religions and two jats, who will accept her as a bride?
Perhaps it is this interstitial status that allows her to say deantly, Some
of my friends ask me how it is that I go with the men, which includes the
babus sons, to party meetings in Jalpaiguri and Siliguri? I go in trucks late
at night. They think I dont have honor or they are worried of what people
might say. My father does not care. He knows that my mind is clean.
At Sarahs Hope, womens participation in the unions womens wing is
minimal. Didi, says Sabina, we work as we do. You have seen it. Everything we do. Some of the union work is good, but I dont have the strength.
If I have to go to someones house late at night for some meeting, who will
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care for the children? And my husband will object. It is too much, and then
how people will talk, this-or-that, so this is why I dont go. I will support
them. I will pay the union dues, but I cannot do more.
A few women, usually married or allied to important leaders constitute
the backbone of the unions womens wing. Indeed, womens participation
is viewed as problematic by men and women in the wider plantation communities, not only because of time spent away from household responsibilities, but as Suneeta/Jahanaras deant commentary suggests, womens
involvement with strange men at night is seen as sexually suspect. This is
a domain of activity that, unlike the necessary public labor of women, is
explicitly sexualized. It is inscribed by shared pancommunity understandings of appropriate and moral behavior. A woman, even a married one,
might be labeled a prostitute, and most women will not risk this ultimate
loss of honor.
As a consequence of these culturally mediated alignments away from
party work, women are excludedand exclude themselvesfrom policy
decisions not only at the local level but from town and state-level union
meetings.The explanations and interpretations they present suggest the explicit ways in which cultural ideologies of sexuality, and the constraints of
eld and household work, mitigate against womens participation in formal
organizing.
However, this absence in policy making or daily union work does not
translate into inaction when union-organized political actions occur. In the
most common form of organizing, the gherao, in which a manager is surrounded by workers, women are often seen on the frontlines.43 Indeed, both
managers and union leaders comment on this pattern of womens coming
forward in the gherao and suggest strikingly similar, even laudatory, reasons
for this form of womens participation.
The rst is that women have more courage and verve than men, and
when a gherao is announced they will openly participate. Secondly, union
strategy scripts a symbolic vocabulary that they share with the managers.
Physically touching a woman or harming her in any way can incur great
wrath at the tense moments of open confrontation. It is a touching that
transgresses a shared recognition of sexual honor. This lexicon of bodily
izzat, written by both men and women, prevents the management from retaliating with potentially violent counterstrategies of repression. Honor is
animated through the womans body. Power marks the politics of sexuality
on the bodied frontlines of labor protest.
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ears of workers in other plantation villages, rival unions, and even the managers. If they decide to have their own ceremony, it would be tantamount
to a mutiny. Though the threat is not actualized into an outright challenge
of the union, what is signicant is the way in which gender, jat, and status
do mobilize the dol to symbolic action with considerable eect.
Recall for a moment Bhagirathis critique and conation of sarkar (government) and union: Look at the amount of donation/dues they take for
th August [ Indian Independence day]. The children get a toee and we
are lucky if we get a luddu. Isnt this day supposed to be about the freedom of the country? The government should be feeding us. . . . Instead we
feed them.
In her reection on the meaning of national freedom, she demonstrates
an understanding of the plantation as a state, and its rule by the union
as sarkar. The sahib as mai-baap ruler is momentarily hidden. Most signicantly, in her triply conated register of plantation/state/nation, Bhagirathi recognizes that these are politics that contain a failed reciprocity, the
wider political economy of obligation is not shared by rulers. The unionsarkar has not done its duty in the micronation of the plantation. For a small
moment, it becomes illegitimate, not worthy of a ag and a procession.
Daily Dis/Orders
A womans response to a manager who catches her coming late for work,
or who upbraids her for not plucking quickly enough, constitutes the most
frequent kind of daily protest against his hukum (order). Foraging for rewood within the plantation eld entails a severe reprimand because of the
potential damage to the tea bush. Yet a womans ability to nd rewood in
the underbrush can save her miles of walking. Mona Gond notes how an
altercation around foraging tarnished her reputation with an assistant manager. She says, I went to the oce and screamed about the sahib trying to
do kamjam [stop-work] because he had caught me getting wood in the garden. From that day, he has called me chuchri [shrew] and jhagrain. 47 For
another woman, walking alone to the village with the rewood balanced
on her head, a sudden encounter with the manager entails both fear and
mortication.
However, if a woman is with her friends, then a managers verbal reprimand is staged as a theater of shouting, a game of decibel blu. Mongri
Ghatwar notes with some asperity: They bark loudly like dogs to scare us.
Protest
I tell my friends that actually, if we scream back, even if we are alone, they
wont try it again.We bark louder, I have done it.The sahibs and babus dont
say anything to us. They tell us we are khachar [prickly, tough].
The managers focus on tardiness, particularly during peak harvest, leads
to another altercation between him and a hurrying woman. Mongri notes,
One day, the senior manager himself caught me going in late, you know,
with those big eyes. . . . He said to me, Do you know what time it is? Then
he pointed to his watch. . . . Time is moving. So I told him If the needle is
moving, then time must be moving. He was not pleased with me and said,
Your mouth moves a lot.What if I send you back and you miss your wage?
So I told him, Well, do that, and have an extra piece of sh with it. She
laughs uproariously.
Her nal comment about the extra sh spoke directly to the managers Bengali background, by invoking his communitys preference for sh
curries. Her sarcasm, and the knowledge on which it was based, is itself
gleaned from stories circulated in the plantation village by old cooks who
have prepared large meals for the sta and managerial banquets. Interestingly enough, the mocking connection between Bengali sahibs, babus, and
their sh was made frequently and scathingly. In this particular incident,
the mai-baap was benignly irritated and Mongri was sent ahead for work.
Other altercations occur at the site of the weighment shed, where
womens ire is directed toward the clerical sta who register the weight of
leaf in their large red ledger books. The sh trope is, yet again, deployed,
to the Bengali stas chagrin. Many women suspect that leaf weighment
involves microcheating, where actual weight is reduced by at least one kilogram. Because most women pluckers cannot read or write, this loss in wage,
though microscopic and incremental in amounts, when multiplied over a
season adds to considerable daily prot for the plantation.
On occasion, a woman will make an explicit comment to the sta about
these customary practices of cheating. Munnu wryly comments, I have
had several ghts with the babus at Kolpara. Once I saw he had put down
kilos instead of kilos, saying my cloth was wet and so I screamed at
him. He told me he could prove it to me, and I said that if he wanted to eat a
good piece of sh with the money from the extra two kilos, he was welcome
to it.
At another time, I was so angry, I asked him, Will you put food in my
childs stomach? And do you know how he replied? You do not know how
to read and write, so why are you challenging me? Well, that made me really
angry. I told him, Yes, babu, if I knew how to read and write, then there
would be no need for you to be sitting there.
factory. The event was precipitated by an incident that had happened the
previous day when an assistant manager had caught Mongri Ghatwar taking
dried wood after a pruning shift of work. Despite her pleas about her sick
child and lack of rewood in the house, he ordered her not to come to work
the following day. The next morning, when Mongri duly reported for her
early morning shift, the overseer informed her that the sahib had cut her
daily wage.
She continues, I went to the union leader and, though I knew he was not
going to do anything himself, I wanted him to know what I was planning.
He said they knew what was happening and were waiting to see the reworks. All at once, two tea blocks of women, three hundred of us, with my
dol leading and with pruning knives in hand, charged into the oce. The
babus quickly shoved the assistant manager into the oce and the senior
manager came out.We had out knives raised.The union leaders stayed in the
back, watching.The burra sahib called the assistant sahib outside and yelled
at him in front of us. He told us that all ve ngers on one hand are not the
same, and we should excuse him. It was enough.We went back to work.
Signicantly, the escalation of Mongris spontaneous protest took several distinct steps. Initially, she veried her actions with her union leader,
who gave tacit support to her grievance and plan of action, while also
making implicitly clear his background position during the actual confrontation within the oce compound.Consequently, Mongris contact with the
leader gestured to his important, albeit silent, support.
The collective movement of large numbers of women from eld into the
factory and oce compound also hints at the manner in which its escalation in intensity, and the importance given to its seriousness by sahibs and
union leaders, was linked to a cartographic shift. This was a shift in which
womens movement from eld spaces into the factory arena catapulted the
potential seriousness of their spontaneous organizing into another level
of political action. The womens appearance within the concentrated locus
of planter power within the factory also suggests the possible reasons for
the events rapid containment.
Primal Fields
The image of the womens raised sickles, pointedly noted by Mongri Lohra
in her recapitulation of her dols momentary uprising, begs the question
of the planters perceptions of this transformation of pruning sicklesimplements of plantation work, tools of disciplineinto suddenly powerful
Protest
Gendered Ruptures
The managers perceptions of the political eld are ltered through the lens
of gendered ascriptions about the potential of acts of protest or violence.
It is no accident that Budhuas raised hoe is viewed as dangerous: he inhabits the genealogical space of an iconic male working-class primitive.
Women workers, by contrastdespite their back talk and their small and
quickly contained ruptural actsare still viewed by managers as the best
workers. This characterization is predicated on womens consistent attendence at work as well as their less troublesome ways within the eld.Thus,
even an occasional gathering of womens dols in the factory compound can
be placated by the burra sahibs loud admonishment of his erring assistant
manager.Work resumes again. If the same incident involved men, however,
the sahib would have to contend almost immediately with union organizing.
In important ways, then, the planters self-representation of pioneering
fearlessness and superior masculine courage is directed toward crafting the
perceptions of men workers. Recall one assistant managers emphasis on
keeping face when confronted by a trapped leopard within the eld. It
is a display of power directed explicitly at men, whose sharp observations
on the managers bravery, or lack thereof, creates his reputation.Their gaze
is public and powerful, one that he hopes will enhance his reputation of
decisive strength within the plantation.
There is, for the planter, a concomitant wariness of mens activities
within that eld, which indexes two distinctly dierent, though connected,
locuses of political action: eld and factory. Note the words of the same assistant manager, who challenged the leopard: I dont accept any nonsense
from the men workers. I also know that strategy is cooked up in the garden.
The kichdi [mixed curry] is made there in the eld, which is why I will not
challenge them there. But I will get them in the oce. The eld remains
a space that threatens to spill over the planters boundaries of control. Its
furthest distances from the center of his power suggest a spatial diusion,
a circle so expanded as to make him anxious about his capacity to control
the eects of that very expansion. A leopard sits tense and golden-eyed,
grunting in the distance of the elds borders.
Womens acts of protest are congured dierently, within the dominant
stereotypes of docility. The potent solidarity of a dols actions, signied
by raised sickles, appears to the managers as a threat, certainly, but a relatively marginal one. Due to womens marginalization in the formal arenas
of political organizing, their small ruptural politics are quickly dismissed,
while mens eld talk is viewed far more seriously.The assistant manager will
Protest
: (chowkidar who lives in the Factory Line) I know what she did to
the sahib because I was his kothi [bungalow] chowkidar. He was always
good to me. I cant believe he did that to her with the cigarette. Anyway,
she has no right. He is the sahib. I dont speak with her when I see her:
She is a randi anyway.
All three narratives of the conict between Julena and the sahib conrm
it as memorable, as containing its own facticity. Julena, protagonist of the
event, gives some background to her precipitous behavior by highlighting
the sahibs previous actions of violation: his small invasions of womens
bodily izzat by physical pushing.
Furthermore, in her rendition of the event, she also presents the diering
alliances among fellow women workers in the eld: the boidars wife who
was spontaneously loyal to Julenas ctive claim to kinship and the Nepali
dol who tried to hide the sahib among the tea bushes. Even within the concentrated disciplining radius of the oce, while facing the burra sahib, Julena asserted her access to institutional power, the unions, as well as hinted
at her own knowledge of the sahibs tricks. Signicantly, fellow union
members did not assist her at any stage of the quick conagration. However, because the sahib was aware of Julenas direct access to the union and
had some protolegal understanding of her rights, he orders her to merely
trim her transgressive nails.
Somri, a woman who did not witness the incident, but heard it through
the talk circulating in the plantation villages, was quietly disapproving. Her
commentary is characteristic of many womens opinions of Julenas actions. It is also representative of the powerful quiet conformity implicitly
demanded by fellow women of their peers. As such, Somris commentary
articulates a potent internal disciplining among plantation women; one that
not only suggests the importance of keeping quiet (not creating trouble)
but also hints at the sense of impotence about realistically challenging the
plantations status quo.
Govinds brief comments about Julena are explicit in their condemnation
of her, articulated through the clarion call term randi (prostitute). Govinds
cross-class and cross-hierarchical sense of alliance with the manager is singularly important in its momentary indexing of a gendered solidarity between the planter and a man of the labor elite.This cross-class alliance is also
powerfully articulated by the unions silence not only in regard to the catalyzing action of the sahibs ung cigarette but also in any collective support
of her case. Consequently, this combination of paternal silencing, as well as
the territorial shift from the eld landscape into the ambit of planter power,
reduced the import of the cigarette burn and Julenas response to a mild,
quickly contained (though remembered) tremor within the plantation day.
and the tea company had to suspend the men involved. Not only was the
senior planters physical safety threatened by a carefully aimed rock thrown
as he barricaded himself behind closed oce doors, but an all-plantation
strike-call was sounded. In short, the small matter of tea theft had turned,
in this one instance, into a ashpoint.
Julenas singular protest in the eld prompts general disapproval of her
various public actions, explained partially by whispers of heralleged promiscuity.Cultural norms about sexual im/propriety lter into this social disapproval of her activities. The watchmans powerful hostility also signals the
threads of a gendered, cross-class alliance between planter and labor elite.
Coupled with the union leaders tacit acceptance of the managers order that
she clip her nails, it translates into a paternal marginalization of her protest
against the microcosmic, but potent, invasion of her sense of bodily honor.
On the other hand, the assault on the alleged thief precipitates an unambivalent and complete support from plantation communities and various
political unions.What could help us understand the startlingly dierent responses to these events? In the rst place, the communities of workers perceived the thief caught in the factory as a victim of the sahibs coercive
actions, and the alleged thief had not fought the managers. Julena, on the
other hand, had acted on her own initiative, even though it was against an
unprovoked assault. It was her strident claim to autonomous agency that
was measured negatively by many women and men in the plantation. Signicantly, what catalyzed her protestthe assistant managers act of violenceis utterly eclipsed by the explicit and transgendered silencing of her
response.
These moments of rupture and containment highlight the important
ways in which gender and power dene the coercive edges of the labor
regime. Planters view their encounters with women as less threatening than
their conicts with men. It is the latters gathering in eld tasks that feeds the
planters fears of political resistance and violence against the plantocracy.
Womens own choreographies of organized collective action, meanwhile,
are constrained by a pancommunity lexicon of honor.
Strategies of containment are charted through cartographic shifts.Tense
eld encounters are moved, almost invariably, into the concentrated ambit
of managerial power, the factory. It is a movement to construct a panopticon that signals focused containment. The elds vast dispersal is no longer
relevant or dangerous. Conversely, a conict which begins within the factory is invested with great signicance, because its locus of collective confrontation suggests the nal and most potent threat to the planters center
of power.
Protest
The spotlight turns on the Narrator who is standing extreme stage left. She holds
in her hand, the black oil lantern. It glows brightly. She turns it down. She walks
around the crescent of the stage and arrives back at her table, stage right. As she
does so, all the characters of the play appear quietly and take their customary
places. Alice, the Mad Hatter, March Hare, and the Doormouse sit at their tea
party. The Sahibs and Memsahibs sit on rattan chairs, center stage. The son of
the forest, the four Women, the Goddess holding a sickle, come out from behind
the gauze backdrop, stage left and squat on the ground. She looks around at them.
Her ngers move across the artifacts of the story on the table: a clutter of false
nails, the quill, the porcelain tea cup, the teapot. She holds up her ngers; the
long nails icker in the light.
: (turning in her seat to look at Alice) So here we all are, Alice, spiraling
back to the beginning.To our ngers, our nails, their thin cuticles. Nothing begins or ends, perhaps, but this exing of esh. The ngers curling
around stones. Then throwing, throwing, throwing.
There is a long pause. Five slow, steady but loud beats from a drum.
Who can say anything about the endurance of women? Perhaps the plantation is like Singbhum, a white-haired old woman collecting rewood
in the jungles, who never answers a stranger, never looks at anyone.
Keeping the intruders into her grief, at a distance, beyond the barrier of
her silence, she continues collecting rewood. 1
A second long pause. Five slow, steady but loud beats from a drum.
Appendix
Category
Total Starting
Salary (monthly)
Clerical Grade I
Rs.
Clerical Grade II
Rs.
Rs. .
Medical Grade I
Medical Grade II
Rs.
Rs.
Technician Grade A
Rs.
Technical Grade B
Rs.
Grade
Head clerk
Head factory clerk
Clerk in charge of out-garden
(eld sta )
Seniormost garden clerk (eld
sta )
nd clerk (oce/garden)
nd factory clerk
Senior stores clerk
Typist
Junior clerk
Stores clerk
Doctor
Laboratory technician
Theater nurse
Sta nurse
Special mechanic
Special carpenter
Head mechanic
Head engine driver
Head electrician
Certied boiler attendant
(st class)
Master carpenter
Latheman
Source: Excerpted from Dooars Branch Indian Tea Association, Pay, Allowances
and Other Conditions of Service (Circular no. , September ), .
Category
Total Starting
Salary
Grade
Rs.
Grade
Rs. .
Grade
Rs. .
Grade
Head foreman (factory), Head overseer
(garden)/Head munshi, Overseer (garden)
munshi, Seniormost nurse/midwife without
certicate, Seniormost factory sirdar,
Seniormost boidar, Headwatchman/Head
chowkidar
Senior foreman, Garden chaprasi, Field writer/
boidar, Head storeman (garden), Chief foreman
(garden), Head eld writer, Senior foreman &
factory writer, Senior medicine carrier, Senior
hospital attendant, Midwife without state
midwifery and nursing certicates but locally
trained
Watchman/chowkidar, Foreman/duadar/
Factory sirdar, Timekeeper (factory), Oilman,
Tubewell attendent, Stenciller/Stencil foreman,
Postman/Storekeeper, Blacksmith, Untrained
midwife (Dhai), Mason
Source: Excerpted from Dooars Branch Indian Tea Association, Pay, Allowances
and Other Conditions of Service (Circular no. , September ), .
Appendix
Adult
Child
Rs. .
Rs. .
Rs. .
Rs. .
Rs. .
Rs. .
Rs. ./.
Rs. ./.
Rs. . /.
Source: Dooars Branch Indian Tea Association, Pay, Allowances and Other Conditions of Service (Circular no. , September ), .
Casual (Bigha)
*
Weeding
*
Plucking
Manuring
Weeding
Plucking
*Only three days worked.
Weeding
Plucking
**
*
Weeding
Plucking
*Only eight days worked.
*
*
Weeding
*
Plucking
**
Appendix
Date
Total Haziri
(No. of
Workers)
Total
Kilograms
Plucked
Total
Kilograms
Manufactured
Total
Kilograms
Packed
Glossary
mazdoor: worker
missionya: of the mission; Christian
natak: theater, play
nazar: attention; gaze
neta: leader, usually union or political
party chief
panchayat: village council
puja: religious ritual, usually Hindu
raj: kingdom; used to describe rule
Notes
chapter Alap
Association, intercourse, speaking, conversation, discourse, enumeration
of the question in an arithmetical and algebraic sum; modulation or rising
of the voice in singing, tuning up and prelude to a song. Alap chari is tuning the voice preparatory to singing. In Hindi, turned a verb called alapna
and that means to tune the voice, to run over the notes previous to singing,
to catch the proper key, to pitch or raise the voice, to cry with pain, moan,
groan. (John T. Platts, ed., Dictionary of Urdu,Classical Hindi and English,
nd Indian edition [Delhi: Munshi Ram Manohar Lal Publishers Pvt. Ltd.,
]). Alap in colloquial north Indian usage simply means introduction.
(Burra) sahib is a Hindi vernacular term from the colonial period which
loosely translated suggests master/ruler/gentleman. Burra translates
loosely as big. In the colonial period, it referred explicitly to a European, Briton, or English person. In postcolonial India, sahib (like its feminized counterpart, memsahib) connotes upper-class/caste, urban,Westernized status. Burra sahib is less common than the generic salutation of sahib.
In the contemporary plantation, burra sahib refers explicitly to the senior
manager or planter, who is contrasted to his assistant manager, the chota
(small/secondary) sahib.
Mahasweta Devi, Little Ones, in Bitter Soil: Stories by Mahasweta Devi,
trans. Ipsita Chandra (Calcutta: Seagull Books, ), .
Jatra refers to the folk theater of rural Bengal. My use of it here encompasses this meaning as well as the hybrid adivasi (noncaste, non-Hindu) and
non-Bengali dance gatherings in the plantations of north Bengal.
Kichdi is a vegetable and lentil dish, mixed together with rice. It suggests
culinary confusion, a mixing of what should otherwise remain separate in
the rites of cooking, consumption, and commensality. I deploy it to connote
a purposeful categorical hybridity.
As a way to highlight the central presence of these three women who were
my primary interlocuters, I do not use pseudonyms for them. I use their
rst names and their family surnames or titles as a way to mark their centrality in the narratives which follow. Rita Chhetri, who appears later in the
book, also goes by her real name. The politics of naming is an important
index of workers experience as very often new recruits refused to give their
names or were given day names after the day of the week, and their jat
(community) status. Thus, Sannicharwa Oraon literally means, Saturday
Oraon. I have tried to remain attentive to these historical ironies and the
political ontology of naming in what has been chosen for this narrative.
I was careful to ask both their preference and permission to do this after
reading out sections of the manuscript to them. We discussed the political
ramications of such transparency in the text. In other cases, particularly in
connection with the labor protest discussed in the last chapter, some of the
women involved asked that pseudonyms be used and even chose the names
they wanted. In the case of other individuals, I ascribed pseudonyms, giving
them last names, too, to index coeval ontological eects.
Madhuri Dixit is one of the reigning lm goddesses in the contemporary Hindi lm pantheon. Her lms, popular Bombay (Bollywood) productions, are shown on rented videos in the workers clubs or screened at
the local cinema hall in a nearby town.
Memsahib, like its masculine counterpart sahib, referred initially to colonial
British women. For an excellent discussion of the emergence and transformation of this term within Anglo-Indian and imperial discourses, see Jenny
Sharpe, Allegories of Empire: The Figure of Woman in the Colonial Text (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, ), .
I am indebted to Amalendu Guhas use of this term. See Planter Raj to
Swaraj: Freedom Struggle and Electoral Politics in Assam, (New
Delhi: Indian Council of Historical Research, ). I use the term Planter
Raj interchangeably with British Raj in the context of northeast Indian plantation histories.
I extrapolate from Fernand Braudels famous formulation of the long,
even very long time span. (Braudel, History and the Social Sciences:
The Longue Dure, in On History ([Chicago: University of Chicago Press,
], ).
For the phrase narrative seedbed, I am indebted to a conversation I had with
lmmakers and writers Kabir Mohanty, Amitabha Chakravarty, Sharmistha
Mohanty and Mandira Mitra in Calcutta in December . Kabir Mohanty
suggested that the notion of a narrative seedbed might be useful forasserting an authorial voice that was collective, relational, and dialogical.While
this seedbed rests within the contours of a quite specic selfhood, it can
gesture to the plural and psychic construction of ethnographic authority.
Anna Tsing, From the Margins, Cultural Anthropology , no. (August
): . See also her brilliant placement of a historical, global discourse
through the words of Uma Adang in In the Realm of the Diamond Queen:
Marginality in an Out-of-the-Way Place (Princeton: Princeton University
Press, ).
A. R. Ramsden, Assam Planter: Tea Planting and Hunting in the Assam Jungle
(London: John Giord, ), .
The moral economy argument in the context of labor history has been
Mohanty, Ann Russo, and Lourdes Torres (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, ), ; Gayatri Chakravarty Spivak, Can the Subaltern
Speak? in Marxism and the Interpretation of Culture, ed. Cary Nelson and
Lawrence Grossberg (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, ), ;
Marta Savigliano, Tango and the Political Economy of Passion: Exoticism
and Decolonization (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, ); Banerjee, Himani. Geography Lessons: On Being an Insider/Outsider to the Canadian Nation, in Dangerous Territories: Struggles for Dierence and Equality
in Education (New York: Routledge, ), ; Ali Behdad. Traveling
to Teach: Postcolonial Critics in the American Academy, in Race Identity and Representation in Education, ed. Cameron McArthy and Warren
Crichlow (New York: Routledge, ), ; Trinh T. Minh-ha, Woman,
Native, Other (Bloomington: Indiana University Press), ; Aihwa Ong,
Colonialism and Modernity: Feminist Representations of Women in NonWestern Societies, Inscriptions and (): .
In this gesture to the transnational, I refer explicitly to Caren Kaplan
and Inderpal Grewal, Introduction: Transnational Feminist Practices and
Questions of Postmodernity, in Scattered Hegemonies: Postmodernity and
Transnational Feminist Practices, ed. I. Grewal and C. Kaplan (Minneapolis:
University of Minnesota Press), ; Caren Kaplan, Deterritorializations:
The Rewriting of Home and Exile in Western Feminist Discourse, Cultural Critique (spring ): . For an excellent critique of the hegemonic place of the U.S. nation-state in relation to feminist ethnographic
production, see Deborah Gordon, U.S. Feminist Ethnography and the Denationalizing of America: A Retrospective on Women Writing Culture, in
Feminist Fields: Ethnographic Insights, ed. Rae Bridgeman et al. (Toronto:
Broadview Press, ), .
In this case, I refer quite specically to the state power of the United
States, through its immigration and legal policy, to determine when and
if a person may enter, leave, and return to the United States. See Chandra Mohanty, Dening Genealogies: Feminist Reections on Being South
Asian in North America, Womens Lives: Multicultural Perspectives, ed.
G. Kirk and M. Ogazawa-Rey (Mountain View, Calif.: Mayeld Publishing,
), . See also Ali Behdad, Traveling to Teach: Postcolonial Critics
in the American Academy, in Race Identity and Representation in Education, ed. Cameron McArthy and Warren Crichlow (New York: Routledge,
), . I am mindful of Behdads important cautionary note about
postcolonial privilege vis vis other immigrant and migrant communities
who are not protected by the class status and education in their experiences
of displacement and exile within the United States.
I am thinking specically of a wor(l)ding of the ethnographic text in which
the actual social world that it purports to represent remains in a tense
dialectical movement with it. See Dorothy E. Smith, Textually Mediated
Social Organization, in Texts, Facts and Femininity: Exploring the Relations of Ruling (Routledge: London, ), ; Dorothy E. Smith, The
Essays on the History of the Chanoyu, ed. P. Varley and K. Isao (Honolulu:
University of Hawaii Press, ), .
Lt.Col. Hannagan, From Old Files: Darjeeling Plantations, Assam Review
and Tea News , no. (April ): .
Evans, Tea in China, .
Ukers, All about Tea, .
Ibid.; A. Ibbetson, Tea: From Grower to Consumer (London: Pittman and
Sons, ).This reference to early temperance is conrmed by Giambattista
Ramusins note of an encounter with a Persian merchant, Hajji Mohammed:
He told me that all over Cathay, they made use of another plant or rather
its leaves.This is called by these people, chai catai, and grows in the district
of Cathay which is called Cacian fu [Sichuan]. It is so highly valued and esteemed that everyone going on a journey takes it with him, and these people
would gladly give a sack of rhubarb for one ounce of chai catai. Quoted in
Michael Cooper, The Early Europeans and Tea, in Tea in Japan: Essays on
the History of the Chanoyu, ed. Paul Varley and Kamakura Isao (Honolulu:
University of Hawaii Press, ), .
Souchong translates small or scarce.
Fortune, Three Years Wanderings, .
Marshall Sahlins, describing the splendid displays of Chinese imperial
wealth, notes that a French missionary found it incredible how rich this
sovereign is in curiosities and magnicent objects of all kinds from the Occident. See his Cosmologies of Capitalism (for a detailed description of
these other imperial collections).
Ibid.; Eric Wolf, Europe and the People without History (Berkeley: University
of California Press, ), .
Evans, Tea in China, .
In a letter dated June , , we nd a Mr.Wixam writing to Mr. Eaton, a
company agent posted in Macao: Mr. Eaton, I pray you buy for me a pot of
the best sort of chaw in Meaco, Fairebowes and Arrows, and half a dozen
of Meaco quilt boxes squares for to put in to barque and whatsoever they
cost you I will be alsue willinge. . . . vale, yours, R.W. Ibbetson, Tea, .
Ukers, All about Tea, .
Eric Wolf notes that Asia, since the Roman era, a purveyor of valued goods
for tribute taking claims, drained Europe of precious metals. Expanding
conquest and trade in Asia thus promised to reverse the asymmetrical relation between debtors and creditors. Wolf, Europe and the People without
History, . See also his excellent summary of the silver trade between
the Americas, which paid for Chinese tea.The bullion drainage reproduced
what he calls an ancient problem (). See also Marshall Sahlins, Cosmologies of Capitalism.
See Sahlins detailed discussion of this thick symbology of the Confucian
state order within the spatial and ordered universe of this displayboth in
the imperial court and its summer palace. Ibid.
Ibid., .
also William Ukers, All about Tea, vol. (New York: Tea and Coee Trade
Journal, ).
Hannagan, From Old Files (August ), .
One English observer asked rhetorically: As inhabitants of Canton were in
the habit of shipping themselves on board our Indiamen, whenever hands
were wanted, why should not their tea-growing neighbours in Hunan embark their shrubs, their tools of cultivation, and themselves, and set up business in newly established botanic gardens in Calcutta? Quoted in Scott,
The Great Tea Venture, .
British opinion about the quality of Chinese workers was mixed. Chinese
coolies noted one planter, were poorly selected and a quarrelsome lot . . .
shoemakers and carpenters from the bazaars who knew nothing of tea
making (Ukers, All about Tea, :).The few who remained in the Dooars
and Assam worked as carpenters and contractors. During the Indo-China
border conict of , people who lived in Makum (Assam) who were descendents of these Chinese teamen and carpenters were imprisoned by
the Indian government (interview, Bimal Guha-Sircar, Calcutta, July ).
A Century of Progress: Gurjanjhora Tea and Industries Ltd., Jalpaiguri,
, Souvenir in commemoration of the Centenary Celebrations, May
and , (Jalpaiguri: n.p., ), .
C. A. Bruce, The Manufacture of the BlackTea as Now Practised at Suddeya in
Upper Assam by the Chinamen sent Thither for That Purpose with some Observations on the Culture of the Plant in China and its Growth in Assam (Calcutta,
), .
In one diagram, the slender hand of a tea roller is sketched in elongated
detail and a strikingly detailed rendition of tea rolling is oered: The left
hand grasping the leaves about to be rolled, resting on the little nger; the
extended right hand with the ngers close together, except the thumb which
is stretched out, ready to be placed on the leaves received by the left hand.
The almost obsessive detail of the ngers and their action on the plucked
leaf suggests an early colonial sketch of the fetishistic aura that surrounded
tea production. Nimble dexterity, thus, extended into the early technologies of manufacture, and the hand fused with the leaf created a powerful
image of bodied and crafted value. Ibid., , g. .
Samuel Baildon, Tea Industry in India (London, ), .
Lees, Memorandum, .
Almost a century after the rst cautionary characterization of treacherous tribes, Lord Wavell, one of British Indias last viceroys, lauded the
participation of planters in the allied defensive against the Japanese armys
impending invasion of Indias northeastern borders. Lord Wavell noted that
it was perhaps surprising to some that the profession of planting tea in
remote and peaceful Assam was likely to engender qualities of toughness,
determination and improvisation in emergencies (italics mine). See Navinder Singh, Organized Groups in the Tea Industry (unpublished manuscript,
, personal collection of author), .When referring explicitly to a global
war waging on plantation borders, Lord Wavell invoked yet another edenic
myth about the plantation histories of eastern India: a suggestion of interior
hinterlands, almost hermetically sealed from the outside world, in which
physical isolation helped create a peaceful Planter Raj. See also Amalendu
Guha, Planter Raj to Swaraj: Freedom Struggle and Electoral Politics in Assam, (New Delhi: Indian Council of Historical Research, );
For a comprehensive history of tea planters involvement on the AssamBurma frontier duringWorld War II, see Percival Griths, The History of the
Indian Tea Industry (London: Widenfeld and Nicholson, ), .
Griths discussion, an entirely proindustry account, begs another kind of
military history, of subaltern agency, during this crucial period.
A. K. Sen, Western Duars, Past and Present, in Jalpaiguri District Centenary Souvenir, (Jalpaiguri: n.p., ), .
W.W. Hunter, A Statistical Account of Bengal, vol. : Districts of Darjeeling
and Jalpaiguri and the State of Kuch Behar (London, ), .
Ibid., .
Ranajit Dasgupta, Economy, Society and Politics in Bengal: Jalpaiguri,
(Delhi: Oxford University Press, ), .
Lees, Memorandum, .
Dasgupta, Economy, Society and Politics in Bengal, .
J. A. Milligan, Final Report on the Survey and Settlement Operations in the
Jalpaiguri District, (Calcutta: Bengal Secretariat Book Depot,
), .
A literal translation of dobhasiya is of two languages.
J. F.Gruning, Eastern Bengal and Assam District Gazetteers: Jalpaiguri (Allahabad: n.p., ).
Hunter, A Statistical Account, .
Ibid.
For a lively and comprehensive history of Darjeeling, see Fred Pinns The
Road to Destiny: Darjeeling Letters, (Calcutta: Oxford University Press,
); cf. Jahar Sen, DarjeelingAn Entrepot of Central Asian Trade,
Calcutta Historical Journal , no. (JanuaryJune ): ; Sunil Munshi, An Enquiry into the Nature of Frontier Settlements: A Case Study of
Hill Darjeeling, Occasional Paper ,Center for Studies in Social Sciences,
Calcutta ().
Abdul Bari, The Birth of the District, in Jalpaiguri District Centenary Souvenir, .
Milligan, Final Report, .
A colonial administrator noted: A large body occupied the Baikanthpure
forest, whence they issued on their predatory excursions. The forest was
composed of tree jungle interwoven with cane, and was impassable except by narrow paths known only to dacoits. The collector of Rangpur got
together a force of barkandars and held all entrances. . . . The robbers were at length starved out, and those who did not escape to Nepal
and Bhutan were captured and brought to heel. It is said that within twelve
months, dacoits were brought to trial in this and other parts of the district. Quoted in ibid., .
This phrase is from a broadsheet on the Boston Tea Party that illustrates the
costumes of the Indians: with artful Disguise and Grotesque Decoration / Like Sons of the Forest. See The Boston Tea Party, December ,
illustration by H.W. McVickar (New York: Dodd Mead, ), .
P. Malik, The Boundaries of Jalpaiguri, in Jalpaiguri District Centenary
Souvenir, .
Ibid., .
Milligan, Final Report, .
Malik, The Boundaries of Jalpaiguri, .
Hunter, A Statistical Account, .
Ibid., .
Asim Chaudhuri, Merchant Capital in a Colonial Social Formation: The
Political Economy of Duars Tea Plantations in Jalpaiguri District, North
Bengal University Review , no. (): .
For excellent discussions of agrarian politics prior to colonial rule and the
impact of colonial plantation settlement policies, see Virginius Xaxa, Evolution of Agrarian Structure and Relations in the Jalpaiguri District (West
Bengal): A Case Study in Subsistence Setting, Sociological Bulletin , no.
(March ): ; Virginius Xaxa, Colonial Capitalism and Underdevelopment in North Bengal, Economic and Political Weekly , no.
(September , ): , and Tapash K. Roy Choudhury, Land Control:
Class Struggles and Class Relations in Western Duars () Journal
of the Asiatic Society of Bangladesh , no. (June ): .
Through the colonial period, both East Bengali immigrants and Marwari
merchants came to dominate the agrarian commerce in the region. Prosperous Bengal families consolidated their scattered jotes (land plots) to start
their own tea plantations. Marwari merchants frequently loaned cash to the
new planters in a system known as the hundi and bought land from local
jotedars.These commercial activities laid the foundations of an Indian plantocracy in the Dooars. For statistics of demographic impact of this selling
o of land, see Roy Choudhury, Land Control, .
W. Nassau Lees, comp., The Resolutions, Regulations, Despatches and Laws
Relating to the Sale of Wastelands and the Immigration of Labour in India:
Corrected up to st July, (Calcutta, ), .
Rana Partap Behal, The Emergence of a Plantation Economy: The Assam
Tea Industry in the Nineteenth Century, Occasional Papers on History and
Society (New Delhi: Nehru Memorial Museum and Library, ).
Government of Bengal, Board of Revenue, The Bengal Wastelands Manual
(Alipore: Superintendent of Government Printing, ).
Kalyan K. Sircar, A Tale of Two Boards: Some Early Management Problems
of the Assam Company Ltd., , Economic and Political Weekly
, nos. to (March , ): . The process of land grabbing for
early experimental plantations, in Bihar and the Kangra Valley (Himachal
pinching of the stomach is morally good because it will induce the peasants
to work in the plantation. Bandarage, The Establishment and Consolidation of the Plantation Economy in Sri Lanka, Bulletin of Concerned Asian
Scholars , no. (): .
Dasgupta, Economy, Society and Politics in Bengal, .
That opium cultivated in Bengal and Assam paid for Chinese tea and assisted in creating a thriving business in opium in southern China presents
an unintended historical irony.
Lees, Memorandum, ; italics mine. For discussions about how such essentialist characterizations of native behavior becomes a colonial trope, see
Syed Alatas, The Myth of the La Native: A Study of the Image of the Malays,
Filipinos and Javanese from the th to the th Century and its Function in the
Ideology of Colonial Capitalism (London: Cass, ).
Mulk Raj Anand, Two Leaves and a Bud (; New Delhi: Arnold, ), .
MacGowan, Tea Planting in the Outer Himalayah, .
Ramkrishna Chattopadhyaya, Social Perspectives of Labour Legislation
in India, : As Applied toTea Plantations, Ph.D. dissertation,University of Calcutta, , .
Sharit Bhowmik, Recruitment and Migration Policy in Tea Plantations in
West Bengal, Bulletin of the Cultural Research Institute , no. ():
. For further contrast, wages of textile workers increased from . rupees
per month in to . rupees in .
A. R. Ramsden, Assam Planter: Tea Planting and Hunting in the Assam Jungle
(London: Giord, ), .
While the label tribal is the most commonly used designation for these
varied communities, its colonial/administrative roots remain problematically homogenizing. I employ the term Jharkhandi, used more widely by
various communities in the Chotanagpur plateau, to designate their original homeland, the Jharkhand.The term adivasi, which is more encompassing, is sometimes used interchangeably in the text because it is also used
self-referentially by both Oraon and Munda, as well as by low-caste communities such as the Goala and Kumhar.
Ramkrishna Chattopadhyahya, Social Perspective of Labour Legislation
in India.
The ryotwari system was a revenue collection system in which the colonial
ocial settled tax rates and administered collection directly from a cultivator. Ideally, it sought to displace the absolute authority of the zamindar and
his middlemen.Certainly, the translation of customary law into the juridical
denitions of private property remained a highly vexed matter for these
administrators, ethnologists, and historians. For a detailed accounting of
the debates of categorization and actual practice of colonial policy in rural
India, see Peter Robb, ed. Rural India: Land, Power and Society under British
Rule (London: Curzon Press, ). For the most comprehensive discussions about the ideologies and staggered policy/implementation of private
property law in British India see Ranajit Guha, Rule of Property for Bengal:
An Essay on the Idea of Permanent Settlement (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, ); and Eric Stokes, The Peasant and the Raj (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, ).
For a succinct and comprehensive overview of the colonial transformation
of land rights and impact on tribal politics, see K. S. Singhs introduction, History, Anthropology and Colonial Transformation, in his Tribal
Society in India: An Anthropo-Historical Perspective (New Delhi: Manohar
Publications, ), .
This was an argument made by a Jharkhandi activist during a discussion on
colonial recruitment in January .
Xaxa, Tribal Migration, .
Marina Carter, Strategies of Labour Mobilization in Colonial India: A
Case-Study of Returnee Recruiting in Mauritius, Conference on Plantation
Labour in Colonial Asia (Amsterdam: Center for Asian Studies, ), .
Chattopadhyahya, Social Perspective, .
Sharit Bhowmik, Class Formation in the Plantation System (New Delhi:
Peoples Publishing House ), .
, Report for , .
Tea Districts Labour Association, Report and Accounts for the Year Ended
st August, (Calcutta: , ), .
In one case, acres were marked o in half-acre plots: We give the
coolies a license to cultivate for some months and charge annas rent per
month so they cant have conversion to rights (Indian Tea Gazette, Indian
Tea Cyclopaedia (Calcutta, ), .
Amalendu Guha, Planter Raj to Swaraj: Freedom Struggle and Electoral Politics in Assam, (New Delhi: Indian Council of Historical Research, ), . Government and company debated the issue of allowing
workers whose contracts had expired to settle, coming to the general conclusion that permitting settlement and cultivation would create a labor force
to a great extent attached to the soil and supplemented by the voluntary
[sic] labor of time-expired labor, Chattopadhyahya, Social Perspective, .
This was a common strategy with plantation indentureship and created a
village base whose labor, and the supply thereof, was aligned toward if not
dependent on the plantations needs. Rather than a dual system of peasantvillagerand plantation worker, a more uid arrangement between plantation
and village emerged in what Ann Stoler has called an oscillation in relation to power and production in Stoler, Plantation Politics and Protest on
Sumatras East Coast, Journal of Peasant Studies , no. (January ):
. See also Stolers Capitalism and Confrontation in Sumatras Plantation
Belt, (New Haven: Yale University Press, ), for a comparative and theoretical perspective. For a thorough and excellent discussion
of the dual economy thesis in the context of the Dooars, see Asim Chaudhuri, Enclaves in a Peasant Society: The Political Economy of Dooars Tea
Plantations in the Jalpaiguri District of West Bengal, Special Lecture ,
Centre for Himalayan Studies, mimeograph, University of North Bengal,
whose romantic sensibilities did not lead to success. Louis Mandelli, for example, a descendent of an aristocratic Maltese family, arrived in Darjeeling
in with a contract to manage a -acre garden. A gifted ornithologist, who preferred bird-watching to planting, he once admonished a friend
who wanted to pay for a gift of Darjeeling tea: Dont mention about the
Tea. Do you think that being a Tea Planter it would be right on my part to
sell Tea to friends? Of course, being so, I have the satisfaction to oblige my
friends with the produce of my garden . . . certainly it is more value to me
than all payments. Ornithology and generous gifts of tea may have been
his undoing; he lost scal backing for his mortgage from his bank, which
might have easily reasoned that anyone so occupied with birds did so at
the expense of tea. In February , Louis Mandelli committed suicide.
Fred Pinn, L. Mandelli: Darjeeling Tea Planter and Ornithologist (London,
), .
Anand, Two Leaves and a Bud, .
Percival Griths, The History of the Indian Tea Industry (London: Weidenfeld and Nicholson, ), .
Grith notes that salesmen employed in other industries have joined with
tea salesmen in building the displays in stores and carrying the story of tea
to the retailers, ; cf. Report of the International Tea Market Expansion
Board, January to December, .
International Tea Committee, Report by a Commission Representing India,
Ceylon and the Netherlands East Indies, with a Reference to Tea Propaganda
in the United States of America (London: International Tea Committee,
), .
International Tea Committee, Report . . . with a Reference to Tea Propaganda, .
Ibid., . It was noted in the same report that attention should be drawn to
teas healthful and youthful properties: Our advertising should . . . address
itself largely to the youth of the nation, and particularly to the male youth,
and our illustrations, for instance, should feature hardy, outdoor young
people, and should associate tea drinking with games and manly pursuits.
International Tea Committee, Report of the International Tea Market Expansion Board Ltd. (), .
Ibid., .
International Tea Committee, Report of the International Tea Market Expansion Board Ltd. (), .
International Tea Committee, Report of the International Tea Market Expansion Board Ltd. (), .
Griths, The History of the Indian Tea Industry, .
The dhoti is worn by men in rural and urban India. In rural contexts, it is a
cotton cloth tied simply around the waist and through the legs, much like
a sarong. In urban contexts, and on ceremonious or ritual occasions, the
dhoti is often made of silk and ornately pleated. In this particular image, it
is shown in its simplest form.
What this also suggests about nationhood and its modernities deferred is
particularly interesting in the context of postcolonial connections of gender,
status and hierarchy. I extrapolate such possible connections from Dipesh
Chakrabarty, The Dierence-Deferral of (a) Colonial Modernity: Public
Debates on Domesticity in British Bengal, History Workshop: A Journal of
Socialist and Feminist Historians (autumn ): .
Lewis Carroll, Alices Adventures in Wonderland, in The Complete Stories
of Lewis Carroll (London: Magpie Books, ), .
It is no accident that in late-nineteenth-century England, the Victorian
middle class began to organize and lobby for prohibition in the name of
industrial discipline, eciency, and productivity. Ironically, tempering the
intemperate English working class with work breaks on the assembly line
involved serving them tea.
George M. Barker, A Tea Planters Life in Assam (Calcutta, ), . The
use of alcohol as a means of extraction of labor power is an old one within
colonial labor history. Supplying country liquor became one strategy of
bondage, which underwrote indentureship in the plantation of liquor and
discipline, as K. Ravi Raman noted with some clarity: It is a subject of grim
jest that it strengthens their hold on a number of coolies, who without this
state incentive to drunkeness might save money and at the end of their term
leave the garden to become independent ryots. K. Ravi Raman, Global
Capital and Peripheral Labour: Tea in South India, c. , Proceedings of the Conference on Plantation Labour in Colonial Asia (Amsterdam:
Center for Asian Studies, ), ; Despite the transparent encouragement
of the liquor trade by the colonial elite and the careful marking through
revenue legislation of what was to be demarcated as licit and illicit
liquor, planters would still comment that increased liquor sales would detrimentally aect the health, prosperity and working habits of labourers.
See also Dooars Planters Association (), Detailed Report of the General
Committee of the Dooars Planters Association for the Year , .
I have transposed this imagerydirectly from a dance sequence in a lm about
Caribbean slave plantation women and history called I Is a Long Memoried
Woman (prod. Ingrid Lewis, dir. Frances-Ann Solomon, ).
Government of India, Royal Commission on Labour in India, Written Evidence: Assam and the Dooars, parts and , . It is important to consider,
again, the colonial and historical economy through which such a negative
rendering of the detestable Bengali babu emerges. See Mrinalini Sinha,
Colonial Masculinity: The Manly Englishman and the Eeminate Bengali in the Late Nineteenth Century (Manchester: Manchester University
Press, ).
Barker, A Tea Planters Life in Assam, .
See Rudyard Kipling, The Head of the District, Selected Prose and Poetry
of Rudyard Kipling (New York: Garden City Publishing ), .
I will continue to use the term babu interchangeably with sta because
ment in Tea Plantations and Problems of Increasing Productivity, unpublished manuscript, Department of Economics, North Bengal University,
; Manas Das Gupta, Asoke Ganguly, and Paritosh Chakladar, Labour
and Trade Union Movement in the Tea Plantation of Terai ():
Problems of Class Formation, University Grants Commission Paper, presented at the All India Seminar, North Bengal University, Bagdogra, Darjeeling,West Bengal, January , ); All India Plantation Workers Federation (), Fifth Conference, April , (New Delhi: Ranadive,
). I would like to thank Professor Manas Das Gupta of North Bengal
University for generously sharing his time and work with me on several
visits to his campus.
These names are pseudonyms.
Labour Investigation Committee, Report on an Enquiry, .
The season, held usually every October, includes both the Durga and Kali
pujas (rituals/celebrations). These are pan-Bengali traditions celebrated
with great panache in the cities and rural areas.
For a comparative perspective on gender and postcolonial urban servitude,
see Raka Ray, Masculinity, Femininity and Servitude: Domestic Workers
in Calcutta in the LateTwentieth Century, Feminist Studies , no. ():
.
Royal Commission on Labour in India, Written Evidence, .
Notes on Tea in Darjeeling by a Planter (Darjeeling, ), .
On daadars in plantations: Royal Commission on Labour in India, Written
Evidence, . On daadars in reserve forests: W. W. Hunter. A Statistical
Account of Bengal, vol. : Districts of Hazaribagh and Lohurrdaga (London,
), .
Labour Enquiry Commission, Report of the Labour Enquiry Commission,
(Calcutta: , ), .
Mulk Raj Anand, Two Leaves and a Bud (; New Delhi: Arnold, ),
.
Royal Commission on Labour in India, Written Evidence, .
Barker, A Tea Planters Life in Assam, .
Antonio Gramsci, Selections from the Prison Notebooks (New York: International, ), .
This is a colloquialism to indicate that the man was behaving above his
station, not only like a sahib (suggested by the walking stick), but like an
even bigger one.
The lingua franca within the garden is a mixture of several Chotanagpur
linguistic traditions, as well as Hindi.
, Report for , ; , Report for , v.
Dewan Chamanlal. The Khoreal Case, Coolie: The Storyof Laborand Capital in India (Lahore: n.p., ), .
Ibid.
I am working here with dramatic licence, intertextuality, and the ctions
of history through which Mulk Raj Anand creates the most important and
climactic scene in his novel, Two Leaves and a Bud. He uses a documented
story known as the Khoreal case as a pivot within a thickly textured narrative
about the sexual and racial politics of the Planter Raj. The novel ends with
the murder of a worker, called Gangu (in place of Gangadhar) who tries to
protect his daughter, Leila (Hira) from an assistant manager. The confrontation, which ends in the killing, constitutes the novels climax and closure.
In the play segment earlier in this chapter, I used Chamanlals Coolie, which
contains the transcript of the case on which Mulk Raj Anand based his novel.
Both texts are twined in the play and in my discussion of the sexual politics
of the plantation.
Anand, Two Leaves and a Bud, .
See Michael Craton, Searching for the Invisible Man: Slaves and Plantation
Life in Jamaica (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, ).There
are some instances in this historical study of Worthy Park, Jamaica, where
the politics of racialized upward mobility were played out by women seeking
manumissions of whiter children. In this instance, as in the tea plantations, positing these relations as consensual remains deeply problematic
because of the degree of coercion involved in the system as a whole.
In one conversation with a senior planter in the Dooars (who had served in
Assam) I was also told that some male elders of certain communities considered it a matter of upward status mobility for their daughters to have the
unequal alliances with the gora sahibs, the white sahibs. Because I could
not corroborate this story with some of the plantation communities, I oer
these suggestions as preliminary speculations.
Phillip R. Longley, Tea Planter Sahib: The Life and Adventures of a Tea
Planter in North Eastern India (London: Tonson, ), .
information (often from local elites) through which Victorian social evolutionisms could be proved. In so doing, we also need to explore the
ways in which upper-caste knowledges (and interpretation of these) mediated the construction of primitive-ness and its British Indian category of the tribe. See Bernard Cohns brilliant critique of H. H. Risleys
magisterial study Castes and Tribes of Bengal as a model for future excavations, Bernard S. Cohn, The Census, Social Structure and Objectication
in South Asia, An Anthropologist Among the Historians and Other Essays.
(Delhi: Oxford University Press India, ), . Such an examination is particularly important fora postcolonial administrative discourse that
has reproduced these assumptions of lineal evolutionism and taxonomies of
backwardness. The impact of social policies which have emerged from
these hybrid neo-colonial ascriptions of lack are profound and far reaching. See Virginius Xaxa, Tribes as Indigenous People in India, Economic
and Political Weekly, , no. (December , ): ; Mahasweta Devi, Dust on the Road: Activist Writings of Mahasweta Devi, ed. and
trans. M. Ghatak (Calcutta: Seagull Books, ); K. S. Singh, History,
Anthropology and Colonial Transformation, in Tribal Society in India: An
Anthropo-historical Perspective (New Delhi: Manohar Publications, ),
.
Fora comprehensive discussion of Santali involvement in the radical politics
of West Bengal, see Edward Duyker, Tribal Guerillas: The Santals of West
Bengal and the Naxalite Movement (Delhi: Oxford University Press, ).
Ironically, Munnu Kujoors positive ascription has some resonance with
the way in which managers talk about Nepali workers. Their historicized
and transgendered essentialism about Nepali vitality and valor is situated
in a political landscape where organized movements for Nepali autonomy
in North Bengal continue to challenge Bengali state communism. Though
there is little explicit connection with such movements in this specic plantation, in West Bengal such political claims by Nepalis for Gorkhaland is
well charted.
The jatra in Bengal is basically folk theater where Hindu mythology and
folktales are enacted by village troupes. In the plantation, the jatra can include this, but it also encompasses adivasi dancing and rituals, such as the
all-night circling within the akhra (the sacred circle).
Pope John Paul Is encyclical, which urged Catholic theological and liturgical practice to be more open to its local contexts, created the space for a more
radical Catholicism (liberation theology) to emerge, particularly in South
and Central America. Though I have not traced the impact of Vatican II
within the Indian Catholic church and its specic interpretation in the plantation context, my numerous discussions with prominent parishioners, lay
catechists, priests, and nuns told me that there are important tensions and
ideological dierences in the Churchs institutional imperatives on serving
the poor.
The Bharitya Janata Party is the national party which, as this book goes to
press, runs the central government with a coalition-based politics. The literature on the history of communalism and the emergence of religiously
based nationalist politics and the , is vast. See Gyanendra Pandey, The
Construction of Communalism in Colonial North India (Delhi: Oxford University Press, ); Tanika Sarkar and Urvashi Batalia, eds., Women and
the Hindu Right: A Collection of Essays (New Delhi: Kali for Women, );
and Patricia Jeery and Amrita Basu, eds., Appropriating Gender: Womens
Activism and Politicized Religion in South Asia (New York: Routledge, ).
Hearth pujas are shared by other communities: Nepali Kami [blacksmiths]
conduct an October puja called the Kul, to exorcise bad spirits and ensure
good harvest and household health.
The Umesh Kholla is the narrow gorge that cuts between the two plantations, Kolpara and Sarahs Hope; it is viewed as a natural border. Sivas
Rock is a temple and sacred site.
Within folk and orthodox Hinduism, a guru is seen as a spiritual teacher and
guide. He can also be a ritual master.
This Durga Matas emphasis on ma (mother) and on bou-ma, the Bengali
term fora daughter-in-law, is signicant. At one moment, she resists his condescension by emphasizing an essential maternal power, which is valorized
in her very claim to be the Goddess. Yet she does this by coding that power
within a patriarchal structure of the family: that, as a daughter-in-law her
limitations are clear, but she respects and honors her role as a daughter-inlaw, at least within this self-presentation. In her retelling of this encounter
she uses the dominant, and familial, language of Bengali.
Rather than examine the interface between the consistently Hindu practices of either orthodox priests or heterodox goddesses, and these cosmologies, I highlight the gendered modalities of their practice. I do so because the
arguments around alignments to the village communities and Great Traditions of Hinduism are skillfully made elsewhere and are not central to my
own focus on gender and ritual power as integral to the symbolic and political economy of the plantation. See McKim Marriot, Little Communities in
an Indigenous Civilization, in Village India: Studies in the Little Community, ed. McKim Marriot (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, ),
; Milton Singer, When a Great Tradition Modernizes: An Anthropological
Approach to Indian Civilization (Chicago: Universityof Chicago Press, ).
The involvement of ritual masters in anticolonial/antiplantation protest
was carefully tracked by planters from . See Dooars Planters Association (), Detailed Report of the General Committee of the Dooars
Planters Association for the Year (Calcutta: , ), and the Assam
Labour Enquiry Committee, Report (Shillong: Assam Government Press, ), .
Mahasweta Devi, TheWitch, Bitter Soil: Stories by Mahasweta Devi, trans.
Ipsita Chandra (Calcutta: Seagull Books, ), .
I am indebted here to a growing literature on witchcraft as a patriarchal
strategy of controlling women in the Chotanagpur and elsewhere.The mesh
of both economic and ritual catalysts for witchcraft accusations are complicated would require further research. See Mahasweta Devis numerous
essays in her Dust on the Road: Activist Writings of Mahasweta Devi, ed.
and trans. M. Ghatak (Calcutta: Seagull Books, ); Govind Kelkar and
Dev Nathan, Gender and Tribe: Women, Land and Forests in Jharkhand (New
Delhi: Kali for Women Press, ); Dev Nathan, Govind Kelkar, and Yu
Xiaogang, Women as Witches and Keepers of Demons: Cross-Cultural
Analysis of Struggles to Change Gender Relations, paper presented at the
Indigenous Asia: Knowledge, Technology and Gender Relations Conference, New Delhi, December , .
Devi, The Witch, .
Ibid., .
Ram Krishna Chattopadhyaya, Social Perspective of Labour Legislation
in India: , as Applied to Tea Plantations, Ph.D. dissertation, University of Calcutta, , .
Alexander MacGowan, Tea Planting in the Outer Himalayah (London,
), .
Ibid.
In using the term household, I understand that diverse kinds of family
structures are embedded within the family unit in the villages.These households range from a nuclear unit to the more common multigenerational
family networks. Administrative denitions of family and household are
based on nuclear models. This is particularly important in the mathematics
of food and rewood rations and residential allocations. In actual practice,
a household and family contracts and expands through the year (when relatives come to visit for periods of time) and are frequently multigenerational.
An accurate representation of household composition would require careful demographic sampling over time. This statistical sampling and survey
is necessary for policy analysis around food budgets, nutrition, wage distribution, and so on. My own methodological constraints, and eventually
epistemological problems, with implementing such a survey have been discussed earlier. For more details on wages and how they are computed, see
chapter and appendix table .
This practice of a mans marrying and living in his wifes home may be a
more common practice in the Chotanagpur Plateau. To assert that this is a
complete reversal of patrilocal norms would be hasty. Indeed, the Kumhars
are more orthodox in theirdenition of gender norms in the families. Economic pressures in one generation compelled this reversal, but in the second
generation, daughters are being married within patrilocal norms. However,
further work is required to trace the practice among othercommunities.Certainly, the economic pressuresand the fact of womens primary wage
appears to be the most important catalyst in this partial reversal of marriage norms.
Fora positive assessment of the mothers club program, see Maitreya Ghatak
and Lipi Chakrabarty, The Dooars Story: Empowerment of Women and Com-
munity Participation in Health and Family Welfare (Calcutta: Indian Tea Association, ).
Mahasweta Devi, Draupadi, in Bashai Tudu, trans. Gayatri Chakravarty
Spivak (Calcutta: Thema, ), .
chapter Protest
Gayatri Chakravarty Spivak, Can the Subaltern Speak? in Marxism and
the Interpretation of Culture, ed. Cary Nelson and Lawrence Grossberg
(Urbana: University of Illinois Press, ), .
Communist Partyof India (Marxist). As this book went to press, it continues
as the ruling party in west Bengal for a record sixth term.
J. A. Milligan, Final Report on the Survey and Settlement Operations in the
Jalpaiguri District, (Calcutta: ), .
The history of colonial forest settlements and reserves has signicant ecological and social ramications. The complex weave of subaltern histories
within the ecocommercial impetus of such policyenactments has a considerable literature. See Ramachandra Guha and Mahdav Gagdils State Forest
and Social Conict in British India, Past and Present, no. (May ),
. In the postcolonial context, the Forest Department continues to
be a powerful landlord. In the northeast of east Jalpaiguri, for instance, a
small village, Khunia Basti, was created to supply easy labor to the forest
department and followed the tangya plantation system constructed by
the British.Villagers who worked for the Forest Department would get land
and bullocks for ploughing and in exchange would oer their labor services
(e.g., as watchmen) for free to the department. See Amal Dattas Some Aspects of Migration in a Forest Village of Jalpaiguri, North Bengal University
Review , no. (June ): .
To call a man a sala is to confer a kinship reference (wifes brother) with a
derogatory twist.When a man calls another a sala, he is basically suggesting that he is involved with the other mans sister. Sexual implications of
dis/honor in terms of insult to his women are implied. This is one of the
most common terms of colloquial insult in northern and parts of eastern
India. Sexualized aspersions of dishonor, in terms of insult to his women,
are strongly implied. Thanks to Parama Roy for helping me compose this
sentence and discussing the connotations of the insult with me. The quotation is from Dooars Planters Association (), Detailed Report of the General Committee of the Dooars Planters Association for the year (Calcutta:
, ), .
Ibid.
For a sampling of research on colonial tea plantation labor movements, see
Sanat Kumar Bose, Capital and Labour in the Indian Tea Industry, Trade
Union Publication Series, no. (Bombay: All-India Trade Union Congress, ); D. Chamanlal, Coolie: The Story of Labour and Capital in India
(Lahore: n.p., ); Rana Partap Behal, Forms of Labour Protest in the
is extend my discussion into a wider consideration of the relationship between Gandhi, trade union activity, and the indices of peasant consciousness and protest in colonial Dooars plantations. See Shahid Amin, Gandhi
as Mahatma: Gorakhpur District, Eastern , , in Subaltern Studies,
vol. : Writings on South Asian History and Society, ed. Ranajit Guha (Delhi:
Oxford University Press), .
Government of India, Royal Commission of Labour in India, Written Evidence, vol. , parts and : Assam and the Dooars (London: , ).
Ibid., .
Ibid., .
M. R. Anand, Coolie, .
Royal Commission of Labour, Written Evidence, ; and Bose, Capital and
Labour in the Indian Tea Industry, .
Dasgupta, Trade Union Movements, . The relationship between this
peasant movement and workers union organizing needs to be studied in
greater depth. A simple alliance cannot be assumed, because of the ethnic
dierences among Muslim and Rajbansi villagers and adivasi workers.
Bose, Capital and Labour in the Indian Tea Industry, .
See S. Banerjee, In the Wake of Naxalbari: A History of the Naxalite Movement in India (Calcutta: Subarnekha, ); A. K. Ray, Spring Thunder and
After: A Survey of the Maoist and Ultraleft Movements in India, -
(Calcutta: Minerva Associates, ).
Stree Shakti Sanghathana Editorial Collective, We Were Making History:
Women of the Telengana Movement (New Delhi: Kali for Women, ).
I am mindful again, of Gayatri Chakravarty Spivaks careful warning about
postcolonial intellectual representations of the subaltern voice. See Can
the Subaltern Speak?, .
Ibid., p. .
Royal Commission on Labour, Report of the Royal Commission on Labour in
India (Calcutta: Central Publication Branch, ), .
Gramsci, Notes on Italian History, .
What explains the absence of adivasi women within trade union organizing
needs further research and comparative work. This would require a closer
look at the structure of the party apparatus (for example, the CPI(M)s
union organization) and the involvement of both Bengali and adivasi women
within these. For an excellent detailed critique of peasant women, contemporary activism and the communist state apparatus in West Bengal, see Amrita Basu, Two Faces of Protest: Contrasting Modes of Womens Activism in
India (Berkeley: University of California Press, ).
Rita uses samaj (society) in two ways.When speaking of molestation cases,
she speaks generally, referring to the cluster of lines or village, which has its
own panchayat (village council).This would include members of all unions.
Union leaders may sit on panchayats as well. In speaking of a womans election as secretary, however, it appears she is referring only to her unions
constituency.
Mahasweta Devi, Witchbath at Singbhum, in Dust on the Road: The Activist Writings of Mahasweta Devi, ed. Maitreya Ghatak (Calcutta: Seagull
Press, ), .
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Index
Adivasi, , , , ,
, n., n.
Advertisements for tea, , ,
,
Agency houses,
Alcoholism, , ,
, , , n.,
n.
Authority: of ethnographer, ,
, n.; labor organizing
as threat to, , n.; of
mahlia samity (womens society),
, , , n.; of panchayat (village council), ,
, , ,
; and planter as mai-baap, ,
, , , , ,
, ; of planter militia
(North Bengal Ries), , ,
n.; of priests, ; of
women on marriage customs,
, , ; workers
discipline, , ,
, , , . See
also Labor unions; Plantation
management
Bengalis, , , ,
, , n., n.
Body and body parts: and the discipline of labor, , , ,
, ; gazes, , , , ,
, ; ghinna (pollution),
, ; images of hands
and ngers, , ,
, , , , n.;
China, , , , ,
n.
Christian communities (missionya),
, , , n., n.
Civilization: discipline and, ,
, , , ,
; and image of the gentleman planter, , , , ,
n.; and the imperial frontier,
, , , ; jungles and,
, , ; land cultivation
and, , n.; leisure and,
, , , , , ,
, n.; primitivism and,
, , , , ,
, n., n.
Class: babus (plantation sta ),
; caste distinctions and women,
, , ; entrepreneurship and, , , ,
, n., n.,
n.; the gentleman planter and,
, , , n.; tea consumption and, , , , ,
, , ,
Coee, , , n.
Communist Party of India (),
,
Community: adivasi, , ,
, , , n.,
n.; bhinjat (cross-community)
alliances, , ,
, ; bhinjat (crosscommunity) marriages, ,
, ; and food production, , n.; jat distinctions
and, , , n.;
land annexation for tea cultivation, , , ;
mapping lines of, , ,
; Marwari business community, , , n.,
n.; missionya (Christian
communities), , , ,
n., n.; taxation of, ,
n., n.
Dance, , ,
Demonstrations and protests, ,
, , nn., ,
n.
Discipline, , , ,
, ,
Dols (work groups), , ,
,
Domesticity, , , , ,
,
East India Company, , ,
Education and literacy, , , ,
,
Entrepreneurship, , ,
, , n., n.,
n.
Ethnographer: authority of, ,
, , n.; and
class boundaries, , ,
, , , , ,
n.; kinship of, with women plantation workers, , ,
labor, , , ; purity
and womens bodies, , ,
; rituals and, , ;
social space and, ,
, , , , ,
n.; violence against women, ,
, , ; womens
labor value and, , ,
, , , n.,
n., nn.,
Gramsci, Antonio,
Greed, , ,
Grove, Richard, nn.,
Hinduism, , , ,
Hogarth,William, , , ,
n., n.
Honor. See Izzat (honor).
Izzat (honor): bhinjat (crosscommunity) marriages and,
, , ; caste distinctions and women, , ,
; sexual conduct and, ,
, , ; status
and, , , , ,
,
Jungli, , , , ,
, n., n.
Labor: alcoholism, , ,
, n., n.; badli (job
exchanges), ; birthrate
among workers, , ,
n., n.; casual worker
(bigha, faltu) employment, ,
, , nn., ; child
labor, , , , ; demonstrations and protests, ,
, , n., ,
n.; dols (work groups),
, , , ; gender
boundaries in eld labor, ;
importation of laborers, ,
, n.; indentureship within
plantations, , n., n.;
indolence in labor force, ,
; jungli, , , ,
, , n., n.;
labor organizing, ,
n.; machinery, , ;
migration of, , , ,
, , n., nn.,
, n.; opposition to tea
drinking, ; tea plucking, ,
, , , , , ;
wages, , , , , ,
, , , , n.,
n., n.; womens labor
value and, , , ,
, , n., n.,
nn.,
Labor recruitment: family recruitment, ; migration and,
, , , , ,
n., nn., , n.;
missionaries and, , n.;
sirdars and, , , ,
nn., , n., n.
Labor unions: casual worker (bigha,
faltu) employment, , ,
, nn., ; control of plantations space, ; labor organizing and, , n.;
panchayat (village council) and,
; paternalism, ,
, ; rituals and, , ;
and social reform, ; women
in, , , ,
, n.. See also Plantation
management
Land: jotedars, ; land annexation
for tea cultivation, , ,
; wasteland policy in India,
, , , n.
Leisure, , , , , ,
, , n.
Machinery, ,
Mahlia samity (womens society),
, , , n.
Mai-baap (father and mother), ,
, , , , ,
,
Index
discipline, , ,
, , ,
Plantations: British land policies
and, ; capital investments
in, , , , ,
n., n., n.,
n.; demonstrations and protests
on, , ; as gardens,
, , ; greed, , ,
; indentureship within, ,
n., n.; inherited jobs
on, , , , , ;
labor recruitment, , , ,
, , n., n.;
mapping lines of, ,
, ; Marwari business
community and, , ,
n., n.; pesticide use,
, . See also Labor; Tea
and tea drinking; Tea cultivation;
Women
Planters: class and, , , ,
n.; as father gure (mai-baap),
, , , ,
, , , ; image of
gentleman planter, , , ,
, n.; planters wife,
, , n.; and relations with Indian elites, ;
reputation of, , , ,
, , ; rituals and, , ; sexual
liaisons with women workers,
, ,
Political activism: labor organizing,
, n.; of Mahatma
Gandhi, , n.; Naxalite movement, ; women
and, , , , ,
,
Primitivism, , , , ,
, , nn., , n.
Religion: Buddhism, ,
; castes and, , ,
n.; Hinduism, , ,
Index
Status (continued)
value and, , , ,
, n., n.,
n., nn.,
Sterling companies,
Stoler, Ann, n.
Taxation, , , , n.,
n.
Tea and tea drinking: advertisements
for, , , , , ;
Bengalis and, , ,
, , , n.,
n.; capital investments in,
, , , ,
n., n., n., n.;
China and, , , ,
, n.; entrepreneurship in
tea production, , ,
, , n., n.,
n.; equipment for, , , ,
, n.; gendering of, , ,
, , , ,
n.; and health, , ; and
leisure, , ; and opium,
, , , n., n.;
rituals of, , , ; tea
trade associations, , , ,
; trade in tea, , ,
Tea cultivation: cycles of tea cultivation, , , ;
greed, , , ; impact
on local communities, , ,
; machinerys impact on,
; pesticide use, ,
; pruning, , ; tea
harvest quotas and, , ,
, , , , n.;
tea plucking, , , , ,
, ,
Time and timekeeping: cycles of tea
cultivation, , ,
; and surveillance of workers,
, , ; time management in factories, ,
Tools as weapons, ,
United States, , , ,
n.
Villages: bhinjat (cross-community)
marriages, , , ;
family ties within, ; panchayat
(village council), , ,
, , ; village
rituals,
Violence: against women, ,
, , ; tools as
weapons, ,
Wages: in factories, , ; tea harvest quotas and, , , ,
, , , n.,
n.; women plantation workers,
, , nn.,
Wasteland Rules, , , ,
n.
Women: birthrate among, ,
, n., n.; casual
worker (bigha, faltu) employment, , , , nn.,
; dols (work groups), ,
, , ; domestic work
of, , , , ;
gender boundaries in eld labor,
; hands and ngers, images
of, , , , ,
, n.; images of, ,
, , , , , , ; inherited plantation jobs, ,
, , , ; izzat (honor),
, , , , ,
, ; jat distinctions
and, , , n.;
kinship and, , , ,
; labor migration and,
; mahlia samity (womens
society), , , ,
n.; and marriage, ,
, , ; names and
identity of, , , , ,
, n., n.; narratives of,
, ; pesticide use and,
, ; plantation manage-
ment and, , , ,
, , , ,
nn., ; planters wife,
, , n.; and political
activism, , , ,
, , ; pregnancy and
child-rearing, , , ,
; and rituals, , , ,
, nn., ; sexual liaisons with planters, , ,
Index
.
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