Purdah: Status Of Indian Women

Freida Hauswirth

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2013
• ISBN:
  9781136187179
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Sciences sociales
• Subtopic: Anthropologie

First published in 2006. Purdah, which can be formal law or informal custom, involves keeping women segregated from society, restricting their independence and regulating their dress. This classic work, published in 1032 was the first accurate description of the institution of Purdah, its effects on the women of India and their rising revolt against it. Written by a woman who herself lived the life pictured in the books, this was a seminal book for the women's rights movement and general and Indian's women's movement in particular.

XV

PERSONAL OBSERVATIONS

IN our day, as we have seen, the very foundations of the ancient customs most deleterious to Indian women’s interests have received the rudest shaking. The Unchanging East is no more. Age-old walls are crumbling rapidly towards final dissolution. The most promising sign of all is the wholesale disappearance of purdah and the sound beginning made towards the abolition of child-marriage, the two most farreaching evils.

The entire intricately woven fabric erected by priestly interests is irredeemably doomed, as is the social structure which particularly favoured it. Modern methods in industry, science, and administration are, for instance, strongly favouring the break-up of the joint family system. Not only do these tend to draw trained men away peaceably from the joint family, and induce them to set up separate homes, but the restlessness astir in the youth of India has made bitter and determined attacks upon this stronghold of orthodoxy and group domination. All over India, an ever-increasing war of litigation is being waged in which individual members compel the disruption of the joint family by insisting on their present legal right to obtain separate shares of propetty. This furthers the emancipation of escaping members along every line, for it breaks the moral and economic stranglehold of the aged on youth. But this disruption of the joint family particularly favours women, for in each instance it frees a whole group of them at the cost of the power of only one. It puts an end to the tyranny of the mother-in-law over the helpless other inmates of the zenana and also withdraws her adult sons from her direct and excessive influence. Young women who suddenly find themselves transplanted into separate homes of their own, gain thereby a tremendous impetus towards initiative, independence and responsibility—a rounded self-development.

The breakdown of the joint family system also tends steadily to raise still further the age of marriage for girls. Men planning to set up their own homes naturally want girls capable of running them efficiently; this puts a premium on training and maturity in brides. Maturer girls are in turn no longer so likely to seek a father-substitute in their husbands as are cowed adolescent brides. Given a chance to develop both their bodies and their individualities, they are more fit to become mates not only on the physical but also on the mental and spiritual planes. Such true matehood in turn will prevent women from becoming dwarfed, twisted and frustrated wives. This again will react favourably upon their relationship to their children. Daughters will tend more and more to become as cherished as sons, and sons will be spared the terrible emotional exploitation and dependence to which their unfree and unsatisfied mothers have up till now inevitably subjected them. Instead of remaining their whole life long emotionally segregated and dependent upon their mothers, the emotional force of sons will in early youth undergo the normal, desirable socialization which forms the best basis for civic and national welfare. At the proper time sons will therefore also be free to become attached to and centre their affection in a normal way upon a freely chosen mature girl whom they will then honour as a mate and cease to regard as a mother-substitute.

Signs of this adjustment are already visible all over India, and it is bound to take place to an ever-increasing degree in the future. At long last the Indian race, to the infinite gain of both mother and wife, will definitely break through the vicious chain of unreal mother-worship and real wife-degradation. This freeing from the deep-rooted inhibitions and frustrations which are the inevitable outcome of the almost universal mother-complexing of sons and the resultant excessive introversion, will have undreamed-of significance for and influence upon Indian life. The vaporous idealization, the endless taking refuge in speculation and volubility which was so marked a feature of the Indian educated mentality in the past few centuries, will give place to direct concern with actual social problems and wholesome remedial action. Dispassionate philosophic observation and “karmic” explanation of suffering and misery will give proportionate way to determined interference for amelioration. The resulting new social conscience and consciousness will be no longer confined within the family or caste group alone, but will extend its beneficent influence to succour all who suffer. It will operate until the last shackles of artificial segregation and limitation have been struck off from all Indian women within the home and society, and will extend outward to embrace all castes as well as outcastes, and to the terrible suffering of animals.

With the increasing liberation and education of women, the teachings of individual regeneration and purification which Gandhi has so powerfully launched will also find ever richer, more receptive, and widening fields for sowing and reaping. For whereas in the first great revolt, in Buddhist times, women turned nuns and wasted their forces in abnegation of life, Gandhi, in the present revolt, has called on Indian women to function as a social force, to the heightening and elevation of their primary function of motherhood and the lasting gain of the race. Likewise, vivid indications abound of late years that the ancient wholesale escape of men into religious life is lessening; after the care for their own progeny is removed from their shoulders, more and more male square pegs now turn their matured energies to whole-time and wholehearted social service.

The day has come when Indian men and women, parents and children, are once more jointly placing their feet with fresh vigour and dedication upon the Vedic road of individual and national freedom, of great mutual support in socialized work and aims.

The road still to be travelled is long, and progress will be uneven up and down through the vast masses and stretches of India. But everywhere the leaven is stirring, as observers cannot fail to see. The following personal experiences may serve to illustrate trends and variations. I myself have had hundreds of occasions to observe one specially significant sign. Nowadays old customs keep their hold on individuals no longer as principles but from fear of social obloquy. Where fear of detection is removed, many even of the most orthodox have no scruple about breaking caste and purdah, and often do so with great zest. If, in addition, some special stimulus or general impulse stirs a larger number of people simultaneously, as in the Nationalist movement, then with mass-momentum they sweep away restrictions like straws upon a high tide; when and where public sanction cuts through restraint, minds adjust themselves with unbelievable ease and readiness. I do not hesitate to say, on the basis of the surprising number of caste men who have broken caste rules unknown to their fellows under the protection of my roof, that not more than one out of ten orthodox Hindus sticks to old customs as a matter of principle; the others are all motivated by fear of material loss and social prestige.

A foreign Government cannot take the risk, but a national Government may soon abolish purdah and caste and cause them to vanish overnight, for the huge number of restless and cowed youths would hail with joy a change, a law, which would remove the danger of public ostracism and break for ever the tyranny of the aged.

A striking example of the ease with which change may occur under favourable conditions can be tellingly illustrated by a certain instance, as it exists in full force within the orthodox fold itself and does not even involve a question of reform. It shows how slight a shifting of the angle of vision is needed to make radically different conditions acceptable to all. The sacrosanct temple of Puri, shrine of the Lord of the World, Jaganatha (Juggernauth), is in a section of India where Buddhism retained its hold longest, and some unique traits of its teaching still survive, their origin unrecognized by the people in general, in full force. Within the precincts of this town and temple, as in Buddhist times, caste and purdah, in opposition to the usual Hindu custom, are still not observed. No matter from how orthodox a village the worshippers may come, men of all castes may here partake together of prasad, the food of the gods, and women who have been strictly secluded all their lives here fearlessly and unhesitatingly throw off their veil. They do not question or reason about the why and wherefore of this unique custom; no principle actuates or hinders them; simply because it is a state of affairs invested with public sanction, restrictions melt like mists before the sun. With the light ease of children tossing outworn toys into a fire they cast off lifelong habit, yet the moment these worshippers again leave Puri to return to their homes, they once more submit to purdah and caste with ready willingness and unconcern.

Not only so, but up to most recent days, they were at once ready again to criticize bitterly any woman who, away from Puri, strove, however faintly, to stir the folds of her veil. Just eleven years ago, in a town a short distance from Puri, I had invited about forty of my husband’s friends and their wives to come to my “housewarming”. This was in the early days of stubborn and often ill-advised attempts at forcing reform. I had argued that since my husband’s Western- or Indian-college-educated friends professed distaste of purdah, and so much enjoyed coming to us to talk with “my husband’s wife”, they ought in turn to let him see their wives. Hence I had sent joint invitations, instead of arranging a separate purdah party for the ladies on another day, a proceeding which would have been much wiser. But I made the gesture on principle, because I disapproved of social segregation. I knew quite well that in this strict purdah town not a single wife would or could come, but I counted on the form of my invitation at least giving occasion for many future discussions which might lead to social ferment and make for ultimate change. Moreover, I had a special surprise in store for my guests. A young Brahmin girl from Calcutta, who was out of purdah, was visiting me with her uncle. She—under Tagore influence—was one of the few women who sang and played an instrument, the esraj. When the guests were assembled, she sat down with quiet ease and after general acclamation, she and her uncle began to sing. It was a rare treat for our male guests, who practically never had the chance of talking to, much less of hearing music from, a cultured woman of their own kind. Just as with their own women at Puri, so here too they accepted cordially and without criticism the fact that this girl from another province should be unveiled; for it offended none of the conventions which immediately concerned them. I could see genuine enjoyment on the faces of all as they listened to the rendering of some of the loveliest of Tagore’s songs for which the poet had both written the works and improvised the melodies. There was at least the hope that among the younger generation present, some would come to wish that their own young wives or daughters likewise could have the added joy and charm of these accomplishments, and might feel a faint regret that they were deprived of this afternoon’s pleasure. For, of course, not a single wife had come—I had been snowed under with some what shamefaced apologies for their absence on the part of the husbands.

Against advice, I had also sent an invitation to a woman whom I had not yet met, but who had sent me word that she would like to see me sometime—a widow with sons and daughters for whom she still managed the home. I cherished, from hearsay, a high regard for her, as I did for every little sign of rift in the purdah-walls of this most orthodox of towns: I had been told she was “a little mad”! From what I could gather, the madness consisted in her reading vernacular books and papers, and questioning men visitors to her house from behind her purdah about matters that “concerned no woman”; moreover she had let male relatives beyond the proscribed limit actually see her face, and was keeping her daughter unmarried after the age of twelve.

Of course, I never expected that she would come. But suddenly, when the entertainment was in full swing, a tightly shuttered carriage drove into the compound and on beyond our verandah to the sheltered side of the house. A wave of agitation and burning curiosity passed over my guests. Then I was called into the house—the widow had come! I could see that she was struggling between shyness and defiance of the men outside, but was upheld by a sense of elation: she was proving to the white woman, of whose criticism of purdah she had heard, that there was at least one purdah woman daring enough to take up the challenge! I could have hugged her, but sat decorously with her behind purdah in my own room, chatting with her as long as I could neglect my other guests.

Great her daring had indeed been, for though not one male guest of mine saw her face that day, criticism of her coming to a house where a large group of men were assembled was bitter and stinging for months and months. If it be true that, since then, lack of sympathy and an abundance of obloquy has driven her more than “a little mad”, so much the greater the disgrace to the educated men of the community, many of whom, ten years ago, cordially expressed in private their disbelief in purdah, yet refrained from action in public and, in this instance, did not hesitate to cast a stone with all the rest.

But only a year later, the Gandhi nationalist ferment was having its first effects even in this town. One little purdah woman, whom I knew, was under the influence of some young students who had enabled her not only to acquire an easy reading knowledge of the vernacular, but supplied her with good reading matter. She had become interested in the Gandhi cause, and when his 1922 call came for funds, and women were offering their jewels, she contributed her share. More than that, despite severe criticism, she went in a closed carriage from house to house, visiting all her relatives to pester them with demands for money. In doing so, she met face to face several persons who were beyond her purdah pale. One of these relatives, reputed to be a hardened miser, instead of giving her even one penny, treated her to a most severe lecture on her behaviour. Soon after she had gone, he missed a silver ornament which she well knew he valued. He at once sent word to the minx to return it. “Yes, uncle dear,” her answer came, “you shall have it the moment you send me its weight in coins, otherwise it is going to be melted down for Gandhi’s funds!” She got her contribution.

About that time, in the same town, I succeeded in slipping in a wedge against purdah in a certain family. I persuaded a young friend of mine, coming from a huge joint family, not only to bring his young wife and two sisters-in-law to see me, but to let my husband be present. We sat under the trees on the sere and yellow excuse for a lawn, around a tea-table. It was both touching and amusing to observe what a daring adventure this occasion implied for the young women. They had drawn their veils closely over their faces, turned their heads away, and answered in monosyllables, each word carrying a note of struggle and victory over inner inhibitions. At last, after a spell of several minutes’ significant silence, during which she had no doubt been gathering all her courage in the hollow of her small red palm, my friend’s wife flung a question all her own at my husband like the quick frightened throw of a stone. Her daring was followed by a sharp audible intake of agitated breath and squirming confusion; then suddenly a merry sweet bubble of laughter broke from all three; the Rubicon was crossed.

But for one single woman who took a step towards freedom, there remained hundreds in that province for whom there was still not a ray of hope. How galling purdah and joint family life can be, a very near relative of my husband’s was even then discovering. Despite her grief and pleading, despite the fact that her own people offered to fetch her and bear all expense, she has never since the day of her marriage, over fifteen years ago, been allowed to revisit her family; possibly fearing to have the tale of bitter unhappiness made known, the mother-in-law could not be induced to let her go.

Considering what a backward state of society these conditions present, one fact has tremendous significance. Only nine years later, in this same town, at the next call of Gandhi, dozens of women crossed these terrific barriers of caste and purdah as if they had been mere low mud-walls. Nor did they wait any more for leave from men, but found that male approval trailed in the wake of their action. These men who were mentally timid, lacking initiative, and emotionally over-dependent on women, felt relief when the necessity for action was taken out of their hands by the brave defiance of the women themselves. One of these latter not only broke through purdah, but has become an effective public speaker; another has shown supreme organizing capacity and led hundreds of villagers. That this could happen in a seemingly hopeless purdah town within so short a time is a vivid indication of the range and power of the new regeneration sweeping over India. Such change is penetrating into the most sheltered nooks and corners. In the very same jungle State where that mother-in-law had the power to keep a young woman captive against her whole family’s desire, a social earthquake took place a short time ago. A certain girl had been widowed when little more than a child, but the very idea of widow remarriage had not yet penetrated there, and would have convulsed the orthodox with horror. The girl was very poor, but unusually intelligent. Somehow, before she married, her father had managed to let her have one year of schooling in another town, in itself a step of radical advance. In that one year she had learned the elements of reading and writing in her own vernacular, and a little sewing, and had had just a glimpse of further possibilities of development. She had, for instance, seen some paintings and colour-boxes, but had never had a lesson in this art. Yet somehow, on that meagre one year’s school foundation, she managed to go on developing herself. Instead of forgetting, as is so usual, the little sewing she had acquired there, she went on experimenting on her own initiative with new stitches and patterns, until she could turn out really lovely decorative work of her own design. Meanwhile, she had also somehow managed to procure some elementary colours, and with these painted quaint pictures on any bit of brown or yellow scrap she could lay her hands on, for she was too poor to buy paper. Some were intricate geometrical designs such as are used in the ancient powder tracings for holy days; others were more ambitious, though sometimes pathetically inadequate—renderings of gods and epic heroes. But her untutored work showed a surprising feeling for decorative quality and fineness of line, undoubtedly worth training. The girl longed ardently to be given the chance of further education, and her father, far too poor himself to help, could have been induced to let her go if only someone had come forward with the slight financial help required. But who was there in that orthodox group with any tolerance, far less backing, for such sinful impenitent widow’s thoughts? Just one young uncle, trained for a clerkship, sympathized with her ambition.

It was this young man who brought her to me the day after my first arrival in the town. He had exerted all his efforts on her behalf, but to no purpose save to draw sharper criticism and antagonism upon himself as well as the girl. No doubt, this had thrown the two young people closer together, and given him that strong sense of responsibility which I felt in him from the first minute. Shy, simple and eager, they approached me for help. I could read them like a book, and saw what they themselves, who were bred in an environment that knows no premarital romance, had no doubt not yet fully envisaged and deciphered. His every gesture and glance was eloquent of reverent protective love, and hers of the most tremulous adoration. But he was married, having been compelled to marriage by the family against his will. Though his small clerkship brought him in a pitifully inadequate income, he would gladly have given it all to send this girl to school. But as member of his joint family, he was forbidden the free disposal of even a small part of it. He saw no way out.

I gauged the nature of this man’s love for the little widow by his intense interest in her getting a chance of further education. Where many an Oxford graduate does not trouble to impart to his wife even the rudiments of education, this young clerk had taught her to perfect herself not only in her own vernacular, but in addition began to teach her Bengali so that she might have access to the printed riches of that language. Unfortunately, to my bitter regret, I was in no position to give any financial help, but I tried my best to procure it from outside. I wrote on her behalf to a...