East Indians in Trinidad

IN TRINIDAD
A Study of Cultural Persistence

BY M O R T O N K L A S S

Columbia University Press

 Drawings by Angela Conner

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 61-7945

Printed in the Netherlands
 For my mother
and the memory of
my father
 This study, prepared under the Graduate Faculties of
Columbia University, was selected by a committee of those Faculties
to receive one of the Clarke F. Ansley awards given annually by
Columbia University Press.
Contents

F O R E W O R D BY C O N R A D M. A R E N S B E R G XI

PREFACE xix

I INTRODUCTION 1
The Problem 3; Sugar and Slavery 4; East Indian Indentured
Labor 8; The Indian in the West Indies 20
II THE VILLAGE 27
The Setting 28; History of Amity 30; The Village Today 39;
Household and District 44; Caste in the Village 55

III A M I T Y AT W O R K 65
Labor on the Estate 66; Small Farmers 73; Other Occupations 76;
The Cultivation of Rice 80; Gardening and Animal Husbandry 86;
Family Expenditures 88; Class Divisions 92

IV MARRIAGE A N D T H E FAMILY 93
Kinship 94; Marital Unions 108; The Life Cycle 117; Authority
in the Family 131; Inheritance 134
X CONTENTS

V RELIGION 137
Non-Hindu Religions 137; Unity and Division in Amity Hinduism
145; Hindu Theology in Amity Today 152; Public Celebrations 157;
Religious Ceremonies 169; Magic 179

VI COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION 184

The "Village Panceyt" and the Courts 192; The "Praja" Relation-
ship 199; National Politics on the Village Level 221

VII THE S U M M I N G U P 230

BIBLIOGRAPHY 251

INDEX 257

MAP OF AMITY xxviii-xxix

TABLES
1 Distribution of House Types in Central Amity 49
2 Distribution of House Types in All Amity 50
3 Socioeconomic Groupings of Amity 52
4 Business Enterprises of Amity 55
5 Amity Religious Ceremonies 170
Foreword

Social science in general and anthropology in particular seem

today to be caught in healthy growth. It is not only that new places
are explored; new phenomena investigated; new techniques elaborated.
To bring the East Indians of Trinidad, in the West Indies, into purview,
as this book does, is not mere search for a new people to study, a new
tribe to add to the ethnographic files, though the company of modern
peoples in the modern nations who have been brought under the
microscope of cultural anthropology continues to grow year by year.
To discover, assert, and point out the significance of the fact that in a
brief fifty years immigrants from across the world, once strangers in
the plantations of the island, have reconstituted in modernity their
own variant of a rich and ancient civilization, India's, and done so as
they rose to full citizenship and influence in a complex and rising young
nation of the developing excolonial world, is not simply a provoking
reiteration of the phoenix-like tenacity of the human spirit. It is to
xii FOREWORD

add, as this book does, to the penetration, the sweep, and the command
of social science and cultural anthropology.
Social science in general and anthropology in particular have carried
the inductive methods of exploration, discovery, and inference from
comparison into the changes and the transformations of human culture
and human social experience. The community study method—and the
book must stand as a community study as well as an essay at human
interpretation and description—has been one of the chief techniques
of that carriage of science to the changes in man's story. That method
is, put simply, to explore broad cultural or social problems by sampling
them in vivo in particular settings. The samples are the communities,
from hamlets to large cities, in which such problems play their parts
in the full, real lives and in the full, complex social process and social
structure lived through by the men and women of the society and its
culture. Connections, functions, embedments, new dimensions of the
broad problem emerge clear and offer themselves for realistic analysis.
The community study method has come to yield rich and progressive
understanding of the dynamics of culture and society and of individual
aspirations in it. Delving as the method does for real connections,
faithful details, and counterchecked insights and illuminations,
carrying the anthropological fieldworker down to the deepest of the
"grass roots" in faithful adherence to his canon that he leave no facet
of culture or group of persons however humble or remote unquestioned
and unwatched, the method has been no less productive in practical
corrections from general and sweeping plans of administration to
development, and reform.
In the last few years, Robert Redfield, the recently deceased great
pioneer and great summarizer of much of this newly won collective
advance of cultural anthropology, wrote and edited works, very much
alive at the forefront of social science—the very titles sound the march
of this progress : The Little Community, Viewpoints for the Study of a
Human Whole (i.e., of Life) ; Peasant Society and Culture; The Primitive
 FOREWORD Xiii

World and its Transformations; Village India, Studies in the Little

Community. All of these were part of a series entitled Comparative
Studies of Cultures and Civilizations. The four specific and the one
general title reflect well the progress of community study, the growth
of anthropology to a genuine command of the human story, and the
study of human process in controlled samples serving as microcosms
of the great world too large to handle otherwise.
In this growth, anthropology has learned to know the particular
better, whether it be the life of a primitive tribe or that of a great
comparative civilization, like India's or our own, and it has learned
to ground theory of social process, or cultural change, or cultural
influence on personality—theory thus for all mankind, in empirically
documented world-wide comparisons.
This progress is not Redfield's alone, of course. It is the march of
the whole science and the fruit of one of its methods. Methods of
cultural and social analysis other than community study have con-
tributed as well. But the company of scholars that Redfield spoke for
and the method he and others developed are both of them so signal,
so vital, and so continuant that we must take note of them.
What better note of them can we take, indeed, than to welcome a
new recruit and a new contribution, of the same vigor and grace, of
the same deepening command of detail and the same suggestive power
in comparison leading to generalizing theory? The book before us
probes a civilization transported to a new place. India, like our own
Europe in America, has put living daughter colonies overseas, in
Fiji, in East Africa, in Trinidad. A community study of such a colony
tells us something new about the motherland and the essentials of its
civilization as they survive transportation and show up in reconstitution.
But the telling also illustrates a wider process of human life and
culture. Europe and China and Islam likewise have daughters
abroad, as did Rome and Muscovy. A community study of such a
transportation and reconstitution of culture probes the process of
xiv FOREWORD

culture building and culture transformation, too. It does so com-

paratively, which means independently of our identification with one
civilization or the other. It lets us see two examples of a common
h u m a n process, one indeed shared as here both by many American
ethnic minorities and by this little Caribbean one. It lets us confront
the two examples, to extract, if we can, what common truth they
illustrate.
There is still more promise in a study such as this, particular as it
is in its details. There are many "plural societies" in the great One
World of today, products of the crosscurrents of migration and
minority existence so c o m m o n since the age of world commerce,
world-wide communication, East-West contact which dawned for us
all unbeknownst in the colonizations and dominations of the century
before ours.
In them, as with Trinidad and its East Indian citizens here explored,
new nations today unite, if uneasily, not only peoples of a single
civilization, cousins of closely similar heritage, like the European
nationalities mingling in our own American national amalgam or the
British and "New-Australians" of a rising Australia still White in
population, but also or instead races from the ends of the earth and
civilizations as diverse as man has ever invented them. The West
Indies is such a plural society; Malaya, Kenya, South Africa, in a way
even the Latin-American lands called sometimes Mestizo-America,
with their American-Indian, Spanish, and African heritages, are such
plural societies, as are perhaps even the Soviet Union and the United
States. Multiethnicity, multiraciality, with its retention of differences
of race, culture, and affiliation by religion or civilization to variant
streams of h u m a n history, is as much the order of our day as ever was
national amalgamation and ethnic and linguistic unification, in the
heyday of a nationalism on the European model not yet disappeared.
A community study of a tiny East Indian village in a Caribbean
island is a study, too, of the plural societies of our day. It is a glimpse
 FOREWORD XV

into the realities of life in them which may help us know, plan, or
endure their future fates. It is a glimpse of that grass roots tenacity of
historical and religious traditions, the recognition of which may
temper our pushes toward collective identity and planned conformity.
Strength may lie in wedding the continuities held to with such natural
tenacity to a richer more complex national and societal integration.
There may be suggestions here both for the now older countries like
our own, itself reconciling cultural pluralism and inherent national
unity, and for the now newer ones, the emergent new nations struggling
for a stable unitary national existence and a balanced federal or
otherwise orchestral form. Not only the young West Indian Federation
will need to plan its e pluribus (et diversis) unum. We shall need to
continue to revivify our own at home and to prepare for other larger
unities round the world abroad.

But the young author of this firsthand account of the life of a little
community of exotics in an exotic setting, this little illustration of
grander processes, makes no such claims for wider significance as I
have forced upon him in these paragraphs of mine. Let us see what
more modest lessons he himself suggests. Let us return with him to
the simpler plane of scientific objectivity and careful workmanship
his study inhabits for itself.
The data of the reconstitution of Indian culture in the little com-
munity called here Amity suggest some interesting priorities among
the institutions of Indian civilization, at least at the popular level of
the little community, the villages, the life of the peasants of the
countryside, where Indian civilization has its longest continuity. What
the immigrants to Trinidad retained of India and what they rebuilt
into the communal life of Amity may well be a selection of the
essentials of their traditional civilization. Students of India's heritage
might learn about India here as students of Western civilization have
learned from the essential retentions, in a new terrain and a new
XVI FOREWORD

technology, of European traditions, particularly British and Hispanic,

in the Americas.
Note that the retentions and reconstitutions of Amity, the new little
India in the West, have been carried out against many odds. They
have been carried out in spite of immigration, in spite of lack of
common origin among the immigrants, in spite of their common
passage through the alien plantation system, in spite of their common
subjection to British law and language and West Indian economic
pressures, proletarianization, and indenture. Reconstitution has been
possible, as we learn here, through making good an escape from wage
labor and economic assimilation to partial self-subsistence, to land-
ownership, village residence, and through reestablishing in temple and
rite, without great communication back to India, some touch with the
mother civilization and its religious lore. The reestablishment has been
voluntary, we note, and it has not meant any turning one's back upon
Creole and other West Indian neighbors nor, indeed, any lesser
articulation with the governing institutions of Trinidad: plantation,
courts, monetary system, schools, etc., than might well be expected in
homeland Indian villagers' use of the new magistracies, the new
ministries, the new commercial and banking institutions and the other
tentacles of modernity at home. The superstructure of society—inter-
nationalized, Europeanized, transformed in India itself—overarches,
perhaps, Indian and Indian, like Telegu and Mahratta living side by
side in Hyderabad much as it overarches Hindu, Creole, and West
Indian Chinese in Trinidad. It is not the force of economic factors,
or any other pressures, that have kept the Amity East Indians of
Trinidad Indians within their ancient tradition. They are in fact as
modern as any other ex-peasant group, either in India or the West
Indies. It is instead the pressures from within, from the heart, from
one's fellows and their needs of one another, pressures obviously not
from outside except as defence, which have inspired the retention and
reconstitution of culture we witness here.
 FOREWORD XVU

Note, too, that these retentions and reconstitutions include the

major and the essential, or "domestic" institutions, to use the phrase
of past centuries. These are not general human institutions, to be
summed up with empty if evocative general names, like hearth and
home and community. These are specifically Indian institutions.
Home is the joint family, the personal "army" of one's sons and
brothers; the hearth is the kitchen and the paddy field, the "salt and
rice" of independence mentioned here; community is not only the
village, but also beyond it the circle of villages into which visits are
made and from which brides come and the caste, both subsumed in
the table of castes and the system of ritual rank and religious value
which are all specifically Indian. To reconstitute a communal life, to
live on and together as an ethnic group, the immigrants here have
rebuilt in exact and revealing terms the key institutions of their native
land and its ancestral but ever-changing social order. Culture is a way
of life, a way of thinking and feeling, a way grounded in highly specific
institutions of distinctive social pattern, articulation, and relationships.
To reconstitute one's way is to rebuild, reinvent such specific in-
stitutions.
It is of no matter that such institutions have no names or lie con-
cealed in intimate, unreasoned activities. "Fair play" is part of Anglo-
Saxon life, at home and in the off-shoot cultures, and it turns up both
in habeas corpus and sports-handicapping, formal institutions, and in
seemingly unpatterned daily dealings of man and man. By the same
token, caste turns up here as "nation." Ritual rank still condemns the
poor scrabblers of the waters in Jangll Tola who take life and still
exalts the conservator-husbandman of the fields and the grass.
Most illuminating of all, since our understanding of it from anthro-
pological studies of modern and village India is just now taking focus,
is the reconstitution of the circle of villages. That circle of villages is
a lattice-work of related villages laced by the fanning out of kinship
alliances uniting joint families from their home villages to wider and
xviii FOREWORD

wider circles of kinsmen, the network increased in each generation

with the search for a new family alliance forced by the prohibition
against taking a bride from any related lineage and thus from any
village from which living and remembered women of one's family
have come. We learn here that a partial reconstitution of such circles
of villages so reticulated has happened in Amity. Science has just
discovered, in many local studies in India itself, the reality of such
village circles. They have been part of Hindu tradition since the laws
of Manu, but scholarship thought them disappeared. I have just
written elsewhere of the evidence from these studies which proves
them still existent and that connects village exogamy, caste endogamy,
and the prohibition of marriages into any village from which a relative
has come with these village circles. The evidence now seems to show
them to be an ancestral and distinctively Indian institution of com-
munity form and organization. To find them reconstituted in East
Indian Trinidad, again without name or explicit rationale, is to find
unexpected proof of their essential and integral part in Indian
civilization.
The usefulness of community studies is the usefulness of any
scientific tool: to document the real and to help us discover the
unexpected. Art and method must conspire if the promise is to be
fulfilled. I think they have conspired here.

C O N R A D M. A R E N S B E R G
Palo Alto, California

Center for Advanced Study

in the Behavioral Sciences
June, 1960
Preface

The field work upon which this study is based was carried
out on the island of Trinidad during the period from June, 1957, to
June, 1958. The work was made possible by a fellowship from the
Social Science Research Council, and I wish to express my gratitude
to that organization. I am also indebted to the Institute for the Study
of Man in the Tropics for the financial assistance given by a fellowship
under its Research and Training Program during the summer of 1957.
It was in the course of a seminar conducted by Professor Charles
Wagley of Columbia University and Dr. Vera Rubin of the Institute
for the Study of Man in the Tropics that I first became aware of the
problems inherent in the unusual ethnic composition of Trinidad. The
presence within the context of a New World society of a large ethnic
group whose cultural heritage derived from India offered a rare
opportunity for research into problems of acculturation and cultural
persistence.
XX PREFACE

During our first two months in Trinidad my wife and I lived in a

rural village in County Caroni. The population of the village was
about equally divided between East Indians and Negroes. We acquired
there a preliminary acquaintance with rural Trinidad life and were
able to delimit the scope of the problem and form hypotheses for
further investigation. I received invaluable guidance and advice during
this period from Dr. Vera Rubin and from Mr. Lloyd Braithwaite of
the University College of the West Indies.
It became apparent that in such a mixed community it would
always be difficult to distinguish what was Indian from what was
West Indian in patterns of association, sanctioning mechanisms, forms
o f marital union, and many other aspects of life in the village. For my
purposes it was necessary to find a village with a predominantly East
Indian population, in which the full round of present-day East Indian
life in Trinidad could be observed.
Such a village did not necessarily have to be representative or typical.
Rural Trinidad, indeed, presents such a varied topography, ethnic
complexity, and heterogeneity of agricultural pursuits that it is
difficult to say what would be "typical." Even " E a s t Indian" villages
provide a bewildering variety of types.
Almost from the first, my attention was directed toward the village
I have called " A m i t y . " This village was by no means a unique phenom-
enon, but it provided a relatively rare—and for my purposes, ideal—
opportunity to study all aspects of rural East Indian life within the
physical bounds of one community. 1 Everything to be observed in

1 T h r o u g h o u t this study I shall concentratc upon elements o f c o m m u n i t y

structure. In using the term " s t r u c t u r e , " I am following Radcliffe-Brown in
referring to the " c o m p l e x network of human r e l a t i o n s . . . social relations o f person
to p e r s o n . . . the differentiation o f individuals and classes by their social r o l e "
( 1 9 5 2 : 190-91). In assembling the structural elements, 1 have been guided by the
" v a r i a b l e comparative t e r m s " suggested by Arensberg: Individuals (persons o r
a n i m a l s ) ; Spaces (territory, position, m o v e m e n t ) ; Times (schedules, c a l e n d a r s ,
time-series); F u n c t i o n s (for individual and group life); and Structure and Process
 PREFACE XXÍ

Amity could be observed elsewhere, in other East Indian villages, but

in one case the people of the particular village had no ricefields to
cultivate and in another they had no temple, and so on. In Amity,
there was a full round of life.
My wife and I moved into the village at the beginning of September,
1957. We had the good fortune to find an empty house on the main
street, just behind the Canadian Mission School, and we lived there
until the end of June, 1958.
The usual techniques of anthropological field work were employed
during the study. Relevant material was gathered from official records
and available private papers. I interviewed persons of importance in
the county administration and the management of the nearby estate,
as well as doctors, ministers, educational officers, agricultural officers,
and others whose work affected, and was affected by, the lives of the
villagers.
Within the village we conducted a census and formally interviewed
persons of both sexes and of all ages and positions within the com-
munity structure. Shorter interviews were conducted with members
of about fifteen percent of the total households in an effort to acquire
information about household composition, nature of marital unions,
occupations, caste membership, extent of kin networks outside the
village, and many other things. We tried very hard to achieve a
representative sampling of the village.
Interviews were also conducted with villagers who could offer
information about certain special subjects. These included religious
and political leaders, shopkeepers, small fanners, and those engaged
in such specialized occupations as midwifery and crabcatching. All
gave freely of their time and knowledge. A group of village elders,
who continually demonstrated both their honesty and their earnest
desire to be of assistance, helped me to determine what Amity was like
(1955: 1146). These were my guides; the responsibility for the use to which they
were put is mine alone.
xxii PREFACE

in its early years. Drawing on the almost encyclopedic knowledge of

these men, I was able to establish the number and location of the
castes represented in the village as well as the membership of each
caste. These men could provide information about almost every
marital union in Amity, its degree of respectability, and the caste
affiliations of the respective spouses. This provided an invaluable
check on information gathered in the course of household interviews.
Unquestionably, the most important technique employed was that
of participant-observation. We lived in the village and participated
directly in many of the activities of its inhabitants. After an initial
period of uncertainty we were assigned a position within the com-
munity structure, with a kind of quasi-upper-caste membership. It
was suggested by one villager, for example, that we never eat pork
for this is one of the signs of low-caste membership. Beef, on the other
hand, was permissible for us since it was known that we were not
Hindus. We attended almost every wedding in the village or out in-
volving an Amity family. We were invited to wakes, funerals, and
religious ceremonies of various kinds. My wife was made welcome at
the private women's parties at which the birth of children were
celebrated. Where we could, we recorded these events with camera and
tape recorder. We were active participants in such temple ceremonies
as Siw Rati, and we joined in the wild celebration of Holi on the
village streets.
We entered even further into the life of the village. On one occasion
I was made a member of an informal panceyt, or council, called to
settle an intricate family dispute. Another time, I was asked to
accompany the men of a village family—and to participate as one of
the official members—when they journeyed to a distant village for the
purpose of "engaging" a boy in marriage. As a member of the party,
I experienced firsthand the hostilities and tensions present in such
situations. I attended sub rosa political meetings during the election
of 1958, and was trusted with the secrets of both factions.
 PREFACE XXLII

The people of Amity all speak English, with varying degrees of

proficiency, and almost all have some acquaintance with Hindi. Hindi
terminology is used particularly in discussing kinship, religion, and
rice cultivation. Certain inconsistencies in the spelling of such terms
occur in the text. Unhappily, they were unavoidable. There is a more
or less standard English spelling in use today for the Hindi spoken
in north India (see, for example, de Bary 1958: xiii-xv). Where I have
quoted from the works of others, or referred to Indian phenomena
not present in Amity, I have tried to follow the conventional spelling.
For example, I have said that there is no "caste panchayat" in Amity.
On the other hand, in transcribing terms actually in use in the village,
I have employed my own spelling, in an attempt to approximate
village pronunciation. Thus, I speak of the "village panceyt." But
there is a further problem for Trinidad. Many Hindi words, particu-
larly personal names, are spelled in English letters by the villagers in
terms of a local orthography. I have followed them in this, and
proper names—"Sookdeo," "Jairam," "Pooran," etc.—are always in
the local spelling. Although all the names occurring in the text are
common Trinidad East Indian names, in no case do I ever refer to
any individual in the village by his real name. As italicizing all un-
familiar Indian terms in the text would have resulted in a patchwork
of roman and italic type, terms beginning with a capital letter have
been set in roman.
The spelling used for "Amity" Hindi terms throughout this work
should not be taken to represent a formal linguistic analysis. It is
simply an attempt to approximate the village pronunciation. There
are a number of problems glossed over in this spelling. The " R "
sound, for example, is usually a rolled dental, as in praja. Occasionally
one hears what sounds like the "R" of English, as in kartik, while
some people pronounce words such as the latter with no "R" sound
at all. The "R" has been included here, though with some trepidation.
The "s" sound varies from "s" to "SH," and I was unable to determine
xxiv PREFACE

whether this represented free variation or was of p h o n e m i c significance.

Both " s " a n d "SH" have been used in the text in terms of the way
particular w o r d s seemed m o s t frequently to be p r o n o u n c e d . In any
case, neither " s " n o r "SH" are p r o n o u n c e d quite as in English, but are
closer together, somewhere between palatal a n d alveolar, "T," "D,"
"B," "P," "G" a n d "J" are unaspirated when they a p p e a r alone, as in
pandit. A n " H " after any one of t h e m indicates aspiration, as in bhe.
" c " is used to represent an unaspirated, voiceless, palatal plosive (the
s o u n d spelled "CH" in English, as in " c h u r c h " ) , as in cattri. Followed
by an " H , " as in chotkl, the same sound is aspirated. It was very hard
t o detect aspiration when the aspirant was a final one, as in marajh,
and some East Indians spell the w o r d without the " H . " M a n y villagers
insisted that the aspirant was really present, a n d in such cases I usually
t o o k their word for it. T h o u g h villagers w h o are literate in Hindi
k n o w of the retroflex plosives of Hindi, one rarely hears them in daily
speech, though again it was h a r d to be certain. In this text I have
ignored the distinction between retroflex a n d non-retroflex sounds,
spelling b o t h the same way. This b o o k may be said to raise the q u e s t i o n :
" W h a t happened to Hindi after one h u n d r e d years in T r i n i d a d ? "
But there is no a t t e m p t to answer that q u e s t i o n — t h a t is left t o those
better qualified.
Ten vowels have been used here, a n d this would a p p e a r to be
adequate, though again certain problems exist. Is the " o f ' of poi
p r o n o u n c e d as in " C h l o e , " or is there a d i p h t h o n g , as in the English
"boil?" I could not be certain. The vowel signs used here are t o be
p r o n o u n c e d , roughly, as follows:
a the " u h " of English " b u t " (when " a " is a final, as in sudra, it is barely
detectable).
a the " a " of English "father."
i the "i" of English "fit."
i the "ee" of English "feet."
u the " o o " of English "foot."
u the " o o " of English "boot."
 PREFACE XXV

e the "ey" of English "hey" (but not so much of a diphthong).

e the "i" of English "bite."
o the " o " of English "tote."
d the "ow" of English "cow."

Nasalization is indicated by a tilde over the vowel, as in hSr. The

problems of Hindi plurals have been avoided, a n d English plurals
have been used.
Whenever monetary figures are given in the text, they are in British
West Indian currency. " D o l l a r " and " c e n t " signs occur because
B.W.I, currency uses the decimal system and the same signs, but it
should be noted that $1.00 B.W.I, was roughly equivalent to $.68 in
United States currency.
One last comment on usage is necessary. The heterogeneity of the
Trinidad population creates terminological problems. There are
"Negroes," Whites," "colored," "Portuguese," "Syrians" (which
includes Jews), "Chinese," and " E a s t Indians" on the island—plus
various mixtures. I have used the word " C r e o l e " to refer to anyone,
of any ethnic group, who participates in the general "Creole," or
West Indian, culture of Trinidad (cf. Braithwaite 1953: 10-11). For
certain purposes it became necessary to distinguish particular groups.
Thus, the villagers of Amity consider themselves and their ethnic
group distinct f r o m the " C r e o l e " society a n d its culture, and are
referred to as " E a s t Indians." Again, while the rural Trinidad " N e g r o "
of relatively unmixed African descent may well consider himself a
" C r e o l e , " or "West Indian," the Amity villager makes a sharp dis-
tinction between the rural " N e g r o " and the city " C r e o l e , " and where
it is necessary, so have I.
Conventionally, only my name may appear on the title page of this
book. Nevertheless, many other people have made substantial con-
tributions to it at every step of the way, and I should like to express
my sense of deep indebtedness to them all.
I am particularly indebted to the members of my doctoral committee,
xxvi PREFACE

Professors Conrad M. Arensberg, Charles M. Wagley, and Elliot P.

Skinner, who have advised and guided me from the inception of this
work. I hope these pages adequately reflect their good counsel and
the many hours of their valuable time that they devoted to my work.
Dr. Michael Horowitz has given me, in countless discussions, the
benefit of his fine critical ability. Dr. Lewis Levine and Dr. Claire
Jacobson have read parts of the manuscript and offered valuable
suggestions. Philip and Fruma Klass had the fortitude to plough
through disordered early versions of this work and through a sub-
stantial portion of the final draft. They did their very best to introduce
style and proper English usage into its pages.
I want to thank all the people in Trinidad who assisted us in so
many ways: Mr. Kenneth Fletcher, Mr. Andrew Carr, Mr. Sigmund
Assee, Mr. A. V. S. Lochhead, the Honorable Mr. Ulric Lee, Senator
Omah Maharaj, Mr. L. E. Rousseau, Mr. Cyril Solomon, Mr. L.
Beard, Mr. Ben Sealy, Mrs. Sookpalee, Mr. Robert Lalla, the Reverend
A. Sultanti, Mr. and Mrs. E. Yufe, Mr. Brian Chen and Mr. Edward
Lall. There were so many, indeed, that it is impossible to record all
the names of those who helped make our stay in Trinidad both
meaningful and pleasurable.
A nimakharam is one who eats at a man's table and then fails to
show a proper sense of gratitude, and I would be a nimakharam
indeed if I did not especially acknowledge the debt we owe to our good
friends Dr. and Mrs. Michael Rabindranath Ojah Reesal. Michael
Reesal first introduced us to Amity and counseled us throughout our
stay. His deep and compassionate understanding of his own people
made our task immeasurably easier. May every young anthropologist
on his first field trip make such friends as these.
To all the wonderful people of Amity we are of course particularly
indebted. These pages tell of their village as they showed it to us, and,
I hope, as they would want to have it portrayed. Through their
efforts we had the most exciting and fulfilling year of our lives. We
 PREFACE XXVii

are "bye-family" to them now, for our daughter, Perri Elizabeth—

whom they called Toolsi-Devi—was born into the village, and in the
deepest sense of the word Amity will forever be " o u r " village. Mr.
Solomon Lochan and Mr. and Mrs. Basraj Bridglal helped us in ways
that can never be sufficiently acknowledged, and Mr. Hardeo Ramsingh
provided—along with much else—the original of the map of Amity
used in the text. It is only with reluctance that I must admit there are
simply too many names for me to list them all. I thank everyone, and
to all I say, "Sitdram, bheyo or buhlno."
My wife, Sheila Solomon Klass, supported and encouraged me
through the seemingly endless academic years. In the field, she did
more than a fair share of the research. As the raw notes became
manuscript and then book, she encouraged me with her never failing
confidence, she typed and revised and proofread. There are no words
with which I can adequately express gratitude for all of this. I shall
therefore say only—and very inadequately—that this book is as much
the product of her labors as it is of mine.

M O R T O N KLASS

Bennington College
April, 1961
 MAP OF A M I T Y
]$> Cane Swamp It' Rice
w 0 1000
feet
 For many people the Caribbean is a study in black and
white. The descendants of Negro slaves brought from Africa are the
"black," while colonial officials and the descendants of European
plantation owners are the "white." Some may look upon the area as
a vacation playground; somnolent islands in the sun, inhabited by
Calypso-singing cane-laborers. Others more nervously view the same
islands as potential powder kegs; colonial danger spots where future
conflagrations are even now being kindled by ignorance, racial anti-
pathies, and a monocrop economy.
Students of the area soon discover that, while not entirely without
foundation, such views are exceedingly superficial. Great differences
in social, economic, and political systems exist between the various
colonies. Each independent Caribbean nation has its own unique
problems. There are large and small islands, as well as mainland
territories. Language, population pressure, and literacy all vary sharply.
2 INTRODUCTION

And if few generalizations may safely be made about the Caribbean

as a whole, particular caution is necessary on the subject of Caribbean
societies and their cultures. These have long been under study by
anthropologists and sociologists. Work has been done in many places
on such problems as the extent to which African cultural patterns have
survived, the structure of the Negro family, and the nature of social
stratification in the West Indies at present. As research continues, it
becomes increasingly clear that the region exhibits an unusual variety
of sociocultural complexities. 1
Generalities are even unwise on the matter of ethnic composition.
The "black" versus "white" dichotomy rarely serves as an adequate
characterization. In most places the situation is more complicated.
Such phenomena may be observed as a "colored" middle class, or a
"poor-white" remnant of preslavery indentured European laborers.
Furthermore, many distinctive new groups have crowded into the
area within the last century or so, contributing in no small way to the
present state of sociocultural complexity. Though of a variety of
origins, they are all usually referred to as "races" in the Caribbean.
Among them are the Portuguese, the Chinese, the Syrians, and—
largest of all such groups—the East Indians.
Although few people outside of the Caribbean are even aware of
their presence, East Indians 2 —the descendants of immigrants from
India—comprise an important New World population. As of 1946
British Guiana's largest ethnic group was that of the East Indians,
who made up 43.51 percent of the population. In the same year, some
200,000 East Indians accounted for 35.09 percent of Trinidad's
population. Smaller groups may be found elsewhere in the West
1
See, for examples of such studies, Herskovits (1937, 1947), Braithwaite (1953),
Matthews (1953), M. G. Smith (1955), and R. T. Smith (1956). Social and Cultural
Pluralism in llie Caribbean, ed. by Rubin el al. (1960), represents a recent symposium
on the area and its problems.
1
In the Caribbean, the "East Indian" must be distinguished from the "West
Indian" and, in a few places, from the "Red Indian."
 INTRODUCTION 3

Indies. 3 In British Guiana and Trinidad they appear to be on the

increase both in absolute and relative numbers.
This book is about a village in Trinidad inhabited almost entirely
by East Indians.

THE PROBLEM

The present adults of the village of Amity represent the third

generation since Indian immigrants first settled there after the com-
pletion of a period of contracted indentured labor on the sugar
plantations of the island. What brought people from India to Trinidad,
and how did a village such as this come to be established? What kind
of a village has emerged—can the community be termed "Indian" or
"West Indian," or is it something else entirely?
In the chapters to follow, all of these questions will be dealt with,
but major attention will be given to the problem of the nature of the
present community. A considerable quantity of culture traits, ob-
viously deriving from India, are to be observed in the village. To name
just a few, village exogamy, caste endogamy, Hinduism, and "Hawaiian
Cousin" kinship terminology are otherwise alien to the West Indian
scene. Traits such as these will not be approached as isolated phenom-
ena, but rather in terms of their significance to the important in-
stitutions of the village sociocultural system, that is, to the relationships
existing among the members of the population.
Either such survivals are cultural "fossils"—meaningless fragments
of East Indian heritage—or they are part of an ongoing, living, social
structure. I believe the latter to be the case. The intent of this book
is to demonstrate, first, that the village of Amity is a highly integrated,
cohesive community, and second, that this community is structurally
Indian rather than West Indian.
* F o r additional statistical information, see Cumper (n.d.) and the Trinidad
and Tobago Yearbook (Dow 1957).
4 INTRODUCTION

It is my contention that the Indian immigrants to Trinidad who

founded the village of Amity were able to reconstitute a community
reflecting their society of origin. They did this, moreover, despite
considerable handicaps. The original settlers derived from different
villages in northern India. Again, during the period of indenture they
had become part of what was for them the alien sociocultural system
of Trinidad. Finally, the community they reconstituted had to exist
within the framework of the larger Trinidad society and its culture.
But such a community did in fact come into being, making possible
the persistence of major elements of the Indian culture to the present
time. Despite considerable modifications, Amity today resembles a
community of the sociocultural system of India, rather than a com-
munity of the particular variant of West Indian culture to be found
among the Negro population of Trinidad.

SUGAR AND SLAVERY

The East Indians of Trinidad, like almost all the other inhabitants
of the West Indies, owe their presence there to the cultivation of sugar
cane, and to the events that followed its introduction (around 1650)
to the region.
Before sugar became a significant crop in the British islands of the
Caribbean a system of European indentured labor had prevailed.
This was sufficient for the subsistence farming or smallholding cash-
crop farming that characterized the islands until 1650, but it could not
supply the labor force necessary for the new, large, sugar-cultivating
establishments. The British planters, like the French, turned to the
importation of Negro slaves f r o m Africa.
In the latter part of the eighteenth century, slavery came under
increasing attack in England by economic theorists, reformers, and
representatives of interests in conflict with the planters: "While the
economists and the industrialists were attacking West Indian mono-
 INTRODUCTION 5

poly, the reformers, humanitarians and intellectuals were attacking

West Indian slavery" (Parry and Sherlock 1956: 175-76). "The
supporters of slavery could only reply that, inefficient though the
system might be, there was no other known way of growing sugar"
(ibid.: 183).
An act abolishing the slave trade itself came into force on January 1,
1808, but the actual Emancipation Act did not become law in the
British Empire until 1833. Even then the slaves were not completely
free, for this act freed only children under six years of age, requiring
all others to serve a period of "apprenticeship" on the plantations on
which they had been enslaved—field workers for six years, and others
for four years.
"The system of apprenticeship for field workers was terminated in
1838, two years earlier than had been intended" (ibid. : 194). Apart
from the abuses of the system, the freed slaves, "apprentices" or no,
were leaving the plantations in droves, and "scorned to come" to work
on them under any form of contract whatever (Gangulee, 1947, 21).
Whatever their inclinations, the emancipated slaves could not leave
the plantations with equal ease in all the British possessions. A Royal
Commission Report states: 'Wherever possible, the freed slaves
purchased land of their own, in some cases joining together to purchase
abandoned estates for subsequent subdivision among themselves"
(West India Royal Commission Report 1945: 6).
The "wherever possible" is important. In certain British colonies,
such as Barbados and St. Kitts, "labour was in excess of land-space,"
and such a development was impossible (Parry and Sherlock 1956:
197). According to Eric Williams:
In Antigua, where all the land was appropriated, planters and slaves flocked
to the churches when the news of emancipation reached the island, thanked
God for the blessing of freedom, and returned to their labors, the slaves
now raised to the dignity of landless wage earners paid twenty-five cents a
day. The same was true of Barbados, where similar conditions prevailed,
except that the Barbadians omitted the thanksgiving [1944: 191].
6 INTRODUCTION

British Guiana came under the British flag in 1796 and Trinidad in
1797. Although both had undergone some previous colonization, 4
and despite the influx of British planters after the British conquest, the
end of slavery found the two colonies still partially undeveloped. It
was in these two colonies, and to a lesser extent on the large island of
Jamaica, that the labor shortage became acute. 5
De Verteuil, a Trinidadian who wrote some fifty years after Emanci-
pation, claims that the shortage of labor was so acute in Trinidad and
British Guiana that: "The introduction of Asiatics and other labourers
has alone prevented a proportionate decrease or total abandonment
of sugar manufacture in those two colonies; and that, so far only as
those labourers were placed under indenture, and their labour thus
rendered regularly available" (de Verteuil 1884: 8).
It is important to note that the labor of European indentured
servants was never abolished, and although it was superseded in
importance in the British West Indies by slave labor, it never died out
completely. The "transporting" of certain types of criminals to the
colonies for a period of enforced labor continued to be the practice
throughout the period of slavery. After Emancipation, therefore, the
hard-put planters turned first to indentured immigrants from the
impoverished countries of Europe, but they soon discovered these
could not be obtained in quantities sufficient to fill their needs.
Free Africans were brought to the West Indies as indentured labo-
rers, but again the response was not sufficient to meet the continued

4
Trinidad was discovered in 1498 by Columbus, but the Spanish did not make
a permanent settlement on the island until 1592, and the Spanish population never
grew very large. In 1776 the Spanish government issued a decree permitting
foreigners (Roman Catholic) to settle in Trinidad, and a large number of French
planters took advantage of this (see Hollis 1941; Borde 1882).
* The French colonies of Martinique and Guadeloupe were experiencing
similar problems, as slavery came to an end in French possessions. The concern
here is only with the postslavery circumstances of British possessions, and particu-
larly with those in Trinidad.
 INTRODUCTION 7

demand. Only 36,000 came over a period of thirty years. For ona
thing, according to Cumpston (1953: 18), Africans were suspicious;
for another, local officials, missionaries, etc., disapproved of the scheme.
It might well be asked why it was necessary for the plantations to
find a source of cheap labor: could not the plantations have enticed
"free labor" with the offer of superior wages and good living and
working conditions? Failing that, could not sugar have been raised
by small, independent farmers? Without going into this problem to
any great depth, we may note Eric Williams' contention that, in
colonies of the British West Indian type, where the economy involved
"the production of staple articles on a large scale for an export market"
—as opposed to the colonial New England "self-sufficient and
diversified economy of small farmers"—land and capital were both
useless unless a constant and disciplined labor force were available
(Williams 1944: 4-5). Slavery was the Caribbean solution to this
problem, and, according to Williams: "When slavery is adopted, it is
not adopted as a choice over free labor; there is no choice at all"
(ibid.: 5-6).
Since the requirements of sugar production had in no way changed,
obviously the Emancipation Act did away only with slavery, but not
with the need of the planters for a slave labor force or its equivalent.
The emancipated Negroes "scorned to come" back to work on the
plantations wherever any other choice was open to them; perhaps if
they had been invited back as "free labor" with appropriate pay and
working conditions, they might have returned. The plantations,
however, for their own survival, required slave labor—or as close to
it as they could get—and the Negroes, once emancipated, had no
desire to return to what would have been essentially their previous
condition of servitude.
Williams writes: "Sugar meant labor—at times that labor has been
slave, at other times nominally free; at times black, at other times
white or brown or yellow" (1944: 29). In their search for cheap,
8 INTRODUCTION

controllable laborers, in large quantities, the planters turned eventually

to the Far East. The use of Chinese contractual labor had already
begun in a number of countries (See Gangulee 1947: 21). Some
Chinese laborers were brought to the sugar-producing colonies, but
British India was eventually discovered to be an inexhaustible and most
profitable source of plantation labor.

EAST I N D I A N I N D E N T U R E D LABOR
Mauritius, a British-owned sugar-producing island in the Indian
Ocean some 500 miles east of Madagascar, was faced with problems
similar to those of British Guiana and Trinidad, and was the first to
experiment with unskilled East Indian indentured labor. The experi-
ment was a success: "By the middle of 1837, the number of Indian
emigrants to Mauritius exceeded twenty-thousand" (ibid.). In May,
1838, 250 indentured East Indians, known as the "Gladstone coolies"
after the owner of the plantation to which they were destined, landed
in British Guiana.
Reports of ill-treatment, death, negligence, and contractual fraud
on Mauritius and British Guiana caused Parliament to halt the im-
portation to the colonies of East Indian laborers. Despite the reports,
and the opposition of the British Anti-Slavery Committee, Parliament
—because of the pressure exerted by the desperate planters and the
absence of an acceptable alternative source of labor—voted the con-
tinuance of the system "under certain safeguards" in 1853 (Gangulee
1947: 44, 150).
With some attempt made now to regulate recruitment, transporta-
tion, terms of contract, and living and working conditions, the
indenture system began again to supply East Indian labor to the
plantations of Mauritius, British Guiana, Trinidad, and elsewhere.
For the first time, really large numbers of laborers arrived in the
Caribbean. With the emancipation of French slaves in 1848, French
 INTRODUCTION 9

colonial planters also became interested in obtaining East Indian

indentured labor.
For Trinidad, East Indian immigration began "On the 30th May,
1845 . . . [with] the arrival in the harbor of the first East Indian immi-
gration ship, the Fatel Razack (or Rasack) from Calcutta." On it were
197 males, including one infant, and 28 females (Bowen and Montserin
1948: 15).
The importation of East Indian indentured labor to the West Indies
continued through the latter half of the nineteenth century, was inter-
rupted in 1914, stopped in 1917, and legally abolished in 1920. During
this period, the plantations of British Guiana, alone, received some
240,000 men, women, and children. Another 143,900 were brought to
Trinidad, and thousands more to other islands (see Roberts 1957).
The last East Indian immigrant ship to reach Trinidad—the SS
Ganges—arrived on April 22, 1917, carrying "247 males, 115 females,
12 boys, 10 girls, and 10 infants" (Bowen and Montserin 1948: 15).
According to Gangulee, most immigrants were drawn from Madras
and the United Provinces. The provinces drawn upon probably
reflect their nearness to the two ports of embarkation—Madras and
Calcutta.
What impelled the Indians to leave their homes and sign up as
indentured laborers overseas? I was given a number of answers by
the few old Amity men and women who had actually been born in
India, and also by various Trinidad-born East Indians who had
queried their own parents and grandparents. Most claimed to have
been "tricked" by recruiting agents, who played upon their youth and
ignorance with stories of "high wages" and "easy work" (e.g., "sifting
sugar") in Trinidad. A few came for the adventure; a few to escape
the law; a few because of family conflicts—but most came because
food, money, and employment were scarce at home. One old man
told me candidly that he had been promised all sorts of things by the
recruiting agent, but hadn't believed him, and hadn't been surprised
10 INTRODUCTION

when they failed to materialize; he came expecting to work hard all

his life for little pay. Nevertheless, he was not sorry he had come, for
in India, he suspected, he would have had even less.
Most, however, said they spent their first years in Trinidad "crying"
as they remembered their homes and realized how badly they had been
"tricked." The Trinidad-born East Indians are almost unanimous
in their belief that their forebears were "damn fools" for allowing
themselves to be tricked. Whatever the truth of the case, the East
Indians of Trinidad are firmly convinced that their presence in the
West Indies today is due to "trickery"—and, as they see it, the plan-
tations, the recruiting agents, and the colonial government at the time
were all parties to the deception.
It must be noted, however, that whether or not the recruiting agents
were guilty of fraudulent misrepresentation, conditions in India at the
time of the greatest indentured immigration were such that choice for
many people lay only between emigration as an indentured laborer—
and death from starvation. 8
Madras continued as an important port for emigrants destined for
French colonies, but after the first few years, Calcutta, drawing mainly
from nearby north India provinces, became the primary port of em-
barkation for the British colonies. Thus in the period from 1845 to
1892 a total of 93,569 laborers were introduced into Trinidad from
India. Of these, 88,304 embarked from Calcutta, and 5,265 from
Madras. From 1872 on, no immigrants to Trinidad were brought
from Madras at all, and in only one year—1847—did the Madras
emigrants exceed the ones from Calcutta (Comins 1893: 230).
In 1877-78, one of the few years for which records are available
(Richards 1878), indentured laborers emigrated from Calcutta to
Mauritius, Demarara (British Guiana), Natal, Trinidad, Jamaica,
Grenada, St. Lucia, Surinam, and Guadeloupe. Richards has provided
' See Woodruff (1954: 94-114) for a discussion of famine in India in the latter
half of the nineteenth century.
 INTRODUCTION 11

us with a complete breakdown of the number of emigrants for that

year from each province (and the specific districts thereof) that entered
the "depots" maintained in Calcutta by the various colonies overseas.
For example, of the 2,151 admitted into the Trinidad depot, about half
came from the North-Western Province, about a quarter from Oudh,
and the rest, in various smaller amounts, from Behar, Bengal, Native
States, Punjab and dependencies, Central India, Orissa and 131 from
"Miscellaneous Madras and Bombay, etc."
This information is of particular interest because the village of
Amity was settled, beginning in 1886, by men who—as their descen-
dants tell it—had completed their indentures in the years immediately
previous. This would seem to indicate that they had left India during
the period 1875-80. It is not at all unreasonable, in fact, to suppose
that some of the settlers might have been among the 2,151 persons
admitted to the Trinidad depot, and therefore described in Richards's
report. Since there is no reason to suppose that 1877-78 was an
unusual year in any way, we may be justified in considering it re-
presentative of the years immediately surrounding it. Such an as-
sumption is useful because few of the present inhabitants of Amity
have any real idea of the province in India—let alone the district—
from which their ancestors came.
Richards has also supplied some data on the proportions of immi-
grants drawn from various castes. Many non-Indians in Trinidad
will say that only members of the "lowest" castes came as indentured
laborers; that no Trinidad East Indian may legitimately claim member-
ship in any of the "high" castes of India. This belief was even held
by some of those actively involved in the immigration proceedings.
Thus, Comins noted that Chamars and other low-caste laborers were
preferred by the planters to the "more respectable agricultural castes"
(1892b: 73). Richards does not give us actual caste names, unfortun-
ately, but he does provide the following breakdown of the 18,488
emigrants from Calcutta in 1877-78: "Brahmins, high caste—2,223;
12 INTRODUCTION

Agriculturalists—4,438; Artizans—763; Low castes—8,807 [the

religion of the preceding groups characterized as Hindoo]; Mussul-
mans—2,250; and Christians—7" (Richards 1878: 18).
As to the contention on the part of members of the present East
Indian population of Trinidad that immigrants were "tricked" into
indentures, it is difficult to prove or disprove at this late date. The
records available certainly do indicate that the system of indenture
immigration was not—to put it quite mildly—without its abuses.
Gangulee makes this point very strongly, noting that while a "Protector
of Immigrants" resided in Calcutta, his legal powers to prevent
injustices and abuses were limited (1947: 45). He writes further (p. 43):
Emigration agents of the British Colonies appointed professional recruiters,
who were generally very unprincipled men. They frequented the Indian
villages where the crops had failed and also the pilgrim centres where
thousands of illiterate and extremely poor people congregated. Here the
wily and most unscrupulous recruiters cast their n e t . . . . The recruiter
received a gratuity of Rs. 45 (£3) per head for every male and Rs. 55 (£3.13.6)
per head for every f e m a l e . . . . For the class of people to which the recruiter
belonged, the temptation thus given was strong enough to inspire him to
use means that were horribly cruel and utterly dishonest.
Contemporary documents appear to support some of Gangulee's
charges. Richards suspected, and deplored, considerable illegal but
undetected recruitment, and the operations of unlicensed recruiters
and "sirdars" (1878: 6-7, 13). Comins, in an official document, could
advocate the abolition of the payment of return passages with the
claim that this would not cut down the supply of labor, since " b a d
harvests," scarcity of food and "floating" town populations would
force the acceptance of "any available means of living without a too
nice criticism of the more or less beneficial terms offered." He added
that "experienced" agents knew how to take advantage of " a season
when want would overcome any hesitation," and could play on the
Indian's ignorance of conditions, distances involved, and the cost of
paying their own return passage (Comins 1892b: 72).
 INTRODUCTION 13

A "statutory q u o t a , " requiring that a certain proportion of women

be included among the immigrants, added to the abuses since "Few
married men cared to come, and there is among the Coolie population
in India no class of respectable single women." Kidnapping of
women, recruitment of prostitutes and beggars, etc., were not unknown
phenomena {ibid.: 73; Jenkins 1871: 350, 360-62; see also Richards
1878: 12-13).
Medical examinations were supposed to be made upon the signing
of the contract and before the journey to Calcutta, but the number of
emigrants rejected at the depots as "manifestly constitutionally unfit"
caused Richards to feel that the examinations were not adequate
(1878: 11-12). Nor were the depot examinations themselves entirely
satisfactory. An examination in the colonies upon arrival might
cause the immigrant to be sent back as unfit or, in the event that he
was permitted to remain, require him to labor at reduced wages
(Comins 1893: 233-34). Another indication of the cursory nature of
the medical examinations in the depots was given to me by those few
old men still alive in the village who had gone through them. According
to them, the immigrants believed that only men in their twenties would
be accepted, and they claim that it was not at all uncommon for a boy
of fourteen and a man of forty-five both to claim to be twenty-five
years old—and for both to pass!
Conditions in the depots were not good. The mortality rate was
high, and desertions came to almost five percent (Richards 1878:4, 12).
Gangulee considers conditions on the ships which transported the
laborers to have been "appalling" (1946: 44), and Comins notes that
the enfeebled condition of many of the laborers, to be seen upon their
arrival in the colonies, was often due to sickness and the rigors of the
journey (1893: 233).
Richards has given us a detailed tabulation of the terms offered to
prospective indentured laborers by each colony (1878: 8-9). These
include: nature of work; "wages, minimum rate claimable"; rations;
14 INTRODUCTION

dwellings; medical care; etc. Many of the statements were couched

in vague terms. Even where specific, they did not promise too much. 7
There were also legal provisions in each colony to prevent abuses
during the allotment of laborers to estates. In British Guiana, for
example, according to Jenkins:
the Agent-General is enjoined to take care that children under the age of
fifteen years are not separated from their parents, natural guardians, or
protectors, and that relatives are so allotted as to accompany each other,
and that even friends are not separated unless unavoidable. [Jenkins 1871: 97;
see also Comins 1893: 226.]
For all of this, Jenkins goes on to point out, the laborers "have
nothing to say in the matter of their allotment," and do not even get
to see "their future master" (1871: 97). The "coolies" soon discovered
that they had little to say about anything. Contracts that could be
violated by planters with impunity, bound the laborers with penal
sanctions about which they had not been informed before leaving
India (ibid: 91-94). Rations, living and working conditions, medical
care, payment—despite all contracts and ordinances—were completely
at the mercy of the planter's whim or interest, and were quite often
very inferior to what the laborer had been led to expect when he signed
up (ibid.: 89-94; see also Cumpston 1953: 32; Comins 1893: 220,
233-34; Gangulee 1947: 27, 43, 59-60).
Richards could quote from a report by a Moravian missionary in
British Guiana, '"that the condition of the coolies is comfortable, and
their treatment by the estate authorities all that could be desired"'
(1878: 16). However true this may have been in some instances, it is
important to observe that it was entirely up to the "estate authorities"
to determine the nature of living and working conditions. That it was
7
F o r the colony of Trinidad (and most others), the "nature of w o r k " was
detailed as : "Cultivation of the soil and manufacture of the produce." " M i n i m u m
claimable wages" for Trinidad amounted to "1 shilling 0J pence daily," " M i n i m u m
fortnightly. In British West Indian currency this came to twenty-five cents, of
which a b o u t ten cents would be subtracted for minimum rations supplied.
 INTRODUCTION 15

not true in all cases would seem to be indicated by evidence of con-

ditions which gave rise to a high incidence of suicide, sickness, general
despondency and death, among the "coolies" (Gangulee 1947: 59-60).
Upon his introduction to a plantation, the newly-arrived laborer
underwent what Comins has called "the ordeal of acclimatisation.
Those who are weak, or belong to the inferior castes [sic], may suffer
f r o m the change; but those who are of good constitution, and disposed
to toil, soon become inured, and work readily" (1893: 211). Whatever
their expectations or previous experience, almost all received the same
assignments. Jenkins has reported that Chinese immigrants repre-
sented as many as 150 former occupations, and out of one group of
30 Indian immigrants, 14 had had no experience with outdoor work.
All, nevertheless, were put to work in the fields and mills (1871: 89-90).
Work during the crop-time was long and arduous. It involved hard
work in the fields; and equally hard work around the mill buildings—
loading trucks and manufacturing sugar, with women working along-
side the men—for "twelve, fourteen, sixteen h o u r s " at a stretch (Comins
1893: 214-18; Jenkins 1871: 40-41 et passim).
Field work involved: "forking, weeding, cutting canes, and all the
operations connected with the preparation and cultivation of the
ground, and the harvesting of the c r o p " (Comins 1893: 218). Comins,
in his Diary, has given us a picture of the general routine on one
particular Trinidad estate in 1891:

Every week day at 6-15 A.M. the overseers and drivers go round the barracks;
the coolies are called out and assigned their tasks, and whoever is sick is
sent to the hospital.... The labourers go to their tasks, which are measured
for them by the driver, and if they have any objection to make, it is done
before the manager when he rides round about 7 o'clock, at which time he
sees that fair tasks are given. The overseer has several gangs under him for
ploughing, manuring, collecting fodder, all of which he visits in t u r n . . . .
Cooking for the day is generally done very early in the morning, say from
4 A.M. The babies and small children are looked after by a woman, who is
paid by the estate 10 cents per day, while the parents are in the fields—the
16 INTRODUCTION

tasks are generally completed by 2 P.M The manager said that on this
estate he had never known a driver to strike a cooly, neither do overseers
ill-treat them; but "during crop time they have to be a little more strict to
get them to work in time" [1893: 258],

F r o m J e n k i n s we m a y get a description of the estate table of

o r g a n i z a t i o n in the latter p a r t of the nineteenth c e n t u r y :
the sugar estates of British Guiana are owned . . . some by resident
proprietors, others by absentees. The absentees are represented by local
agents. . . . [next in authority is the "estate manager" and an outline of his
duties is given]. The manager is the person with whom the Coolie has
directly to do. I have heard of instances in which immigrants have appealed
to the [local agent], but they are r a r e . . . .
In one or two instances, on large estates, the manager has a deputy
manager under him, but generally the next person to a manager on the
staff of an estate is the overseer. The overseer directly superintends certain
"gangs" in field or building work. He has to be early on horseback, laying
out his hands upon his portion of the estate, and through the day he over-
looks the weeding, planting, digging, takes account in his field-book of the
people at work, noting whether they are in the field or absent, with the
amount of money they earn in the day; and in the evening ascertains from
the hospital book whether any of his gang have the excuse of sickness for
absence from work. His book then presents a record of the clay's labour,
which after examination and certification by the manager, is transferred to
the "pay-list" and signed by him. From this document . . . is taken the
evidence of wages due, as well as the proof in the magistrate's court of the
absence or presence of the immigrant on any given day. Six or eight
overseers may be found on an estate. In former times they were principally
coloured, but the partiality for young Englishmen or Scotchmen is in-
creasing. . . .
Under the overseers are foremen [more frequently called] drivers ...
who are the immediate supervisors of each gang. They watch the work,
take note of its quality, and probably keep the labourers up to duty. They
are always of the black, or Coolie, or Chinese race, and their relations to
the labourers give rise to the greatest of the difficulties that occur on
e s t a t e s . . . . [Also on the staff of an estate are an engineer, sub-engineers, a
bookkeeper, a hospital staff, and a cook.]
The number of labourers on single estates varies from one or two hundred
 INTRODUCTION 17

up to a t h o u s a n d . . . . The available forces . . . will be marshalled in gangs

for the various objects of the work. The strongest will f o r m the "shovel
g a n g , " or "cane-cutting g a n g " in crop time; the less able will constitute the
" w e e d i n g g a n g " ; there will also be a "building g a n g " ; and these gangs
again will be sub-divided . . . into the " C r e o l e gangs," the " C o o l i e gangs,"
the "light g a n g " of weakly men, women and children, w h o may be seen
working in the megass8 yard. In the buildings will be found f r o m 90 to 150
at w o r k ; the rest are distributed over the fields, if not in the hospital or
skulking [1871; 73-78],

W i t h certain m o d i f i c a t i o n s — s u c h as an increase in the b o o k k e e p i n g

s t a f f — t h i s table o f estate o r g a n i z a t i o n is still in e f f e c t a n d is still to be
o b s e r v e d o n the estates o f t o d a y . It is substantially accurate f o r the
estates I visited in T r i n i d a d . Perhaps m o r e i m p o r t a n t , it reflects little
change f r o m the table o f o r g a n i z a t i o n o f estates during the p e r i o d o f
slavery (see Parry and Sherlock 1956; 145-54). T h u s , the p l a n t a t i o n
system into which the indentured East Indians w e r e i n t r o d u c e d was
not one constructed t o suit their needs, expectations, o r c u s t o m a r y
patterns o f i n t e r a c t i o n ; it had d e v e l o p e d d u r i n g the p e r i o d when the
l a b o r f o r c e was m a d e up o f N e g r o slaves. S i m p l y stated, the i n c o m i n g
East Indian indentured laborers were r e q u i r e d t o replace the f o r m e r
slaves in the plantation social system.
T h e wages, hours, and w o r k i n g c o n d i t i o n s p r o m i s e d in I n d i a t o the
prospective immigrants varied slightly f r o m c o l o n y to c o l o n y , but,
whatever the agreement, it had little b i n d i n g f o r c e o n the planter.
T h e e m i g r a n t signing u p f o r T r i n i d a d , f o r e x a m p l e , was t o l d he w o u l d
be given a choice o f w o r k i n g either nine hours a d a y f o r t w e n t y - f i v e
cents a d a y or by " t a s k , " i.e., a specified a m o u n t o f w o r k f o r a fixed
rate. H o w e v e r : " a s a matter o f fact, nine-tenths o f the w o r k o n estates
is d o n e by t a s k s " ( C o m i n s 1893; 215).
In Comins's opinion, while "task" labor was a g r e e a b l e to the
e m p l o y e r , it also benefited the i m m i g r a n t , f o r — s o it was a s s u m e d —

8
Megass (or megasse, both variants of bagasse) is pressed sugar cane, the
residue left after all the sugar has been extracted.
18 INTRODUCTION

he might be able to finish a task in less than nine hours. Also, by

working harder, he might be able to earn more money. It would
appear, nevertheless, that a major effect of the "task" system was to
put the laborer completely at the mercy of his superiors on the estate.
These men determined the nature and amount of work to be done, and
decided whether or not it had been completed satisfactorily. The
laborers' power to protest their decisions was negligible. Even
Comins—who approved of the system—found it necessary to note:
On some estates, though comparatively few, the owner, if he is dissatisfied
with the task, as a punishment to the labourer, puts a cross instead of the
price of the task for that day; this means that the labourer will get nothing
for that day. On other estates the space for the price of the task is simply
left blank, and there is absolutely nothing in the pay list to show whether
the immigrant worked on that day, or whether he was absent or in hospital,
or what happened to him, as a reason for his receiving no pay [ibid.].*

The living quarters provided for the indentured laborers were either
those vacated by the freed slaves or buildings substantially equivalent.
As of 1871, "the range of immigrant dwellings [in British Guiana was]
still called the Negro yard" (Jenkins 1871: 37; see also pp. 322-24 for
an analysis of conditions in these quarters).
In addition to the crowded and unhealthy conditions, the laborer
had little right of privacy. To Comins's description quoted earlier of
the beginning of the workday, we may append Jenkins's mention of:
"a practice of the employers to force open the doors of the immigrants'
houses and turn them out to work" (ibid.: 263-64).
The problem of recruiting enough women to fulfill the quota has
already been alluded to. In 1877-78, of a total of 18,488 emigrants
from Calcutta, only 6,044 were females, or less than a third of the
total (Richards 1878: 18). This shortage of women was a source of

• See also Jenkins 1871: 40-41 et passim. See also Comins 1892a, for an account
of how an unscrupulous use of this power on Guadeloupe was a mechanism for
keeping laborers on estates long past the legal end of their indentures.
 INTRODUCTION 19

many problems and conflicts on the estates. On the Woodbrook

Estate in Trinidad, visited by Com ins in 1891 and described in his
Diary, of 56 indentured and 26 "free" East Indians, three "are said
to be regular prostitutes" (1893: 258). Comins writes:
Many managers have talked to me about the small proportion of women,
and no doubt the paucity of women causes many inconveniences in manage-
ment, and there are many jealousies and quarrels. A goodlooking young
woman receives much admiration, and many are no doubt polyandrous
and some are regular prostitutes, which cannot be wondered at, as women
are drawn from the same class in India, but I have not noticed any serious
crime resulting from unequal numbers of men and women [ibid.: 242-43].

Jenkins received a very different impression. From him we gather

that the lack of privacy in the quarters; the presence of prostitutes;
the shortage of women, which made it "impossible for every man to
have a wife of his own, even if he wishes to have one" (Comins 1893:
236-37) and the concomitant strains—all appear to have contributed
to the development of severe conflicts. Jenkins reports that "seven
men were hung in the colony [of British Guiana] in one week for wife-
murder" (1871: 205). Nor was the area of sexual conflict limited to
that of the internal relationships of the indentured laborer population:
On each estate the manager, the young overseers, the drivers—the whole of
them unmarried. It needs no prurient fancy to conceive of the difficulties
of such a situation. From the number of complaints that reached me, I was
assured that an investigation into the morality of some of the estates would
reveal most revolting circumstances [ibid.: 204; see also p. 103].

After a detailed account of some of the conflicts and crimes growing

out of the presence, or absence, of women among the indentured
laborers, Jenkins concludes: "It will probably be the reader's im-
pression, that marriage among Coolies in British Guiana is in a state
of chaos" (ibid.: 213).
While comparable data for Trinidad is not available, we can assume
that conditions among indentured East Indian laborers in that island
20 INTRODUCTION

were certainly no better. In fact, if anything, they may have been

worse. Comins (1893: 50), after visiting both British Guiana and
Trinidad, has claimed that, if he were a "coolie," he would prefer to
fulfill his contract for indentured labor in British Guiana rather than
in Trinidad!

T H E I N D I A N IN T H E WEST I N D I E S

In the foregoing section I have attempted to demonstrate that, as

an indentured laborer on a sugar plantation of either Trinidad or
British Guiana, the East Indian immigrant was required to assume a
position within the plantation social system. The position in which he
found himself was one only recently vacated by a freed slave. The
plantation system had developed during slavery and it did not substan-
tially change during the period of indentured labor. No provision
was made for behavior patterns appropriate to the immigrants' society
of origin, and by the very nature of the system there was minimal
opportunity for the exercising of such patterns. Women were scarce,
and the presence of the normal membership of even a nuclear family
was hardly the rule. Where the family did exist, plantation conditions
conflicted with normal East Indian family and other behavior patterns
and expectations—as may be seen from the high incidence of conflict
and crime growing out of East Indian male-female relationships on the
plantation.
While the conditions of East Indian indentured labor derived from
those of the previous Negro slavery, there was one important difference
between slavery and indentured labor: slavery was for life, while
indentured labor—in principle, at least—was for a stated period of
time, usually five years. The slave, in his circumstances, had to learn
that there was no possibility of return, but the indentured laborer
could dream of going home some day or of otherwise living again
according to the patterns of his original culture.
 INTRODUCTION 21

The number of years for which an Indian contracted to serve as an

indentured laborer varied only slightly from colony to colony and
throughout the nineteenth century. In many cases another five years
of residence—but as a "free" laborer—was also required. Free return
passage was usually, though not always, provided for in the contract.
The first laborers to arrive had no intention of staying once their
period of servitude was over; they saved as much of their pay as they
could and were determined to return home. Furthermore, this
attitude on their part was supported and approved by the planters
and colonial authorities (Cumpston 1953: 9, 73-74; see also Skinner
1955: 47).
The passage of a few years saw the desires of the planters change
radically and come into conflict with the wishes of the laborers. The
planters wanted to maintain a continually available supply of cheap
labor; they objected to the costs of return passage as well as to the
cost of replacement; and they objected to what they considered the
draining of wealth from the colonies into India.
The strong desire of the laborers to return home, if only to visit
their families, persisted. Various attempts were made by the planters
to deal with this situation. In 1852, Mauritius withdrew the promise
of free return passage, but this led to a "falling off in the numbers
emigrating to that colony" (Comins 1892b). Guadeloupe "passed a
long cherished ordinance . . . which was intended by means of con-
tinued re-indentures to keep all Indians, of whatever standing, in a
condition of perpetual servitude" and reinforced this by making the
conditions for return passage so difficult as to leave the laborer no real
alternative other than signing up again (Comins 1892a). Similar
pressure to re-indenture existed in British Guiana, Jenkins reports,
with some laborers in their fourth, fifth, and even sixth indentures.
Another approach to the problem was to entice the laborer to stay
on of his own free will, after the completion of his indentures. In
British Guiana, according to Comins (1892b: 73-74), the East Indian
22 INTRODUCTION

was offered various special privileges if he would remain on as a

landless but "free" laborer on the estate. In Trinidad it was possible
for many East Indians to purchase or rent small plots of land. This
was not only pleasing to the laborer newly out of his indentures; but
in making possible the formation of Indian villages it contributed in
no small way to the circumstances under which Indian culture has
persisted. The approach was also to the advantage of the Trinidad
planter. Because of the long "slack" season in Trinidad, many estates
preferred to have a source of non-resident labor. The East Indians
could usually wrest only a bare subsistence from their own plots and
were eager to work on the estates during crop-time, but the estates
were spared the expense of providing for them during the non-crop
season (see Comins 1892a, 1892b; Gangulee 1947).
Despite all inducements, some Indians continued to return home
after completing their indentures, but many did stay on, and a sizeable
proportion remained in the rural areas. In Trinidad, many "free"
Indians settled on Crown land or superfluous estate land, forming
villages which, though comparatively isolated, were not too far from
the plantations.
Here the Indians established themselves in much the same way as in India.
They built the same type of houses, wore the same type of clothes, spoke
the same language and worshipped the same Gods in the same kind of
temples [Sampath 1951: 35],
But how long could everything remain "the same . . . as in India"?
Even if the settlers were—and remained—Indians, they were living in
Trinidad now, and their children were Trinidadians as well as East
Indians. All around the East Indian villages was the larger Trinidad
milieu, ceaselessl y and inescapably effecting the lives of the villagers.
That considerable acculturation with their West Indian host culture
has taken place cannot be denied. 10 What is of particular interest
10
See Skinner (1955) for an examination of some of the processes of East
Indian acculturation in British Guiana. Braithwaite (1953) presents certain aspects
 INTRODUCTION 23

here, however, is that the cultural tradition of India should have

persisted to the extent it did, a n d that in the village studied the
persistence was in b o t h culture content a n d social structure. C o n -
sidering the obstacles in the way of such persistence, it would n o t be
at all surprising if the East Indians had merged completely into the
host culture, maintaining only a few structurally a n d functionally
u n i m p o r t a n t ancestral customs or rituals. Smith a n d J a y a w a r d e n a
feel that this is in fact what did h a p p e n to the East Indians of British
Guiana:
the anthropologist is tempted to treat each element of the [marriage] ritual
as having a symbolic meaning which can be linked to some aspect of the
social structure of the Indian group; in other words to treat the Indians as
if they were living in a self-contained society in which there is a high degree
of integration between all parts of the social structure and between the
social structure and an "Indian" culture. In fact, this is not so; the Indians
are a sub-group of a larger social system [1958: 190-91].
T h e problem of the degree of East Indian involvement in the larger
social system is complicated by the n a t u r e of the original migration.
Indian indentured laborers did not emigrate in kin or village groups,
a n d rarely even in small family groups. F o r the m o s t part they were
removed f r o m their original sociocultural system as individuals, a n d
carried as such to Trinidad, British G u i a n a , a n d the other territories
containing what was for the i m m i g r a n t a n alien social structure a n d
cultural inventory. The individual, as such, has little place in social
theory. Radcliffe-Brown writes:
The components or units of social structure are persons, and a person is a
human being considered not as an organism but as occupying position in a
social structure [1952: 9-10].
But if he is extracted f r o m that social structure, does he cease to
exist as a person? One answer might be that he is n o t removed t o a

of the integration of Trinidad East Indians into their host society. See also Rubin
et al. (1960).
24 INTRODUCTION

v a c u u m , b u t t o a n o t h e r social structure, in which he occupies a new

position. But w h a t h a p p e n e d t o the " p e r s o n " he was in his original
social structure? Is he n o t still a carrier of his culture, aware of
behavior t h a t seems " r i g h t " a n d " g o o d " to him, however inappropriate
t o his new circumstances?
These questions t a k e o n particular significance once it is possible
for such individuals t o c o m e together a n d attempt a reconstitution of
a c o m m u n i t y . Wagley has described just such a case. In 1947, the
village of the T a p i r a p e of central Brazil was destroyed. Small groups
of families m a n a g e d to survive, scattered all a b o u t the surrounding
area.
ceremonial and religious life, aboriginal economic activities, and in fact
most of the regular activities of their society were either completely suspended
or affected by a marginal existence to the Brazilian frontiersmen.
In 1950, circumstances permitted the establishment of a new village,
o n a different site, a n d m a n y of the scattered survivors of the old
village were d r a w n to it.

Although considerably modified, normal Tapirape social life was again

possible. Although for a short period Tapirape society might be said not
to have existed, Tapirape culture continued to live in the minds of these
few remaining individuals, and it allowed them, given the opportunity, to
recreate, although in a much attenuated form, their social life. This is a
striking example of the difference between a society and its culture [1955:
101-2].

F o r the East I n d i a n immigrants who came together in the late

1880s to f o r m the nucleus of the present village of Amity, the problems
of c o m m u n i t y reconstitution were m u c h greater t h a n those c o n f r o n t i n g
the T a p i r a p e . Unlike the latter, the founders of A m i t y were strangers
to one a n o t h e r . A l t h o u g h they shared a c o m m o n culture, they derived
f r o m different villages scattered over n o r t h e r n India. The first settlers
were n o t kinsmen or village-mates coming back together after a long
s e p a r a t i o n ; they were strangers t o one another w h o shared only a
 INTRODUCTION 25

common memory of membership in roughly similar kin groups and

communities. For such men to form a community, some consensus
had to be achieved as to what constituted appropriate behavior for
given relationships within given institutions.
Such a level of common agreement could never easily be reached,
and was likely to be more difficult in the case of some institutions than
in others. The caste system is just one example of an institution
presenting its own special obstacles to any attempt at reconstitution
in an alien setting. Discussing the effect upon caste relationships of a
similar immigrant circumstance, that of laborers from India to East
Africa, Morris writes:
In East Africa . . . it was not possible for the immigrants to reproduce [caste
hierarchy] arrangements. The principal reason for this was that though
most of them came from Gujerati-speaking districts, their homes were in
fact widely separated; and each district in India tended to have a local
hierarchy which did not apply in another district. For this reason, when
two well-represented groups from different districts lived in close proximity
in Africa, they were unable to agree about an order of precedence, and
could validate their claims only by reference to their homes or by living in
Africa as self-contained groups [1956: 197-98; see also Morris 1959].
Apart from such internal difficulties, as they might perhaps be
called, the immigrants to Trinidad faced serious external problems.
The nature of labor on the sugar plantations operated to weaken
important elements of East Indian social structure such as caste.
Indian customs and religious practices were derided and even for-
bidden. Cremation was not possible until fairly recently, and Hindu
religious marriages had no legal standing until 1946. Thus, reconstitu-
tion had to take place, not in India, but within the socioeconomic
context of the larger Trinidad society. The founders of the village of
Amity depended upon the large sugar plantations for their cash
income, and their descendants are similarly dependent today. Relations
with non-Indians were important then, and are important now.
All of these problems had their effect upon the community being
26 INTRODUCTION

reconstituted. But this study was made after all the founders of the
village had died. Even their sons are very old men; the active adults
of the community are the grandsons of the first settlers. However
severe the difficulties were in the early years, they were overcome
sufficiently for the community to form, and for the culture to persist
until the present time.
II. The Village

Amity is a fictitious name for a real community in Trinidad,

but the village could not be located on a map of the island even if its
true name were given. Though Amity has a population of over 4,000,
legally it does not exist.
Trinidad has only one city, Port-of-Spain, and two towns, San
Fernando and Arima. These have elected mayors and a measure of
local autonomy. The rest of Trinidad, including the island of Tobago,
is divided into counties, most of which are futher subdivided into
wards. Each county is administered by an appointed official, or
warden, who is stationed in one of the population centers of the
county. The ward is administered by an assistant warden or district
officer, subordinate to the county warden, who is stationed in a
population center of the ward. The ward and county centers are
usually the loci of the weekly markets for the area surrounding them,
and contain a courthouse, police station, post office, and other
appurtenances of government.
28 THE V I L L A G E

Within the ward are numerous more-or-less discrete population

clusters, each with its own individual name. These vary in size,
compactness, homogeneity, internal structure and interaction, and
self-identification. Their origins, like their present natures, are ex-
tremely varied. Some have grown from the barracks ranges of now
defunct sugar estates; a few owe their beginnings to the presence of a
sugar factory or a railroad stop and cane-weighing station; many
reflect the Emancipation in the form of crossroad shop-and-church
centers for dispersed peasants; and still others began with the purchase
of Crown Land by East Indians who had completed their indentures
and managed to save a portion of their wages. No doubt there are
many with yet different origins. Such population clusters are common-
ly referred to as "villages" or "districts." Arbitrarily, we will refer
here to the "village" of Amity, reserving the term "district" for its
subdivisions.

THE SETTING

Trinidad is the southernmost island of the Caribbean archipelago,

lying just off the coast of Venezuela on the South American mainland.
It is roughly rectangular in shape, with two peninsulas—one on the
northwest corner, and one on the southwest corner—encompassing
the eastern side of the Gulf of Paria. Along the northern coast, the
Northern Range of mountains runs east to west. There are two other
lesser ranges; the Montserrat Hills running east to west in the approxi-
mate center of the island, and a mountainous area along the southern
coast that includes the Trinity Hills—supposedly first sighted by
Columbus, and from which the island derives its name.
Sugar is cultivated primarily on the western side of the island, in the
flat stretches between the three high areas. This means there are
essentially two sugar cultivation areas, separated by the Montserrat
Hills. The northern sugar area falls roughly within the confines of
 THE VILLAGE 29

County Caroni. Along the west coast of County Caroni is an extended

area of marshland known as Caroni Swamp. It is a region of dense
mangrove growth, and is the breeding ground of numerous wild birds.
It is uninhabited and uncultivated.
Sugar cane is not grown right up to the edge of the swamp, for
there is a belt of savanna land bordering the swamp where cane cannot
profitably be cultivated. The savanna is a treeless region of tall
"bamboo grass" frequently under water during the rainy season. It
is important to note that the savanna has no clear border, and sugar
is grown as close to the swamp as is economically feasible. This
means that it is up to those who own the land that merges into the
savanna to determine for themselves which portions are worth
cultivating. It is not always an easy task, for the problem is obviously
affected by fluctuations in the price of cane on the world market, and
in the cost of labor.
There were a number of small estates wrestling with this problem
in the latter quarter of the nineteenth century, in the area just south
of the Caroni Swamp. This area is part of the Ward of Chaguanas,
within the County of Caroni.
From A Guide to Trinidad, by J. H. Collens (140-41), we may get
a picture of the area in 1888:
The soil of Chaguanas, especially in the vicinity of the sea, is of the de-
scription commonly known as "crab-land," from the innumerable holes in
the surface made by the land-crabs. Chaguanas has generally the reputation
for being a dreary kill-joy sort of place, suggestive of muddy roads and
legions of mosquitoes and sand-flies.... A village is gradually springing
up in this neighborhood . . . shops and houses are rapidly appearing here
and there.

Despite this somewhat unpromising beginning, Chaguanas grew to

become the administrative and marketing center for the region
surrounding it. In the same passage, Collens refers to an estate a few
miles away—"Amitié," let us call it here, for from it the village of
30 THE VILLAGE

Amity derives its name—and notes the intention of the proprietors to

substitute cacao and other crops for the apparently unprofitable sugar
cane.
Some of the oldest inhabitants of the present village of Amity re-
member hearing from their parents of attempts on the part of the
estate to grow cacao. They report that the attempts were soon
abandoned as unsatisfactory. Whatever portions of the estate were
not suitable for cane cultivation were apparently left fallow after that,
or rented in small plots to East Indians newly out of their indentures.
Not all the savanna land of County Caroni was under the control
of the estates. Much of it—obviously unsuitable for cane cultivation—
remained as Crown Land under the control of the government of the
island. This savanna Crown Land was part of the Crown Land made
available after 1868. According to Collens :
Under the old Court of Intendant, very little Crown Land was sold for
many years previous to 1868. The sales for the nineteen years 1847-1865
only amounted to 3,423 acres, and for the decade 1856 to 1865, to only
1,895 acres. No inducement or facilities were offered to purchasers, and
hence the country was little opened up, except in a feeble and unsatisfactory
way by "squatters."
To Sir Arthur Gordon is due the credit for having remedied this state of
affairs. He reduced the price of Crown Land, encouraging people, especially
"squatters" to purchase, but at the same time putting down "squatting"
with a firm h a n d . . . .
In 1868, an ordinance was passed . .. transferring all power in regard to
the disposal and administration of Crown Land to the Governor as In-
tendant . . . .
In the decade ended 31st December, 1887, no less than 71,000 acres of
Crown Land were sold and granted by the Crown [ibid. : 76-77].

HISTORY OF AMITY

On November 30, 1886, an East Indian, whom we shall here call

"Beharri," purchased the first parcel of Crown Land in the area of
 THE VILLAGE 31

what is now Amity village. This agrees with village tradition, according
t o which he was the first East Indian settler in the region, and we m a y
therefore take this date to represent the founding of the village.
Within the next few years a number of other men also purchased
blocks of land, usually in parcels of ten acres, and Amity began to
come into existence. For a long time, the village was known as
"Beharri's Settlement."
On the neighboring savanna, other East Indians were purchasing
Crown Land. Unsuitable for sugar cane though most of it was, such
land was eminently suitable for the cultivation of wet rice. If settlers
were fortunate enough to also acquire a piece of land on which cane
could be raised, they cultivated both crops, selling the cane to nearby
estate factories. On his land, each settler constructed a mud-walled,
thatched-roof house called an ajoupa.1
In her biography of her husband, John Morton, first Presbyterian
missionary to the East Indians of Trinidad and founder of the Canadian
Mission to that island, Mrs. Morton quotes f r o m his diary:

"May 20, 1899 . . . leaving the sugar and cacao lands which fringe the
eastern side of the Caroni Savanna, we soon found ourselves on the rice
fields, which are fast extending over what was till lately regarded as a swamp.
"The savanna is about four miles broad by eight feet long, and no part
of it is more than ten feet above high tide, the western edge being a mangrove
swamp below high tide level. It has always been treeless and the burning
of the long savanna grass in the dry season goes far to prepare the new land
for cultivation.
"Apart from a purchase made by a rice company, the owners and culti-
vators are all East Indians, some owning their own land and others renting
from large owners" [1916: 325-26],

1
The word "ajoupa," of Carib origin (Jourdin 1956: 298), was taken by the
East Indians from the French-Creole patois. As the term was used in Toco (Hers-
kovits and Herskovits 1947: 76), it referred, apparently, to something much more
on the order of a temporary shelter, rather than a permanent house, which it is
today among East Indians.
32 THE V I L L A G E

Elsewhere Mrs. M o r t o n quotes again f r o m her h u s b a n d ' s diary:

"April 7, 1890. Monday. I took early train to Chaguanas. My first

duty was to explore a new settlement on the border of an extensive savanna
which stretches from the sugar estates of Chaguanas north to the estates on
the Caroni [River], that is, about eight miles. A ride of two miles through
cane-fields brought me to a small village on the very edge of this wonderful
savanna. The land is low and flat, but capable of being drained. It has
never grown trees, but is covered with a crop of tall grass, too dense for man,
or horse, to get through it. Nearly all the people are East Indians, and the
greater number of them have bought the land upon which they live. The
houses are much better than those usually built by the East Indians, and
there are evident signs of remunerative industry. The road is, however,
infamous, from the nature of the soil, which is rich and deep, without a
pebble. There are two rum shops to demoralize the people, but no school
or c h u r c h . . . .
"One very interesting feature of the place is the rice-fields. Imagine over
one hundred acres . . . of level land divided into fields of several acres each
by a low bank of earth that can be made to seive as a dam to flood the fields
when necessary. Here magnificent crops of rice are grown year after year.
Only the top is reaped off, as the straw is not needed, and is generally kept
unthreshed till it is wanted. The place is said not to be particularly un-
healthy, but the complaints as to the road and mosquitoes, at certain seasons
of the year, demand the utmost resources of their language" [ibid.: 321],

The village M o r t o n described in the above passage is Amity's

nearest neighbor to the east, hardly two miles away, but the description
is undoubtedly adequate for most of the East Indian settlements in
the area. Today, roads have been built u p and are for the most part
paved. The mosquitoes, however, are most decidedly still present.
The following year Morton actually visited Beharri Settlement,
accompanied by his catechist, and held a meeting at which some
seventy-five people were present. This probably represented almost
the entire population. N o one remains alive in Amity today who
remembers the visit of the Reverend Morton, though a few of the very
old remember his catechist. Even among the old people, there are
 THE VILLAGE 33

few whose memories can take them back to the early days of the
settlement. 4
The Main Road from the Ward Center runs roughly east to west.
Beharri Road—the main thoroughfare of Amity—begins at the Main
Road and runs northward for about two miles, petering out as it
approaches the swamp, and ending completely on the banks of a small
river. The land west of Beharri Road belongs to a large sugar estate,
referred to here as "Estate A." East of Beharri Road, for a short
distance from the Main Road, the land belongs to a second large
sugar plantation, "Estate B." Land on the east side of the road is of
poorer quality than that on the west, however, and estate cane rapidly
gives way to "small farmer" cane on land rented from Estate B or
owned by men of the village. Further north, the land east of Beharri
Road is too swampy to be used for anything but rice, and in the
fields at the far northern end of Beharri Road even rice can be grown
on the eastern side only in dry years.
Thomas Road joins Beharri Road at about the latter's midpoint.
Beharri's purchase of land in 1886 was on the north side of Thomas
Road, a short distance from its junction with Beharri Road. Later
settlers purchased nearby land on both sides of Thomas Road, and
in the early years this area was the heart of Beharri Settlement.
Thomas Road, in fact, was originally called Beharri Road. Land was
also purchased in the area north of the junction of Thomas Road and
the present Beharri Road.
* The following description of Amity during its early days, and all references
to the early period in the course of this work, derive from the accounts given by
old inhabitants. The reliability of such information is always open to question.
Even where informants are sincerely interested in giving accurate, truthful accounts,
we can never be certain of the extent to which their memories of what was have been
clouded by what should have been. Unhappily, no written records of any kind
exist. For most of the following, however, the accounts given by different in-
formants at separate interviews are in substantial agreement. Where the accounts
conflicted or were inconsistent, the information given was either not included in the
following, or included with a comment as to the author's uncertainty.
34 THE VILLAGE

In the earliest years settlers tended to build their homes right on the
land they owned, giving the area the appearance of a settlement of
dispersed homesteads. Soon, however, there was a noticeable tendency
on the part of many settlers to build homes along the road. If the
settler owned a stretch of roadside land he built his house on that;
if he did not, he rented a plot of land from another East Indian or
f r o m the estates.
The population of Beharri Settlement was soon augmented by other
East Indians who had completed their indentures. Most of these
newcomers did not have sufficient funds to purchase land, but they
were able to rent a plot of roadside land for house and garden,
and a piece of rice land from an East Indian landholder for
subsistence.
At about the turn of the century, what is at present the village of
Amity consisted of four separate and distinct settlements. Among the
factors responsible for the separation were race, caste, place of origin
in India, extent of savings, and occupation. A newcomer to the area
gravitated to the settlement populated by people most like himself,
in terms of these criteria.
The largest and most important settlement was on Thomas and
Beharri Roads, extending f r o m the junction about half a mile east and
about half a mile south. This continuous, "L"-shaped district, with
houses on both sides of the thoroughfares, was known as Beharri
Settlement. There were perhaps thirty houses, widely-spaced, in the
settlement, with most of them on Thomas Road, then the center of the
settlement. All except one or two of the houses were mud-walled,
mud-floored and thatch-roofed. The other settlements were even more
sparsely populated.
A second settlement had been established on Beharri Road between
the T h o m a s Road junction and the swamp. It actually began some
distance north of the junction and was separated from Beharri
Settlement by intervening rice fields and vegetable gardens. The
 THE VILLAGE 35

inhabitants of Beharri Settlement called this one "Casecu." 3 Although

the term was derogatory, it was eventually accepted as the designation
for the district by its own inhabitants.
A third settlement was west of Beharri Road, less than half a mile
north of the Main Road junction. This cluster of homes, more
tightly packed together than the other two, was situated on land
rented from the old "Amitié" Estate. The inhabitants of Beharri
Settlement and Casecu called this settlement "Janglï Tola." 4 The
name was much resented by the inhabitants of the settlement, who had,
however, no name of their own for themselves. If anything, they
considered themselves part of Amitié Estate, and may have been the
first to use the term by which the entire village was later to be called.
A fourth settlement was on both sides of the Main Road for a short
distance east of its junction with Beharri Road. Informants differed
on the matter of whether it actually "turned the corner" onto Beharri
Road. It was known as "Junction."

The composition of each of these four separate settlements was

significantly different from the others. The first three were inhabited
by East Indians, for the most part Hindu, and with perhaps a sprinkling
of Muslims. There were important differences, however, among the
Hindu East Indians of the three settlements.
Beharri Settlement was inhabited overwhelmingly by people
belonging to castes of the three highest Varnas of the Indian caste
system. 5 Perhaps a very few Sudra people lived at the very fringes of

• The word means "broken-neck" in the French-Creole patois spoken by a

dwindling number of Negroes in Trinidad today. Years ago, the patois was much
more widespread.
4
This is Hindi for "jungle district."
5
According to O'Malley, the Code of Manu provided for four Varnas, or
orders: "in order of precedence, (1) the Brahmans, the priestly and learned class;
(2) the Kshattriyas, the military and governing class; (3) the Vaisyas, who were
traders and agriculturalists, and kept cattle, and (4) the Sudras, who were the
36 THE VILLAGE

Beharri Settlement, but the majority of the inhabitants were of

Brahman, Kshattriya, and Vaisya castes. Here were to be found the
homes of the men who owned riceland and owned or rented caneland.
Casecu was inhabited primarily by members of the Camar and
Dusad castes—both considered to be of the Sudra Varna—plus
representatives of other Sudra castes. The name is said to derive from
the propensity of the inhabitants for heavy drinking and hard fighting.
Casecu also had a poor reputation in the eyes of the inhabitants of
Beharri Settlement because many of its inhabitants engaged in the
" l o w " occupation of raising pigs. A very few people of higher castes
resided in Casecu, but as far as I could determine, not one Brahman.
Jangli Tola was inhabited by members of the Bori caste, plus a
scattering of other people, including Malla (a fishing caste) and
MadrassI—this last a catch-all term for people deriving from southern
India. It is perhaps significant that, in India, the Bori caste is mainly
to be found outside of the United Provinces, 6 while the castes of
Beharri Settlement and Casecu appear to have derived primarily f r o m
within the United Provinces. The feeling on the part of the inhabitants
of both Beharri Settlement and Casecu was that the people of Jangli
Tola derived from the "jungle" in India, and not from any "civilized"

servants and menials of the three higher orders and were also engaged in industrial
w o r k " (1932: 11-12). These Varnas, then, are traditional orders. The individual
Indian is a member of a caste (jati) that is considered to represent a particular
Varna. The Varnas are constant all over Hindu India, but the constituent castes
of the Varna vary f r o m district to district. A particular caste may be considered
to be Vaisya in one area of India, and Sudra in another (ibid.: 11-33; see also
H u t t o n 1946: 58 el passim). In a later section of this chapter there is a discussion
of the problem of Varna ascription for the various castes of Amity.
6
Hutton describes the Bauri of India (presumably the original of the Bori of
Trinidad) as " a caste of field labourers in Bengal and Bihar" (1946: 243). While
he does not give their Varna ascription, from the text (see ibid.: 27) it would appear
that the Bauri rank quite low. For a description of the present position of the
Bori of Amity, see "Caste in the Village," pp. 55-64, in this book.
 THE VILLAGE 37

area. Jangll Tola was looked down upon for two other reasons. It
was considered a district of wifeswapping and general sexual immorali-
ty, and the inhabitants of the district derived most of their subsistence
from fishing and crab-catching in the neighboring swamp. Very few
of the people of Janglï Tola owned or rented riceland, but they
supported themselves primarily by catching and selling fish and
crabs, and by working occasionally on the estates during crop-time.
Junction was inhabited primarily by Negroes. If there was con-
siderable intercourse between Beharri Settlement and Casecu, and
some intercourse between these two and Janglï Tola—if only that
men from all three worked side by side on the estate during crop-time—
there was almost none at all between the three East Indian settlements
and the Negro settlement of Junction.
The people of Janglï Tola were never invited or welcomed to affairs
in Beharri Settlement, and—welcome or not—the people of Beharri
Settlement would never attend any affairs in Jangll Tola. But the
inhabitants of Casecu would be invited to weddings in Beharri Settle-
ment, and men from the latter would go, in turn, to Casecu, though
it is said they would never eat in the house of a man who raised pigs.
There is some evidence for reciprocal visiting between the inhabitants
of Casecu and Janglï Tola.
After the turn of the century, the population of the whole area
increased rapidly and the gaps along the roads between the settlements
were filled with houses. Along Beharri Road, today, East Indians live
right down to the Main Road junction; and even in Junction itself
many of the homes are occupied by East Indians. Casecu now extends
southward right to Thomas Road junction and there is no longer a
gap to separate it from the other districts.
Amitié Estate—now taken over by one immense combine of
estates—made land available in small plots of one or two lots in the
area immediately west of Beharri Road. Another street, which we
will call Lloyd Street, came into existence and parallels Beharri Road.
38 THE VILLAGE

A number of small "traces" (paths) and streets developed, connecting

Lloyd Street and Beharri Road. JanglT Tola is now only a pocket
at the southern end of Lloyd Street. As Beharri Settlement overflowed
westward from Beharri Road, and Casecu overflowed southward
down Lloyd Street, Jangll Tola lost its physical isolation.
Despite the increasing population and the lessening of physical
gaps between the internal districts, Amity—as its inhabitants of all
districts prefer to call it today, in an Anglicization of the name of the
largest neighboring estate—did not change radically in the appearance
it presented to the world. It is said that in 1925 there were still only
three houses in all of Amity constructed of wood. The period from
1940 to 1945 is generally considered to mark the start of rapid phy-
sical and social change in the village.
It is perhaps of significance that this was, roughly, the time of what
some Trinidadians call the "American Occupation"; there were three
American military bases on the island. Many men from Amity—as
from other parts of Trinidad—found work on the bases, and for the
first time in their lives earned what was for them substantial wages.
They also spent considerable time away from the village, observing
the life of non-Indians, both Trinidadian and American. In 1946,
the new "Amity" Canadian Mission school was constructed on
Beharri Road (replacing an old, small one), and education—ele-
mentary education, at least—was available to greater numbers of
East Indian children in Amity than ever before.
Toward the end of the 1940s and in the early 1950s, the estate
made the area between Jangll Tola and the Main Road available for
settlement. East Indians who had hitherto been living on the estate
in barracks moved there in large numbers. This new district is
referred to here as Barrackville. Again, during the early 1950s
Beharri Road and Lloyd Street were paved and electricity was brought
to Beharri Road. During my stay in Amity, street lights were set up
on Beharri Road from the Main Road junction to Thomas Road
 THE VILLAGE 39

junction. The villagers have taken advantage of Sugar Industry

Welfare Fund loans, and concrete houses are rapidly replacing the
old, mud-walled, thatched-roof huts.
The 1946 census contained a breakdown of figures given for Ward
populations. In the breakdown for Chaguanas Ward, two locality
designations appear—the actual names for Beharri and Amity. Since
the villagers apply both names to the village as a whole, it is difficult
to understand the distinction being made by the census takers;
perhaps they separated Casecu from the rest of the village. We
cannot be certain whether Thomas Road was included or excluded—
and if it was included, for how much of its length. Was Junction
included? In any event, the population given by the government for
the two areas totals 2,943, as of the last census, in 1946.
Even if this were an accurate census of the village, it is of course
completely out of date. In the period following 1946, Amity under-
went considerable population increase, both natural and because of
the influx of new settlers to Barrackville. At the end of 1957,1 counted
a total of 623 households in the entire village, excluding the somewhat
marginal area of Junction. According to my sampling, the village
averages 6.6 persons per household, with some variation according
to district. On this basis, I estimate the present total population of the
village—again excluding Junction—at about 4,000 people.

THE VILLAGE TODAY

Beharri Road, the present main thoroughfare of Amity, is paved

today and has street lights. Packed closely together along this road
are shops, concrete houses, thatched and "galvanize" roofed ajoupas,
an occasional wooden shack marked "rice mill," three schools, and
other buildings. There is no apparent order. Large resplendent
concrete houses set on high pillars seem to jostle tiny mud huts.
Behind each house is a vegetable garden, and beyond the houses on
40 THE VILLAGE

the eastern side of Beharri Road are the estate canefields that f o r m
the eastern boundary of Amity.
On the western side, Border Street joins Beharri Road about a
quarter of a mile f r o m the Main Road junction. Most of the houses
are ajoupas along Border Street and circling the adjacent cricket
ground. This is the district of Jangll Tola. Running north f r o m
Border Street and paralleling Beharri Road, is Lloyd Street, some-
what less crowded with shops and houses than is the main thoroughfare.
Concrete "standpipes"—mounted water taps—are almost entirely
restricted to Beharri Road. Water pressure is poor, and the stand-
pipes are constantly surrounded by girls and women, of varying ages,
from all the districts of Amity. Each holds a pail or a converted
cooking-oil tin and waits her turn at the tap. Barefoot children tum-
ble about in play under the houses and on the roads and side paths.
The very youngest wear only the briefest of shirts or dresses. A girl's
hair is never cut, and even a few of the small boys wear long braids
tied with ribbons. On the road are stretched opened sugar sacks on
which unmilled rice has been spread to dry.
A cluster of shops marks Thomas Road junction on northern
Beharri Road. Along T h o m a s Road the concrete houses are smaller.
Mostly, the dwellings are ajoupas, but there are also a few old wooden
houses. Behind the houses on both sides of the road stretch the rice-
fields. Thomas Road is not compactly settled; it is poorly paved and
has no shops. The social center of gravity has shifted to Beharri R o a d .
North of the Thomas Road junction on Beharri Road are more
and more ajoupas, and only an occasional concrete house or shop.
The houses thin out farther north. The land is low. Some of it is in
rice but much appears swampy and unused. Finally, the road ends
on the bank of a narrow river, near a wooden bridge. Where the
ground is high and dry, cattle and bison are staked out to graze.
Across the river is the dense marsh grass and thick mangrove forest
of the Caroni Swamp.
 THE VILLAGE 41

At present, the villagers distinguish five subdivisions or internal

districts within the village of Amity. The largest, "Central Amity," is by
no means homogeneous, and contains four recognizable subdistricts.

CENTRAL AMITY

Beharri Road: This is the center of Amity. It stretches from the

Main Road junction to the Thomas Road junction, and includes the
side streets and traces perpendicular to it. Because of its length, there
is a further incipient subdivision within this subdistrict. The section
f r o m the "Chinese S h o p " north to Thomas Road junction is some-
times referred to as Northern Beharri, and is the highest ranking
section of the village. On Beharri R o a d — a n d particularly in Northern
Beharri—are the homes of most of the wealthy, influential members
of the community, the Slwala (Hindu Temple), the schools, the post
office, most of the important shops, and the only telephone in Amity.
Lloyd Street: Running parallel to Beharri Road f r o m Border Street
to Casecu, this is considered a subdistrict of Central Amity, although
the southern portion of the street is excluded as part of Jangll Tola.
While there are a number of shops on Lloyd Street, and even some
fine homes, it is definitely inferior in prestige to Beharri Road. It is
not as well paved, it has no lights, and water and electricity were not
brought to the street until 1957. Because of the crowded conditions
and the high price of land on Beharri Road, there is a considerable
overflow to Lloyd Street. Even wealthy people are making the move,
and it is conceivable that this street will become more important in
the future.
Persad Path: An unpaved lane between Lloyd Street and Beharri
Road, and parallel to both, this path is really nothing more than a
spill-over area for the larger streets. There are no shops and relatively
few houses on Persad Path, but it does contain the home of the senior
estate "driver," one of the most influential members of the community.
Coconut: This is another spill-over area, to the west of Lloyd Street.
42 THE V I L L A G E

It is only within the past five years that this area was made available
to settlers, and there are few homes, no paved roads and no water or
electricity. Like Persad Path, it is an extension area for both Lloyd
Street and Beharri Road. Minor appendages of the two main streets
of the Central Amity district, with little in the way of distinctive
characters of their own, both Persad Path and Coconut do provide
room for further growth, and may grow in prestige in years to come.
Central Amity also contains two cricket fields. One is just south of
the "Chinese Shop" on Beharri Road and the other is west of Lloyd
Street in the area north of Coconut. Meetings of a district-wide and
village-wide nature may take place under one of the large "upstairs"
homes (built, that is, on ten-foot-tall concrete posts) of the wealthier
inhabitants. Some meetings are held in front of one of the larger
shops, or in either the Canadian Mission School or the Siwala. This
district is the "bright" part of Amity. It is considered to be the best
part in which to live, where the most interesting things happen, where
most of the important people live, and where most of the decisions
affecting the affairs of the whole village are made.

THOMAS ROAD

Stretching from the junction to the first culvert, this was the former
center of the old Beharri Settlement. There is piped water, electricity,
and a paved road, but there are no shops or other services, and com-
pared with Beharri Road today it is sparsely settled. Few of the "best"
homes are located here, though there are a number of old-fashioned
good homes. There is no stigma attached to living in this district; it
is simply too peripheral to the "bright lights" to be favored. Thomas
Road contains houses all the way down its length to the next village
some three miles away. While the "first culvert" is taken to be the
unofficial limit of Amity, there is no really sharp point of demarcation,
for people further along the road come to Amity for shopping and
for the celebration of holidays.
 THE VILLAGE 43

CASECU

The district of Casecu extends today from the Thomas Road

junction northward along Beharri Road to the swamp, taking in a
side streets and traces. Street lights and good paving end dramatically
at Thomas Road junction. There are a number of shops in Casecu,
plus a few "good" homes, but none of the "best" type. The district
had a bad reputation in the past for drinking, fighting, and pigkeeping.
Pigs are still kept and the name Casecu remains, but it is felt by those
who live in the district, as well as those outside, that Casecu is "coming
u p " ; it is generally ranked just below Thomas Road and Central Amity.
J A N G L ! TOLA

The southern part of Lloyd Street, and the side streets circling the
southern cricket ground make up the district of Jangll Tola. This name
is not used by the inhabitants, and it is not advisable for outsiders to
use it within the hearing of the inhabitants of the district. The latter
insist, when asked, that they live "in Amity," and refuse to admit the
existence of subdivisions. While there is relatively little association
between the inhabitants of this district and of others, all agree it is on
the increase. More than those of any other district, people of Jangll
Tola claim that they have no memory of where their ancestors came
from in India.
The people of other districts say that years ago weddings and
funerals in Jangll Tola were considerably different from those of
Casecu and Central Amity. In recent years, they say, the people of
Jangll Tola have adopted the customs of the rest of Amity, and can
only be distinguished today from other villagers by certain residual
peculiarities of occupation. Jangll Tola is the home of almost all the
crabcatchers and many of the fishermen of Amity. It is said that their
morals are not as bad as they once were, but because of the practice
of "living by taking life," the district is considered an inferior one by
the people of Central Amity, Thomas Road, and Casecu. Another
44 THE VILLAGE

reason for lack of interaction between Jangll Tola and the rest of
Amity is that this district is the heart of the opposition to the political
party which is fervently supported in the other districts. 7 There are a
few shops, but most of the shopping is done on the northern part of
Lloyd Street or on Beharri Road. People from Jangll Tola rarely
come to the Slwala even on the important holiday of Siw Ratri.

B A R R A C K VI L L E

There is general agreement that this is the lowest ranking district

today. It is the newest district, but contains the poorest homes and
the poorest people. Many do not even rent a small ricefield, but
subsist as best they can on their earnings as cane-laborers on the
estate. They have replaced Casecu and Jangll Tola in recent years in
having the reputation for the greatest amount of drinking, fighting,
and immorality. An incipient subdivision exists between what might
be called "Interior Barrackville"—inhabited almost entirely by cane-
laborers living in mud huts—and " M a i n Road Barrackville," a con-
tinuation of Junction.
The district of Junction was excluded from this study as being
essentially too peripheral. Where pertinent, it will be discussed in the
text.

HOUSEHOLD AND DISTRICT

In the ideal Amity household, all members live in one house, share
a common kitchen, and have a common family purse. This would be
true whether the household contains only one nuclear family or a
large joint family consisting of a mother and father, unmarried
children and married sons with their wives and children. There are
certain complications, however. First of all, the kitchen is almost
always a separate building, usually behind the house, and may contain

' See " N a t i o n a l Politics on the Village Level," p. 221, in this book.
 THE VILLAGE 45

a n extra r o o m in which a few members of the family sleep. But in the

eyes of the family and the village, there is still only one "house."
Again, one or more nuclear units of the household may be forced,
for want of space, to construct a new but identical house beside the
old. As long as there is one kitchen and one purse, the village sees
only one " h o u s e . " If the nuclear unit erects its own kitchen and begins
to handle its own finances, a new " h o u s e " is now recognized, although
the building may have been in existence for years.
Nevertheless, to say simply that " h o u s e h o l d " is defined in terms of
" o n e hearth" and "one purse" is not entirely correct, although the
definition would hold for the majority of cases. Nuclear family units
may move apart, building separate kitchens and keeping separate
purses, and still maintain important social and economic joint family
ties. Particularly, the labor and produce connected with the ricefield
and garden may continue to be shared as before by the entire joint
family unit. And, finally, in the case of one wealthy family, everyone
lives in the one big house—but there are two kitchens.
In my census of Amity households and house types, the last case
referred to was counted as one unit, since it was so considered by its
own members and by the village. " C o m p o u n d " households (with
separate kitchens and substantially separate purses) were ignored as
such and each individual unit was counted—again to be in accord
with prevailing opinion. All households, in the analysis following,
are categorized in terms of the main dwelling, whatever the nature
of the subsidiary buildings.
House types in Amity may be divided into three broad architectural
divisions. In village terminology these are: the ajoupa, the creole, and
the modern.
Ajoupa: This is the "trash house" considered in Trinidad to be
typical of the poor rural East Indian. It has mud walls constructed
around a simple wooden frame, a mud floor and a thatched ( " t r a s h " )
roof. It can be constructed by one man and his family with the aid
46 THE VILLAGE

of a few friends and perhaps a single paid carpenter. Improved forms

of the ajoupa have either slab-board floors, galvanized iron roofs, or
both.
If such a house is built on land rented from the estate, the owner of
the house must pay $.96 rent a year, plus a "water rate" of the same
amount. As long as he pays his rent, he cannot be evicted from the
house. The estate would prefer to sell the house lots rather than to
rent them, but it is the policy of the estate to sell such lots only to
families already in occupancy. If they do not wish to purchase, and
most families simply cannot afford to, the estate maintains ownership.
Creole: Houses in this category tend to reflect architectural patterns
associated in the eyes of the villagers with the middle-class Creoles of
surrounding areas. More properly, it is the house design popular
among the Creole population in past decades; most houses of this
category—in Amity—date back to the approximate period of 1925-40.
The houses are of wood, with a wooden floor resting either on the
ground or on concrete pillars about five feet high. Roofs are either
shingled or of galvanized iron. The carpenters were undoubtedly
Creole, and there is little that is distinctively East Indian about the
appearances of the houses.
Today, the wooden house and the Creole design have gone out of
fashion, and many of the wealthy families have torn down their old
homes and built new ones. In some cases, it happens that the old
man who built the house, and who is proud of the fact that he had a
wooden home while the majority of the villagers still lived in mud
huts, continues to sojourn scornfully in his old-fashioned dwelling.
One such old man, overhearing his son complain to me about the
condition of the house, silenced him with the quiet but pointed
observation: "I built my house." Such families are usually secure in
their wealth and position, but even among them, the younger members
indicate a strong desire to erect a "modern" house immediately after
the death of their father.
 THE VILLAGE 47

Within this category, too, are houses of a poorer sort. These are
somewhat smaller but are still Creole in design. The major difference
is in the construction of the walls, which are of a mud plaster, for
good lumber is expensive and is used only for the frames. Frequently
on concrete pillars, with galvanized iron roofs, such houses are rated
superior to the ajoupa, and are favored by those who have saved a
little money, but not enough to warrant the expense of a concrete
"modern" house. The wealth of the occupying family is the main
criterion used in the village for distinguishing between the two kinds
of Creole houses.
The poorer kind of Creole house is still being built, but a new wooden
house of the better kind is a rare sight: I know of only one constructed
since 1952. Rent for a Creole house varies considerably. Most of the
better type were erected on owned rather than rented land, in any case.
Modern: The houses in this category have all been built since World
War II. They require the services of a competent mason and a car-
penter, and often other specialists. Upon poured-concrete pillars,
usually at least six feet tall, 8 the house is constructed of brick, cement
block, and poured concrete, and it is finished with plaster. Wooden
interior partitions, windows, doors, paint, insulated ceilings, and a
galvanized iron roof all contribute to make such a building expensive.
A Sugar Industry Welfare Fund loan of one or two thousand dollars
is usually not sufficient to see the building to completion, and the
family must be able to put up almost half the cost. Non-Indians

* The space thus provided under the house may be enclosed one day to make a
"parlor" (a small shop). More frequently, hammocks are slung from the posts and
the family rests here in the cool shade during hot afternoons. The space has a
multiplicity of uses: garage, laundry, meeting hall, and rice storehouse are only a
few. There is a legend current a m o n g some non-Indian Trinidadians that East
Indians build their houses "on stilts" so that the husband, off in his rice fields, can
watch the single staircase and thus be certain that his wife entertains n o male
visitors. "Creolized" East Indians, s o the legend runs, n o w build their houses with
two staircases.
48 THE VILLAGE

outside of Amity occasionally build similar houses, but the type is

thought of in the village today as being both "modern" and "East
Indian." Rent for the house plot varies in proportion to the number
of bedrooms, but rarely exceeds five or six dollars a year, plus an
equivalent water rate.
N o provision is made, except in the very best and largest houses,
for an interior kitchen. The family's old ajoupa—where the older
people feel more at home in any case—almost always serves as kitchen
and dining room.
While the villagers consider all "modern" houses superior to other
kinds, they make certain sharp distinctions within the category. In
the lowest place of all are what are called "unfinished" houses. These
are usually constructed by families that have managed to acquire
loans without having any savings of their own. An unfinished house
is occupied (unlike an "uncompleted" house, which is still in the pro-
cess of being built), but has blankets or sacking for interior partitions,
no windows and bare brick exteriors. The "finished" houses are rated
in terms of number of bedrooms, rent paid, and "extra conveniences,"
such as an interior kitchen, or a true puja room. 9

A progression of house types was set up during my census of Amity

households. It was formed with the assistance of numerous inform-
ants, and reflects the local rating system. Among the criteria used
were: architectural type, construction materials, size, rent, family
wealth, and "extra conveniences."

Ajoupa
Basic A j o u p a : Mud walls, mud floor, thatched roof.
Floored A j o u p a : Mud walls, thatched roof, slab floor.
Roofed A j o u p a : Mud walls, mud or slab floor, iron roof.

9 A r o o m for prayers and household religions c e r e m o n i e s — a kind of c h a p e l .

 THE VILLAGE 49

Creole
Poor: Mud plaster walls, poor family.
Wealthy: Large wooden house, wealthy family.
Small Modern (concrete, two-bedroom)
Unfinished: no windows, interior partitions, or plastering.
Finished: Windows and partitions in.
Large Modern (concrete, more than two bedrooms)
Superior: three bedrooms.
Superlative: four or more bedrooms, "extra conveniences."

TABLE 1: DISTRIBUTION OF HOUSE TYPES IN CENTRAL AMITY

Beharri Persad Lloyd Coco-

Road Path Street nut Total

Basic 37 17 34 8 96
Ajoupa

Floored 8 - 2 1 11
Ajoupa

Roofed 27 - 13 2 42
Ajoupa

Creole, 28 1 9 - 38
Poor

Creole, 4 - - - 4
Wealthy

Unfinished 6 - 1 - 7
Modern

Finished 32 5 23 2 62
Modern

Superior 24 - 9 - 33
Modem

Superlative 5 1 3 - 9
Modern

Total 171 24 94 13 302

50 THE VILLAGE

TABLE 2: DISTRIBUTION OF HOUSE TYPES IN ALL AMITY

Central Thomas Jangti Casecu Barrack- Total

Amity Road Tola ville

Basic 96 12 32 43 54 237
Ajoupa

Floored 11 2 1 12 4 30
Ajoupa

Roofed 42 7 3 9 16 77
Ajoupa

Creole, 38 9 7 15 21 90
Poor

Creole, 4 1 - 1 - 6
Wealthy

Unfinished 7 1 1 1 - 10
Modem

Finished 62 11 7 15 23 118
Modern

Superior 33 4 2 4 2 45
Modem

Superlative 9 1 - - - 10
Modem

Total 302 48 53 100 120 623

Table 1 gives the data for the subdistricts of Central Amity and
Table 2 the data for all the districts, including Central Amity as a
whole.

We get a clearer picture of the relative standings of the districts of

Amity if we group the various house types into categories reflecting
the social and economic status of the families occupying them. It
must be emphasized that such a grouping is only an approximation:
house type is not always an absolute indication of wealth and prestige.
 THE VILLAGE 51

A few families with land of their own continue to live in ajoupas. By

means of loans, savings, and hard work, a number of families deriving
their incomes solely f r o m labor in the estate canefields have managed
to build concrete homes. Two of the best homes in Amity are occu-
pied by low-caste families; despite the fact that they have amassed
considerable wealth in recent years, they are still without prestige in
the community. Nevertheless, it is possible to group house types in a
way that will roughly reflect the socioeconomic divisions of Amity.
The people who live in ajoupas today—whether of the "basic,"
"floored," or " r o o f e d " varities—are almost all cane-laborers. They
have little or no savings, and even with loans as available as they are,
such people exhibit little desire for upward mobility. Let us therefore
group all people living in ajoupas into one socioeconomic category,
"Group A."
Those who live in what I have called "creole, poor," or "unfinished
m o d e r n " houses are also cane-laborers for the most part. They are
attempting to improve themselves, but lack the means to do it in the
approved manner. Together, they form " G r o u p B."
The "finished, small m o d e r n " houses of Amity reflect the industry,
thrift, and sobriety of their occupants, particularly when the occupants
are low-paid cane-laborers. Many of the people who occupy these
homes follow such professions as teaching, taxi driving, etc. This
might almost be termed the "middle class" of Amity. Let us call them
"Group C."
The old and new wealth of Amity live in houses of the types I have
called "creole, wealthy," "superior m o d e r n " and "superlative mo-
dern." By and large, the occupants of these houses are the leaders of
the village; they are the landholders, the estate "drivers" a n d the
shopkeepers. Together, they may be called " G r o u p D . "
In Table 3, the households of Amity are presented in terms of these
four groupings, A, B, C and D. Since the districts are not of equal
size (Central Amity contains almost as many houses as the rest of the
52 THE VILLAGE

village put together), the presentation is in the form of the percentage

of each grouping to be found in each district. Beharri Road is in-
cluded for comparison, though it must be remembered that it contri-
butes to the percentage for Central Amity as a whole.

T A B L E 3: SOCIOECONOMIC G R O U P I N G S O F AMITY (Percentages)

Beharri Central Thomas Casecu Jangli Barrack- All

Road Amity Road Tola ville Amity

A 42 50 44 64 68 61 55

B 20 15 21 16 15 18 16

C 19 20 23 15 13 19 19

D 19 15 12 05 04 02 10

It will be seen, from an examination of Table 3, that Beharri Road,

of all the districts and subdistricts of Amity, contains the smallest
percentage of the " p o o r e s t " homes and the largest percentage of the
" b e s t " homes. Thomas Road, once the center of Amity, comes just
behind Beharri Road, and makes a better showing than Central Amity
as a whole—though not in the percentage of "best" homes. Jangl!
Tola, Casecu, and Barrackville contain the lowest percentages of
" b e s t " homes. Table 3 gives some indication of why the villagers,
without counting houses or figuring percentages, say that Casecu,
Jangl! Tola, and Barrackville—in descending order—are the three
"lowest" districts; while Thomas R o a d and Central Amity are the
"best" districts, with Beharri Road the best place of all to live.
It may be stated categorically that the political, social, and econo-
mic elite of Amity reside in houses of the "superlative m o d e r n "
"creole, wealthy" and (to a lesser extent) "superior m o d e r n " types—
which means that this elite is concentrated almost exclusively in
Central Amity, and, within that district, on Beharri Road.
 THE V I L L A G E 53

Beharri Road, it has been mentioned earlier, itself contains an

incipient subdivision. About half-way along its length, the "Chinese
Shop" separates the street into what many consider "better" and
"poorer" parts. Since my informants disagreed about the distinction,
it was ignored in the census. Almost all the "best" houses on Beharri
Road, however, are located in Northern Beharri; there is only one
"superlative modern" house in Southern Beharri.
A word on Barrackville, which is frequently referred to as the
"poorest" district of Amity. We may see this illustrated to some
extent in Table 3 in the small percentage of "best" homes (Row D),
but the fact is somewhat obscured by the strength of the district in
Rows B and C. It should be remembered, therefore, that Barrack-
ville, like Beharri Road, is also not a homogeneous area, but contains
an incipient subdivision. "Main Road Barrackville" is a spill-over
area for Junction, containing a number of Creole families, and is
somewhat older than "Interior Barrackville," with which it is now
grouped by the people of Amity. Almost all the "creole, poor,"
"unfinished," and "finished small modern" houses of Barrackville
are to be found along the Main Road, and "Interior Barrackville" is
truly a district of mud-walled ajoupas.

There is no public market in Amity: the nearest one is in the Ward

Center. The people of Amity do their best to raise most of their food
requirements, and tend to go to the Saturday Market only to sell a
bit of surplus "garden," and to see the "bright lights."
Since it is not possible for a family to raise all necessary items of
food, they find they must purchase such things as flour, salt, cooking
oil, saltfish, and sardines. While these are sold in the big "shops" of
the Ward Center, most people prefer to purchase them in one of the
Amity shops where they will usually obtain credit.
The term "shop" is used for what is really a kind of general store—
one that sells food, hardware, etc. Almost every shop is also a
54 THE VILLAGE

" r u m - s h o p . " One corner is usually set aside for the sale of "spirituous
liquors," particularly beer and rum.
Work clothes and women's clothes are generally made at home by
the women of the family, 10 but the cloth for these home-made gar-
ments, as well as tailor-made dress clothes for men, must be pur-
chased. There are a few tailor shops in Amity with male tailors who
make clothing to order for men, and there are a number of "goods
shops" selling cloth, buttons, thread, etc.
The term " p a r l o r " is used in Amity, as it is throughout rural Trini-
dad, for a small shop in which soft drinks, candy, and cigarettes may
be purchased. Such parlors rarely represent a full-time enterprise;
rather, they are operated by the female members of the family in
their free time—which means, in effect, whenever a customer comes
in—as a supplement to the income of the family.
There are also a number of "rice-mills" in Amity, which are sources
of supplementary income for their owners, and which are rarely
operated full time. Paddy rice is brought in to be milled throughout
the year as it is needed by the family.
Finally, there is one doctor's office in Amity, but the doctor is not
resident. He visits the village only on rare occasions. For medical
help the people of Amity generally go to the Ward Center. There is a
dentist's office but the dentist, too, is not a resident. While there are
many part-time barbers in Amity, there is only one "barber-shop"—an
extra-large gallery, or veranda, of an ajoupa.
Table 4 shows the distribution of such business enterprises in Amity.
The "miscellaneous" category in Table 4 contains the doctor's
office, the dentist's office, and the barber-shop—all found on Beharri
R o a d ; Coconut and Persad Path contain no business enterprises at

10
"Sewing classes" conducted by a few of the more enterprising village m a t r o n s
represent one of the few socially-approved activities outside the h o m e for un-
married adolescent girls. Parents permit attendence, despite misgivings, because
skill at sewing will increase a girl's chances of making a good marriage.
 THE VILLAGE 55

TABLE 4: BUSINESS ENTERPRISES O F AMITY

Beharri Lloyds Central Thomas Jangli Casecu Barr- Amity

Road Street Amity Road Tola ack ville Total
Total

Parlors 9 4 13 1 2 16
Shops 8 4» 12 1» 2 1 16
Tailors 3 3 6 - 2 1 9
Goods 5 1 6 - - 6
Rice 5 1 6 1 1 3 11
Mills
Miscell- 3 - 3 - - 3
aneous

' Two of the shops of Lloyd Street sell only food and are not, therefore,
"rum shops." The shop in Jangli Tola is only a rum shop. All other shops deal
in both items.

all. It will be seen that the overwhelming majority of "businesses"

of Amity are to be found in Central Amity, and most of them—along
with the homes of the wealthy and the schools—are on Beharri Road.

CASTE IN THE VILLAGE

Every Hindu East Indian in Amity is a member from birth of one

of a large number of named groups. In the village, the group is known
as a jat in Hindi, and as a " n a t i o n " in English. The names of these
" n a t i o n s " derive primarily from those of Indian castes, although
there are a few which appear to be locality designations in India, such
as MadrassI and Bangall. The word "caste," as such, is known only
to the more literate members of the Amity population.
There are thirty-nine "nations" in Amity, represented by a varying
number of persons from one to many hundreds. The " n a t i o n " tends
to be an endogamous unit, so most people inherit membership
bilaterally. Where the parents are of two different "nations," the
56 THE VILLAGE

child is considered by the community to be part of his father's "na-

tion," so the patrilineal line may be considered most important. But
because the "nations" in Amity are ranked, a man whose mother's
"nation" was higher than his father's may attempt to claim mem-
bership in her "nation"—and he may or may not be successful in the
attempt. The child of an East Indian and a Negro is called a dugla
and is considered to belong to no "nation."
It would be tempting to analyze the "nation" as if it were an indi-
genous Amity—or Trinidad East Indian—institution. Such an at-
tempt would do violence to the facts. These "nations" are Indian
"castes." They are known to derive from India by the people of
Amity themselves. Prestige, ceremonial rights, the criteria of the
ranking system—all derive primarily from India. Whatever opinions
might be held in India on the subject, the Kahar of Amity considers
himself a member of the Kahar "nation" of Trinidad as a whole,
which in turn he considers part of the Kahar "nation" of India.
Finally, the "castes" (as we shall refer to them from now on) of
Amity are grouped in the village according to the Varna structure of
the Indian caste system.
That the caste system—the relationships between members of the
same caste and between members of different castes—has become
greatly modified since emigration from India took place, cannot, of
course, be denied. It is true that people who do not raise pigs will
not eat with those who do, and occasionally, at religious ceremonies,
Brahmans will be fed apart from everyone else. Apart from that,
there is hardly any ban on inter-caste commensality, and at wedding
feasts all people (of the same sex) eat together.
The complex rules regarding pollution of food and the strictures
governing who may accept what foods from whom (see Hutton 1946:
62-72) are barely remembered by even the very old in Amity. What
does remain is a kind of vague feeling on the part of some high-caste
people that Sudra people have "dirty habits." When pressed, the
 THE VILLAGE 57

high-caste man may state that he has heard that many low-caste
people do not wash their dishes adequately. He will often admit that
he is not certain about the matter; but it has been instilled in him
from childhood that they are "dirty" and he is reluctant to eat in the
home of a low-caste man.
The correlation of caste and occupation, even where it did exist in
India, is almost nonexistent in Trinidad. The one DhobI family in
Amity does not wash clothes—the women of each family do their
own laundry. The Camars are not leather-workers, and the Lohar is
not a blacksmith. By and large, occupations are considered "good"
or " b a d " in terms of their economic return, though there are certain
important exceptions. Certain ritual functions continue to be carried
on by members of the appropriate castes, but as subsidiary activities:
the pandits (priests) are Brahmans, and ceremonial assistants are
members of the No caste.
On the other hand, the fact that caste should have continued to
exist at all, and to play a part in the life of the community, may be
termed surprising, considering the obstacles that stood in the way of
such an eventuality. The contention of Morris (1956) that similar
East Indian immigrants to East Africa found it impossible to re-
establish a caste hierarchy, has already been noted.
Then again, the circumstances of life in Trinidad as an indentured
laborer were not such as to permit an easy maintenance of caste-
system relationships. Almost every man who came had to work as
a field-laborer during his period of indenture, and this was easier for
a low-caste laborer, accustomed to hard work, than it was for a high-
caste man who might have had some education and been accustomed
to less strenuous pursuits (see Skinner 1955: 46, 270).
Finally, there is the question of "legitimacy": are the people who
claim membership in high castes really entitled to make such claims?
The belief is held by some non-Indian Trinidadians that the people
who came from India to Trinidad were entirely of the lowest castes.
58 THE VILLAGE

The assertion is made, frequently, that certainly no "real Brahmans"

came over, and that all those in Trinidad who claim to be Brahmans
are making false claims. One even hears such statements, occasion-
ally, from low-caste Hindus, often as a reason why they will not show
a local Brahman "proper respect."
There can be little doubt that some people did give false caste
identifications when they were recruited in India. The practice con-
tinues in Trinidad today. The tale is told in Amity, with much amuse-
ment, of the Camar from Jangli Tola who traveled a few years ago
to a region in southern Trinidad where he was completely unknown.
He set himself up as a Brahman pandit, and for almost two years
successfully conducted ceremonies and performed marriages. He was
finally unmasked by some visitors from Amity, and he returned to
his home and his original occupation as a cane-laborer. It is certainly
conceivable that quick-thinking men, surrounded by complete stran-
gers and far from their native villages, would have tried to pass them-
selves off as men of higher castes in the recruiting depots of Calcutta.
Not everyone would have gotten away with it, we must remember.
Even today in Amity, despite extensive modifications of caste behavior,
and general "Creolization," many men—both young and old—claim
to be able to recognize a man's approximate caste by his behavior:
his manners, use o f obscenity, food habits, associates, etc. It would
seem probable that a recruit in India would have had to have been an
exceptionally fine actor to have convinced his fellow recruits that he
was o f a high caste, when he derived, in fact, from a low one. It
would have been particularly difficult if a true member of that high
caste happened to be among the recruits.
The arrangement of the castes represented among the population
of Amity into a locally acceptable "order of precedence"—to use
Morris' term—may have presented some difficulties to the founders
of the village, but in actuality the difficulties were not great. All
Hindus in Amity accepted, and by and large still accept, the hierarchy
 THE VILLAGE 59

of the four Varnas—Brahman, Kshattriya, Ves, and Sudra 11 —in that

order. The problem then becomes a matter of determining in which
Varna a particular caste is to be included.
Within the Brahman Varna there is essentially only one caste—the
Marajh. In Trinidad as a whole, there are a few castes considered
by some people to be separate, and lower, castes within the Brahman
Varna, but these are not represented in Amity. Within the Kshattriya
Varna, too, there is only one caste, known as Cattrl. If a man's claim
to be a Cattrl or a Marajh is accepted, his right to claim membership
in, respectively, the Kshattriya or Brahman Varnas is never disputed.
Among the members of the caste itself, some Marajh and Cattrl men
recognize certain distinctions and argue about precedence, but the
arguments are neither widespread nor important, and most members
of other castes are not even aware of them. A Cattrl almost invariably
carries "Singh" as a surname, and a Brahman, almost invariably,
"Maraj."
The remainder of the castes, 12 then, are obviously either Ves or
Sudra. Two criteria are used for determining Varna membership for
these castes. First of all, it may be that there is no argument about
original Varna membership in India. No one in Amity, for example,
disputes the fact that the Ahlr caste is Ves and the Camar caste Sudra.
Where there is any dispute, the second, and most important, criterion
is used: all castes made up predominantly—in Amity—of families
that raise and eat swine are Sudra; castes that eschew this practice
are considered Ves. Thus, many Bhars in Amity claim to be "Raj-
Bhars," and therefore Ves, but most Amity Bhars raise swine, and so
11
In an earlier reference t o t h e f o u r V a m a s (see p. 35, " H i s t o r y of A m i t y " )
the spelling of t h e n a m e s reflected c o n v e n t i o n a l n o r t h I n d i a n usage. Here, t h e
spelling represents an a t t e m p t t o a p p r o x i m a t e the A m i t y p r o n u n c i a t i o n of t h e
V a m a n a m e s . T h e s a m e is true of caste n a m e s given in the text.
ls
A c o m p r e h e n s i v e glossary of caste a n d tribal n a m e s m a y be f o u n d in
H u t t o n ' s " C a s t e in I n d i a " (1946: 242-61), including s u c h a d d i t i o n a l i n f o r m a t i o n
as the location of the caste in India a n d its traditional o c c u p a t i o n .
60 THE V I L L A G E

the claim is disallowed. On the other hand, most of the older people
are aware that the DhobI caste is "low" in India, but the only DhobI
family in Amity is a highly respectable one that does not raise swine
and has a teacher in the family. In Amity, this caste is considered Vès.
Within the Varnas themselves there is some disagreement as to
"order of precedence." This does not mean that there is no agreement
at all. Within the Sudra Varna, which contains nine castes in Amity, pre-
cedence has no significance. Among the twenty-six castes in Amity
considered Vès, precedence is of some inportance, but only to the
extent of determining whether a caste is "high" Vès or "low" Vès.
There is general agreement that the castes of the earliest settlers, the
shopkeepers, and the present "big men" are "high" Vès. These in-
clude: Baniyà, Nò, Ahlr, Koeri, Kurml, etc. On the other hand,
Kewàth, Lohar, DhobI and Bòri are among the "low" Vès.
There is a special group of castes—known in Amity as JanglT,
because of their reputed origin in the "jungles" of India—which
deserves special mention. Members of these castes are found almost
entirely in the district of Jangli Tola. From my interviews with some
of the older people, there would appear to be a good possibility that
many of these castes derive from the area of Bengal in India. In any
event, these were not castes known to the early settlers of the main
Beharri Settlement, and they tended to cluster together in Jangli Tola
from the earliest days. Because most of the "Jangli" people in the
past were "crabcatchers," and a large number today still are, the group
as a whole is considered "low." Those "Jangli" castes which do not
raise pigs (including BangàlI, Bhuyà, and Bòri), however, are con-
sidered "low" Vès, and not Sudra.
Of some 900 male adults registered to vote in the 1958 elections, I
have information as to caste affiliation for 813. The remainder include
Muslims, Christians (Indian and non-Indian), and those Hindu East
Indians—for the most part newcomers—for whom caste affiliation
could not be determined with any degree of certainty.
 THE VILLAGE 61

The largest castes in Amity are:

Brahman Varna Kshattriya Varna Ves Varna Sudra Varna
Marajh 23 Cattri 54 Baniya 18 Dusad 21
No 9 Bhar 68
Ahir 68 Pasi 12
Kurml 16 Dom 28
Koeri 36 Camar 282
Bhujawa 10
Kahar 25
Malla 14
Bhflya 31
Madrassi 11
Bori 30

This accounts for 756 males. The other 57 (of the 813) belong to
castes having eight or fewer male members in Amity.
Of the total of 813 males, 419 (or over half) are of Sudra castes;
124 are of "low" Ves castes; and 190 are of "high" Ves castes.
The rigid segregation of castes among the districts of Amity, said
to have existed in the early years of the village, no longer obtains.
Despite this, Casecu and Barrackville are still inhabited primarily by
members of Sudra and "low" Ves castes, and Jangll Tola by members
of the "Jangll" castes. Thomas Road, Central Amity, and in partic-
ular, Beharri Road are inhabited predominantly by "high" Ves, and
the Cattri and Marajh castes. There are a few "high" Ves, Cattri,
and Marajh representatives in the inferior districts, but only a few.
Despite the tremendous size of the Camar caste within Amity, there
is no Camar family living in the "best" kind of house. There has never
been a Camar prefect in the Amity Hindu School. 13 One very wealthy
Dusad family and one very wealthy Bhar family now live on Beharri
Road, but neither of these, nor any Camar, is included in the tight
circle of village leadership.
Some high-caste people indicate a feeling of resentment at the
" Prefects are elected by the class and are chosen from among the best scholars:
they are almost invariably Cattri or Marajh.
62 THE VILLAGE

movement of Sudra people to Beharri Road, but there is no such

thing as a "caste panchayat" in Amity, and nothing can be done about
it. Nevertheless, Sudra people who move to Beharri Road give u p
the raising of swine where they have practiced it before, as in the case
of the one wealthy Dusad family.
Again, while there is no system of caste panchayats to control
marriage, the majority of marital unions in Amity are between mem-
bers of the same caste, from different villages, and almost all are
between members of the same Varna. The reason for this is not hard
to find: almost all marriages have been arranged by the parents, or at
least have their approval. A low-caste man will not usually object
(though some will) to a marriage between his child and the child of a
high-caste m a n — b u t the latter will object. M a r a j h and Cattri men
are particularly strict about marriage within their own castes. Even
a " l o w " Ves m a n will hesitate about allowing his son to marry a Sudra
girl, because he feels the latter is accustomed to " d i r t y " cooking and
to eating "dirty f o o d " (specifically pork). On the other hand, within
the Ves Varna, there is little objection to an Ahir marrying a No, or
a K u r m l a Koerl.
To repeat, the presence or absence of the practice of swine-raising
and pork-eating is a major criterion in the determination of caste
respectability. There is some ingroup feeling among members of the
Marajh caste, and less among Cattri people. Otherwise, any sense of
caste solidarity or group interests is almost entirely lacking among
the castes of Amity. Individual families may better themselves, but
this has nothing to do with the rest of their caste. A caste as a whole
can be "raised" in the general esteem if most of the representatives
become prosperous, pious, and give up the raising of pigs. Unlike
what has been reported for India, there is no concerted effort on the
part of the caste members to do this as a group. 1 4
14
See, for example, Cohn, "The Changing Status of a Depressed Caste" (1955:
53-77).
 THE VILLAGE 63

What does happen in Amity is that an individual family will up-

caste itself—that is, it will claim to be affiliated with a caste higher than
the one to which it originally belonged. Some reason is usually
needed, but one can always be found. While caste membership is
normally patrilineal, a man whose father was of a low caste, and
whose mother was of a high one, will claim to be a member of the
higher caste. Claims are made on the most tenuous of grounds:
members of the wealthy Dusad family claim to be Ahir because one
of the sisters of the head of the family married an Ahir.
The true members of the caste into which the family has up-casted
itself often bitterly resent the step, but say they are powerless to do
anything about it. The upward movement, however, may or may not
be accepted by the entire community. A family which is wealthy,
generous, pious, and respectable may eventually be granted the
designation they insist upon. The Dusad family mentioned here, on
on the other hand, has never been liked in the village, and their claim
is not recognized by anyone else.
The fact that attempts on the part of families to up-caste themselves
do take place is highly significant: it illustrates, better than almost
anything else could, that caste is still exceedingly meaningful to the
people of Amity.
Although the importance of caste is almost invariably denied by the
villagers with the statement, "We all equal, now," the institution of
caste threads its way through all aspects of life in Amity. In the dis-
cussions to follow of religion, marriage, economic life, social control,
and village politics, it will be seen that caste is always a factor. Caste
membership affects the life of the villager from the moment he is
born, but it is rarely discussed except within the confines of the family.
With the act of land purchase, the East Indian settlers may be said
to have turned their backs on India. They were now committed to
constructing a life for themselves and their children within the socio-
economic structure of Trinidad. Nevertheless, the community, as it
64 THE VILLAGE

began to emerge, was patterned—in terms of settlement plan and

social stratification—after the Indian villages in which the settlers
originated, rather than after the villages of their Trinidadian hosts.
Along Thomas Road and what is now Beharri Road, Beharri
Settlement formed, a compact cluster of the homes of the landholding
settlers who were of castes of the Ves Varna or higher. Two outlying
hamlets came into being. The one to the north was populated by
swine-raising, non-landholding people of the Sudra Varna, and pre-
dominantly of the Camar caste. These people worked as laborers on
the estates and for the small farmers, renting portions of riceland from
the latter for subsistence. The other outlying hamlet, to the south,
was populated by East Indian immigrants representing low castes
somewhat alien to the experience of the rest of the settlers. Residents
of this hamlet worked as cane-laborers for the estates, and most sup-
plemented their incomes by crabcatching and fishing in the swamp.
Today, with the village tremendously increased in population, the
hamlets have lost their spatial separation and have become "districts,"
contiguous to Central Amity, and part of Amity as a whole. Caste
segregation is no longer absolute, but a "polarization" may be said
to exist: Beharri Road, within Central Amity, is the "best" district,
containing the wealthiest people, the finest homes, and the greater
proportion of high-caste members. The other districts are considered
inferior, some more so than others, and are populated predominantly
by low-caste people. Swineraising and crabcatching are still confined
to the outlying districts and to low-caste people.
III. Amity at Work

Sugar and rice are the two most important crops in the lives
of the people of Amity. Sugar provides them with the necessary cash
income; rice is the staple of their diet. The activities associated with
the production of these two crops are very different, but both sets of
activities interrelate with many other aspects of life in Amity. Without
sugar and rice cultivation, Amity could not exist in its present form.
When the founders of Amity had completed their indentures they
left the plantations. They acquired land suitable for rice and even
"small farmer" cane cultivation, and they built their own homes.
Nevertheless, they remained economically dependent upon the sugar
estates. Whatever cane was grown had to be sold to the estate fac-
tories. Most of the early inhabitants of Beharri Settlement continued
to work as laborers for the plantations during crop-time. Their
descendants continue in their footsteps.
For the East Indians who reside in the sugar-producing areas of
66 A M I T Y AT W O R K

Trinidad, sugar is the basis of existence. Their lives are regulated by

the crop. It determines when they will rise in the morning, what part
of the year they will be without work and money, when they can get
drunk, when they can get married, when they will eat well, when they
will eat poorly. A bad year means hard times for everyone; not for
just the laborers and small farmers, but for the shopkeepers, taxi
drivers, and others as well. Not everyone in Amity is directly con-
nected with the sugar industry, but most are affected by it in one way
or another. Those directly concerned are the estate employees and
the small farmers.
Rice cultivation, unlike sugar, is rarely a source of cash income, but
it is the major source of food for the villagers. It is raised by family
labor, with the assistance of cooperative work groups. Most people
rent riceland from the few farmers—almost entirely of the high castes
—who own relatively large holdings. This tenant-landlord relationship
plays an important part in determining the lines of authority and
control in the village. The senior "driver" (gang foreman) on the sugar
estate also occupies a position of authority, for he resides in the village.
Other occupations are pursued in Amity and some of them will be
discussed in the following pages. But it must be emphasized that it is
rice and sugar upon which the village depends. Taxi driving and crab-
catching, to take two examples, could disappear from Amity without
affecting its sociocultural system to any significant extent. Rice and
sugar cultivation, on the other hand, have been major factors in the
persistence of Indian culture in Amity, and in the maintenance of the
present social structure.

LABOR ON T H E ESTATE

For part of its length, Beharri Road forms the border between
sections of two great sprawling sugar estates. The land to the west
and south of Amity forms part of the "Amitié Section" of the larger
 A M I T Y AT W O R K 67

estate, called here Estate A. To the east of Amity is part of Estate

B. Most of the "small f a r m e r " cane of Amity is raised on land rented
from Estate B, and is sold to the factory of that estate. On the other
hand, most of the homes of the people of Amity—located on the west
side of Beharri Road—are built on lots rented from Estate A. Estate
A also provides employment for the overwhelming majority of cane-
laborers of Amity.
Approximately 900 male adults from Amity were registered for the
1958 election. During 1957, Estate A employed a total of 484 men
from Amity as cane-laborers in various capacities, such as cutters,
loaders, carters. At least another 100 men worked irregularly during
the crop-time, operating private carts. Perhaps 25 men from Amity,
and probably more, were employed by the estate in other capacities:
field staff, office staff, crane and tractor operators, factory labor.
Another 100 men (roughly) worked as laborers for Estate B and for
small farmers. The remainder of the male population includes those
with other occupations, the unemployed, and the unemployable. 1
The personnel turnover, at least among cane-laborers, was not too
great during 1957. Of the total of 484 for the year, 381 men were
employed during the fortnight of maximum crop-time employment,
while 296 men were employed in the fortnight of minimum employ-
ment, during the rainy season. Of the 484, 213 worked for more than
156 days of the year. Of the 271 men who worked 156 days or less,
many were young men without full family obligations, who worked
as cane-loaders or carters on estate carts during crop-time only. The
more regular employees tend to work as canc-cutters during crop-time
and as general field laborers during the rest of the year.
Along with the men, a total of 207 women from Amity worked for
1
A n occupational breakdown for Amity becomes meaningless beyond a
ccrtain point. Many individuals engage in more than one occupation, depending
upon the time of year and other factors: a taxi driver may be a small farmer; a
fisherman may work o n the estate during crop-time; a small farmer may operate
a private cart.
68 A M I T Y AT W O R K

Estate A during 1957, in various field-labor capacities. In the fort-

night of maximum employment, 170 females were employed, and 133
worked even in the fortnight of minimum employment.
Knowledge of the total number of men employed for the year, or
even for a given fortnight, tells us nothing about how much each man
earned, and how incomes varied during the year. At the height of the
1957 crop-time, 358 men from Amity were employed for a given
fortnight. They worked a total of 3,883 " m a n days" during that
fortnight—or an average of 10.8 days per man. They earned a
total of $11,210.76 for the fortnight—working out to an average of
$31.31 per man, or $2.89 per day per man. During the same fortnight,
170 women from Amity worked 1,668 " m a n days" and earned
$3,373.37—thus averaging, per w o m a n : 9.8 days, $19.84 per fort-
night, and $2.02 per day.
At the depth of the rainy season, 332 men from Amity were em-
ployed in a given fortnight but they worked only 2,140 " m a n days,"
earning $3,753.89. They thus averaged, per m a n : 6.41 days per fort-
night (or a little more than three days a week), $11.31 per fortnight,
and $1.92 per day. During the same two weeks, 143 women f r o m
Amity worked for 762 " m a n days," earning a total of $998.12, and
averaging, per woman: 5.3 days, $6.98 per fortnight, and $1.31 per day.
Yearly income varied considerably. The 271 men who worked less
than 156 days averaged $225.58 apiece in yearly income, while the
other 213 averaged over $600; the 50 of the 213 who worked the short-
est number of days (156 to 181) averaging $419.71, and the 25 men
who worked more than 300 days in the year averaging S908.10 apiece.
The following generalizations may be made about work on the
estate:

For the cane-laborer of Amity, the rainy season does not mean so
much nonemployment as underemployment. Most laborers are year-
round employees with incomes varying from a highpoint average of
 A M I T Y AT W O R K 69

a b o u t $30 a fortnight to a low-point average of about $11 a fortnight.

There are a large number of men in Amity who are not regular
cane-laborers. These include young men without full responsibility,
the aged, and those with other occupations. Such men work during
crop-time, and primarily as loaders and carters on estate-owned carts.
The aged work as gleaners ("picking-up-cane") and at other minor
tasks.
There is really n o such thing as an "average" cane-laborer's income,
for there is too much variation. It is even harder to estimate the in-
come of the "average" family, since a family may contain more than
one working male, and perhaps also a working female, each contri-
buting a very different amount to the family income.

Villagers consider any family with an income of $1,000 to $1,500

as "wealthy," and such families are expected to put on "big weddings."
Very few cane-laborers are in this category. A handful of families in
Amity have incomes exceeding $1,500, but the majority of families
must make do on less than $1,000 a year. On $600 to $800, a small
family can manage to scrape by without getting into serious debt. A
family with a total income of under $500 is an impoverished one, even
by Amity standards, which are not high.
After all this, it is worth noting that the Amity agricultural laborer
considers himself fortunate—if only in comparison with his counter-
parts elsewhere in Trinidad. People may leave Amity in search of
better jobs than those available in any canefield, but laborers move
into Amity hoping for a j o b on the estate nearby. These last are fre-
quently young men who have married Amity girls. On the whole,
however, there is little migration from sugar estate to sugar estate in
search of work, at least in the area around Amity. The laborers of
Amity seek work on the estate nearest their village—Estate A, " A m i -
tié Section." The customary pattern is for a father to ask his own
"driver" to find a j o b for his son.
70 A M I T Y AT W O R K

The "Amitié Section" Table of Organization is composed of the

following personnel:
1 Section Manager: White, English, $300-5400 per month (esti-
mated).
4 Overseers (1 senior, 3 junior): White, English or West Indian,
$200-5300 per month (estimated).
4 Senior Drivers: East Indians of Amity, $120 per month, year-
round.
4 Junior Drivers: East Indians of Amity, $75 per month during
crop-time, or when there is work.
220 cane-cutters (for usual crop-time day): East Indians, mostly of
Amity, 51.32 per " t a s k . "
70 carts (approximately)
(1) 40 estate carts (East Indian and Negro): 5.61 per ton loaded.
(2) 30 private carts (East Indian and Negro) : $ 1.02 per ton loaded.
There are about a dozen old people who "pick-up-cane" after the
loaders, and are paid for one task a day ($1.32), a few "water-carriers"
paid at the same rate, plus a few "dayworkers" such as the crane
operator.
One of the senior drivers is in charge of the "bison (water buffalo)
pen," where the animals for the estate carts are housed; one is in
charge of loading; and one is in charge of weeding, handling a small
"cutting gang" in crop-time. The fourth and most senior driver,
Mr. " H a r d e o " of Persad Path, Amity, is in charge of the main "cutting
gang," made up of 100 to 150 people, all from Amity. The junior
drivers assist the senior drivers as they are needed.
The estate cart and bison to draw it are supplied by the estate itself.
Two men are hired to work each cart, one being called the " l o a d e r "
and the other the "carter." Both actually do the same work; loading
the cart with cane and conveying the load to the crane where it is
weighed and transferred to railroad cars for delivery to the distant
factory. Both receive the same pay; half of $.61 for every ton delivered
 AMITY AT W O R K 71

to the crane. H o w much they load, and therefore earn, depends u p o n

the pair. It varies from six to sixteen tons a day per cart. A bonus is
often paid to carts amassing particularly high totals for the day.
Thus, two men may divide as much as $20 a day or more between
them for a day's work.
A private, or "farmer's," cart is one supplied, along with the ani-
mals, by the carter himself. He receives $1.02 for every ton delivered
but he must have a loader and pay him himself. Some private carters
hire loaders at the rate of two tasks' pay ($2.64) for the day, while
other carters give their loaders a share of the total day's proceeds.
Most private carts, however, are operated by a family team: father-
son, husband-wife, 2 brother-brother.
For a number of reasons there is considerable turnover a m o n g the
carters and loaders. Those who work estate carts are usually young
men. If they put in a few hard days, they may want to take a vacation
to spend their earnings. The "farmers' carts" are frequently just t h a t :
equipment belonging to men who own or rent their own caneland.
Marking time until the "ticket" to deliver their own cane arrives,
industrious farmers may put in a few weeks of work on the estate,
but may be unwilling or unable to work the entire season. Thus,
although only 25 to 30 private carts are in service on a normal
croptime day, 106 farmers' carts—including one operated by a
woman—saw service during the 1957 crop-time, most of them coming
from Amity. Each cart, of course, represented two laborers. Thirteen
farmers earned over $1,025 each with their carts for the entire crop
season—out of which they had to pay their helpers, if the latter were
not members of the family.
2
There is no stigma whatever attached to a wife's working—as long as she is
directly under her husband's supervision, as in this case. There is a strong objection
to allowing a w o m a n to work away from the eyes of her family, under the super-
vision of a driver, who, it is feared, may seduce her, as may any other man working
near her. W o m e n are engaged in such work, nevertheless, because poor families
need the money.
72 A M I T Y AT WORK

Cutters may be male or female, but about two-thirds, at least, are

usually men. They receive $1.32 per task. A task, however, has no
fixed size, for it depends upon the density of cane in a given field. The
driver chooses an "average" bed for the field, occasionally accepting
advice. The cane is cut and loaded, and on the basis of the amount of
area required to produce about two tons of cane, the task for that
field is determined. A task will average about 12 rods (120 feet) by
2 rods (20 feet). The driver, who arrives in the field at about 7 A.M.,
assigns the tasks for each cutter. Many cutters prefer to arrive in the
field at about 5 A.M., choosing their own beds, which are then officially
assigned to them by the driver when he arrives. This means the laborer
can start cutting early, and can finish early.
How much a cutter earns depends on him, of course. Generally a
cutter averages about two tasks and quits work around noon. There
are a few strong, fast, hard-working men who boast they can cut three
and even four tasks of cane a day. The figures given earlier indicate
that in the height of crop-time the average man earns about S2.89
per day. This would work out to an average of two and one-fifth
tasks per man per day. Women, during the same fortnight in 1957,
averaged $2.02, or about one and one-half tasks per day.
The crop-time season begins around January 1. There is consider-
able variation either way, however, depending upon such factors as
weather and the condition of the crop. The season begins slowly, but
gathers momentum. February, March, April, and May arc the busiest
months of the year. Then work slacks off, and crop-timc ends with
June. Crop-time is usually considered to last approximately 10 to 11
fortnights, or around 140 days. The period from February through
June is considered the true crop-time in Amity. The village "marriage
season," it should be noted, is March through July.
There is a sort of "post crop-time"—July through September—when
there is still a good deal of work to be had on the estate: weeding,
ploughing, planting, spraying. October through January is the slack
 A M I T Y AT W O R K 73

period, known only as the rainy season. Apart from harvesting their
rice, people do little work in this period. Life in the village seems to
slow down. As the year draws to a close, people wait anxiously for
the news that the estate is ready to begin the cutting of the new crop.

SMALL FARMERS

There are perhaps a dozen families, almost all of castes of the

highest Varnas, that actually own the land on which they raise cane.
About five families have at least five acres in cane. Approximately
three dozen families in Amity rent an acre or more of land—from
Estate B or from other families, or elsewhere in Trinidad—for cane
cultivation. Holdings are scattered and frequently subdivided among
members of the family, with subholdings not always legally recorded
as such. To illustrate the extent of the complexity, a breakdown
follows of the land owned by the " R a m e s a r " family, one of the leading
landholding families of Amity. The family actually resides on a
rented lot on Beharri Road.
Beharri Road East: Owns five acres and three lots. One acre is
rented to four families in Central Amity. Rice is planted in entire
area, including rented portion.
Casecu, West: Owns thirteen acres. Family raises cane on ten
acres, rent three acres out. One acre is rented by one family in Casecu
and is used to raise cane. Two acres are rented by four families, three
of Casecu, one of Central Amity (half acre per family). All used for
rice.
Casecu, East: Owns a little more than nine acres, all rented out as
rice land, to about eighteen or twenty families of Casecu and Central
Amity. While rent of $5 per "half quarter" (a "quarter" is four-fifths
of an acre) is charged for the land, little rent is collected for this
section since the land is frequently flooded and the rice crop spoiled,
so " w h o pays, pays."
74 A M I T Y AT W O R K

A large part of the land is owned in the name of old Mr. Ramesar,
but some is held in the names of his sons, who were given title at the
death of the original owner, Ramesar's father. About an acre is in
the name of a daughter of Ramesar. The family handles all land as a
unit, giving the daughter and her husband their share of the proceeds.
There are numerous other complicating aspects to this family's prop-
erty, but what has been mentioned should be enough to make the
point. There are other families owning as much, or less land, with
much greater complexity of ownership, subdivision, rental, usage, and
operational control. A few families even rent out all the land they
own, and rent the land on which they grow their own crops.
A small farmer in Amity considers a harvest of twenty-five to
thirty-five tons of cane per acre an adequate return for his labor and
investment. Few get as much as forty tons from an acre in a good
year, while the estate gets forty, fifty, and more tons per acre in a
normal year. Part of the difference in the crop harvest may be laid
to the quality of the land, which, around Amity, is marginal caneland.
The estates, of course, can take advantage of modern agricultural
techniques, more and better fertilizer, etc. The small farmer must
wait for a "ticket" to bring his cane to the factory of Estate B, and
this is not usually forthcoming until the estate has cut the bulk of its
own cane. This frequently means not until April or later, by which
time some of the cane has spoiled. 3
The estate also requires that farmers' cane not be "burned." This
means that the farmer is not permitted to fire his field before cutting
the cane to clear away the sharp and unpleasant tangle of " t r a s h "
(cane leaves). Many farmers burn their fields anyway, blaming
arsonists or an "accident," and accept the estate's penalization of
sixty cents a ton for burned cane. There is much resentment over this

3
This is true only of those w h o rent caneland from Estate B, but they make up
the majority of small farmers. The few w h o o w n their o w n land can take their
canc to any factory, and therefore usually receive "tickets" earlier.
 A M I T Y AT W O R K 75

estate policy, since the estates burn their own cane, making it much
easier to cut.
In 1957, the small farmers received $12 per ton (for unburned cane)
in two payments. One was made upon delivery and the other came in
December as a "back-pay." This works out to $360 an acre for a
farmer who averages thirty tons to an acre, but he has many expenses.
He must "salt" his cane with sulphate of ammonia when the new crop
sprouts, at a cost of $12 to $14 per acre. Laborers who cut farmers'
cane demand $1 to $1.30 per ton, claiming the work is harder (be-
cause of the " t r a s h " ) and not as regular as estate work. Note that
the estate pays $1.32 a task, and a task is usually two tons of cane.
Private loaders who carry the cane to the estate crane and scale charge
the farmer at least $2 per ton, and more if his land is a considerable
distance from the estate. This means that, of the $360, over $100 goes
for labor and other costs—and we are assuming here that all the
weeding, banking, "trashing" and other such work is done during the
year by the farmer and his family. If not, his profit is further reduced.
If his cane quality is poor, and he has to plough and replant, his
expenses will be heavy indeed. Local tractors charge twelve cents a
rod (ten feet) and estate tractors are even more expensive.
Even if the family can supply the necessary labor to care for the
cane during its growth, they will have to hire labor to cut it, for it
must be cut and delivered swiftly once the "ticket" is received, and
particularly swiftly if the field has been burned, since every day that
goes by diminishes the value of the cane. There is no such thing as
mutual help in canecutting; each man is on his own and must pay
for all nonfamily labor.
When it is realized that the $12 a ton received in 1957 was considered
a high price by the farmers—other years being much lower, although
costs remain the same—it will be seen that cane farming is not a
tremendously profitable enterprise. If a man is to make any real
profit at all, he must have a number of acres in cane, which very few
76 A M I T Y AT W O R K

families do, a n d the f a r m e r a n d his family must work very hard. Yet
cane cultivation is one of the few sources of large a m o u n t s of cash,
a n d every m a n in Amity d r e a m s of owning, or even renting, a few
acres to put into sugar cane. Those w h o d o achieve this b o a s t of the
accomplishment—if only in terms of continual complaints a b o u t the
p r o b l e m s of the cane f a r m e r . But land is scarce a n d expensive, a n d
becomes more so all the time. T h e estates not only refuse to rent new
cane land, but frequently they remove land f r o m the c o n t r o l of the
f a r m e r s a n d cultivate it themselves. A m i t y has not been affected t o o
m u c h by this policy (which is not to say that it has not been affected at
all) but the villagers have seen it h a p p e n i n g elsewhere, a n d they fear
f o r the future.

OTHER OCCUPATIONS

T h e i m p o r t a n t occupations of A m i t y are three: cane-laboring, cane-

f a r m i n g , and rice-farming. Over thirty other occupations are re-
presented in Amity, but most of these have only one or t w o repre-
sentatives. These include game w a r d e n , civil servant (no policemcn,
interestingly), m a s o n , electrician, c a r p e n t e r , welder, blacksmith, and
painter. A few other occupations m a y have as m a n y as half a dozen
representatives in the village: tailor, schoolteachcr, a n d b o o k k e e p e r .
A p a r t f r o m " s c h o o l t e a c h e r " and " b o o k k e e p e r " none carry very m u c h
prestige.
There are some sixteen shops in Amity, almost all of which are
r u m shops as well. Nine of t h e m are owned and o p e r a t e d by East
I n d i a n s and six by Chinese. One, in Casecu, is owned by a Negro.
T h e large n u m b e r of East Indian shopkeepers is interesting: years ago
t h e only shops in Amity were those owned by Chinese. T h e Chinese
shopkeepers keep very m u c h to themselves, taking absolutely n o part
in village affairs, although the son of o n e of them associates freely and
equally with his East Indian age peers. The East Indian shopkeepers
 A M I T Y AT W O R K 77

— a n d the Negro in Casecu—tend to be "big m e n " in their local

districts, and settle minor disputes.
There are a few other occupations followed in Amity that are
worthy of additional comment here. The occupations of fisherman,
woodcutter, and crabcatcher are associated with the swamp and the
sea, and thus represent attempts to find other—non-sugar—sources
of income. The occupation of taxi driver represents a similar attempt,
and is interesting for other reasons as well.
Fisherman: There are about thirty men in Amity who consider
themselves full- or part-time fishermen. Four men own their own
boats. Two or three other boats in Amity are available for rental, and
there are a few more for hire in neighboring villages.
The fishing boats are not big—the largest is about sixteen feet—and
carry a crew of three men each. If the boat goes out five to six days a
week, each man averages about $15 to $18 per week. There is no real
marketing system in the rural area. Boats equipped with seines may
take their relatively large catches to Port-of-Spain, but most Amity
fishermen use lines and have small catches. A few "vendors," Negro
and East Indian, come from the adjacent interior regions of Trinidad
to buy fish f r o m some coastal fishermen, but no fish vendors come to
Amity. The fishermen themselves dispose of their own catches in
Amity and in neighboring villages. During crop-time, however, one
rarely sees fish being sold in Amity, for most of the fishermen desert
the sea to work in the more lucrative cane fields.
The occupation of fisherman is restricted neither to one district of
Amity nor to one social group. Fishermen may be found living in
Casecu, T h o m a s Road, Central Amity and Jangll Tola, and the oc-
cupation has been followed by Camars as well as by a Brahman and
a Muslim. Nevertheless, because it docs involve the taking of life it
is not considered a "high" occupation. One young Cattrl told me he
had always wanted to be a fisherman, but his father had forbidden
him to ply the trade as unfit for one of his caste. As a matter of fact,
78 A M I T Y AT W O R K

the one Brahman fisherman recently sold his boat and took a j o b as a
watchman on the estate, saying that the amount of drinking engaged
in by the other fishermen disgusted him.
Woodcutter: There are about fourteen full-time woodcutters in
Amity, all living in Casecu. About five men own their own boats;
one of them owns four boats alone. The other woodcutters rent
boats f r o m those who own them. Wood is cut in the swamp, and a
boat is usually out from 6 A.M. to noon or 1 P.M. The actual wood-
cutting is done in about an hour and a half; the rest of the time is
spent rowing the boat to and from the woodcutting areas.
Three kinds of mangrove wood are cut, depending on whether the
wood is wanted for firewood or house construction. The woodcutters
have to pay a government license fee for wood cut in the swamp. The
boats, about sixteen feet long, hold a half-cord of wood, which is sold
on the boat jetty for $4.75, and for more money if it is delivered to
the buyer. A half-cord of firewood, it is estimated, lasts the average
family for about two months. Woodcutters go out to cut only on
order, and orders d r o p off during the rainy season, when poor people
prefer to go into the swamp and cut their own wood, carrying it home
on their heads. In crop-time, working seven days a week, a wood-
cutter can clear about $25 a week after expenses. His income drops
sharply in the rainy season.
Crabcatcher: There are approximately twenty-four crabcatching
families in Amity, all living in Jangll Tola. This is considered the
most disreputable occupation practiced in Amity—but only if it is
done for a living; crabcatching, as a sport, is popular among the young
men of even the best families.
Both husband and wife go out together in the early morning to the
marshy land bordering the swamp proper. Each person hunts on his
own, using a hooked length of wire to force the crab out of its hole.
At about 1 P.M., the crabcatchers return home to bathe and eat, after
which the catch is tied into bunches of three or four crabs each. Ten
bunches would be considered a good day's haul.
 A M I T Y AT W O R K 79

Each crabcatcher takes his own crabs to Chaguanas, where, sitting

in or near the market, he becomes a " c r a b v e n d o r . " Only live crabs
can be sold, a n d the price—which is a b o u t thirty cents a bunch at 2
P.M.—dwindles rapidly. Whatever is not sold is brought home to be
eaten, or fed to the hogs.
Taxi driver: There is a network of bus and rail transportation
t h r o u g h o u t the island, but even the poorest people prefer to travel by
taxi when they can. Fares are modest, unless one hires a taxi for a special
" d r o p . " Most taxis have regular runs in the rural areas, charging
each passenger as little as eight cents for a short distance and u p t o
fifty cents for the trip f r o m C h a g u a n a s to Port-of-Spain.
A b o u t twenty taxi drivers reside in Amity. Almost all of them are
owner-drivers. Some run f r o m Amity to Chaguanas, or f r o m C h a -
guanas to Port-of-Spain or San F e r n a n d o . Taxis are also rented for
special occasions such as excursions or weddings. With hard work,
and if times are good, a taxi driver can earn well over $200 a m o n t h .
Unfortunately, he usually gets to keep very little of this money. It is
the rare driver, indeed, who owns his taxi o u t r i g h t ; almost every driver
pays heavy monthly installments. One m a n in Amity pays as m u c h
as $180 per m o n t h in installments, a n d few pay less t h a n $150 per
m o n t h . The driver is therefore happy to net $60 to $80 a m o n t h in
actual income. During the "wedding season" he may make more,
but in the rainy season, when times are bad, his fares d r o p off sharply,
and he must still meet his heavy m o n t h l y payments. He works his
car hard, so that by the time it is paid off he usually has to buy another.
People prefer to ride in the " b e s t " taxis, since the fare is the same,
and if a taxi driver wants to get wedding business, he must have a
new and expensive British or American car.
The man who has been a taxi driver for a few years, therefore, is
apt to be rather disillusioned about the profession. For the boys and
young men of Amity, however, it is one of the most desired of occu-
pations. A taxi driver, they say, is his own boss, drives a shiny new
car, never works as hard as a field-laborer and has large quantities of
80 A M I T Y AT W O R K

cash passing through his hands (they cannot grasp that very little of
the cash actually sticks to his hands!).
On the other hand, for many villagers taxi driving is a slightly dis-
reputable occupation. Taxi drivers have a reputation for immorality
and drunkenness, and one young man of Amity sold his taxi and
became a bookkeeper because he was afraid the bad reputation of
taxi drivers in general would attach itself to him. The reputation for
immorality stems from the fact that in the course of their work the
taxi drivers must frequently carry unchaperoned women about, and
in Amity such women are automatically assumed to be of easy virtue.

T H E CULTIVATION OF RICE

Rice, unlike sugar, is a subsistence crop in Amity. It is raised by

family labor with the aid of a neighborly cooperative work group.
Whenever possible, a family plants enough rice to supply its own
needs for the year. Any surplus will be sold within the village to those
who have had a poor rice year, or to those who were unable to rent a
piece of rice land. Other purchasers would be those with a special
need for a quantity of rice, as for a wedding feast. While having a
surplus to sell makes for a pleasant addition to the family income,
the rice is raised primarily for subsistence, not for sale.
A good acre of riccland in a good year will produce as much as
twenty "barrels" of rice (a "barrel" is about 300 pounds). Since a
barrel of dhan (paddy, or unmilled rice) will sell, even in the village,
for from eight to twelve dollars, the question of why the people of
Amity refuse to consider rice as a cash crop becomes an interesting
one. Three reasons are advanced by the villagers.
The cultivation of rice is so much more difficult than cane, they say,
that even if one could make the same amount of money, one would
prefer to raise cane. Hiring labor to do the work would cut away
most of the profit. Besides, where would one get labor? During the
rice season most people are busy in their own fields.
 A M I T Y AT W O R K 81

Again, it is pointed out that cane is carried directly to the estate,

from which payment is received in one or two lump sums of cash.
Rice would have to be sold either to individuals for small amounts of
money, which disappear rapidly, or through dealers who might cheat
the seller since no Amity farmer is familiar with the Port-of-Spain
rice market.
Finally, a family may own enough riceland to make planting a
large crop feasible (as in the case of the Ramesar family), but they feel
obligated to rent out most of the land in small parcels to the many
other families who "need" riceland themselves to provide for their
family's subsistence. To deprive them of their riceland, it is said,
would be a cruel and unneighborly act. As one of Mr. Ramesar's
sons remarked, "If we use all our land, how the other people going
to live, now? Must rent."
There is one family, in fact, now planting six acres in rice. When
they decided to cultivate all six acres for themselves, a few years ago,
it meant that they had to withdraw some of the land from another
large family to whom it was rented. The dispossessed family never
forgave them, and refused to accept the excuse that the extra rice was
badly needed. The first family feels guilty about the act even though
they require most of the rice to supply their own household, numbering
seventeen, plus many of their relatives. They do have a considerable
rice surplus to sell, and they use the money thus realized to help pay
the mortgage on the new family house. In their own defense, they
argue that the other family owns some land of its own, so it was not
such a terrible deed.
Riceland in Amity is measured in "quarters." A "quarter" is made
up of four jimis, with five jimis equaling one acre. Rental of riceland
is usually in terms of "half a quarter" (2/5 of an acre) or a "quarter"
(4/5 of an acre). Rent is usually $5 or $6 per "half a quarter." It is
estimated that an adult consumes about a "barrel" (300 pounds) of
rice a year. "Half a quarter" of good riceland, therefore, should
produce enough rice—eight to ten "barrels" in a good year—to supply
82 A M I T Y AT W O R K

a family with its rice needs, and rice is the basic item of East Indian
diet in Amity. A family owning or renting a " q u a r t e r " can be certain
of filling its needs, of having enough for special events such as a marri-
age or katha dinner and of having a surplus either to sell or to save
for a lean year. Comparatively few families cultivate as much as a
" q u a r t e r , " but almost every family in Central Amity, Thomas Road,
and Casecu, and a large number of families in JanglT Tola and Bar-
rackville, cultivate at least the minimal "half a quarter."
The Amity ricelands are in scattered locations. The main blocks
are: East of Beharri Road, north of Estate B and the small farmers'
caneland, to Thomas R o a d ; east of Casecu, from Thomas Road to
the swamp. In all, perhaps six or seven hundred acrcs are planted in
rice, but much of the land in the north is too swampy to be very
productive.
Each family's field is subdivided by a number of low, straight banks
(each called a men), which meet at right angles, forming small plots
(each called a kola) about twenty to thirty feet square. 4
Preparations for the rice season in Amity begin with a weeding in
March. Cultivation starts in the middle of June. One kola is hoed
and forked and prepared for sowing. All this work, including the
sowing of this biya kola (nursery plot), is normally done by the male
members of the family. Should the need arise, the women of the
family assist.
The "nursery" will be ready for transplanting in about a month—
which means, usually, around the middle of July. Meanwhile, the
other kolas must be prepared. Grass is cutlassed and piled on the
4
H i n d i t e r m s arc used extensively in discussing ricc, riccfields, rice c u l t i v a t i o n ,
a n d h a r v e s t i n g — m u c h m o r e , in f a c t , t h a n in a l m o s t a n y o t h e r aspect of East
I n d i a n life in A m i t y , with the e x c e p t i o n of c c r e m o n y a n d ritual, a n d k i n s h i p .
A m o n g t h e t e r m s in c o m m o n use for k i n d s of rice, a l o n e , a r e : dhan: u n m i l l e d ,
" p a d d y " rice; caura: milled dhan; bfutjia cdurd: rice w h i c h h a s been boiled b e f o r e
m i l l i n g ; bhath: rice c o o k e d a n d r e a d y t o e a t ; mahaparsad: t e r m used f o r rice
c o o k e d in great q u a n t i t i e s for w e d d i n g s .
 A M I T Y AT W O R K 83

meris, which are built u p and reinforced. Ploughing can be done

early if the weather is dry. If it is rainy, ploughing will take place
about a week before planting.
The process of hengawe (harrowing) follows the ploughing. First
the meris are "tied u p " (shored) to retain water and the kola is flooded.
A day before the planting the land is leveled and harrowed by means
of a henga (a flat board, eight to ten feet in length, containing spikes,
pulled behind a bull or bison).
If a family does not own a bull or tractor, it will probably have to
hire labor for ploughing and hengawe. A tractor can be hired for
about $8 per " q u a r t e r , " and a bull plough for $12 per " q u a r t e r . "
A bull plough is preferred because a tractor cannot work in heavy
rain and deep mud. Hengawe costs $2 per "half quarter." Poorer
families prefer to do this work themselves. Only the men of the family
can do it, for it is hard work. Wealthier families prefer to hire labor.
Planting will take place after mid-July, and occasionally as late as
August, depending on the rainfall. Planting consists of two opera-
tions: pulling the seedlings from the nursery, which is considered
man's work, and planting them in the kolas where they will grow to
maturity, which is considered women's work, for, "Ladies go very
fast." One man and two women—perhaps his mother and his wife—
assisted by a child to carry the bundles of seedlings, f r o m the nursery
to the new fields, can plant about a "half a quarter" in a day.
For a full " q u a r t e r " at least one man and five women are needed.
There are two ways of acquiring this extra help. Poorer people, who
rent their land, form a cooperative work group called a hur, drawn
from a group of neighboring households. The members of the hur
are invariably neighbors at h o m e : their ricefields are not necessarily
adjoining, and may in fact be widely separated. The women of the
hur assist one another in planting—"today on my land, tomorrow on
yours"—and the men of the hQr work together during the harvest in
the same way. If for any reason the members of the family cannot
84 AMITY AT WORK

return the labor in kind, they must pay the other members of the hur
in cash at the going rate. In 1957, it was $2 per day per person.
The second way of acquiring help is practiced by the wealthier
families, who own their own land and who rent land to others. Years
ago, tenants were required to assist the landholders at times of planting
and harvesting, without pay, as part of their rent. This practice is no
longer followed, and today the landholder hires labor at $2 a day. He
offers the work to his tenants first, however, and they rarely refuse.
Depending upon the individual case, he may pay them in cash, in
rice, subtract it f r o m their rent. Sometimes rent is not paid in cash
at all. The tenant gives the owner a barrel of rice in lieu of cash,
after subtracting a fair amount for the labor he has supplied.
Planting begins about 7:30 A.M. AS the women plant, they sing a
song about the adventures of a king in India " t o make the work go
faster." They pause briefly for lunch and finish working by about
2 : 3 0 P.M.
The rice is ready when it has turned a rich golden color. This is
about three and a half months after planting, so cutting takes place
from the end of October through November. The same number of
people are needed for cutting and beating as for planting, but this
time they are mostly men. The women of the family may assist at
cutting, and they also help carry and pile the cut rice for the beaters.
Cutting and beating require a full day each.
Cutting is easier in higher, dryer land, where a " q u a r t e r " can be
cut in the period f r o m 7:30 A.M. to 1 P.M. In the ricefields closer to
the swamp, the people feel fortunate if they finish cutting by 5 P.M.
Beating takes place as soon as possible, preferably on the next day.
The owner of the rice performs a dl-puja upon his arrival in the field
on the day of beating. 5 Burlap sacking is then spread out on the kola
and a macan is erected. A macan, in Amity, is a table, usually of

' Sec "Religious C e r e m o n i e s , " pp. 169-79, in this b o o k .

 A M I T Y AT W O R K 85

mangrove wood, with a top constructed of a number of parallel strips

of wood with narrow spaces between them. One man piles the rice
near the macan while four or five others each grasp a bundle of rice
at the stalk end. The ear of rice is brought down hard on the top of
the macan. Two or three such strokes, and all the rice grains are
dislodged and fall through the spaces of the macan top to the heap
of dhan on the sacking below.
The rice straw will either be discarded or used as building materials.
After the beating is completed, the rice is fanned and sifted. As a
group of beaters finish all the rice for that field, the men raise their
arms and shout " J e ! " (Hurrah!) This is said to be an indication of
their victory over the rice, but it is also a signal to those still beating
that this group has already finished, for there is a friendly competition
between those beating in the same area. Those who finish last are
usually too ashamed to cry " J e ! "
The dhan is located into sacks which are carried to the road, piled
onto a cart and transported to the farmer's home. When all this is
over, the owner of the rice usually buys a bottle of rum and treats
the other men.
The rice is spread out in the house, or under it if there is room, and
turned continually by the women and children until it is dry. In a
week or so it must be put out in the sun for the final drying. This is
sufficient to preserve it in the rice bin until it is needed. Before it can
be used, the rice will have to be dried in the sun again for a whole
day, and then carried to one of the rice mills of Amity, where it can
be milled at a cost of six cents a " t i n " (about twenty pounds).
Since rice is harvested around November, a family may be sure of
having rice in good supply during the worst part of the rainy season
slack period, when there is the smallest income from estate labor. A
family with little land or a poor harvest may run out of rice by late
spring, but by then crop-time is in full swing and there is money
coming in. This is particularly important because of the place of rice
86 AMITY AT W O R K

in the East Indian diet, with the normal adult consuming a pound
of rice or more a day.

GARDENING AND ANIMAL HUSBANDRY

For the most part, men do the gardening, in their spare time. There
is no objection to women and children helping, if they have the time,
and if men are very busy women will go off to weed and hoe alone.
There are two places in which the average family grows "garden";
the ricefield, and the kitchen garden behind the house.
The ricefield: People try not to leave their land fallow. Tomatoes,
cucumbers, beans, and other crops are grown in the ricefields during
the part of the year when the land is not under rice. Such produce is
used at home as an addition to the normal diet, or sold in small
quantities in the public market by the women on Saturday mornings.
When the ricefields are not in actual cultivation, cattle are put to graze on
the rice stubble and the wild grass, thus helping to fertilize the fields.
The kitchen garden: Behind almost every house is a kitchen garden,
taking up whatever part of the lot is not used for living space. Through-
out the year, as the proper season comes, pigeon peas, beans, corn,
okra, eggplant, and other vegetables are planted for the table. Any
surplus is sold in the public market.
There is not a home to be found without a few "fowls" running
loose in the yard. Some eggs are eaten, thereby contributing to what
is a generally deficient protein supply, but most are sold to one of the
several Creole women who visit Amity once a week to buy eggs for
later sale elsewhere. The price received for eggs varies. At Christ-
mastime, for example, it is very high. Eggs usually bring in eight to
ten cents apiece. The care of fowls and the sale of eggs are in the
hands of the women. A chicken is killed for food only on special
occasions. Poorer families eat chicken at Christmas, and perhaps
only two or three other times during the year.
 A M I T Y AT W O R K 87

Most families have a goat or two for milk and meat, but a goat
would be slaughtered for meat only on the rarest of occasions, pro-
bably less than once a year. In Casecu and along the northern part
of Lloyd Street there are a number of families with a pig or two—an
open indication of the Sudra status of the family. Because of the
stigma attached to keeping pigs and eating pork, it may be said that
the number of pigs in Amity decreases each year, for families frequently
decide to stop raising pigs—but never to start raising pigs for the first
time.
About three families in every four in Casecu, Thomas Road, and
Central Amity have one or more "animals" (cattle) or bison. Pro-
portionately fewer cattle and bison are to be found in Jangll Tola and
Barrackville. Beef is never eaten, but the milk is used to supplement
both the diet and the income, and the bull is used for plowing and for
"farmers' carts" in crop-time. The proportion of families owning
cattle has decreased somewhat in recent years, for as the population
has increased grazing land has become scarce to the point of dis-
appearance. Every bit of grass—in rice fields, cricket grounds, and
along the road—is utilized, but most families must supply the greater
part of the fodder.
The estate permits people to cut grass and weeds in the canefield
drains, and this is the major source of fodder. A fast man can cut a
"bundle" (fifty to seventy-five pounds) of grass in about an hour.
One animal requires four such "bundles" per day, so often every
member of the family must spend a part of every day cutting grass.
Nevertheless, most people refuse to consider the idea of parting with
the animal, for they feel that it is a "good thing" to own one. It is a
source of pride for a family, even if it constitutes a drain on time and
energy far exceeding its advantages.
88 A M I T Y AT W O R K

FAMILY EXPENDITURES

Considering the a m o u n t of basic food supply that the East Indian

family raises for itself, one might well ask what the villagers buy in
the shops, and how much they need spend on such matters. The
ordinary family keeps no record of its expenditures, and while any
member knows the usual items, it is difficult to work out a family
budget and its yearly variation with any kind of accuracy. I was able
to get approximate data for a number of families, but I had to ap-
proach shopkeepers for further aid in solving this problem. One
shopkeeper kept careful and readable records of all sales to his credit
customers, in terms of weekly purchases going back over a long
period. He and I chose one family as representative of a normal cane-
laboring family at about what might be termed, roughly, Amity's
mode and mean. He knew the family intimately, and was able to
supply me with additional data about income and other expenses.
The family—from Lloyd Street in Central Amity—is composed of
two adults and eight children, four boys and four girls. The father
is about forty years of age. They rent a " q u a r t e r " of rather poor
riceland, which supplies them with most—but not always all—of
their rice requirements. They have the usual kitchen garden and
livestock. Both adults work for Estate A as cane-laborers. They are
in Mr. Hardeo's gang, and usually work side by side. The oldest girl
cares for the younger children while the parents are working.

INCOME

Crop-time: (5 months—February to June). Both husband and wife

average $30 each per fortnight, the wife earning as much as her
husband since he helps her complete her tasks when he has finished
his. Together, therefore, they average about $210 per month, or about
$600 for the crop-time.
"Post Crop-time(3 months—July to September). Each averages
 A M I T Y AT W O R K 89

about $14 per fortnight, or $56 per month for the two. For the three
months: $168.
Rainy Season: (4 months—October to January). Each gets one
task a day three days a week, averaging together $12 per fortnight,
or, for the four months: $96.
Total approximate income for the year: $864.
The following is the record of purchases made by the family during
a representative (April) fortnight in the 1958 crop-time.

F O R T N I G H T L Y B U D G E T (Crop-time)

Saturday First Week

(payday) (Monday to Saturday)

i bag flour (50 lbs.) $ 5.00 1 cutlass S 1.12

4 lbs. sugar .36 1 nip rum .60
1 small condensed milk .27 5 lbs. rice .70
3 blocks soap .30 1 lb. baking powder .22
^ lb. baking powder .22 2 copybooks .12
1 lb. onions .16 i bag flour 10.00
i lb. garlic .16
I pack tea .17 $12.76
1 pack soap powder .36 Second Week
3 lbs. potatoes .24 (Monday to Friday)
} lb. saltfish .24
2 packs cigarettes .60 2 lbs. sugar $ .18
1 lb. masala (curry) .16 1 lb. saltfish .24
2 bottles cooking oil 1.00 2 lbs. potatoes .16
2 bottles pitch oil (kerosene) .14 1 nip rum .60
i lb. biscuits .13 2 tins sardines .36
i tin salmon .50
1 flask rum 1.20 $ 1.54

$11.21

Fortnightly Total $25.51

The fortnightly budget during the rainy season differs only in

quantity; less is purchased.
90 AMITY AT W O R K

YEARLY EXPENSES IN SHOP

Crop-time Post Crop Rainy Season
(Average: $42.37) (.Average: $39.02) (Average: $28.60)
$ 54.24 Feb. $ 36.33 July $ 23.48 Oct.
47.03 March 58.13 Aug. 35.08 Nov.
44.66 April 22.68 Sept. 34.83 Dec.
31.72 May 20.99 Jan.
34.22 June

$211.87 $117.14 $114.38

Total Shop Expenditures, 1958: $443.39

F r o m this it may be seen that average monthly expenditure drops

as income drops. December is an expensive month because of Christ-
m a s ; February, probably because it is the beginning of crop-time, and
there is a need to purchase many items done without during the
preceding hard times. The heavy expenses in August are a little more
difficult to account f o r ; it is probable that the family ran out of rice
and had to purchase their requirements. Why, then, are September
and October so low? The shopkeeper notes that during the rainy
season the family relies heavily upon its garden and the m a n does odd
jobs for the landholders for which he is paid in rice.

OTHER EXPENSES

The shopkeeper estimates the following:

Clothing: around $80.00
Doctor's bills: around $60.00
Firewood: $18.00
R u m (apart f r o m what is charged, for the shopkeeper prefers to
sell r u m for cash, rather than credit): $115.00.
Gifts and ceremonies: (katha, wedding presents, etc.) $100.00
Miscellaneous: (taxis, tools, school books, rents, etc.) $35.00
Total (approximate) expenses for the year: $850.00.
Total expenses just about equal the total income. If the family has
 AMITY AT WORK 91

any special expenses, such as a wedding or an engagement, it must go

into debt if it has no savings. Under these circumstances the possi-
bilities for building its savings are small indeed for such a family. The
expenditures are much the same for all families in Amity, varying
more according to the size of family than according to income. That
is, families with a much greater income do not spend very much more,
but save the balance. Those rare families whose members spend
little on liquor can manage to save some money in a good year for the
purchase of land, animals, etc.

PAYMENT

The family buys on credit during the entire rainy season. The total
debt for 1957 came to $115.01, while the total rainy season monthly
expenditures came to $114.38—which indicates that debt and rainy
season expenditures are synonymous. Most families follow the same
practice, using whatever small income they have during the rainy
season for expenses beyond what can be bought on credit in the shop
(such as rum, clothing, and doctor's bills). During crop-time, there-
fore, the customer must pay both his old bill and his current one, and
the problem of collection is of major concern to all shopkeepers. This
particular shopkeeper solves it by insisting that all customers join a
" s u s u " for the five months of crop-time. Our sample family must
pay its current bill each fortnight, plus $10 for the susu. The shop-
keeper holds all susu money. When the " h a n d " falls due, he keeps
whatever is necessary to pay the accrued debt, giving the customer the
remainder (nothing, in this particular case) and the family goes into
another rainy season free from debt. Thus, apart from the susu, a
customer need pay only his current account in crop-time, and he can
buy on credit in rainy season. A family which does not pay its susu
share is not extended credit the following year. 8
• The susu in its more customary form is quite popular in Amity. A g r o u p of
men—usually neighbors of the same economic and occupational level—will f o r m
92 AMITY AT W O R K

CLASS DIVISIONS

While the estate higher supervisory staff is non-Indian, the drivers—

the supervisors with whom the laborers interact most—are East
Indians from Amity. These men are important in the social life of the
village, and they control access to the most important means of
employment.
Occupations are rated superior or inferior in terms of the income
they provide. Only swineraising and such life-taking occupations as
crabcatching and fishing are considered to be intrinsically inferior.
Except for certain ritual activities, occupation has nothing to do with
caste, but it is to be noted that members of higher castes tend to cluster
in the better (more remunerative) occupations, such as small-farming.
While Amity contains no sharply defined socioeconomic class lines,
the village does exhibit, roughly, two economic classes. The upper
class is made up of those men who control access either to jobs
(estate drivers), or to riceland (landholders). Independent small
farmers, who also have jobs to offer, may be considered part of this
group, along with shopkeepers, who offer credit and thus access to
food in hard times. The lower class is made up primarily of landless,
ricefield-renting, cane-laborers.

a susu with contributions ranging from $10 o n up, with cach deciding when he
would like to receive his "hand." The money is used to meet special expenses:
a marriage, mortgage payment, down payment o n a taxi, etc. See Herskovits
(1947: 76-78) for an account of susu operations among the Trinidad N e g r o popu-
lation of Toco.
IV. Marriage and the Family

Kinship relations are of vital importance in the life of the

East Indian of Amity. His first allegiance is to his family, his next to
his wider circle of kin, and his third to those he considers "respect"
kin. For each relationship there is a term and an appropriate behavior.
An account of the kinship terminology employed in the village is
necessary to a discussion of the behavior involved. 1

1
All Hindi kinship terms are translated, not into the term in c o m m o n English
usage, but into the minimal term, or terms, necessary for accurate delineation of the
relationship. Chotki, for example, is translated as "younger brother's wife" rather
than "sister-in-law." The terms used in translation are: mother, father, sister,
brother, daughter, son, wife a n d husband. These are abbreviated, respectively:
Mo, Fa, Si, Br, D a , So, Wi and H u . T w o modifiers are used where seniority is a
factor: elder a n d younger, abbreviated El and Yo. Where more than one of the
above terms is used in translation, all except the last take the possessive case.
Thus, for example, F a F a B r S o S o should be read: father's father's brother's s o n ' s
94 MARRIAGE AND THE FAMILY

KINSHIP
In the following list the most c o m m o n term is given first, followed
by such noteworthy variations as occur. Considering the varied
origin of the founders of the village, and the differential acculturation
that has occurred, the degree of unanimity that exists may be con-
sidered surprising. It appears that a kind of leveling has taken place,
since the greatest a m o u n t of variation occurred in kinship terminology
lists given by older informants. The variant forms tend to disappear
as the informants become younger, but this should not be taken to
mean that the kinship lists of twenty-five-year-old, and even twenty-
year-old villagers are fragmentary or inconsistent. Hindi kinship
terminology gives no signs of weakening or dying out in Amity.
All terms in the following list are terms of address. The question
asked was, " W h a t do you call your ?" Terms of reference
would usually be the same, except for those called "by n a m e " or by
no term at all. For these, the usual term of reference is the appropriate
English word (e.g., "wife").
Ego's Generation (male speaking):
bhe (bheya) ElBr, FaBrSo, FaSiSo, MoBrSo, MoSiSo, FaFaBrSoSo,
etc., extended indefinitely. The term is used for all male
siblings and cousins senior in age to Ego. (Eldest Br is
sometimes called dada.)
bhdji Wi of anyone Ego calls bhe.
didi All female siblings and cousins senior in age to Ego.
bahnoi Hu of anyone Ego calls didi.
"byname" Any sibling or cousin junior in age to Ego. Also YoSiHu,
and Hu of any female cousin junior in age to Ego.
chotki YoBrWi, and Wi of any male cousin junior in age to Ego.
" N o name" Wi. Considerable variation: some use a "pet" name;
some men call their wives, " £ ! " which is equivalent to
"Hey!"; teknonomy is still another variation; etc. The
important thing is the avoidance of the Wi's name itself.
Many men say proudly they have never spoken their
Wi's names aloud.
 MARRIAGE AND THE FAMILY 95

WiBr, and any equivalent (that is, anyone she calls Br,
such as WiMoBrSo). A distinction is sometimes made
between Brs older and younger than Wi, calling WiElBr
barka sòr.
sàrahàj WiBrWi, or any equivalent.
sari WiSi, or any equivalent.
sàrùbhé WiSiHu, or any equivalent.
sàmdhì SoWiFa, DaHuFa, or any male of the generation of Fa
of any person Ego calls "son" or "daughter." (Two men
who are sàmdhì to each other may call each other bhé if a
close friendship develops between them.)
sàmdhin SoWiMo, DaHuMo, or any female of the generation of
Mo of any person Ego calls "son" or "daughter."

Ego's Generation (female speaking):

Same as for "male speaking," for both consanguineal and affinal
kin, with the following important exceptions:

barka HuElBr, or any equivalent.

bdrki HuEiBrWi, or any equivalent.
nandui HuSiHu, or any equivalent (anyone, that is, who calls her
sarahaj).
"by name" Same as for male speaking, except that it also applies to
HuYoBr, whom she should "properly" call chotka. (Wi
calls Hu by "no name" with same variations as in case of
Hu addressing Wi.)

First Ascending Generation (male or female speaking):

ma (me) Mo, sometimes Mo of spouse (see below). Considerable

variation from family to family, ma, in Amity, considered
"English," and some prefer me, as "Hindi" and thus
"sweeter."
pa (bap) Fa, sometimes Fa of spouse. Older people tend to use and
prefer bap.
dada FaELBr, and any male cousin of Fa senior in age to him.
Considerable variation: some use dada for Fa eldest Br
only, classing all others FaBrs together as FaYoBrs; some
call Fa eldest Br barka dada to distinguish him from other
96 MARRIAGE AND THE FAMILY

FaElBrs. In one case, Fa eldest Br was called barka bap

(big father). Occasionally, younger siblings begin to call
their eldest Br dada while they are all still children.
dadi FaElBrWi, or any equivalent.
kâkâ FaYoBr, and any male cousin of Fa's generation and
junior in age to him.
kaki FaYoBrWi, or any equivalent.
phûâ (phûphû) FaSi, and any female cousin (Fa's side) of Fa's generation.
A few informants claim to distinguish between senior and
junior FaSi, calling FaEISi barka phua, but I believe this
is a very rare practice.
phûphâ FaSiHu, or any equivalent.
rnâmà MoBr, and any male cousin (Mo's side) of same generation
as Mo.
marni MoBrWi, or any equivalent.
môsi MoSi, and any female cousin of Mo of same generation.
môsà MoSiHu, or any equivalent.
sâs (ma) WiMo, HuMo. sas is the "proper" term, but most people
seem to use ma.
sâsûr (pà) WiFa, HuFa. sasur is the "proper" term, but most people
seem to use pa.
"proper" suffix for any female relative of spouse in 1st
Ascending Generation (e.g., mdsi-asas). In practice, the
suffix is usually dropped, except at formal occasions,
-asasur "proper" suffix for any male relative of spouse in 1st
Ascending Generation (e.g., mamS-asasur), but usually
dropped except at formal occasions. For linguistic
reasons, certain changes may occur, as in dadwar-sdsur
for Wi (or Hu) FaElBr, and kakwar-sasur.

Second Asccnding Generation (male or female speaking):

aja FaFa, FaFaBr, and any male cousin of FaFa of his

generation. Some insist these should be distinguished in
terms of seniority, but few care, or are even aware that it
is "proper."
aji FaMo, FaFaBrWi, etc.
For most people, all males on Fa's side in 2d Asccnding
generation would be aja (e.g., FaMoBr, FaSiHu, etc.) and
 MARRIAGE AND THE FAMILY 97

all females (e.g., FaSi, FaMoSi, FaMoBrWi, etc.) would

be aji. Many are uncertain, and one old man insisted they
must "properly" be addressed by the term Fa would use,
preceded by the adjective ajiot (e.g., ajiota mama for
FaMoBr, ajioti most for FaMoSi, etc.).
nana MoFa, MoFaBr, and any male cousin of Ego's MoFa of
same generation. There was no further specificity made
—same term for MoMoBr, etc.—by informant who
insisted upon differentiating Fa's side.
nani MoMo, and any female of 2d Ascending Generation on
Mo's side.

Same terms are used, occasionally with the addition of the suffixes
-asas and -asasur, for appropriate 2d generation affinals.
Third Ascending Generation (male or female speaking):

par- For great-grandparents, Ego uses the same term used by

his Fa for the latter's grandparents (or by Mo for her
grandparents), plus the prefix par-. Thus: paraja for
FaFaFa and MoFaFa, parnana for FaMoFa and MoMo-
Fa, etc. Two variations: the prefix may become parp-
before aja and aji\ one informant preferred nani aja and
nani aji for MoFaFa and MoFaMo.

First Descending Generation (male or female speaking):

beta So, or So of any sibling, cousin, or sibling or cousin of
spouse.
dolahin (bahu) SoWi, or Wi of anyone Ego calls beta, dolahin (feminine
of dolaha—bridegroom) is used most frequently.
beti Da, or Da of any sibling, cousin, etc.
damdd DaHu, or Hu of anyone Ego calls beti.

"pet names" may be used for any of the above, but particularly for
those Ego considers his beta and beti.
Second Descending Generation (male or female speaking):

nati SoSo, DaSo, or So of anyone Ego calls beta or beti.

nat pato SoSoWi, DaSoWi, or any equivalent.
98 MARRIAGE A N D T H E FAMILY

natin SoDa, DaDa, or any equivalent.

nat damad SoDaHu, or any equivalent.
"pet names," or beta and beti, may be used for any of the above.
Third Descending Generation (male and female speaking):
Same as 2d Descending, with the addition of the prefix par-, as in
parnati for SoSoSo, SoDaSo, DaSoSo, etc. "Pet names," or beta and
beti may also be used.
Broadly speaking, it may be said that the people of poorer families
from districts outside of Beharri Road pay more attention to correct
kin terminology than do the wealthier families of Beharri Road. It
is on the latter street that one finds people using such English terms
as "uncle" or " a u n t , " or using personal names instead of kin terms.
Even on Beharri Road such usage is rare, but since this is the district
inhabited by most of those with education and with experience outside
the village, it does occur. There is no recognizable pattern: one man
may use the Hindi terms for FaBrs, but call his MoBrs "uncle";
another may call both FaBrs and MoBrs "uncle," and so on.
The foregoing list of terms refers only to usage among Amity
Hindus. While I have discussed kin terminology with some Muslims,
both in and out of Amity, I hesitate to make any categorical statement
about Muslim kin terminology. There are certain differences between
Muslim and Hindu usage that are widely known and remarked upon,
however. Muslims call F a M o and F a F a dadi and dada respectively
(instead of aja and aji), and all FaBrs caca, and their wives caci
(instead of dada, dadi, kaka and kaki). Interestingly, some non-
Muslim East Indians (that is, Hindu or Christian-formerly-Hindu) use
caca and caci instead of kaka and kaki as a conscious attempt to
avoid the use of kaka, which means feces in the Trinidad French-
Creolc patois.
The following generalizations may be made about East Indian
kinship in Amity:
The use of a non-Western terminology is close to universal in the
 M A R R I A G E A N D T H E FAMILY 99

village. Some "creolization" has taken place in the case of a few

families, but such cases are rare and by no means complete.
The kinship system reflects a " H a w a i i a n C o u s i n " terminology in
Ego's own generation, and is "bifurcate collateral" in the first ascending
generation, with considerable emphasis on seniority in both these
generations, less in f u r t h e r ascending ones, and none at all in descending
generations. 2
The system is capable of indefinite extension; there are no a r b i t r a r y
limits whatever. All male cousins of Ego are " b r o t h e r s , " no m a t t e r
how distantly related; all male cousins of Fa (junior) arc called kaka;
all male cousins of M o are called mamfi; etc. In practice, o n e is
closer to some relatives than to others, but in theory one is related t o
all, no m a t t e r h o w distant the connection.

It must be pointed out that East Indians have been in Trinidad f o r ,

at most, a little over one hundred years. Very few people have f o u r t h
or fifth cousins. But if they did, and even if they had tenth cousins,
they would still be " b r o t h e r s " and "sisters." This last point is very
significant in terms of Hindu East Indian marriage. The e x o g a m o u s
named patrilineal clan (gotra) described by Lewis (1958: 22-23) f o r
R a m p u r in n o r t h India, does not have a Trinidad counterpart. A
few of the old men know their gotra names and there may have been
a time, m a n y years ago, when gotra exogamy was enforced in the
rare cases where it became an issue. Few young adults t o d a y even
know what the w o r d gotra means, let alone the names of their o w n
gotras.
The larger kinship unit in Trinidad, therefore, is the "circle of k i n , "
or " k i n d r e d , " including all people to w h o m Ego is related, whether
' M u r d o c k defines bifurcate collateral terminology as o n e " i n which p a t e r n a l
a n d m a t e r n a l uncles a n d aunts are terminologically differentiated b o t h f r o m
p a r e n t s a n d f r o m o n e a n o t h e r " (1949: 141). In Hawaiian cousin t e r m i n o l o g y " a l l
cross and parallel cousins [are] called by the s a m e t e r m s as those used for s i s t e r s "
{ibid: 223).
100 MARRIAGE A N D T H E FAMILY

through his father, his father's mother, his mother, his mother's
mother, or whatever. In practice he will be closer to his patrilineal
kin, since he and they usually reside in the same village, but children
born into uxorilocal households grow up with greater ties to their
mother's brother and his family.
This circle of kin is the exogamous kinship unit. Ego may not
marry anyone he calls dldl (sister) and who calls him bhe (brother).
This holds only for Hindu East Indians; Muslims permit cousin
marriage. Hindus in Amity profess to find such a practice disgusting,
for they say it is a f o r m of incest.
This Hindu East Indian assumption that sexual relations between
cousins are incestuous can have unfortunate conscquences. Although
girls are prevented f r o m associating with young men, they are thought
to be safe in the company of "brothers," whether siblings or cousins.
Unhappily, the incest taboo may not have the strong inhibitory effect
upon cousins that it usually has upon actual siblings. During my stay
in Amity I knew of one case in which a girl had been made pregnant
by a second cousin, and there were rumors of other such incidents.
The parents of this particular girl expressed shock when they learned
the circumstances of their daughter's pregnancy, since they had never
considered the boy a conceivable threat to his "sister's" reputation.
A marriage was in the process of being arranged for the boy with a
girl from another village, and the parents of the pregnant girl had
been assisting, financially and otherwise, in the arrangements. Though
incensed at his behavior, they continued to give their assistance,
refusing to entertain the possibility of his marrying their own daughter
instead. The attitude of the girl's mother on this point was that she
was furious with the boy, but what he had done was bad enough; she
had no intention of compounding the evil by permitting an incestuous
marriage.
The kinship system is capable of indefinite extension in another
way. Any relative of a relative of Ego is an equal relative of Ego.
 MARRIAGE A N D T H E FAMILY 101

What might be termed a "rule of contraction" comes into effect, so

that once two men have established a kin relationship of the most
tenuous and distant kind, the relationship is immediately contracted
to the minimal terms necessary. This means, in effect, that an East
Indian in Trinidad has no "distant" relatives; he has only relatives
who live closer to, or further from his own home. There are those
relatives with whom he associates more, and those he sees only on rare
occasions. The latter are sometimes referred to as " f a r family."
The emphasis on seniority, noted in Amity East Indian kinship
terminology, is reflected in customary kin behavior. There is ap-
propriate behavior for every kin-kin relationship, and the behavior
is observed in Amity by almost all the villagers; there are severe
familial and community sanctions for inappropriate behavior. There
are, of course, differences to be observed, deriving f r o m familial or
individual idiosyncratic patterns, and from such special factors as
(in once case) FaSi-BrSo of identical age. Then, too, while there is
a generally proper way to behave toward a particular relative—say, a
MoBr—a man will have more than one mamS, each of whom is a
very different individual, and for each he would have varying feelings
of closeness, affection, and respect. I know of one case where a
particularly close relationship developed between a young man and
his FaSiHu—his phupha. Generally speaking, all juniors respect,
obey, and to a certain extent avoid, all seniors—while all seniors may
control and direct the behavior of all juniors. Males and females
behave "respectfully" in each other's presence, but try to avoid too
much contact. There are important exceptions and qualifications,
however.
"Joking" Relationships:
ElBrWi—HuYoBr (bhoji—chotka). These two men and women
are permitted to speak freely together, and to " j o k e . " Between these
two, "joking" consists of remarks on personal appearance ( " M a n ,
you ugly!"), dress, and habits, plus playful slapping, ear-pulling, etc.
102 MARRIAGE A N D T H E FAMILY

There are definite bounds, however, and speech or action which was
overtly sexual would be frowned upon.
SiHu—WiBr (bahnoi—sar). These two men are "joking" equals,
and may tease the other about appearance, dress, and habits. N o
anger may be taken at any remark, however personal.
S o W i F a — D a H u F a (samdhi—samdhi). These men are also " j o k i n g "
equals, and although some men maintain more or less formal relation-
ships, a friendly joke is permissible.
SiHu—WiYoSi (bahnoi—sari). The relationship here is more one
of "teasing" than "joking," with the bahnoi commenting on the fact
that his sari is a pretty girl, and the latter playing little pranks upon
her bahnoi.
HuSiHu—WiBrWi (nandui—sarahaj). These are an otherwise un-
related m a n and woman, connected to each other through marriage
with opposite-sex siblings. They have the strongest "joking" relation-
ship of all, and it is a rare East Indian who can even contemplate the
relationship without bursting into delighted laughter. They have
almost complete freedom to say or do as they please with each other,
barring actual sexual intercourse, and I have even heard rumors of
this happening. Broad sexual jokes, physical caresses, are permissible.
The idea of a brother and sister of one family marrying a brother and
sister of another family is completely unacceptable to East Indians.
The thought of a man having his own sister as a sarahaj is so shocking
as to be funny.

"Avoidance" relationships:
Hu—Wi. These will always endeavor to avoid calling each other
by name, using either an attention-getting signal ( " £ / " is a favorite),
or teknonomy (Pooran-A/e or Hari-"fadda"), or a special pet name
used by no one else. In the case of one "Christian" Indian couple,
they are called by their old Hindi names by everyone else, but call
each other by their new, "Christian" names.
 M A R R I A G E A N D T H E FAMILY 103

Male—Female. Apart from the exceptions noted in " j o k i n g "

relationships, males and females tend to avoid one another's company.
Brothers and sisters, for example, have little conversation together
after childhood. Note, for example, the case of the wife who left her
husband because he beat her. 3 When the brother came to learn
whether his sister were willing to return to her husband, he discussed
the problem with cousins, who in turn discussed it with his sister,
bringing him her opinion. She was too " s h y " to discuss the matter
with him in person. One may also say that something of an "avoid-
ance," or perhaps "deference," relationship exists between siblings of
the same sex but different ages.
HuEIBr—YoBrWi (barka—chotki). This is the most important of
the "avoidance" relationships. A barka must never be alone in the
same room with his chotki, he must never speak to her, and it is
considered advisable that he not look directly at her. Some people
feel that he should avoid her very shadow. If he should touch her
even accidentally, both experience a feeling of tremendous shame and
embarrassment. In the more conservative families, a barka who so
much as brushes against the clothing of his chotki is made to pay a
fine of a dollar or more to the family purse. There are those who
claim they have heard of fines as high as forty dollars. It is not fear
of the fine, however, which restrains the barka, but the genuine horror
at the thought. I know of three men, each a barka who had recently
moved from his father's home because of the discomfort caused by
the presence of one or more chotkls.

The East Indian capacity for indefinite extension of kinship is

expressed in still another way: under certain circumstances, pseudo-
kinship relationships may be established with non-kin. It might be
best to approach this phenomenon in terms of an analysis of the
general types of kin relationships recognized by the villagers. The
' See "Conflict and Sanction," pp. 206-20, in this book.
104 MARRIAGE AND THE FAMILY

terms they themselves use are "real family," "pun'kin-vine family,"

"bye-family" and "respect family."
Real family: This is Ego's entire circle of consanguineal and affinal
kin. The kinship terms listed earlier refer specifically to people in
this category. These are the individuals Ego visits and who visit him
at regular intervals. Ego is obligated to assist them in every way in
time of need, and expects them to come to his aid when necessary.
This "real family" is an exogamous unit. While the East Indian uses
the word "family" to include his entire circle of kin, a distinction is
sometimes made between "family in the house," "family to one side"
and " f a r (spatially distant) family."
Pun'kin-vine family: This expression is used to denote people with
whom some kinship relationship may be demonstrated, but only one
of the most tenuous nature. Such relationships often involve two or
more affinal connections. People related in this way are often com-
pletely unaware of one another's existence. A realization of the
relationship may come for the first time during marriage negotiations.
In theory, the existence of any kinship connection whatever should
be enough to end all discussion of marriage, but when both sides
agree that the relationship is so tenuous as to barely exist, it will be
dismissed as "pun'kin-vine family" and marriage negotiations will
continue.
Bye-family: This term is used for people with whom one has
established a Active kinship relationship. It includes immediate
neighbors within the village and the families of one's friends. It is
usually said that "bye-family" are those people, apart from "real
family," who come "in the house" regularly, and to whose homes one
goes regularly.
Respect family: Some villagers use the terms "respect family" and
"bye-family" interchangeably, but many distinguish between them
as I am doing here. The East Indian of Amity employs kinship terms,
"out of respect," for all adults of his parents' generation. Villagers
 MARRIAGE AND THE FAMILY 105

consider all children born in the village as " b r o t h e r s " and "sisters"
to one another. This has important implications, for the village is
conceived o f as an exogamous unit. One also has "respect family"
in the villages of one's mother's brother, one's father's mother's
brother, etc.
Since kinship terms are employed for both "bye-family" and
"respect family" in the same way, and since the line between the two
groups is hard to draw, it is easy to understand how the two groups
may be confused. For many people, however, there is a clear dis-
tinction. "Bye-family" are the families of neighbors and close friends.
"Respect family" are the more distant villagers, and perhaps the
"bye-family" o f relatives in other villages. A man can expect his
"bye-family" to come to his assistance almost with the same readiness
as his "real family." He expects no such aid from "respect family."
Marriage with "bye-family" is as unthinkable for the average villager
as is marriage with "real family." Marriage with "respect family" is
frowned on, but it does happen, and such unions may well receive
parental approval.
Appropriate kin terms are used for both "respect family" and
"bye-family," and a varying degree o f appropriate behavior obtains. 4
The terms used follow the internal logic of the kinship system. All
contemporary males are " b r o t h e r s " ; the sisters of Ego's " b r o t h e r s "
are Ego's "sisters"; the children o f Ego's "siblings" become Ego's
"children" and the parents of Ego's " b r o t h e r s " are addressed with
the appropriate terms of the first ascending generation, depending on
whether they are conceived of as "mother's side" or "father's side."
Since marriage in Amity is overwhelmingly virilocal and village-
exogamous, the people of the generation older than Ego's will be
contemporaries of his father, and he will call them " d a d a " or " k a k a , "
depending on their age relative to his father. A very old man in

4 Hereafter a kinship term in quotation m a r k s — e . g . , " m d m u " — w i l l signify

that the relationship is " b y e - f a m i l y " rather than " r e a l . "
106 MARRIAGE A N D T H E FAMILY

the village will be " a j a " to all the children. His wife will be " a j l . "
"Bye-family" of Ego's kin in another village become Ego's "respect
family" of the appropriate type. Contemporaries of MoBr, in the
village f r o m which Mo derives are called " m a m u , " and neighbors of
FaSi and her Hu, in the village of the latter, are called " p h u a " and
" p h u p h a , " etc. One might say that kinship extension, under this
system, is limitless, and indeed a favorite East Indian remark is, " W e
one big family."
The behavior followed is appropriate for the kin relationship. Ego
will " j o k e " with the wife of an older village-mate, calling her " b h o j l , "
and will avoid the presence of the wife of a younger village-mate,
calling her " c h o t k l . " Nevertheless, the intensity of the "bye-family"
relationship is, on the whole, less than the equivalent "real family"
one and "respect family" relations are even more attenuated.
There is a difference in appropriate behavior between "real family"
brothers as against both the "bye-family" and "respect family"
equivalent. While there is only one kinship term available for males
of the same generation, so that both " r e a l " brothers and " b r o t h e r s "
are called by the same term, one avoids " r e a l " brothers. On the other
hand, one has an intimate relationship with one's " b r o t h e r s " ; joking,
playing together, discussing sex, etc. It is said in Amity that brothers
can never be friends. It will be remarked reprovingly that two brothers
"behave like friends," and where this occurs, the excuse may be offered
that the two brothers are only a year apart and have been accustomed,
since childhood, to playing together.
In the case of sisters, interestingly, the distinction is between those
categorized as "bye-family" and those as "respect family." Sisters of
one's friends are accorded all the respect and circumspection given to
a " r e a l " sister, and most men would consider sexual intercourse with
the sister of a close friend a form of incest. The sisters of men in the
village with whom Ego is not close friends—that is, girls from distant
parts of the village—are considered by young men as fair game for
 M A R R I A G E A N D THE F A M I L Y 107

seduction, if not for marriage. Nevertheless, they are properly

"respect sisters"!

There are t w o forms o f " b y e - f a m i l y " which are w o r t h y o f special

note. One is dudhawat bhe, w h i c h might be translated as " b r o t h e r
o f the same m i l k . " If t w o children are suckled by the same w o m a n ,
the act makes the children something more than " b y e - f a m i l y " ; they
become " t r u e " siblings for all practical purposes, and friendship
between t w o y o u n g men w h o nursed in infancy at the same breast is
all but impossible—the " r e a l " fraternal relationship takes precedence.
A marriage between two people related only in this w a y is considered
more incestuous than a " b y e - f a m i l y " liaison.
There are specific rituals to be performed by certain kin o f the
bride and b r i d e g r o o m at weddings. If the specified relative is not
available, someone w h o is not " r e a l " kin may substitute. First choice
m a y go to a " b y e - f a m i l y " or "respect f a m i l y " equivalent, but a
complete stranger m a y be accepted if no one else is available. The
person w h o acts as a stand-in in such a ceremonial kin role automati-
cally becomes something more than " b y e - f a m i l y , " just as in the case
o f the dudhawat bhe. H e is accepted from then o n as the " r e a l "
kinsman o c c u p y i n g that position in the kinship structure.
There is still another f o r m o f " b y e - f a m i l y " which was once very
important but w h i c h is b e c o m i n g less so, perhaps because " r e a l " kin
networks are b e c o m i n g more extensive. East Indians w h o traveled
to Trinidad f r o m India on the same ship considered themselves " b y e -
f a m i l y " in much the same w a y as d o neighbors in the same village.
They would not countenance marriage between their children, and
much visiting back and forth t o o k place. 5 Some people keep up the
visits with the ship " b y e - f a m i l y " o f their grandparents, but may have
let the relationships lapse except where the families live close together.

5 Koss (1958) has reported on this phenomenon, discussing it in much greater

detail.
108 M A R R I A G E A N D T H E FAMILY

It is even said that people who were indentured on the same estate at
about the same time, considered themselves "bye-family." As the
present-day villagers recount it, Amity was settled in large measure by
people who had completed their indentures on the same estate, and
who had already begun to establish pseudo-kin relationships with
one another.
The term "sar," meaning wife's brother, is a perfectly respectable
and inoffensive word—as long as it is addressed to a n individual who
stands in that capacity to the speaker. When the word " s a r " is used
to address or refer to a man who could not by any stretch of the
imagination be considered the speaker's wife's brother, however, it
becomes the deadliest of insults. The implication of the term in such
a case is that the speaker has slept with the other individual's sister,
or, perhaps, that the other's sister has such a bad reputation that any
man may legitimately call her brother " s a r . " The term is used
particularly in a vulgar East Indian expression of contempt for the
Trinidad Negro, kirwal sar. The word "kirwal" is a corruption of
"creole." The use of " s a r " in this expression is said to reflect the
East Indian's contempt for the Negro, who does not watch over his
sister, wife, or daughter, and for the promiscuity which many Indians
believe the Negro woman to practice as a direct consequence of this
absence of " p r o p e r " supervision.

MARITAL UNIONS

Any examination of East Indian marriage is complicated by the

fact that no Hindu pandit (priest) could legally marry anyone until
the passage of the Hindu Marriage Ordinance in 1946. A couple
united only by a pandit according to the rites of the Hindu religion
were said, in Trinidad, to be "married under the b a m b o o , " and the
union had no legal standing whatever. From 1946 on, more and more
pandits became licensed "Marriage Officers," and today it is the cx-
 M A R R I A G E A N D T H E FAMILY 109

ceptional marriage in Amity that is performed by a nonlicensed pan-

dit.
The illegality of the Hindu marriage had certain important effects.
The female spouse was not legally a "wife." She was not entitled to
any kind of widow's benefits, and had no legal recourse if her husband
deserted her (except for the support of any children she may have had
by him). A m a n could contract as many marriages as he pleased
without danger of being prosecuted for bigamy. More important,
children of such unions had to be registered as "illegitimate," which
meant that no name could be entered in the birth record in the space
marked " f a t h e r . " Any close relative of the father, such as the father's
brother or sister, could contest the right of the "illegitimate" child to
inherit his father's property. This last was, and still is, the cause of
considerable conflict, and is a reason why most Amity men of wealth
dispose of their property to their children in their own lifetimes.
One might expect many East Indians to have arranged for a civil
ceremony, after their religious one, in order to make the union legal.
But, such legalizations were rare among all Hindu East Indians in
Trinidad. A few wealthy, Westernized Hindus did go through a
second, civil ceremony, to protect the inheritance rights of their
children. I know of one family, outside of Amity, in which the parents
legalized the union many years after the union first took placc, to
prevent their children from being stigmatized as "illegitimate" when
the latter went abroad to study.
In Amity, there were no legally married Hindu couples prior t o
1946.6 Villagers explain this by saying that as far as they were, a n d
are, concerned, a Hindu religious ceremony produced a perfectly
respectable marriage, and they could see no reason for going to the
additional trouble and expense of a civil ceremony. It is also true, of
course, that comparatively few East Indians in Amity had, or have,

• Muslim religious ceremonies became legally acceptable long before 1946 (see
Revised Ordinances, 1950: Chapter 29, N o . 4; and 1953: Chapter 29, N o . 5).
110 MARRIAGE AND THE FAMILY

anything significant in the way of property to bequeath. But this

cannot be considered the only reason people did not bother to legalize
their unions, for none of the wealthy, landholding families went
through civil ceremonies, either. A few people explained the failure
to have marriages legally registered as a kind of passive, unspoken,
resistance, reflecting the resentment felt by Hindu East Indians at this
" u n f a i r " treatment of their religion. I do know of one case in Amity
of a wealthy man who went through a civil ceremony "to protect my
children"—but after 1946, and after many years of marriage "under
the b a m b o o . "
While almost every Hindu marriage to which someone from Amity
is a party is now registered and therefore legal, the fact of legal
registration still has nothing to do with making a marriage respectable.
Legal registration is simply insisted upon today by the girl's family to
afford her protection against desertion and mistreatment and as a
sign of " g o o d f a i t h " on the part of the boy and his family. The boy's
family agrees to the condition of legal registration, sometimes with
good grace, and sometimes with a show of considerable reluctance—
which relates to the general fears, suspicions, and misgivings held by
all members of the boy's family about this strange female about to
be admitted into their home. Interestingly, the fact that registration
protects the right of children to inherit is not used by either side as
an argument for the registration of the marriage.
"Respectability" in marriage derives primarily and almost solely
from the fact of familial, and more particularly, paternal, approval.
If both fathers have given their approval to the union, the marriage
will almost certainly have been solemnized by a Hindu ceremony—
but even if it has not, as long as both fathers are known to have given
their consent, the union will never be a subject of disapproving gossip.
The importance of paternal approval in determining marital
respectability cannot be overemphasized. Old, young, male, female—
even members of "unrespectable" unions—are all in agreement in
 MARRIAGE AND THE FAMILY 111

Amity. A marriage approved by both fathers, solemnized according

to Hindu rites, is "best"—legally recognized or not. Legal registration,
I was told in every case, was advisable, but only because it "protects
the wife." On the other hand, a union set up in the face of paternal
disapproval was absolutely unacceptable. It would be a " s h a m e " to
both families and a source of ridicule and contempt for the village as
a whole. And whether or not such a couple had gone through the
formality of a civil ceremony, every single informant said, had
absolutely n o bearing on the matter.
Some of the reasons for these attitudes, as well as the importance of
marriage in the life of the individual, are discussed in later pages.
Here, we are concerned with the different mating forms to be found
in Amity, and their relative standings in the eyes of the villagers.
Virilocal exogamous: In the ideal and most c o m m o n form of marital
union the boy and girl are f r o m different villages, and reside, after
their marriage, in the home of the boy's father. The two are almost
invariably of the same Varna, and usually of the same caste. Ideally,
again, neither will have been married before, although it is permissible
for a man to remarry.
Marriages before 1940 are said to have been " a r r a n g e d , " while they
are described as being "free choice" today. The actual difference
consists solely of the fact that, today, both boy and girl are introduced
to each other before the marriage and each has the right to veto the
proposed match. Otherwise, as in the old days, the two fathers
usually initiate the proceedings, and handle all arrangements. There
are certain permissible variations. A young man may notice a girl in
another community and become interested in marrying her. He will
probably make the preliminary inquiries about her himself, and may
even approach her father on his own, though this is unlikely. At some
point, if the marriage is to be a respectable one, he must go to his own
father. The latter will investigate the girl and her family himself, and
if satisfied, go ahead with the arrangements in the normal fashion.
112 MARRIAGE AND THE FAMILY

This means that the boy's side has taken the initiative and will be a
source of pride to the girl in later years. If a boy is eager to marry,
or if a father decides it is high time his son had a wife, the father may
let it discreetly be known that his son is marriageable. In general,
however, a member of the girl's family—usually her father, but
occasionally her mother—initiates the proceedings.
Almost every Hindu East Indian has been through such a marriage,
and those who are not yet married expect in the normal course of
events to form this kind of union. Apart from those in other forms
of marital union, there is what might be called a variant form of this
one. The young couple simply live together without any ceremony at
all. For parents to acquiesce is rare, but it does happen. It usually
indicates that the girl is pregnant, or has a very poor father. Even in
such cases some abbreviated ceremony may be attempted.
Uxorilocal exogamous marriage: While Hindu marriages in Amity
are normally virilocal, it sometimes happens that the boy settles in the
village and often the home of the girl. This usually indicates the
marriage of a poor boy to the daughter of a comparatively wealthy
man, who is prepared to assist his son-in-law. In fact, a wealthy man
who has no sons is pretty much expected to search for a poor but
worthy young m a n , whom he will take into his home as a son. A
young man living with his wife's parents is mockingly called a
"ghardamda," and must be prepared to take occasional ridicule from
other young men of the village.
There are several explanations given for this ridicule: he is a stranger;
he is envied and resented by the other young men of the village,
particularly relatives of his father-in-law and their friends; and he
must, perforce, sleep with his wife under the roof of her father, which
is considered something of a shameful act. Also he is in an amusingly
equivocal position vis a vis his wife. Obviously, he cannot as easily
control her—in a situation where she can run to complain to her
father—as one can control a dolahin (bride) in one's own father's house.
 MARRIAGE AND THE FAMILY 113

His position is difficult in still another sense. The role of a dolaha

(bridegroom) in his own home is known and unarguable, and so is
the role of the dolahin in the home of her husband and his parents.
What, then, is the role of the ghardamdal Is he a kind of male
dolahin—as the boys tell him mockingly—to be ordered and cuffed
about? He is continually on the watch for mistreatment of this kind,
and the arrangement is indeed a difficult one.
Approved endogamous union: This is exceedingly rare. If it is a first
union for both boy and girl, it may have resulted from her becoming
pregnant. Sometimes, though, a boy and girl of the same village fall
in love and manage, after considerable difficulty, to prevail upon both
fathers to give their consent. They are unlikely to have a complete
Hindu wedding ceremony (though it is not impossible) and must
usually content themselves with a civil ceremony. Sometimes, they
simply begin living together without any ceremony of any kind. The
first question the neighbors ask in such cases is about the attitude of
the parents. Once it is established that both fathers have at least
accepted the union, there is no scandal—though it would not be true
to say there is ever community approval.
"Keeper" union: This is a union in which the wife has been married
before. According to the Hindu religion, a woman may only be married
once, while a man may be married a number of times (whether this
means he is entitled to plural or serial wives is a favorite subject of
speculation). 7
In practice, even a man rarely remarries, preferring to avoid the
expense and complications of a second marriage. Once a man or
woman is widowed or separated, therefore, the family or the individual
seeks another partner in the same condition. The two may have a civil
' There are perhaps a half-dozen men in A m i t y — i n c l u d i n g a p a n d i t — w h o
maintain two wives. The women usually live in different houses in widely separated
districts. One man in Casecu, however, has two wives in the same house, and the
three of them get along together very well. Plural unions never have the approval
of the community, whatever form they take.
114 M A R R I A G E A N D T H E FAMILY

ceremony, it they have not had one before, or they may make a small
dinner for friends, which would be considered a form of public
announcement. Occasionally the man will visit friends and family,
saying simply: " Y o u know I need a wife. Well, I'm taking this girl
in [name of her village]." Most likely they will simply begin to live
together. Any woman living with a m a n who is not her first husband
is called a "keeper," whether or not she is legally married, although
some old people prefer to restrict this term to the female partner of
an "elopement." Even in such second unions, there is a tendency
toward village exogamy and caste (or at least Varna) endogamy, but
it is not as important as in the first type of union.
"Separation," while not uncommon, occurs in a minority of
marriages. Over 60 percent of the unions in Amity represent couples
mated only once—to each other. Still, there are a substantial number
of people whose first marriages have broken up. 8 If a marriage is
going to break, it will usually happen within the first year. The partners
are usually quite young and inexperienced sexually and in other ways.
Sexual incompatibility is a frequent cause of marriage break-up,
particularly if the girl turns out to have had sexual experience before
marriage, and the boy none. On the other hand, the discovery that
his wife is not a virgin, while it will disturb a man, will usually not
cause him to send her home. Among other reasons, he would be
ashamed to have his friends know he had been fooled.
Frequently the boy is not quite an adult in other ways. He may
prefer to spend his time on the cricket field, ignoring his wife com-
pletely. Unsure of himself, he may range from ignoring her to beating
her, without ever doing anything to gain her affection. Finally, it is
important to note that in most cases the boy and girl are essentially
strangers to one another at their wedding, even if they have met a few
times before. To his family, she is an object of considerable suspicion.
Will she respect her new husband and his parents? Will she be obe-
s
This group also includes widows and widowers.
 MARRIAGE AND THE FAMILY 115

dient? Will she work hard? Can she learn to do things their way?
Her first taste of the hard life of a dolahin is apt to be an unpleasant one.
So some first marriages do break up. However, if it may be said
that it is paternal approval that makes a marriage respectable, it is
the birth of the first child that makes the marriage a stable union.
Once a child has been born, the dolahin is no longer a complete alien;
she is the mother of the grandchild in the home. An East Indian
woman might leave her husband, but she hesitates to leave the father
of her children. If she takes the children with her another man might
mistreat them, but can she bear to leave them behind?
Men say, too, that they developed a different attitude toward their
wives and toward the idea of marriage once a child was born. A man
with a child "feels f u n n y " about carrying on an affair with another
woman, and he feels, for the first time, a sense of family responsibility.
In the rare cases where couples with children have separated, it is
likely that the children will be raised by their paternal grandparents,
while both parents form other liaisons elsewhere. In a sense, there is
a feeling that grandchildren belong to their paternal grandparents.
Frequently, the dja and ajl are the ones who do the actual raising of
the children, while both parents are off working on the estate. Even
when the dolahin stays home, she has so much work to d o that she
has little time for the children; and care of the grandchildren is the
only help her mother-in-law is likely to offer. In a number of cases
in Amity, where families have no sons, or the sons have married and
gone elsewhere to work, a grandchild is given to the grandparents to
raise. Such grandparents say they are "entitled" to a grandchild.
"Elopement"; An elopement, as the term is used in Amity, is any
union made without the approval of the parents. Even if only one side
objects, and refuses to countenance the union, it causes a scandal in
the village. Whether or not the couple have gone through a civil
ceremony has nothing to do with the matter. If, later, they manage
to secure parental approval the scandal is lessened, but it is never
116 MARRIAGE A N D T H E FAMILY

completely forgotten. If a girl has been married once before, some

would say it is not a real "elopement" but a form of "keeper" union,
though not a very nice one. Men and women who had "eloped" were
the only ones in Amity who exhibited embarrassment when, in the
course of an interview, questions were asked about the nature of their
marital union.
Most "elopements" occur between boys and girls of the same
village, and of widely separated castes. This is because the couple
will usually make an effort to secure the permission of their parents.
If the only objection to the marriage is that it would be village endo-
gamous, parental approval may possibly be sccured, although it is
given reluctantly. It is very unlikely to be secured, however, if there
is also a wide caste separation—particularly if the boy is of a low caste
and the girl of a high one. The "elopement" may be secret, or it may
occur openly; it is an "elopement" if one or both fathers withholds
approval.
One of the greatest scandals Amity has known in recent years was
the "elopement" of a Brahman girl with a Camar boy. Instead of
fleeing from the village, they took up residence on Beharri Road,
and the young man took over the land the girl had inherited from her
deceased father. Both sides disowned them, and a "village panceyt"
was called in an attempt to punish them, but the attempt failed. 9
An interesting case is that of the daughter of a CattrT of Amity.
She fell in love with one of the sons of a wealthy Dusad family. Her
father refused to give his permission explaining that he would never
consent to perform a pou puja (a rite of the marriage ceremony), 1 0 in
which he would have to wash the feet of a Dusad. When she persisted

* See "The Village Panceyt and the Courts," pp. 192-99, in this book.
10
This ceremony, incidentally, is considered to constitute a promise by a girl's
father that he gives his daughter unselfishly, asking nothing in return. So
complete is the disassociation that most men will never again accept f o o d f r o m
their daughters. This is another reason why the ghardamda, w h o s e wife c o o k s
for her parents, is held in contempt.
 MARRIAGE AND THE FAMILY 117

in her determination her father said she was free to walk out of his
house to the home of her lover, but that he, her father, would never
speak to her again.
In broad daylight, with her father watching unmoving from his
window, she left the house and walked down the road to the home of
the Dusad boy. Her father, who lives only a quarter of a mile away,
has never spoken to her or even mentioned her name in the half-dozen
years since the "elopement." Other members of her family do speak
to her secretly. It is said in the village that she has had a miserable
life, although she was accepted into the Dusad home. Villagers say
that the family of her husband mistreat her unmercifully, partly
because they are a cruel family, and partly because she has never had
a child, but mostly because the Dusad family knows she has no father
or brothers to aid her.
Another daughter of this same Cattri fell in love with a young
member of a respectable AhTr family in the village. Again the father
refused permission. The boy was her " b r o t h e r " and he was also of
lower caste. An AhTr is not as low as a Dusad, however, and from all
accounts the father was not quite so harsh with this daughter as he had
been with the first. He promised to arrange a good match for her with
a fine young Cattri boy, but while he was searching for one, the girl
committed suicide. The father grieved for her, but told his friends—
who told me—that he was prouder of this daughter than of the o t h e r ;
at least she hadn't shamed him. Unable to obey him, she had killed
herself. But she was not disobedient.

THE LIFE CYCLE

In the course of a normal lifetime, the East Indian of Amity will

experience a patterned sequence of ceremonial and social events.
There are certain things the villager will have to do or have others d o
for him. The sequence is different for males and females, but is the
118 MARRIAGE AND THE FAMILY

same for all castes in the village. This East Indian life cycle, involving
as it does the almost certain expectation of marriage as well as the
relocation of the girl to an alien village, represents one of the most
striking ways in which Trinidad East Indian social structure differs
from that of their Creole neighbors.
There are two or three men in Amity with considerable religious
education who speak of the sora sanskar (sixteen sacraments). They
believe that all good Hindus in India observe all the sanskar. Among
other things, the sanskar include the four traditional "stages" (asrama)
of a holy Hindu life: brahmacarya (the chaste student); grihastha (the
householder); bana-prastha (the ascetic hermit); and sannyasa (the
holy mendicant). Few in Amity apart from these men have ever even
heard of the sora sanskar. As Lewis writes of the village of Rampur
in India, after discussing some of the sanskar, "these ideal stages bear
little resemblance to the present-day life cycle" (1958: 45-47; see also
Stevenson 1920).
The following is a brief analysis of the Amity life cycle, including
the rites de passage.
Birth: Most women travel to their parents' home for the birth of at
least their first child. Since East Indian marriages are customarily
village exogamous and virilocal, this means that a large part of the
population of Amity was actually born elsewhere on the island. When
one asks a person the name of the village from which he comes, he
gives the name of his father's village; it was there he was raised, and
it is there that he belongs.
Soon after the baby is born the father visits a pandit, giving the
latter the day and hour of the baby's birth. The pandit casts a horo-
scope for the child, and tells the father the only possible initial letter
the child's name can have. Either the father or the pandit then chooses
the name. This name, called the "pandit (or 'planet') name," will be
kept secret by the child and his family—so secret, sometimes, that if
the father dies or deserts the mother, the child may never know its
 MARRIAGE A N D THE FAMILY 119

" t r u e " name! A second Hindi name is given—but one that has
nothing to do with this particular child's " p l a n e t " — a n d will be the
one used publicly, since this "calling n a m e " will be of no use to any
evil person who might wish to learn the child's " p l a n e t " and so injure
him. Some people even feel uneasy about the use of "calling names,"
and to be on the safe side, substitute pet names, English names, or
nicknames. 1 1
For six days after the birth the baby and mother may not leave the
house or be visited by the father. A midwife, usually of the C a m a r
caste, 12 cares for them both during this period. On the evening of the
sixth day the mother and baby are bathed and "purified" and a
celebratory feast called a catthl is made. Female relatives and
neighbors attend, and there is a long night of ribald rejoicing. N o men
are permitted in the house during a catthl, but the father, who will
soon see his child for the first time, usually buys drinks for his friends
at the rum shop.
Some of the wealthier families prefer t o hold the birth celebration
on the twelfth day, in which case it is known as a barahi, and is of
greater magnitude. Once the mother and baby have been "purified"
they may leave the house during the day. The night dew is feared by
all, and mothers of newborn children are admonished not to go out
at night; the dew could not only cause them to sicken, but through
them might infect the child.
The baby's head is usually shaved at the time of the catthl, if it is
11
A villager usually considers that he has only one name, his "calling name,"
and he carries his father's "calling name" as his o w n "title" or surname. A w o m a n
uses her father's name as a "title" until she marries, after which she is called by her
husband's "calling name." Thus, Bhola, the son of S o o k d e o Gopal, would call
himself Bhola Sookdeo. If he marries Soolin Baljit, she would become "Mistress
Bhola."
11
Midwifery is looked upon by Hindus as an "unclean" occupation, and it is
practiced in Amity usually by Camar women. The government requires such
women to be licensed, however, and they exhibit their prestige-giving papers
proudly.
120 MARRIAGE A N D T H E FAMILY

done at all. If it is not, the baby's first haircut is given on the first
G o o d Friday following its birth, near the Roman Catholic Church
in Siparia in southern Trinidad. Hindus believe that the "Virgin of
Siparia" is actually an incarnation of a Hindu deity, whom they call
" S o p a r l - m e . " 1 3 Alternatively, the first haircut may be given during
the celebration of Siw Ratrl.
Childhood: Weaning a n d toilet-training are often delayed until
quite late, and for some children may not take place until the age of
five when they begin school. With the presence of a nursery school in
the village, now, toilet-training is beginning to take place at an earlier
age. Infancy ends and childhood begins with the entrance into school.
Many date their first "serious beatings" from this point. For the
first time the child's circle of acquaintance extends beyond the im-
mediate family and its neighbors. N o t only will the child learn new
games, but the separation of the sexes, in terms of both association and
type of play, begins at this time.
The young child has few duties at home. Both boys and girls will
have to help with the fetching of water, and the girl may have to help
with the smaller children. They may assist beyond that, the boys
working in the garden and rice field and the girls in the kitchen, but
there is no strong pressure on them.
Puberty: At about the age of twelve or fourteen, a boy of a Brahman
or Cattrl family may go to the pandit to receive the janeo, or sacred
thread. Today many families do not bother with the ceremony.
Generally, therefore, the boy's entry into puberty is not marked by
any ceremony or sudden change in his life.
For the girl, however, the menarche usually marks the end of her
schooling. From now on until her marriage, she will stay close to the

13
T h i s is an interesting e x a m p l e of what Herskovits has termed a religious
syncretism, a form o f reinterpretation. It may be compared with the identification
of African deities with Catholic saints as in Haitian Vodun—but in this case the
identification is reversed! (See Herskovits 1949: 553-54; and 1938: 38-39.)
 MARRIAGE AND THE FAMILY 121

house, leaving it only in the company of some member of her family.

She will have more work to do at home, and it is important that she
learn to cook and sew well, since these skills will be helpful in the
search for a husband. In many families, however, there is a feeling
that these are the last years of childhood for a girl; soon enough she
will be a dolahin (bride) working hard in some alien household, and
so not too great a burden of work is forced upon her.
Sexual intercourse is a subject of increasing interest and discussion
a m o n g the adolescent boys. The boys are shy and uncertain and the
girls are not too accessible, and many a m a n has told me that his
first sexual experience was with an older married woman whose
husband was away working. The boys claim they prefer girls of their
own age, and they soon learn the techniques for getting the girls
away from familial observaiion. It is a generally held assumption in
the village that no female has any capacity to resist sexual advances.
Only the continually watchful eyes of her family can protect her. Let
a young man get her alone, and he and she automatically assume that
sexual intercourse is inevitable.
Marriage: Years ago, in Amity, marriages commonly took place at
the time of puberty, or even before. Today, a boy is considered of
marriageable age from the time he is sixteen until he is around thirty
—and even a man over thirty has no real difficulty in securing a wife
if he should finally decide to marry. A girl, on the other hand, is really
marriageable only between the ages of fifteen and seventeen, and an
unmarried girl over the age of eighteen becomes a serious problem for
her father. In rare cases, husbands have been found for girls as old
as twenty. If the father delays too long, neighbors may begin to
whisper disapprovingly that the girl's parents are keeping her to care
for them in their old age. Gossips may even hint that the father is
sexually interested in his own daughter. The pressure, therefore is on
the father of the girl. Time is short, and the longer he waits the greater
the danger of the girl escaping the vigilance of her chaperones.
122 MARRIAGE A N D T H E FAMILY

The girl's father literally sets out to find a boy. He cannot take one
from his own village, and he prefers not to go to any village where
he has family if he can help it. In the old days, he would probably
have consulted an agwa,1* who traveled continually about the island
noting the homes containing eligible young men. Today he must rely
on his own efforts and on the advice of friends.
When he locates a boy, he must investigate the family. He will
usually want a boy of the same caste as himself, or of a close caste of
the same Varna. He must be certain that no kinship relationship
exists between the two families; that the boy's family are decent
people who are unlikely to mistreat his daughter; and that the boy
himself is respectable and hardworking. Once the father of the boy
becomes interested in the girl, he will have to make similar inquiries
in her village, in an attempt to determine her character and behavior.
Many modern young men like to make their own inquiries. With all
this, the information received is likely to be of a highly dubious
nature since few people would tell the truth about a member of their
own village to a total stranger.
In the past, when marriages were arranged, the two fathers would
make all decisions. Today, marriages are said to be made by free
choice. This means that at some point in the proceedings the boy will
be brought to the home of the girl, and the two will be introduced and
allowed to whisper together privately for a little while. Later on each
parent ascertains the willingness of his child to proceed with the
match. If either child objects the matter is dropped and the father of
the girl seeks another boy.
The business of finding a boy is a difficult, tedious, and expensive
one. One informant estimated, on the basis of his own experience
and that of friends, that a man usually interviewed a r o u n d five boys
14
Y o u n g people in A m i t y t o d a y refer to a n y o n e w h o c o n t r i b u t e s t o t h e ar-
r a n g e m e n t of a successful m a r r i a g e as an agwa. O l d e r people prefer t o reserve the
term for the professional m a r r i a g e b r o k e r , n o longer to be f o u n d .
 MARRIAGE A N D THE FAMILY 123

before finally managing to "engage" one. With taxi trips, loss of

work, a small fête each time, and other expenses, he estimated that
each prospective bridegroom cost the father close to ten dollars. My
informant, himself, had been through eight young men before finally
securing one. Many young men, he said bitterly, look u p o n the
"viewing" of a girl as a kind of sport, to be engaged in even when
there is no real intention of getting married.
Assuming that all goes well, the boy continues to visit the girl for a
number of months and slowly they become acquainted. Eventually,
both sides satisfied, the chëke (engagement) of the boy takes place in
his home, with the men of both sides present. The engagement of the
girl, with a similar ceremony in her father's house, was once considered
a custom of only Sudra people, but today it is practiced by many
members of the higher castes as well. For Amity this represents the
rare example of a custom moving upward, from low caste to high.
The date for the wedding is decided by a pandit, after consulting
the horoscopes of both young people. Years ago the wedding might
be held at any time during the week, and would be an all-night affair.
In recent years, however, night weddings have been disappearing, and
I observed none at all during my study. Today, weddings take place
on Sunday afternoons.
A Hindu wedding in Amity is a lengthy, intricate, and expensive
affair for both sides. It is becoming more and more customary to
forego the tïlâk ceremony (giving of the dowry to the boy), formerly
held two weeks before the wedding at the boy's home. Tïlâk is now
given during the opening ceremonies of the wedding itself.
Each side must prepare an extensive feast for the people of its
respective village. A "small wedding" is considered one in which
food is prepared for only 200 to 300 people. 1 5 The minimum cost of
15
In theory everyone is welcome at a wedding feast, but more people are likely
to be attracted to a wedding in the home of a wealthy man than to one in the home
of a poor man.
124 MARRIAGE A N D THE FAMILY

such a "small wedding" is $60 to $75, for f o o d alone. The wedding

will be held at the home of the girl's father, and he will have to enter-
tain the guests (all male) who come with the barat (wedding pro-
cession). On the other hand, the boy's father will have to rent a car
f o r the whole day. There are m a n y additional expenses: tilak and
kicari16 gifts from the girl's father and his family, presents of jewelry
a n d clothing f r o m the boy's family to the girl, gifts to the pandits, etc.
A "big wedding" is one in which preparations are made to feed
400 to 500 people or more. N o one keeps records of the exact ex-
penditures, but one informant, after m a r r y i n g off his daughter in a
" b i g wedding," estimated that he had had the following expenses:

One bag of flour (200 lbs.) $20.00

One bag of rice (320 lbs.) 45.20
Potatoes ("Irish") (200 lbs.) 16.00
dal (split peas) (50 lbs.) 8.00

$89.20

In addition, the cost of the feast included m o n e y spent for " p u m p k i n "
(squash), masala (curry), cooking oil, a n d other culinary incidentals.
These brought the cost of the feast alone to well over $120, he estimat-
ed. He gave a tilak (dowry) of $120, which was a little more t h a n the
customary $100 for a "big wedding." 1 7 There were still further ex-
penses. A m o n g other things, he had to hire a " m i k e " (sound truck)
to play records continually for almost twenty-four hours, and he had
to give his daughter both a wedding sari (gown) and a traveling dress.
With kicari and incidental gifts, the wedding cost him a minimum of
$300, he said.

19
Kicari consists of gifts of money presented by members of the girl's family
t o the boy, at the end of the wedding ccremony, to cajole him into tasting food and
thereby declaring the wedding completed.
17
In the old days, it is said, tilak consisted of a cow or a few goats, rather
t h a n money, and kicari rarely amounted to very much.
 MARRIAGE AND THE FAMILY 125

When it is realized that any man with annual income of over

$1,000 to $1,500 is expected to make a "big wedding," it will be
understood what a tremendous financial drain a wedding is for a
Hindu family in Amity. Poor families may wind up seriously in debt.
Even wealthy families who cannot stint in any way without losing the
respect of their neighbors have difficulty meeting all the expenses
unaided.
The family may save for years to prepare for the wedding, or it may
take out a loan when the time comes. A favored way of meeting the
expenses is by membership in a dâheja—a village organization of
household heads pledged to assist one another at weddings. The
largest one, on Beharri Road, has over one hundred members. There
are smaller dâhejas on Lloyd Street and in Casecu. The normal con-
tribution per member in the smaller dâhejas is fifty cents per wedding.
In the Beharri Road dâheja, the normal contribution is at least one
dollar, and wealthier men, who will need more when their times come,
are expected to give more to others. A dâheja member can expect to
be called upon to contribute to about fifteen weddings during the
"wedding season" which lasts from March through July. A few
wealthy men are not members of any dâheja. Proudly, they note
possession of their own "pot and spoon."
Additional wedding expenses may be incurred by families that are
neither making a wedding of their own nor fulfilling a dâheja obliga-
tion. One must make a special contribution at the wedding put on by
a close friend ("bye-family") and contribute to the kicarlat the wedding
of a daughter of any relative. Many people keep a record of who
gives—and how much—at their weddings, as a guide to their obliga-
tions at the future weddings of their relatives and friends.
The wedding proper may be said to begin with the cercmony of
ûlhâwe hârdï, in which the boy and girl—each in his own home—is
daubed with saffron. This takes place on the Friday preceding the
Sunday wedding. From then until the third day after the wedding,
126 MARRIAGE AND THE FAMILY

the boy and girl are considered to be in a state of " d a n g e r . " Neither
may leave his house unaccompanied during this period, and both
must wear amulet bracelets containing iron to protect them from
malevolent spirits.
On the Saturday night before the wedding, the " c o o k i n g " for the
next day's feast takes place. The family is assisted through the night
by relatives, neighbors, and friends, and particularly by members of
the dáheja. Entertainment is provided.
Preparations for the wedding ceremony begin early the next morn-
ing, as soon as the " c o o k i n g " is completed. There is hardly a noti-
ceable break between the two activities. The barát—a procession of
taxis containing the male friends and relatives of the groom, and led
by the doláhá (bridegroom) in a decorated car—departs around 1 P.M.
It returns around 7 P.M., carrying the new bride to her husband's
home. 1 8
Years ago, when boys and girls were married at the age of eleven
or twelve or even younger, they were not permitted to sleep together
until they were at least thirteen or fourteen. Today, when the girl is
brought to the boy's home, she sleeps away f r o m him for the first
three nights. After a ceremony in which the amulet-bracelets are re-
moved from both bride and groom, the bride is taken back to her
home for a three-day visit. Her husband then brings her back to his
home once more and the marriage is usually consummated that night.
Next day she enters upon her full duties as a daughter-in-law. From
now on her hair must always be covered by an orhini (veil) when she
is in the presence of her husband's male relatives and friends. She is
a married woman.
From start to finish, the Hindu wedding is conducted in an at-

18
T h e w e d d i n g c e r e m o n y is protracted and involved, and space d o e s not
permit a detailed analysis here. See Smith and Jayawardena (1958) for an analysis
of H i n d u marriage c u s t o m s in British G u i a n a . Trinidad H i n d u marriage is
essentially similar, t h o u g h there are a few important small differences.
 MARRIAGE AND THE FAMILY 127

mosphere of mutual distrust, fear, and even hostility. The boy's

family is worried about this stranger who is joining them. Will she be
faithful to her husband and obedient to his parents? Will she work
hard? Can she bear children? The girl's family is worried about the
treatment the girl is likely to receive. The girl herself is most nervous
of all. She is leaving her home and her family to take up residence
with a strange family in a distant village. She has heard stories about
the girls who have been starved, overworked, badly beaten, and even
killed, by unfeeling mothers-in-law. She cannot help but wonder
about her own fate.
Married Life: Marriage represents much more of a change in the
life of a girl than it does in that of a boy. Before this he had to share
a bed with one or more brothers; now he has a wife and together they
have a bed in a room of their own. Beyond that, and the fact that he
now has a sexual partner, his life has really not changed very much.
He has his meals at the same times, perhaps served n o w by his wife
instead of his mother, and he occupies the position he always did in
his father's home. He will probably continue to give the m a j o r share
of his earnings to his parents. His social life continues to be in the
company of his male friends; playing cards, playing cricket, and going
to the movies. It is still the rare dolaha who will even occasionally
take his wife to the movies.
The girl, on the other hand, is expected to shoulder the full burden
of the household chores. Many a mother-in-law ceases all work the
day her first son marries, and says triumphantly (as one did, in Ami-
ty): " M e have a dolahin, n o w ! " The daughter-in-law must cook,
clean, and d o all the washing. She is the first to rise and the last to
eat. If it is a large family, and she is the only dolahin, her life will
indeed be hard. With all this, she is likely not to be accepted as a full
member of the family until her first child is born.
As time goes on, life will get better for the dolahin. Once she has a
child, her marriage becomes more secure and so does her position in
128 MARRIAGE AND THE FAMILY

the house. Her mother-in-law is likely to help her, at least with the
care of the child. She may make friends with the sisters and female
cousins of her husband, and the wives of his brothers and friends.
Slowly the village becomes less alien. During the first year of her
marriage she visits her family frequently (often every month or two)
if finances permit but as the years go on the visits dwindle in frequency
and duration. 1 9 As her husband's younger brothers get married, she
will have sisters-in-law to share the work under the direction of their
c o m m o n mother-in-law. When her husband's parents die, the joint
family usually breaks up. The wives are frequently responsible for
the break-up, for each wants her own home and kitchen. When the
the woman's first son marries, she will be a mother-in-law, and can
retire from active labor in the house.
For the man, on the other hand, life becomes more difficult as time
goes on. Once children are born, his sense of responsibility increases
and his freedom decreases. Children and parents of one nuclear unit
share the same room and usually the same bed. As the man grows
older, he must spend more time working and less time playing. His
father grows old and now he must shoulder the family responsibilities:
findings husbands for his younger sisters, jobs for his younger brothers,
and money for household expenses. He will be expected to represent
his family at the ceremonies and weddings of others. He must provide
money for the education, medical care, and finally the marriage of
his children. He has obligations to his relatives, in the temple, to his
hfir-mates, and he is in debt to the shopkeeper and perhaps to the
bank. Men in their thirties look back on their lives, only ten years
before, as times of careless, irresponsible pleasure.
OU Age: Once the daughters have been married and the sons all
have wives in the house the cares of both mother and father are
19
But they rarely s t o p completely. It is simply that other d e m a n d s have
b e c o m e more pressing. A l m o s t every Sunday, in fact, members of any village
family are away visiting, or the family itself is entertaining relatives.
 MARRIAGE AND THE FAMILY 129

lessened. They can work if they choose, or they can sit with their
friends and gossip and smoke. The women play with their grand-
children, and the men often turn their attentions to religion. In old
age, the woman frequently is more fortunate than the man, for she
has daughters-in-law to rule over. A son will invariably side with—
and care more for—his mother than his wife. In the case of the father,
on the other hand, the reins of economic control pass to the stronger
hands of his sons, and where he once ruled them with the "lash,"
they may now beat him for coming home drunk.
Death: If a child under six or seven dies there is little ceremony and
a quick funeral. When an adult dies, taxis are immediately hired and
members of the family set out in all directions to notify relatives in
other villages of the funeral to be held the next day.
A wake is held during the night immediately following the death.
Though not as extensive an affair, it resembles the wake described by
Herskovits for the Trinidad Negro community of Toco (1947: 137-38).
The body is prepared for burial, and the family pandit will come to
make a brief prayer. A few friends will gather in the house with the
family. They will read f r o m the rameyn (Ramayana) until dawn, for
no one is permitted to go to sleep. Neighbors swiftly erect a tent of
bamboo poles and galvanized iron in the yard of the house, and
people f r o m the village will d r o p by during the night to pay their
respects.
The Amity wake is comparatively quiet; some of the younger men
play cards, and the older ones sit and talk softly. Those who wish
step into the house to view the body and to say a word of consolation
to the family. Periodically, members of the family come out and
serve coffee and cigarettes—and, very rarely, rum—to the men in the
yard. Even this much in the way of refreshment is considered a recent
innovation. People begin to drift home about midnight, and by 2
A.M. the wake is over, except for those in the house.
The funeral takes place about 4 P.M. the next day. Usually only
130 M A R R I A G E A N D T H E FAMILY

men follow the coffin to the cemetery. People put on clean clothes to
follow a funeral, but never a suit or a tie. Friends and neighbors help
to dig the grave, and a carpenter will help build a simple coffin for the
price of the wood. In Amity the dead are buried though cremation
sometimes occurs elsewhere on the island. A little camphor is burned
at the grave to symbolize cremation.
Expenses of the wake and funeral are not too high, since neighbors
and friends help with the work, and even the carpenter does not nor-
mally charge. Refreshments are minor, and the family can shoulder
all costs. No "Friendly Socicty" for funereal assistance has ever been
formed in Amity.
The period of mourning is nine days for a woman and ten days for
a man, during which time the men may not shave and no one may cut
his or her nails. At the end of this time the "shaving" takes place on
the bank of the river north of Amity. A member of the N o (barber)
caste comes to the house of mourning and cuts the nails of the women.
He then walks to the rivcrbank with the men of the family, accom-
panied by the male friends of the family, and particularly of the
deceased. Donning a dhoti, one male member of the family (the son
of the deceased, if there is one, or a brother) is shaved—head, face,
and armpits. One tiny lock of hair—the curkl—is left on the back of
his head. Other male members of the family have their faces shaved,
as do all men who wish to pay their respects to the dead.
The men then bathe in the river and a prayer is held on the bank.
Properly, a mahapitar Brahman 2 0 should officiate, but usually, these
days, the No conducts the ceremony. On the thirteenth day after the
death, the family makes a dinner, called a bhandara, for neighbors
and friends and this ends the period of mourning. Some people make
another bhandara a year later, but most do not.
Hindus of Amity rarely visit the graves of their dead; it is said that
10
This would seem to be the s a m e as the " M a h a b r a h m a n s " ( G r e a t B r a h m i n s )
w h o , according to H u t t o n , "officiate at the c r e m a t i o n of c o r p s e s " (1946: 69).
 MARRIAGE AND THE FAMILY 131

a good Hindu should not. In recent years many have taken to visiting
the cemetery on All Saints Night—as the Creole Roman Catholics
d o — t o light candles on the graves.

A U T H O R I T Y IN T H E FAMILY

Within the joint family, seniority is the usual source of authority,

though there are other factors that may often complicate the family
power structure. In theory, at least, every joint family has an "elder
h e a d " (the oldest male) who represents the family to the outside world,
and who controls the behavior of the members of the family. Under
his authority is the oldest female, who controls the behavior of the
female members of the composite household. In general, every older
person may control and direct every younger person, but in practice
an adult of one nuclear unit rarely attempts to regulate the behavior
of a child from another nuclear unit within the joint family, for fear
of causing strife. There are, however, tightly knit families where even
this occurs. Parents control children and children's children; older
siblings control younger ones.
The problem of the degree of nuclear family autonomy is a knotty
one, and not infrequently it is the cause of household fission for there
is n o generally accepted solution. As long as the "elder heads" are
alive and maintain their authority, the family may remain together.
If the "elder heads" lose control, or if they die, the family usually
splits up unless there is someone—most often the oldest son—with
the ability to hold the family together. It is difficult even where the
oldest son exercises considerable authority over his brothers. While
a mother-in-law may run into problems trying to control two or more
daughters-in-law, it can be done. But the eldest daughter-in-law cannot
replace her, as the eldest son can sometimes replace his father. The
authority of the oldest brother goes back to childhood, but the wives
of the younger brothers have not grown up taking orders from the
132 MARRIAGE A N D T H E FAMILY

oldest brother's wife and will refuse to do it. It is said that the con-
flict between the wives of brothers is the most common cause of the
break-up of joint families, and one can see why. 21 In the few cases
where an oldest brother has replaced the father successfully as head
of the family, either the mother is still alive to control the daughters-
in-law, or each brother's wife works independently, sometimes with
her own kitchen.
The power of the "elder h e a d " derives partly from the familiar and
recurrent pattern of behavior. He has been the authority f r o m the
time the children are born, and he is in charge of the work in the rice-
field and gardens, where he assigns tasks to his sons. The "elder
h e a d " controls the family purse and property and can wield the threat
of disinheritance over the disobedient child. There is the weight of
public opinion which frowns on filial disobedience, to bolster his
authority, and there is the threat of the "father's curse," which is
taken quite seriously. When a man has been cursed by his father and
if the curse is not subsequently retracted, it is believed that he will
never know happiness or success in life.
Physical punishment is the most common form of sanction for
disobedience within the family, whether it be a father punishing
children, a mother-in-law a daughter-in-law, a husband his wife, or
an older sibling a younger. A slap in the face is common, and the
lash is used for more serious offenses.
Ideally the eldest male is the "eldest head." In practice things
frequently work out differently. If the eldest male is enfeebled, a
drunkard, of low intelligence, illiterate, and/or impoverished, his
power is correspondingly weakened. For example, if the father is a
drunkard, and the family wealth is kept in the home—as it usually is
21
This is not to deny the importance of economic factors in the break-up, of
course, but villagers are m o r e aware in such circumstances of the conflict between
the women (cf. Rosenfeld 1958). Whatever else may contribute to the break-up
of the joint family, it would seem that conflict between sisters-in-law is certainly
the efficient cause.
 MARRIAGE AND THE FAMILY 133

except in the wealthiest and most " m o d e r n " families—the key to the
chest will be kept by some old woman, preferably his mother. The
man and his sons will make the decisions about how much is to be
spent, and for what, but they will have to go to her for the funds. She
would never refuse to give them the money, unless she suspects it is
to be used to buy rum. If a man becomes ill or otherwise incapacitated
his eldest son takes over control of the family. If a poor, illiterate m a n
has a son who has acquired an education and becomes a teacher, for
instance, the latter almost invariably becomes the true head of the
family, with the father having only the most minor titular authority.
Frequently, in such cases, the son will claim to be the head of the
family, but will admit that he avoids open conflict with his father,
who equally avoids conflict with him. 22
Where sons come into full control of the family property, it is often
said that they will lose respect for their fathers. For this reason, an
old man who has divided his property among his sons (to avoid
conflict after his death, and to get around the problem of the illegiti-
macy of his sons) usually insists on maintaining a life interest. The
property now belongs to the sons, but the old man continues to own
a share in all of it as long as he is alive.
Once a father has been supplanted as head of the family his situation
may become quite unpleasant. The new head or heads (his sons) may
decide to employ physical force to control or punish the old man,
and I have seen one old man beaten on the street by his two sons for
being publicly drunk. Reaction on the part of the neighbors was
mixed. Older people tended to feel it was " w r o n g , " but also the old
man's fault for allowing his sons to take over. Many of the young
men tended to sympathize with the sons, commenting on the "dis-
grace" of having a drunkard father. 2 3

22
N o t e h o w t h i s behavior parallels that o f the Irish c o u n t r y m a n in a similar
s i t u a t i o n ( A r e n s b e r g 1937: 87).
23
A " g o o d H i n d u , " like a " g o o d M u s l i m , " s h o u l d n o t drink a n y a l c o h o l i c bev-
134 MARRIAGE A N D T H E FAMILY

A "family council" is called, not so much to settle intra-family

disputes, but rather to decide on major problems, such as the purchase
or sale of land, the planning of a wedding or an expensive hatha
(religious ceremony), the building of a good house, etc. The assistance
of the relatives, either in physical or financial form, or both, will
probably be required. In families where the "elder head" is weak, a
small family council made up of the father, his wife, and his sons plus
perhaps a brother or two of the father, convenes to make decisions
for the family. Daughters-in-law do not normally participate though
they may be able to influence their husbands privately. Daughters,
soon to be married out, are never members of the family council.
A boy usually starts attending such councils when he passes his
seventeenth birthday, although there is no formal rule. Occasionally,
when the youth makes his first appearance, his father may shake
hands with him and announce, "You are now a man." Taking his
place in the family council may mark the end of the time he is called
beta (son), and the beginning of the use of a regular name.

INHERITANCE

Only a minority of the families in Amity have any owned property

to bequeath. However, even poor families have certain "rights" which
they pass on to their descendants. Most important of these is the
"right" to occupy the house and to rent the land on which it is situated,
and the "right" to the riceland rented by the family.
Girls cannot expect to inherit, for they marry into another family
and usually into another village. Only when a man has no sons, or
occasionally when a wealthy man has a favorite daughter to whom he
makes a present of an acre or so of land, will a daughter get anything.
In the former case, if the father has property, he will probably take

erages. Nevertheless, almost all men in Amity d o drink, and one knowledgeable
informant (a shopkeeper) guessed that about $20,000 is spent yearly in Amity
on rum. Drunkenness is considered particularly shameful in a man of high caste.
 MARRIAGE A N D THE FAMILY 135

his son-in-law into his house and make him—rather than the daughter
—the heir. While there are women among the East Indians of Amity
who own property, they are rare. In the few cases where a girl, living
elsewhere, has title to a piece of land in Amity, her brothers work it
for her and her husband comes to collect his rightful share of the
produce.
A man may leave his possessions to all his sons in equal shares,
or give the greater share to a favorite. Quite often the youngest son
is the favorite, but there is no conscious rule of ultimogeniture. What
usually happens is that the older sons move out of their father's
house (frequently motivated by the discomfort caused by association
with younger brother's wives). The father helps his older sons to build
homes and to become established in some occupation. The last child,
particularly if a boy, is generally his parents' pet and they are reluctant
to see him leave. Furthermore, he is usually just coming of age when
they die or become too feeble to work. As the last in the house, he
not uncommonly inherits it.
Possibly because he is a "pet," the youngest son is often the least
hard working of all his brothers. Many tales are told of "youngest
sons" in the village who inherited the lion's share of their father's
property and squandered it. So much bitterness has been engendered
by disputes over inheritance in the past that men today tend to prefer
to divide their property equally among all their sons. Since families
are large and holdings (particularly rights to rental) are small, this is
also an unsatisfactory solution for it often results in uneconomic
fragmentation, but the other alternative—leaving all to one son—is
something no East Indian in Amity will entertain.
The estate makes no trouble about transferring rental rights from
father to son, and neither do the families that rent rice land. There is
a legal problem, however, for those men who own land and are not
legally married. Their sons are illegitimate and may be deprived of
their inheritance by any "legal" relatives of the father, such as an
unscrupulous brother or sister (in her case, it might well be her husband
136 MARRIAGE A N D THE FAMILY

w h o is unscrupulous). I k n o w of at least one case where a man did

cheat his brother's son out o f his inheritance; the fear of this causes men
to divide up their property a m o n g their sons before their o w n deaths.
T h u s , there is patrilineal inheritance o f most goods and property.
Certain special techniques, such as caste practices (of N o s and
Brahmans, for example), also pass from father to son, as does caste
membership itself.
There is another line o f inheritance in A m i t y though it is o f c o m -
paratively minor importance. This is f r o m mother-in-law to daughter-
in-law. While a girl learns to c o o k f r o m her o w n mother, there are
certain refinements practiced by each family, ways in which their
c o o k i n g differs f r o m that o f their neighbors, that must be taught to
the new daughter-in-law. T h e differences are quite small in the eyes
o f the o b s e r v e r — t h e a m o u n t o f salt used in c o o k i n g , the a m o u n t o f
c o o k i n g oil, e t c . — b u t a w o m a n makes a great point o f the fact that
she must teach her daughter-in-law to " c o o k my w a y . "
A sharper example o f this rather special line of inheritance is
afforded by the practice o f midwifery. This is considered an " u n c l e a n "
occupation, and is practiced largely by w o m e n o f the C a m a r caste in
Amity. A w o m a n c a n learn the techniques o f the profession only
after she has had a b a b y herself. Before that, she is considered t o o
" s t u p i d . " A s one midwife explained to me, she cannot teach her own
daughters the trade before they are married, and once they are married
they live too far a w a y . She herself learned the mysteries of midwifery
f r o m her o w n mother-in-law, w h o learned them f r o m her mother-in-
law, w h o came f r o m India. A s soon as her y o u n g daughter-in-law
has her first child, the midwife plans to initiate her into the profession. 2 4

" Although inheritance from parent-in-law to child-in-law—what might

perhaps be termed socrutineal inheritance—has received little if any attention in
anthropological literature, it would seem likely that examples of it might be noted
wherever an individual is barred from certain practices (or from owning certain
things) until after marriage—and where, at the same time, residence after marriage
will be in the home of the spouse's parents.
V. Religion

NON-HINDU RELIGIONS

The prevailing religion of Amity is Hinduism, but other

religions are represented. There are, for example, some eight Muslim
families, all residing on Beharri Road and Thomas R o a d ; they tend
to cluster near the top of the Amity economic scale. Only two families
live in ajoupas, and of the two, one of the houses has a galvanized
iron roof. Three of the men are cane-laborers, but such occupations
as taxi driver, teacher, and fisherman-woodcutter are represented
among the Muslims. All claim to be "good Muslims" in that they
do not eat pork and would not marry non-Muslims.
Though it is probably true that none of them eat pork (nor, for the
most part, do their Hindu neighbors), more than one family contains
a case of intermarriage with a Hindu. At least one of the household
heads is a heavy drinker, and most of the other men will drink an
138 RELIGION

occasional bottle of beer. Since there are n o Muslim temples in

Amity, they must travel outside the village for religious participation.
None make a practice of regular Friday attendance, though most
will travel to a nearby village, where they have relatives among the
large Muslim population, for important religious and social occasions.
The derogatory Trinidad term " M a d i n g a " is sometimes used in
Amity to refer to the Muslims, but on the whole there is little friction
between Hindus and Muslims in the village. The Muslim group is so
small and so peripheral that it is ignored rather than mistreated. Only
one Muslim man living in one of the " b e s t " houses has any real social
importance in the community, and his position is a delicate one. A
few years ago he was the captain of one of the most successful cricket
teams the village ever produced, and he is considered today one of
the leading authorities on cricket in the village. He is distressed
because the leaders of the new teams of young men prefer to consult
Hindu men of substantially lesser renown for advice or coaching.
When the Amity Hindu School burned down, his house was one of
those used as temporary quarters. Despite its convenient location,
when he offered the house there were some Hindus in the village who
argued against accepting, simply because of his religion. He will be
consulted on some matters affecting village affairs along with other
important men, but if the matter has to do with politics—as most
matters do these days in Amity—he is likely to be excluded. Though
he has not supported the party favored by the Hindu leaders of the
village, he has done his best to maintain his friendship with its sup-
porters, avoiding any active role in politics.
The other Muslim young people exhibit, by their behavior, some
indications of their sense of alienation f r o m the community. They are
not barred f r o m Hindu religious affairs, but they participate only as
spectators, even on such important occasions of village-wide participa-
tion as Holi and Siw Ratrl. One young Muslim teacher occupies an
important position in the local section of the People's National
 RELIGION 139

Movement. 1 He admits to the alienation of most of his former Hindu

friends. The conversation of two young Muslim girls, with whom my
wife and I were well-acquainted, consisted for the most part of
derogatory comments about Amity: its "backwardness" and the
"ignorance" of its inhabitants. One of these girls is a teacher in the
Canadian Mission School and professes to be a Presbyterian now.
Despite the peripheral position of the Muslims of Amity, they are
not considered a " l o w " group by the Hindus—as are the Christian
Indians. The Muslims do not eat pork, for one thing. Also, Islam is
considered a n " I n d i a n " religion as against the alien Christianity.
Furthermore, the good economic standing of the Muslims of Amity,
and the high economic standing of the Muslims of a neighboring
village, give followers of this religion a measure of prestige in Hindu
eyes.
The few Christian Indians belong to one of two groups: "Presby-
terian" Christians, and " C h u r c h of G o d " Christians. The category of
"Presbyterian" Christians in Amity is composed entirely of young
men and women who work as teachers in some Canadian Mission
School, in Amity or elsewhere. Not all the teachers in such schools
are Christians, nor does the Canadian Mission School system demand
conversion as the price of a position as teacher. Nevertheless, it is
widely believed in the village and among the teachers that preference
is shown to Christians.
Almost all student-teachers in a village such as Amity come from
very poor families, and they express considerable concern about their
futures. They know that failure on the examinations and failure to
be accepted into a Teachers' Training College means the end of hope
for further education and for improved economic and social circum-

1
T h i s party ( p o p u l a r l y k n o w n a s P N M ) is led by T h e H o n o r a b l e D r . Eric
W i l l i a m s , C h i e f M i n i s t e r o f T r i n i d a d . A m i t y village leadership is a c t i v e l y o p p o s e d
to the P N M . See " C o m m u n i t y O r g a n i z a t i o n " in this b o o k for an analysis o f
politics in A m i t y .
140 RELIGION

stances. For many it may mean a return to the canefields, to spend

the rest of their lives, as their fathers have spent theirs, as ordinary
cane-laborers. That they exhibit considerable anxiety may be easily
understood. They believe, along with the rest of the villagers, that the
Canadian Mission officials are much more interested in assisting young
Christians than young Hindus. The validity of this belief is hard to
determine: it was my observation that being Christian did not insure
success, any more than being Hindu insured failure. In any event,
almost all the student-teachers in the Amity C. M. School had become
"voluntarily" converted to Presbyterianism upon being selected as
student-teachers, or soon thereafter. One of these was the girl from
the Muslim home mentioned earlier.
The sincerity of such converts is also difficult to assess. All of them
express absolute sincerity, attend Sunday School, and avoid participa-
tion in " h e a t h e n " religious ceremonies. Still, they continue to live
with their families. These go on practicing the original religious
customs, and there is no indication of a conflict of faiths in such homes.
Parents of such children indicate pride in the accomplishments and
prospects of their children; they shrug off any discussion of the con-
version with the comment that it is the child's " o w n business."
Full-fledged teachers in C. M. schools are almost all Presbyterians,
though again, it is not an official requirement. There is a strong feeling
among C. M. teachers—and specifically among the Christian teachers
—that appointment to the " g o o d " schools and the possibility of
promotion to Assistant Headmaster and Headmaster is much greater
for the Christian teacher than for the non-Christian.
The foregoing should not be taken as an indication of a belief on
the part of the writer that all Christian C. M. teachers are insincere
Christians. There is at least one case in the village where the sincerity
of belief on the part of the girl who was a Christian student-teacher
could not possibly be doubted. She is married to a young Hindu of
Amity now, and her insistence on being a Christian is not only no
 RELIGION 141

longer advantageous but creates considerable problems for her in her

daily life.
On the other hand, when the Sanatan Dharma Mahasabha 2 erected
a Hindu school in Amity a few years ago, a number of Christian C . M .
teachers announced their reconversion to Hinduism and joined the
staff of the Hindu school. One of them had been a Christian since the
age of fourteen, when he had become a student-teacher. He remained
a Christian for the more than ten years that he taught in the C. M .
school; but today he is one of the leaders of a Hindu revival movement
among the young people of Amity. He informed me that he had been
a thoroughly insincere Christian throughout his C. M. experience,
and that the fact was known to his family. Coming as he did f r o m a
poor home, he had believed that " c o n v e r s i o n " was the only road out
of the canefields for him, and his family concurred.
Whatever the original feelings of the convert to Christianity who
enters the teaching profession, he is usually alienated further and
further f r o m his original religion as the years go by. Christian C . M .
teachers make a practice of referring to Hinduism as "heathenism,"
and to its religious practices as " i d o l a t r y . " One such teacher informed
me privately that, while he was (he insisted) a sincere Christian and
had no desire to participate in Hindu rites, he might have liked to
attend an occasional ceremony, particularly when sponsored by some
relative. Fearful that the Canadian Mission was watching him, he
said, he tended to avoid all such affairs. It may be said, therefore,
that if a man converts to Christianity and makes his career within the
C. M . School System, the Canadian Mission has a man who avoids
Hinduism, behaves publicly as a Christian, and raises his children as
such. The church may be fairly certain that at least the second gener-
ation is made up of sincere Christians.
There are only some half-dozen Presbyterian Christians in Amity.
1
The largest East Indian religiocultural organization in Trinidad. Gossip
ascribes quasi-political overtones to it.
142 RELIGION

Most villagers take it for granted that they are insincere Christians
but do not look down on them for that. Rather, there is a measure
of respect for their success both in deception and in advancing them-
selves. If they were at all to be held in contempt, it would be for eating
pork or beef, and few if any of the Amity "Presbyterians" eat either
meat, though most of them profess lack of concern with Hindu
dietary rules.
"Presbyterians" also profess to be completely uninterested in
matters of caste. During my stay in the village, however, a "Presby-
terian" C. M. School teacher who had been born a Brahman was
accused of having had sexual relations with the daughter of a low-caste
villager. There was a general feeling in Amity that the teacher was
being victimized: whatever might be the truth of the charge, people
said, the girl had a reputation for previous immorality, and she and
her father were simply trying to make a good "catch." Nevertheless,
many felt the young teacher would in the end be forced to marry the
girl, since the Reverend had a reputation for settling these disputes
in favor of the girl—threatening to dismiss any male teacher slow to
agree to such a marriage.
In this case, the young man resolutely refused to marry the girl.
Many people were surprised at his courage—and the explanation was
offered to me by a number of villagers that, though nominally a
Christian, the young m a n was, after all, a Brahman and might be
expected to accept any punishment rather than agree to marry a girl
who not only had a poor reputation, but was of " l o w " caste! The
Reverend insisted upon marriage or dismissal at first, but he was
evidently shaken by the young man's resolute willingness to accept
dismissal before he would contemplate such a marriage. Perhaps, also,
some of the rumors of the girl's bad reputation reached the Reverend's
ears. In the end, the young m a n was not dismissed but was merely
transferred to another school in a distant community. He did not
m a r r y the girl.
 RELIGION 143

"Church of G o d " Christian Indians are completely distinct from

the "Presbyterian" Christians, though the two such men I interviewed
indicated that they received their first introduction to Christianity in
the C. M. School. I knew of only three "Church of G o d " families in
Amity, though there are reports of perhaps two or three more. Both
my informants were young men in their early twenties. Both were
married and claimed that their wives were also Christians—and the
one who had children was raising them in the faith. Other "Church
of G o d " Christian Indians, in Amity and outside the village, were very
much like themselves, the young men claimed. Both of these young
men had been born into the Camar caste and had grown up with
little knowledge of or interest in Hinduism. They had hungered for
religion and found what they were searching for in the "Church
of God."
The two men belonged to different congregations (neither meeting
inside of Amity). I attended the Sunday services of one. A fundamen-
talist, evangelic group, it met in an attractive, small wooden building.
The pastor was a Barbadian Negro, but almost the entire congregation
was East Indian. As far as I could determine, only one family present
was from Amity. Women wore white dresses; men wore dark suits,
white shirts, and dark ties. Hymns were sung in English and Hindi.
There was none of the shouting, pageantry, and semi-possession I had
observed at Negro "Shouter Baptist" meetings: the entire meeting was
quiet and sedate. The young man who invited me still carries his
"Indian" name, and his wife and oldest child also have "Indian"
names, though all three have been baptized. The younger children,
who were born after the family's conversion to Christianity, have only
"Christian" (that is, English) names such as "John" or "Mary."
The other youth identifying himself as a "Church of G o d " Christian
has a reputation in the village for being something of a scamp. He is
no longer welcome in the Slwala (Hindu temple) courtyard because of
an incident some years back involving the mysterious disappearance
144 RELIGION

of a few pairs of worshipers' shoes. 3 He insists that he never had any

interest in Hinduism. What he learned of Christianity from the C. M.
school teachers intrigued him, and he finally " f o u n d G o d " by studying
under the Negro preacher of a small congregation some distance from
Amity. He considers this preacher his " b r o t h e r . "
This young man, "Persad," does not attend regular Sunday services,
but he sees himself as a good Christian nevertheless. Pictures of Christ
and Mary, as well as photographs of his preceptor, hang on the walls
of the room he occupies in his father's ajoupa, replacing the more
customary Hindu pictures. Persad's father, who is a Hindu, admits
that he did not approve of his son's decision to become a Christian.
Even so, he doesn't feel sufficiently aggrieved about the matter to
break off relations with his son.
There is perhaps a reason why Persad's father apparently does not
take his son's conversion too seriously. The father is one of the
" C a m a r priests" of Amity, and requires his son's assistance in the
performance of some of his duties. Persad always obliges. The father
may well feel his son will succeed him in his office. Persad confided
to me that he does not want to assist his father in the latter's " u n -
christian" rites, but he has been doing it all his life and cannot very
well refuse. Furthermore, he notes that his father does indeed need
help at such times, and Persad admits to considerable "pressure"
from neighbors who have an active interest in the rites. Persad
insists that he will never be the "Camar priest," but there is certainly
room for doubt.

3
Amity men normally go barefoot, donning shoes only for special occasions.
Going to the temple would be one such special occasion. Leather, however, is
considered defiling, so the Hindu who puts on shoes to go to the temple must
remove them upon arrival.
 RELIGION 145

UNITY A N D DIVISION IN AMITY HINDUISM

There are two Hindu religiocultural organizations of unequal size

on the island of Trinidad: the large, traditionalist, and politically
conscious Sanatan D h a r m a Mahasabha, and the much smaller Arya
Samaj. The split is not reflected in the religious life of Amity, for all
the Hindus in the village consider themselves Sanatanists. There is,
nevertheless, considerable variation in religious belief and practice
among the Hindus of Amity, and caste distinctions play no small part
in producing this variation.
In the early years of Amity, there were pronounced sectarian
differences. The people of Thomas Road and what is today Central
Amity adhered to the R a m a n a n d l panthl (sect). In Casecu, the
Aghor panthl was strong, and in Jangll Tola most people belonged to
the Siunareynl panthl. The sects had certain important ritual differ-
ences, in such matters as the behavior each considered appropriate at
funerals, and in the propriety of the use of liquor during religious
ceremonies. More important, however, was the fact that members of
the R a m a n a n d l panthl employed the services of Brahman pandits
(priests) at religious ceremonies. For members of this sect, the pandits
were also "godfathers," or spiritual advisors. The officiant at a
ceremony of either of the other two sects was chosen from the group
itself and was known as a " m a h a n t . "
There was n o rule saying that a mahant could not be a Brahman,
but members of this Varna were highly unlikely to belong to any sect
but the Ramanandl. From the alignment of sect and district given,
it will be seen that the R a m a n a n d l panthl drew its membership from
castes of the Ves Varna and higher, while the other two sects were
composed of members of Sudra castes.
The two non-Brahman sects still exist in Amity today, in their
respective districts, but both are small and becoming moribund. The
younger people of both districts are gravitating toward the Ramanandl
146 RELIGION

panthl. It is said that at an occasional funeral deriving from Casecu

or Jangll Tola one may still observe Siunareynl or Aghor panthl
practices. There are rumors that, not too many years ago, a few
members of the Aghor panthl raided the cemetery for a skull of a
member of the Tell caste required for a special ceremony. On the
other hand, it is also said that years ago marriages in Casecu and
Jangll Tola were performed without benefit of Brahman pandits and
with rites completely different from those of Central Amity. It has
been more than five years since the last such wedding was held. The
weddings I attended in Jangll Tola and Casecu had Brahmans
officiating and were no different from the weddings I observed in
Central Amity. Since the overwhelming majority of the villagers today
are members of the Ramanandl panthl, the discussion of religious
practices in the following pages may be taken to represent those of
this sect.
An important event for Amity Hinduism was the arrival in Trinidad
of a group of four religious teachers from India in 1951. The group,
known popularly as "the Swamis," toured Trinidad, lecturing and
preaching. One of them became ill and returned to India, two moved
on to British Guiana, and the fourth settled in Amity and remained
there for about three years.
While he did not attack the local pandits directly, his work in the
village did tend to undermine the position of these men as religious
leaders of the community. As a result of his work, the Slwala, used
formerly only on important holidays, became a significant religious
and social center and is now the locus of weekly congregational
services. When he left Trinidad in 1955 and went to British Guiana,
two monuments to his stay in Amity remained. One was the Amity
Nursery School, which he had advocated for the children of working
mothers; the second was a building behind the Slwala, built originally
as his residence. This building is now called an " A s r a m , " as it serves
as a residence for the Brahmcarl (the title of the Amity temple priest)
 RELIGION 147

and for a number of poor boys who require a place to live while they
continue their studies. Much more important, the Swami left behind
some twenty young men whom he had "initiated" and instructed in
proper Hindu life. These men make a strenuous effort to continue in
his path today and they form the backbone of the Siwala congregation.
In Amity, at present, there are three foci of religious leadership and
practice, all within the Ramanandi panthl: the pandits, the Siwala,
and a man whom we will call "Basdeo."
Pandits: The two pandits of Amity are men in their early fifties.
Unlike the Brahmcarl, they are married, have families, and have
occupations from which they derive most of their incomes, practicing
as pandits in their spare time only. Both are Brahmans, though only
one of them, "Sookram Marajh," can claim " p u r e " Brahman ancestry,
to the best of anyone's knowledge. The other pandit, " P o o r a n
M a r a j h , " was the son of a Brahman father and a Sudra mother. 4
I was informed that some objection was voiced in the village when he
started practicing as a pandit, but he received the support of other
Brahmans, both in and out of Amity, and is now fully accepted.
These men have been involved in serious scandals, 6 and although
the prestige of both has been seriously impaired, they continue to
practice as pandits and have suffered no substantial loss of clients.
One young man, whose family uses Pandit Pooran as its "godfather,"
told me that while he has no respect for the Brahman he requires his
services. Therefore, he said, he kisses the pandit's feet during a
religious ceremony, but feels only contempt for the man at all other
times.
Years ago, it is said, parents put their sons into the hands of the
* The two pandits are not related to each other. They use "Marajh" as a sur-
name, however, as do a large proportion of Brahmans in Trinidad. Pooran's father
took Pooran's mother as a "keeper" after the death of his first wife. I was told
that considerable resentment was expressed at this time by both kin and neighbors
of Pooran's father.
s
See "Conflict and Sanction," pp. 206-20, in this book.
148 RELIGION

family guru at the age of about twelve or fourteen, to receive gurumukh

(initiation). 6 From that time on, the guru functioned as pandit for
the young man, officiating at his wedding, at all his ceremonies, and
initiating the young man's wife. Girls, then as now, took gurumukh
after marriage, from their husbands' "godfathers." Today, boys
insist upon choosing both their own wives and their own "godfathers,"
waiting until their marriage to choose the latter.
As in the case of marriage, "choicc" is often only an unexercised
right, for the average young man will "choose" the "godfather" of
his own father. A number of young men, however, are not bothering
with gurumukh at all, though for ceremonial needs they may call
upon the services of one of the local pandits. The excuse given by
such young men is not that they have no interest in the matter of
gurumukh, but rather that the decision is so important that it cannot
be made lightly. A man may choose a "godfather" only once in his
life, and once it is done it cannot be undone. In view of the binding
quality of the act, and the fact that many pandits (in the direct ex-
perience of the young men) are later discovered to lead immoral lives,
they feel it is better to wait—for years, if necessary—until a "god-
father" can be found who will always be deserving of respect and
admiration.
Such young men have been influenced by those who were initiated
by the Swami during his residence in the village. A cela (initiate) of
the Swami says proudly that he had a "real" gurumukh, involving
proper instruction and the learning of a personal, secret mantra
(formal prayer). The celas of the village "godfathers" are told only
to "repeat the name of G o d , " and are advised, vaguely, to "be good."
The fact that the Swami is no longer in Trinidad, and cannot be called
upon to officiate at the ceremonies of his celas, is of no great moment

* " G u r u " and " g o d f a t h e r " are used interchangeably. B o t h m e a n the s a m e t h i n g

in A m i t y — a spiritual advisor. Such a p e r s o n is usually, t h o u g h not necessarily,
the f a m i l y pandit, or B r a h m a n priest.
 RELIGION 149

to them. One is permitted to use the services of any other pandit in

the event that one's "godfather" is dead or otherwise unavailable.
Those men, therefore, who have the Swami for a "godfather" are able
to use the Amity pandits without feeling in any way involved in
whatever moral and religious shortcomings these men are believed
to have.
The foregoing should not be interpreted as indicating that the
participation of the local pandits is diminishing to any marked extent
in the areas of religion in which they have customarily functioned.
One or the other officiates at almost every wedding involving a boy or
girl from Amity; they officiate at almost all family-sponsored religious
ceremonies; they are consulted at times of birth, illness, and death.
But they are no longer the only religious leaders; important competitors
have appeared on the scene.
Siwala: One of the young men who studied under the Swami was a
Brahman from another part of Trinidad. He went further than most,
determining never to marry and to devote his life entirely to religious
study. He has remained in Amity as a spiritual leader and officiant in
Siwala services. The title he has chosen for himself—Brahmcari—
reflects his determination to remain both celibate and a student. He
hopes to go to India eventually for further study. Meanwhile, he lives
in the asram behind the Siwala and acts as a kind of temple priest.
He is supported by contributions made by members of the Siwala
congregation.
The Brahmcari is not in competition with the local pandits. He is
not a "godfather" to anyone; never officiates at marriages; and only
rarely performs a puja (ceremonial offering). Rather, he is much more
concerned with reorganizing religious observance in Amity, and has
provided weekly congregational readings and prayers in the Siwala.
Those of the Swami's initiates who are still associated with the
Siwala look upon the Brahmcari as their primary spiritual leader.
They support his efforts to develop the Siwala into something re-
150 RELIGION

sembling a Western church, with regular congregational services.

Apart from these men and their families (among the most important
in Amity, and preponderantly from Beharri Road), the congregation
contains many elderly women and a few elderly men from Central
Amity, Casecu, and Thomas Road. Children of the Amity Hindu
School are urged by their teachers to attend, and many do. Services
are held regularly three times a week: on Thursday evenings, Sunday
mornings, and Sunday evenings. Members of the congregation
manage to attend at least one service a week, and many try hard to be
present at all of them.
Recently, a "Divine Life Society" was formed by the active members
of the congregation under the direction of the Brahmcarl and " M r .
M a r a j h , " 7 who provides the chief financial support for the Slwala.
The society is dedicated to the improvement of the religious and moral
life of the village.
The Slwala is still used, as it has always been, for the community
observance of certain important holidays, such as Siw Ratrl. 8 On
such occasions, some famous old pandit may be brought to the village
by Mr. Marajh, to officiate at the Slwala, with the Brahmcarl assisting.
"Basdeo": The leading Amity-born lay disciple of the Swami was a
young man of the Ahlr caste named "Basdeo." Even before the
Swami's arrival in Amity, Basdeo was noted for his wisdom and piety.
Under the Swami's tutelage his learning, too, became impressive.
After the Swami's departure, Basdeo was a leading member of the
congregation of the Siwala—some say even more important than the
Brahmcarl. In 1956, Basdeo broke sharply with the Slwala, the
Brahmcarl, and Mr. Marajh. There are those who say that Basdeo

' This "Mr. Marajh" is not one of the aforementioned pandits. He is an

important landholder, and though a Brahman, does not practice as a pandit. For
further discussion of his position in Amity, see "Community Organization,"
in this book.
8
See "Religious Ceremonies," pp. 169-79, in this book.
 RELIGION 151

resented the increasing precedence given the Brahmcarl over himself

in religious matters. Basdeo, after all, was older (he is in his 30s,
while the Brahmcari is in his mid-20s), and it is generally agreed that
Basdeo is the more learned. Unfortunately, these informants say, the
Brahmcarl is a Brahman while Basdeo is only an Ahlr.
Both Basdeo and the Slwala congregation maintain that the break
occurred because of sharp political differences. Basdeo wanted the
Slwala to remain neutral in the election fight of that year, but the
entire congregation had insisted on using the influence of the Slwala
to aid their candidate. Heavy insults were traded, and Basdeo left
the Slwala, thereby giving up a great part of his prestige within the
community.
There was another issue on which Basdeo diverged sharply from
the Slwala group: he felt—and feels—that the pandits are an un-
necessary impediment to the Hindu religion of Trinidad. A good
Hindu, he teaches, should attend regular services in a temple, and
should have regular prayers at home but should learn to conduct
those prayers himself, and not require as an intercessor between him-
self and God a pandit who may well be immoral, uneducated, and
inaccurate.
Basdeo supports himself and his wife with a small cloth-goods shop
in Amity and a peddler's stand in the weekly market in town. He
devotes all his free time to religion: to prayer, study, and teaching.
He has offered to teach any interested person how to perform his own
ceremonial offerings. Basdeo teaches that this will give the individual
more dignity, make him independent of the pandits, and will result
in more meaningful prayers, since—according to Basdeo—the pandits
have only the barest knowledge of correct ritual and prayer.
He admits that he has had little success in this endeavor. Many of
the people he has persuaded to study under him backslide in a real
crisis. Even though his students are fully aware of the pandits' in-
adequacy, Basdeo says bitterly, they appear to feel that the prayers of
152 RELIGION

an ignorant Brahman are somehow superior to and more efficacious

than those of the most learned non-Brâhman.
Basdeo adheres t o the Ràmanândî panthï and claims to be a Sana-
tanist. He is the spiritual leader and advisor of a small dissident
religious group in Amity, but his importance cannot be measured
only in terms of the size of his following. He preaches aggressively,
and advocates a conservative, but anti-Brahman, kind of " P r o t e s t a n t "
Hinduism, and is feared and disliked by the Brahman religious leaders
of Amity and beyond. Basdeo travels widely about the island, and
is often invited to preach and to help a village establish regular
religious practices. His efforts frequently encounter considerable
opposition f r o m the local Brâhmans.

H I N D U T H E O L O G Y IN AMITY TODAY

An analysis of the sacred texts or the deeper philosophical impli-

cations of Hinduism is beyond the scope of this book. Most members
of the community studied are unacquainted with these matters, and
for religious explanation are content to consult their religious leaders.
Primary attention will be given here to observed ritual and religious
practice, plus such ideological insights as I have received f r o m both
layman and village religious leader. My first concern in these pages
is always with the ways in which social phenomena are reflected and
illuminated in the religious practices of Amity.
A "good m a n " is one who avoids drinking, cursing of others, and
cheating. He should not "trouble other people's wives and children."
Ideally, he should participate in community affairs, help others, and
give to charity. Finally, he should observe at least some of the formal
precepts of the religion. According to Basdeo, on this last point it is
only possible to say, " W e have 'good' [men], but we don't have 'very
good,' in Trinidad." A good woman should strive for the title of
pâtî brâtâ (faithful to her husband) and that is really all that is re-
 RELIGION 153

quired of her: she should be hardworking and obedient, but above

all, she must be faithful—she must avoid all other men.
The cow plays a part in the religious life of Amity, although it is
not actually worshiped. The emotion which is felt for it might perhaps
be best termed "affection." The cow is compared with one's mother,
since a child gets milk from both. Every family that can possibly
afford it maintains a cow. True, the milk is sold and provides some
useful cash, but no one gives this as a reason for keeping a cow.
Rather, the commonest explanation is that it is "good" to keep a cow.
Almost no Hindu in Amity eats beef, and the very few "emancipat-
ed" young men who have tasted beef would eat it only in town, and
never in their own homes. A cow cannot be killed. This means, often,
that an old, barren, milkless cow becomes a serious expense for a
poor family. No one will sell a cow to a butcher—but frequently it
is sold to a "stranger" from another village. A person who sells a
cow in this way will admit that he is not happy about the transaction,
but he will claim that he had no choice. He will add that he does not
"know" that the stranger will sell the animal to a butcher, and if the
stranger does, the sin will be on his own head.
Besides milk, the cow provides a number of useful things. Ghi
(clarified butter), which is used in most ceremonies, can only be made
from cow's milk. Mud mixed with gobar (cow dung) is used for rituals
and also to lipe (plaster) floors. Apart from any element of sancti-
fication or purification which it may have, such a mixture does not
crack upon drying as will ordinary mud. Leather is, of course, an-
other important product of the cow, although it is not made in Amity.
It is believed by most villagers that the gift of a cow or bull to any
Brahman—guru or not—will save one from a sojourn in hell. For
the bull there is not so much "affection" as "respect" because of the
hard work the bull performs and because it is the symbol of Mahadeo
(Siva).
The attitudes of the Amity Hindu on two theological matters are
154 RELIGION

sufficiently pertinent to require some consideration here. Death

and the disposition of the soul is one, and the nature of the "divine"
is the other. It is firmly believed by all the villagers interviewed on
the subject that after the death of an individual his soul eventually
returns to Earth and is reborn again into another body. Sin in one
incarnation will be punished by a low birth and a life of suffering in
the next; righteousness will be rewarded by a high birth and a life of
happiness in the following incarnation. One's position in the caste
hierarchy traditionally is considered evidence of the sinfulness or
righteousness of one's previous life. 9
Only a few of the older more conservative members of the com-
munity, particularly of the two highest Varnas, show any interest in the
religious justification for the caste system. The younger people profess
to be egalitarian, and religious leaders tend to avoid or play down
the relationship of caste to Hindu belief. These leaders prefer to
emphasize "life of suffering" versus "life of happiness" in the next
incarnation, without specifically referring to caste. "If you are wick-
ed," Basdeo says, "you are reborn as an animal or into a poor h o m e . "
There are disagreements and uncertainties about details. ( F o r ex-
ample: Are there really 18 different hells for temporary sojourn and
punishment after death? Will meat-eaters be forced to eat molten
metal?) But there is unquestionably a strong and widely-held belief
that "if you are wicked, you have to pay." It is interesting that the
diminution of religious sanction for the caste system has not resulted
in any apparent weakening of the belief in reincarnation. 1 0

9
For an examination of some of the implications of this religious justification
for the caste system in India see O'Mallcy 1932: 18ff.
10
The Swami supported, if he did not indeed introduce, the avoidance of
religious justification for the caste system. He insisted that the caste membership
of those who studied under him was of no importance whatever, and should not
affect treatment, behavior between acolytes, or commensality. He refused to give
any information about his own caste membership. This apparently discomfited
Mr. Marajh, who wished to invite the Swami to eat in his home, and who had to
 RELIGION 155

The belief in reincarnation has certain important implications.

Individuals who are childless, who have only girl children, or who
suffer shame or financial reverses, all attempt to comfort themselves
with the thought that they are being punished for the sins of a previous
existence. At the same time, there is a widespread belief in evil spirits,
curses, and the enmity of certain divinities. There does not appear to
be any awareness of inconsistency.
In this life, there are certain actions which must be performed or
avoided, for they may affect one's well-being in a future life. The
giving of charity, for example, is very important. Again, many have
a horror of debt, for the belief is that all debts must and will be
repaid—if necessary by rebirth as a draft animal belonging to the
person to whom one is indebted. This fear may explain the reluctance
exhibited by some men to join the Agricultural Credit Society, or to
take on a loan for the purpose of building a new house. Most people,
nevertheless, have no hesitation about contracting debt, particularly
in this manner. It would appear that the objection to going into debt
for fear of dying in that state with the attendant unpleasant conse-
quences, is used as a supplementary argument to support a person's
hesitancy to contract a debt.
There is a possibility that this fear of dying in debt holds only if the
debtor is a H i n d u ; for apparently no one seriously believes that a m a n
will be required to make good a debt to a Creole bank. I have no
evidence to support this statement—no one ever made it or admitted
to it in my presence—but it might help to explain the reputation East
Indians have a m o n g shopkeepers and other businessmen as poor credit

treat the latter with deference. There is one unconfirmed story current in the village
that Mr. Marajh wrote to a friend in India, asking him to check o n the caste
membership of the Swami. It is claimed that he received no helpful reply. Basdeo
told me that, though no one could be less interested in caste membership than
himself, he was urged by friends to try to learn the Swami's caste, and finally asked
the Swami openly. The Swami was angered and refused to reply.
156 RELIGION

risks. I know of one case where a poor family sold their last small
piece of land to pay off an otherwise uncollectable debt of their
deceased son, to save his soul. It was owed to another East Indian, a
distant relative. I have never heard of such a desire to repay a debt
to a bank or a shopkeeper, and I find it hard to imagine it happening.
Hindus in Amity believe there is one G o d , and they claim he is the
same one worshiped by Christians, Muslims, and members of other
religions. They say that God may appear to different peoples in
different guises, and that he has an untold number of aspects and
attributes, in any of which he may properly be worshiped. For Hin-
duism, God is triune: Brahma the creator, Siva the destroyer, and
Vishnu the preserver. The hundreds of other deotas (divinities) are
considered in Amity to be subdivisions of these three. Thus, the
goddess Kali is said to be one aspect of Siva, G o d , the destroyer,
controlling the diseases of humans. The goddess Durga, it is said, is
God, the destroyer, controlling the diseases of animals. As Vishnu,
the preserver, God is said to take h u m a n form f r o m time to time to
correct man's ways. Thus, there is Lord Rama, Lord Krishna, and
to these most Amity Hindus are willing to add Jesus Christ. This
concept of plurality within unity is a difficult one, and is of real con-
cern only to the Brahmcarl, Basdeo, and a few others who are deeply
involved in religious study. For the majority of villagers there is an
awareness of one God, but the primary concern is with the individual
deota, as a full divinity in his or her own right, and not as an attribute
or aspect.
Since from the point of view of Amity Hinduism all religions
worship the same God, and therefore partake of godliness, Amity
Hindus respect—and in a sense accept—all religions, though there
is no desire to be converted away f r o m Hinduism. Their feeling on
the matter might be summed up as a belief that each religion comes
from God and contains some measure of " t r u t h , " but that Hinduism
contains more than any other. Furthermore, each man should worship
 RELIGION 157

God in the manner of his own race, sect, and family. Since all religions
partake of godliness, there can be no harm in listening to other
preachers, and there may even be considerable good. Hindu school
children, for example, are frequently urged by their parents to attend
Canadian Mission Sunday School, in accordance with the belief that
the "word of G o d " is always beneficial—no matter what the religious
framework in which it is couched.
The people of the community are confused by the exclusiveness of
Christianity, and are disturbed because some Christians call Hindus
"heathens" and give no credit to Hindu teachings. Within the Hindu
community itself there is considerable variation in religious practice,
from the individual who has put away symbols, in the form of pictures
and effigies, and who attempts to commune with God in the latter's
transcendant state—to those who slaughter animals to propitiate
various gods and demons. All are considered good Hindus, observing
the religion according to their own understanding of it.

PUBLIC CELEBRATIONS11
For heuristic purposes I have separated the religious practices
(apart from rites de passage, which are discussed in another chapter)
observed in Amity into two categories: "public celebrations" and
"religious ceremonies." The terms and the categorizing are of my

11
The festivals and holy days—such as Diwali, Holi, Kartik Nahan, Siw Ratri,
etc.—discussed in this section and in the succeeding one, are described in terms o f
the way they are interpreted and observed by East Indians in the village of A m i t y
in Trinidad. Except where indicated (as in the case of Christmas) these holidays
derive from India. Interpretation and associated ritual vary widely in India from
region to region and village to village. It is impossible here t o provide any brief
and at the same time adequate analysis of these holidays as they are observed in
India. Underhill, in "The Hindu Religious Year," (1921) provides a useful c o m -
pilation of such data for India in general, and Lewis (1958: 197-239) for the public
festivals of northern India in particular.
158 RELIGION

own devising; they do not reflect conscious distinctions made by the

villagers.
The Amity Hindu calendar is a lunar one, of twelve months in
normal years and of thirteen months at regular intervals. 12 Amity
Hindus remark with a kind of pride that there is an important holiday
for every month, and sometimes more than one. Some of these holi-
days are unknown to the majority of the villagers, receiving at most
a passing notice in weekly temple services. Others are important and
are observed by large numbers of villagers with considerable religious
activity.
There are certain occasions—whether holidays listed on the calen-
dar, or even holidays alien to Hinduism—when the social aspect of
the religious observance seems to overshadow the religious aspect.
It is true that religion often plays a part in the most secular of Hindu
social affairs, and, on the other hand, almost all religious activity has
significant social overtones. The distinctions made here between
events which are more "social" or more "religious" must therefore
be subjective. If the categorization is in itself acceptable, 1 believe the
differences are sufficiently sharp as to admit of little argument.
Ramlila: The celebration of the victory of Lord Rama over the
giant Rowan is observed from the first to the tenth day of the second
half of the month of Kuar, which falls around October. 13
For over twenty years, this was the occasion for a gala pageant in

12
T h e " H i n d u C a l e n d a r " — i f indeed there c a n be said t o be o n e c a l e n d a r — i s
exceedingly c o m p l i c a t e d . T h e r e a r e b o t h solar a n d l u n a r m o n t h s , a n d considerable
local variation in I n d i a as to r e c k o n i n g and even t h e n a m e s assigned to the m o n t h s
(see Fleet 1910: 491-95). T h e n a m e s of m o n t h s a n d the d a t e s of holidays given in
this b o o k reflect A m i t y t e r m i n o l o g y a n d c o n v e n t i o n , and d o not necessarily relate
t o present I n d i a n practice.
13
E a c h m o n t h in the A m i t y H i n d u c a l e n d a r is thirty days long, a n d is divided
into halves, each k n o w n as a paksh, a n d each lasting fifteen days. T h e first half of
t h e m o n t h is k n o w n as sukr-paksh, a n d the second half as krislm-paksh. Days are
n u m b e r e d f r o m o n e t o fifteen f o r each paksh of each m o n t h .
 RELIGION 159

Amity, held on one of the cricket grounds. Selected portions of the

rameyn (Ramayana) were read aloud as they were simultaneously
acted out, with members of the community playing the various parts.
Expensive and colorful costumes were supplied by the actors and their
families. The parts were played by male children of various ages; the
adults of the community participated joyously in the capacity of
audience.
From 1956 to 1958, Ramllla was not observed in Amity, and was
deeply missed by almost everyone. Instead, people f r o m the village
traveled to other communities to observe their Ramllla festivities.
The political split in the village is usually given as the reason by almost
everyone for the cessation of the Ramlila pageant, and it cannot be
doubted that the 1956 election and the attendant bitterness was the
circumstance precipitating the cessation. 14 The leaders of both poli-
tical factions refuse to accept responsibility for the cessation, and each
blames the other group. Both sides insist that they would be happy
to see the return of the pageant and would be willing to suspend
political differences at least for the duration of Ramllla if it would
help to bring the pageant back to Amity. Nevertheless, Ramllla has
not been revived.
A few informants noted that there was a second issue involved, but
all insisted that it was really " n o t i m p o r t a n t . " The political split was
the overriding issue, they claimed. This second issue is the annoyance
felt by many villagers of Sudra caste membership over the fact that
the most important roles were assigned to children of higher Varnas,
with Sudra children receiving only minor parts. The role of Lord
R a m a himself went almost invariably to either a Brahman or Cattrl
youth.
Those supporters of the Democratic Labour Party who were of high
Varna membership admitted that such a weighting of roles had in

14
See " N a t i o n a l Politics o n t h e Village Level," p p . 221-29, in this b o o k .
160 RELIGION

fact taken place, but were impatient with the problem. 14 They pointed
out that it had always been done this way, and it had not become an
issue until members of the Peoples National Movement had raised it
for political purposes. This was the custom, they said; it had always
been the custom, it was of no importance, and there was no reason
to change the custom. DLP supporters of lower Varna membership
would not bring themselves to say they approved of the old way of
apportioning of roles, but admitted that it m the custom, and said
that it was better to keep to the old way if change meant complete
loss of the celebration. PNM supporters, for the most part of lower
Varna membership, insisted that the bitterness was a long-standing
one. As long as it was to be a matter of reinstituting the celebration,
they said, why should the DLP supporters object to making the ap-
portionment of roles more "democratic"?
Dlwali: This is a "festival of lights" said to be in honor both of the
goddess Lakshml and of Lord Rama's "return from the forest." It
falls on the thirteenth day of the first half of the month of Kartik, or
around November, and is one of the most happily and eagerly anti-
cipated of holidays. Every house is cleaned, fresh curtains are hung,
and special delicacies are prepared. Around each house a display of
diyas is set out. 16 During Dlwali, the maximum number of diyas that
the family can afford are displayed. The diyas are lighted at sunset,
and most of the children and old people remain at home to keep them
refilled and burning. There is a service in the Siwala in the evening,
but few except the most religious attend, and most of these for only
a short time. Most of the younger adults, having set out and lighted
their own diyas, go walking through the community in sexually
segregated peer groups, to see the displays of others.
15
The Democratic Labour Party, known popularly as the DLP, has the support
of the village leadership. To many of the people of Amity the DLP is the party
of the East Indians.
" A diyd is a small shallow clay cup, containing a cotton wick and filled with
coconut oil, used at many ceremonies.
 RELIGION 161

They are interested in observing two things: how attractively each

household has arranged its display of diyas., and the economic
and social pretensions of the household as reflected by its display.
Coconut oil is expensive and burns quickly, so poor families content
themselves with a dozen or so diyas. These are set on windowsills,
doorsills, roofs, and various places around the yard. Wealthier people
construct elaborate scaffoldings in various geometric designs, capable
of holding hundreds of diyas. Attention is paid not only to the first
brave display, but to duration, for some people set out a large number
of diyas at sunset, but are unwilling or unable to keep them refilled
and burning. After a few hours, therefore, only the homes of the
wealthiest continue to exhibit a brilliant display.
Unusual arrangements and great quantities of lights attract the
strollers, and the movement is from outlying districts to Beharri Road,
where most of the better homes and more brilliant displays are to be
found. Inhabitants of Beharri Road tend to confine their sightseeing
to that area, with perhaps a brief excursion to Lloyd Street or to the
beginnings of another district. DIwalT night, therefore, is one on
which Beharri Road is crowded with people, and alive with laughter,
noise, and light. Two or three wealthy families in Central Amity
tried an innovation the year I resided in the village: strings of vari-
colored electric bulbs were festooned around their houses, forming
the major part of their displays, though a few diyas were still in
evidence. The saving in coconut oil is of course offset by the cost of
bulbs and electricity. A sudden power failure put most of these lights
out for much of the evening, but the idea was well received; a number
of men informed me that they hoped to replace the diyas with colored
electric lights in the years to come, for the latter were obviously
"more modern."
Kartik Nahati: It is said that the entire month of Kartik is supposed
to be a time of daily ritual bathing (nahan), but I know of no one who
actually observes this. For most people in Amity, the ritual bathing
162 RELIGION

is performed only on the last day of the month, at the time of the full
moon. The village is almost deserted on that day, as all who possibly
can, journey to some beach for a day of bathing, picnicking, and
prayer. " I n India," one is informed, "everyone goes to the Ganges." 1 7
In 1957, the Amity Siwala sponsored an excursion to Los Iros Bay
in southern Trinidad. All the members of the congregation and their
families made the trip. They were accompanied by many other
families, for the most part f r o m Central Amity. Buses were hired for
the women and children, and men traveled by private and hired cars.
Equipment for a puja was brought by the Brahmcarl, and the more
secular-minded carried rum. Men wore bathing trunks or short pants
on the beach, but most of the women bathed in cotton dresses.
Men and women bathed separately, but almost everyone from
Amity stayed together on one section of the beach, for the place was
crowded with individuals and groups f r o m other villages. The Amity
womenfolk and children remained together on the beach and in the
water, with the Amity men forming a protective cordon on both sides.
It was explained to me that this was to avoid trouble, since there were
many strange men on the beach, some of whom were drinking heavily,
who might attempt to approach an unescorted woman.
A few small pujas were to be observed on the beach, but most of the
bathers gave themselves up to the merrymaking. The first immersion,
for most people, was a cercmonial one: the individual walked slowly
into the water, scattering a handful of flowers and seeds, then walked
out again. After that one was free to bathe as one pleased.
Few of the villagers could swim. Even for the young people,
bathing consisted of wading, rarely more than waist-deep. As they
became more gay, the women and children began to laugh and splash
one another. Men did the same among themselves, but though never
far apart the two sexes ignored one another. The playful groups in
the water also exhibited age segregation.
17
Cf. Lewis 1958: 226.
 RELIGION 163

Christmas: The period from December 25 to January 1 is one of

public celebration in Amity though the holiday, of course, has nothing
to do with Hinduism. It is included here, however, because Christmas
Day is a day of public celebration, observed by people of all classes
and castes, and because that celebration has something to do with its
nature as a religious day. The reaction of a young man—an intensely
religious Hindu—who invited me to dinner Christmas Day illustrates
this. During the course of the meal, I commented that there had
been a small earthquake earlier that day. He nodded solemnly and
replied that God was undoubtedly angry because so many lives
(animals for feasting) had been taken on such a holy day!
Preparations begin in the days preceding December 25, and cul-
minate on Christmas Eve when children in a few of the wealthier
homes receive toys. The house is cleaned and many housewives put
up new curtains. Food is prepared for there is much visiting back
and forth. Besides the usual fare much rum is laid in, for this is a
period of heavy drinking. Unless the family is too poor, or has re-
ligious scruples, a chicken is killed and curried. In every home what
might be termed a "Christmas table" is set out with special items which
are quite expensive in Trinidad. The "Christmas table" usually in-
cludes : one apple cut into many thin sections, a small cluster of grapes,
and three or four English cream-filled biscuits. Besides this, some
families bake plain or fruit cakes for Christmas.
The village is quiet until about noon. I heard the first drums on
Christmas Day around 11:30 A.M., and within about half an hour
there was singing, drumbeating and laughter coming from many
houses. In each house 18 in which a party was going on, male members
of the family, their male relatives, and close friends would gather in
one room to drink, sing, 19 and have a good time. The women of the
house and their female friends gathered in another part of the house.
19
Or under it, if the house were one built on tall concrete pillars.
" Mostly popular songs from Indian movies.
164 RELIGION

My impression was that there was more drinking among the men, and
more drumbeating and singing among the women, but no activity
was limited to one sex.
There was considerable circulation from house to house. Some
people began the festivities in their own homes, and finished the evening
in the homes of others. Other people began with a round of visiting
and ended the day with their own families. Every man was expected
to visit all his relatives and friends within the village for a drink and
a bit of food. The exchange of hospitality between people who are
not normally too close was another characteristic of the day, and it
was difficult for any man to walk down the road in late afternoon or
early evening without being dragged into one house after another for
a drink and a piece of curried chicken. This created a serious problem
for those who, for religious or status reasons, were reluctant to become
too drunk. A number of men of importance in the village informed
me that they saw to it that their homes were properly equipped to
entertain all visitors, then spent the day hiding from their friends and
neighbors. Except for the most religious, such men had no objection
to taking a few drinks, but had no desire to become really intoxicated,
while at the same time they wished to avoid the serious insult of
refusing to drink with a friend.
By 6:30 P.M., festivities were at their height. Peer groups of young
men were strolling down the street in their best clothes, singing,
drinking, and looking for fun. Similar groups of five to ten young
girls also patrolled the streets, giggling and laughing, but there was
no overt notice taken of each other by the boys and girls. Children
ran wildly about, shrieking with excitement. Older people settled
down in one house or another for serious drinking. Here and there
a drunken m a n could be seen staggering aimlessly down a street. By
9 P.M., the noise and gaiety began to slacken off, and by 11 P.M.,
which is quite late by Amity standards, the village was almost quiet,
with most people home in bed, sleeping it off.
 RELIGION 165

December 26, an official holiday—Boxing Day—tends to be a

continuation of Christmas Day, though somewhat attenuated. As on
Christmas Day, there is much visiting for food and drink. The pattern
on both days is one of poorer people visiting the homes of the rich
for heavy eating and drinking, while a rich man simply drops in at
a poor man's home for a quick, polite drink.
Drinking, eating, and partying continue until New Year's Day,
though many families end their festivities with Boxing Day. On this
day many men travel to Port-of-Spain to see the traditional races.
Holt: This holiday, also known as Phagwa, is celebrated on the last
day of the m o n t h of Phagun (around March). A religious explanation
exists for its celebration, 20 but essentially it is a day of secular fun,
and the villagers refer to it as "Indian Carnival." Preparations for
the holiday might be said to begin about two weeks earlier (on the
first day of the second half of Phagun) when groups of some twelve
men each gather together as " b a n d s " at various homes to practice
singing the cotals and jhumars, the traditional songs of Holl. The
songs, with d r u m and cymbal accompaniment, are sung with increasing
tempo and sudden complete silences, and are considered "spoiled" if
any singer or musician is even the slightest bit off the beat. Since the
songs may only be sung at HolT, and can be practiced only for the
two weeks preceding, considerable practice is necessary. Certain men
have reputations as cotal singers, and the leading bands will even
travel to other villages to perform. One old man was pointed out to
me as a former village champion. He was considered the best singer
for twenty-five of the twenty-seven years he competed. Now that he
has retired, his voice weakened by age, leadership of his old " b a n d "
has been inherited by his "'printice," a man of fifty.
In the forenoon of Holl day, each family boils up a large quantity
of abir (red dye mixed with water), and sets in a supply of pink powder.
People return from work about 3 P.M., and the excitement begins.
20
See Lewis 1958: 232.
166 RELIGION

Everyone dresses in old, torn, expendable clothing. Men and children

arm themselves with bottles of abir and packets of pink powder, and
set off down the road to sprinkle and smear their friends and relatives.
Women remain near their homes, armed with full bottles and with
saucepans for dipping into buckets of abir. It is said that years ago
no one worked on Holl. Since, today, most men go to work on Holl
some of the older people fear that the celebration is dying out. The
Holl in which I participated appeared very much alive indeed, even
if most people put off festivities for after work hours.
Holl is a day of wild abandon. Many, though not all, of the custom-
ary restraints are ignored. Usually, the first person a man sprinkles
with abir is his mother. Next he sprinkles his wife. With much
shrieking and laughter, both go after him. One's mami (mother's
brother's wife) is particularly sought as a target, if she is in the vicinity.
Young boys will chase girls, throwing abir and rubbing the latter's
faces and arms with powder. This is an astonishing liberty among
people who normally avoid all forms of public intersexual bodily
contact. 21 Men chase their older brothers' wives with bottle and
powder, and even the wives of one's Active village "brothers" are so
treated, with all parties exhibiting high glee, and commenting on the
"wickedness." Daughters-in-law may sprinkle their mothers-in-law;
indeed, all bars but one are down: the husband's older brother, the
barka, must still ignore and avoid, and be avoided by, his younger
brother's wife, his chotki.
There are two forms of abir: the "nice" kind, which can be washed
out of clothes, and the kind containing an indelible stain along with
the red dye. Whichever kind is thrown, one cannot get angry—the
permanence of the dye simply makes it a better "joke." One year,
the story has it, a " b a n d " of male singers was doused with pig slops—

" I once observed a little girl, about eight, leading her small brother, about
five, to school by the hand. All around them children giggled and pointed and
whispered: "Look! Look! She hold he hand!"
 RELIGION 167

an unforgettable "joke." Some people have happy memories of a

bygone time when mixtures of mud and cow dung were thrown, as
well as abir, but that was long ago.
The pattern of activity is a fairly uniform one. The festivities begin
about 3 P.M. with members of the family sprinkling one another. The
children race out to douse their friends. For the children, of course,
it is a glorious, messy day from then on. The men set out to visit the
homes of their relatives and friends, while the women remain at home
to "entertain" visitors and passersby. After dropping in at the homes
of close relatives and friends, men wander dov n the streets, sprinkling
everyone they encounter, and are sprinkled by women of the houses
they pass.
Part of the fun is catching a person unawares. Most fun of all is
sprinkling someone whose clothing is as yet untouched. There is
always at least one poor unfortunate teacher or clerk who forgets
that this is Holl and comes home from work late in the afternoon,
well-dressed; or a man who receives a sudden summons to visit
relatives in another village and must dress up and try to get away
unscathed. Even if one's best clothes are ruined, it is the worst of
form to show anger; a "good Hindu," it is said, must be "proud" to
be sprinkled with abir,22 To sprinkle someone is fun, of course, but
there is a deeper significance. Sprinkling is understood to symbolize
a bond between sprinkler and sprinklee. One properly only sprinkles
those for whom one has affection or a feeling of friendship, and to
avoid someone is to insult him. It is considered particularly appropri-
ate to sprinkle cows—the sprinkler honors the animal, its owner, and
brings good luck upon himself. Early on the day of Holl, Amity
contained an astonishing number of reddish-purple cows.
By about 4:30 P.M. most men have completed their visits and now
"bands" begin to form in the streets. The core of the " b a n d " is the
" See the discussion of an aWr-staining incident in "Conflict and Sanction,"
pp. 206-20, in this book.
168 RELIGION

group of men who have been practicing the cotal and jhumar, but any
man or boy may attach himself to any "band." He participates by
singing, beating tazas (small cymbals) or simply keeping time by
clapping his hands. I counted a half-dozen such "bands" and I was
told that there were many more. Each "band" wandered singing
down the streets, turning in at each house along its way for a brief
serenade. A woman of the house would come out with a bottle or
saucepan of abir and seriously, ceremoniously, sprinkle each member
of the "band." The " b a n d " then would move on to the next house.
Occasionally a woman would note the presence of her barka in the
"band," in which case she would not come out of the house, but
would signal some other man in the "band" to come in, take her
abir, and perform the sprinkling as a surrogate for her household.
Each district had its own "bands," made up of men from that
district. While the "bands" give the impression of wandering aimlessly,
most seem to turn back when they approach the borders of their own
districts. The first " b a n d " with which I wandered was of Casecu
origin. It covered each house in that district and then entered Beharri
Road for a short distance before turning back up Thomas Road. The
second "band" I joined walked north along Beharri Road, turned
westward before reaching Casecu, and walked south along Lloyd
Street, turning back to Beharri Road when it reached the beginnings
of Jangll Tola. Other "bands" were to be seen in the distance as we
wandered. When we actually encountered another "band" we
sprinkled one another.
Holl "playing" ends at sunset, for fear of catching cold from a
wetting in the evening. Everyone returns home, washes off as much
dye and powder as one washing will remove, and changes clothing.
In Amity, the first day is the most important one for Holl activities,
but one may continue to "play Holl" every day thereafter until the
first Tuesday is reached. Children, particularly, continue to play
every day until the official close of the holiday.
 RELIGION 169

RELIGIOUS CEREMONIES

The ceremonies included in this category are primarily religious

rather than social affairs. Further, they are usually directed to particu-
lar deotas (divinities) and tend to be propitiatory rather than cele-
bratory. A m a n ' s values, his caste membership, and his family's
socioeconomic status all help to determine which ceremonies he will
perform, and which he will avoid. I have subdivided the ceremonies
into six types, arranged in two horizontal and three vertical sections.
The divisions are my own, but the community is very much aware of
the distinction I have relied upon for my " h o r i z o n t a l " separation.
Although no term is ordinarily used in the village to make this
distinction, one informant with w h o m I discussed the matter proposed
the terms siir-puja ("godly" ceremony) and asuri-puja ( " d e m o n i c "
ceremony) for the horizontal division. Other informants agreed that
the terms were fitting, and I am employing them here.
The important distinction is that an animal is sacrificed in an
asurl-puja, while no life is taken in any sur-puja. From a religious
point of view, therefore, a sur-puja is considered "higher" and an
asurl-puja " l o w e r . " This is reflected in the social and economic status
of the customary participants, with certain interesting and important
exceptions.
The vertical categories reflect differences in sponsorship and
participation. " C o m m u n i t y Ceremonies" are sponsored by a number
of unrelated families, and anyone who wishes to may attend. "Semi-
Private Ceremonies" are sponsored by individual families, but friends,
relatives, and neighbors may attend upon invitation. "Private
Ceremonies" are performed by and for the family, with no non-family
present or invited. The rituals of the " C o m m u n i t y " and "Semi-
Private" ceremonies are performed by persons with religious training
who are called in for the purpose. "Private" ceremonies are performed
by some male member of the household, usually the eldest.
170 RELIGION

T A B L E 5: A M I T Y R E L I G I O U S C E R E M O N I E S

Community Semi-Private Private

Sür-püjä Bhägwät Hänümän-püjä Di-püjä
Siüpürän Süruj-püjä (ricefield)
Siw Rätri Setnären käthä
Râm NöumI Häwän
Jhanam Ästämi Gitä-päth
Gobardhän-püjä Râmëyn-ârtî
Durgä päth
Ramêyn-sâtsa
Püjä-sätsa
Indrä-püjä
Äsun-püjä Pancêytï-Kalï-kï-pûjâ Ghâr-kî-pûjâ Di-pùjà
(house)

Table 5 illustrates the way in which I have divided Amity religious

ceremonies, and lists the important ceremonies associated with each
subdivision. Following are some brief descriptions of these cere-
monies as they are observed in Amity.

COMMUNITY CEREMONIES

Sur-puja: These are usually performed within the courtyard of the

Siwala, and are sponsored by the wealthier families among its con-
gregation. Anyone may attend and participate, but the n u m b e r of
Sudra people present at any ceremony rarely even approaches their
proportional representation within the community. The Brahmcari
may handle all ritual matters, or some famous old pandit m a y be
invited to officiate. Observance of the cercmonies, it is believed, will
not only benefit the sponsors and participants, but also will serve to
promote the well-being of the entire community. It may be said, in
fact, that the purpose of the " C o m m u n i t y " ceremony—sur or asuri—
is to protcct the entire village, either by propitiating specific deities
or by acquiring the protective aura of good fortune which is believed
to accompany religious observance.
 RELIGION 171

Among the most important ceremonies are :

Siw Ràtrî. The commemoration of Lord Siwa's 23 birth, observed
on the thirteenth day of the first half of the month of Phàgûn. Almost
everyone in the village tries to put in an appearance at the Slwàlà
sometime between midnight and noon the next day. Most people
come in the early morning hours, in order to complete their devotions
before going to work.
Devotions begin with the adoration of the flowerbedecked linga
(stone phallus) representing Siwa, and procced through a number of
discrete steps, ending with the distribution of charity to the rows of
beggars (all from outside the village) assembled within the courtyard
of the Slwâlâ for that purpose.
This is perhaps the most important of the temple ceremonies
currently observed in Amity. The Sïwàlà is decorated with colored
paper streamers, and is sometimes given a fresh coat of paint in honor
of Siw Râtrl. In 1958, Siw Râtrï fell on the first day of Carnival—the
most important fête of the year for the Creole population of Trinidad.
While many people from Amity normally journey to Port-of-Spain
to observe the Carnival festivities, and some (particularly taxi drivers)
derive an important part of their income from Carnival, many
villagers did not go to Port-of-Spain in 1958 because of Siw Râtrl.
Many went the following day only, and of those who did go on the
first day of Carnival, it can be said that they went after first completing
their devotions in the temple.
Bhàgwàt. A seven-day reading of the puranas.
Siùpûràn. A bhàgwàt dedicated to Siwa and performed for the
seven days preceding Siw Ràtrï.
Ràm Nôumï. The commemoration of the birth of Ràma, observed
on the ninth day of the second half of the month of Cet (around
March). Once a very important holiday in Amity, when almost every
" T h e spelling given here reflects A m i t y p r o n u n c i a t i o n . F o r India, t h e n a m e
of this deity is usually written Siva (cf. M a r r i o t t [ed.] 1955: 260).
172 RELIGION

family made it a point to be represented in the temple, it is observed

today only by the congregation of the Slwala and a few of the most
religious among the other villagers.
J h a n a m Astaml. The commemoration of the birth of Krishna,
falling on the eight day of the first half of the month of Bhado (around
August). The families of the members of the congregation, plus a few
other people, crowd into the yard of the Slwala at midnight to pray
over a representation of the infant Krishna: a cucumber with stem
attached (said to represent the navel string), suspended in a tiny
hammock.
Durga-path. A puja in honor of the goddess Durga, performed
once a year under the pipur (pipal) tree behind the Slwala, to protect
the community against sickness.
Puja-satsa. Twice-weekly congregational meetings in the Slwala.
Rameyn-satsS. Weekly readings of the Ramayana.
Indra-puja. A relatively rare puja, performed in the Slwala when
the rice crop is threatened by drought, to propitiate Indra and beg for
rain.
Gobardhan-puja. A ceremony involving the use of cow dung and
paddy rice, performed the day after DIwalT, but which may also be
performed on the fifth day of a bhagwat.
These are the " C o m m u n i t y " sur-pujas most commonly performed
in Amity. There are others known of, however, and the Slwala
congregation hopes to introduce some of these in the coming years.
Apart from the ceremonies listed, the villagers travel to other com-
munities throughout the year to observe particularly impressive
ceremonies or ones which are not done in Amity.
Asuri-puja: It will be noted that only one ceremony is listed under
this heading, and only one under the "Semi-Private" asuri-puja rubric.
Both are dedicated to the goddess Kali. The old people say that in
the early years of Amity more animal sacrifices were performed than
is the custom today. Deotas other than Kali also received sacrifices,
 RELIGION 173

and it is said that there were other ways of performing the Kàlï-pûjâ—
including one variation in which the goat was not actually killed, but
was decorated and turned loose outside the bounds of the village.
Today, only Kali is honored in a "Community" âsûrî-pûjâ, although
other goddesses—the "seven sisters"—are remembered in the cere-
mony. When a Kàlî-pujà is held, the animal (goat or pig or both) is
always killed.
The purpose of the "Community" Kàlï-pûjà is to propitiate Kali
and to protect the village against disease. The ceremony is sponsored
by a pancëyt (translated as "committee") 24 representing some ten to
fifteen families of Sudra or low Vës castes. People of high castes never
participate. Each of the sponsoring families contributes fifty cents.
The ceremony is called a pancëytî-Kâlï-kî-pùjâ to distinguish it from
the similar ceremony sponsored by an individual family. Two or
three such pancëyts are formed in Amity every year, the composition
of each being fairly constant from year to year. The Casecu pancëyt
has not missed a year as far back as anyone can remember. The
Lloyd Street and Jangll Tola pancëyts are somewhat more irregular,
but in any given year one or the other—if not both—will form to
sponsor a ceremony. In 1958, there was a ceremony in Casecu as
usual, and one on Lloyd Street—the first in three years. No Kàlî-kî-
pûjâ has ever taken place on Beharri Road that anyone can remem-
ber : the very question seemed to shock people of both high and low
castes.
While the men of the families are nominally the members of the
pancëyts, it is the women who do most of the work. A few weeks
before the ceremony, the women of the pancëyt go out in a formal
body to beg for contributions throughout the village. There is a rule

24
The word "panchayat" means "group of five." As it was used in Amity, it
may be translated as "committee," as in the above case, or as "court," as in the
section "The Village Pancëyt and the Courts." The number included in an Amity
Pancëyt, and its raison d'être, are subject to considerable variation.
174 RELIGION

that contributions must be received from at least "five districts." The

rule is liberally interpreted, however, and for this panceyt's purposes
a "district" may be anything from a side-street on up. It is said that
the purpose of the rule is to put the people of all the districts under
the protection of Kali. Those who actually give contributions are
entitled to feel particularly protected.
Contributions take the form of a few copper coins, or a portion of
rice. The rice is sold by the panceyt and the money used to help defray
expenses. Contributions are given by almost every family approached.
It is interesting to note that "high" caste families contribute regularly,
even though members of such families never attend the actual cere-
mony and express distaste at the idea of animal sacrifice.
Sometime in March or April—convenience appears to determine
the date—each group performs its puja. It is usually done at the home
of the panceyt "captain," who is also the officiant. This official is
almost invariably of the Camar caste. He is called the "Camar priest"
by some and by others the Dihl Banhwar, or the " M a s a . " 2 5 Despite
individual variation, the ceremonies follow a fairly regular procedure.
There is considerable resemblance, in certain of the rituals, to the
rituals performed by pandits in the ordinary sur-puja, but there are a
number of very basic differences. The absence of a Brahman pandit
is one, of course, but more important is the killing of an animal during
the Kall-puja. If a pig, it is "stuck," and if a goat, it must be a male
and its head must be struck off with one blow of a cutlass. Another
important characteristic of the Amity Kall-puja is that the officiant
(the "Camar priest") must undergo possession by the goddes Kali
before the sacrifice can take place.
When the ceremony is completed, the meat of the sacrificed animal
is cut up and divided among the families of the panceyt and is taken
home by each family to be cooked and eaten.
25
People in A m i t y claim this word is Hindi, but it may well be derived f r o m
the English "master."
 RELIGION 175

SEMI-PRIVATE CEREMONIES

Sur-puja: These ceremonies are sponsored by individual families,

almost invariably in their own homes, although on rare occasions a
wealthy family may take over the courtyard of the Slwala for the
event. A meal, its magnitude depending upon the wealth of the family,
is prepared for relatives and neighbors. The ceremony is conducted
by a pandit (except in the case of Basdeo and a few of his disciples),
and is usually directed to a specific deota. While purists claim such
pujas should be made regularly, and for no other purpose than to
"honor God," the average puja in this category represents either the
fulfillment of a promise, or is performed at a time of crisis as a propi-
tiation. Many families, particularly in Central Amity, try to have at
least one such puja a year. Among the most popular are:
Hanuman Jhanda. Prayer to the monkey-headed Hanuman—must be
performed on either a Saturday or a Tuesday.
Suruj-puja. Prayer to the Sun—can be performed only on a Sunday.
Setnaren-katha. Most popular "thanksgiving" ceremony.
Hawan. A "new" puja, said to have been introduced by the Swami,
and rapidly gaining in popularity.
GIta-path. Ceremony in honor of the Bhagavad-gita, now declining
in popularity.
Rameyn-artl. An adoration of pictures and effigies, using lighted
diyas—performed at any reading of the Ramayana. It can be a puja
in its own right.
Asuri-puja: Only one ceremony is included in this category, the
ghar-ki-puja ("household" ceremony). It involves both prayer and
the sacrifice of an animal or animals, and the ritual approximates that
of the panceytl-Kali-ki-pujd. It is performed only by Sudra families,
and by no means all of these—it is said to be giving way to the more
approved sur-puja.
Kali is the main divinity sacrificed to, but is not the only one. At
176 RELIGION

the ghar-ki-puja I attended a goat was sacrified to Kali. The male

head of the household carried out all the rituals, assisted by his sons.
He was possessed by Kali and beheaded the goat. After resting, he
was possessed by P a r m e s a n (described as a "sister of Kali") and
sacrificed a pig to her. The meat, cooked separately, was prepared as
part of a small feast for friends and family.
Most families who perform the ghar-ki-puja, 1 was told, sacrifice
only one animal, and almost invariably to Kali. The ghar-ki-puja is
customarily performed once in three years. It may also be performed
a m o n g such families at the birth or marriage of a son. With the
marriages of Sudra people being performed more frequently in recent
years by pandits, animal sacrifices at weddings are becoming extremely
rare. Occasionally, the family performs the ceremony secretly, the
night before the wedding.

PRIVATE CEREMONIES

Sur-puja: Under this heading 1 have placed the offering made to the
D l of the ricefield. The Dl is usually described as the spirit of the
"first owner" of any property. N o one can now know who that
"first owner" was, of course, but it is assumed that there must have
been a first owner. The Dl is believed to have the power to affect the
well-being of the present occupants, and must be propitiated. Perhaps
the word "genius," in its sense of "guardian spirit," might be a better
definition of Dl.
The offering is of cigarettes, biscuits, and either ghl or rum. It is
made by a member of the family, usually the male head, in a corner of
the ricefield owned or rented by his family. 2 6 The ceremony occurs
after the rice has been cut and before it is beaten. The offering is
M
T h e D l - p u j a is a s s o c i a t e d p r i m a r i l y with the c r o p , r a t h e r t h a n t h e land. In
the case of rented l a n d , it is the t e n a n t — w h o s e c r o p it i s — w h o m a k e s t h e o f f e r i n g ,
and not the owner.
 RELIGION 177

accompanied by a whispered prayer for the continued benevolence of

the Dl. All members of the community who grow rice perform this
puja. This includes everyone except a very few poor families in
Central Amity, and a number of families from Jangll Tola and
Barrackville.
Asuri-puja: Another Dl-puja has been placed here—the customary
yearly offering to the DT of the property on which one's house rests.
A cock is sacrificed to propitiate the Dl, who has the power to affect
the health and happiness of the occupants of the house. The male
head of the household usually makes the offering, at what is a regular
time of the year for his particular family.
As far as I could determine, the ceremony is performed by every
family in the village, with the exception of a few of the most educated
and "spiritually advanced." These latter families are found, of course,
along Beharri Road. It must be emphasized that even along Beharri
Road, the sacrifice to the Dl of the house is the rule, rather than the
exception. Among the families belonging to the Slwala congregation,
however, there is developing a strong feeling that the sacrifice is
"wrong." Many of these people continue to perform it, explaining
that their fathers did it before them, and that they have simply
continued a family custom. Once you have "promised" to perform a
ceremony, it is believed it is "dangerous" to stop. Members of the
congregation therefore continue the custom reluctantly, but claim
that they will advise their sons not to keep it up. To my knowledge
one member of the congregation has actually stopped sacrificing the
cock, after having made the offering for a number of years. The inner
conflict became too much for him, and after consulting with the
Brahmcarl and other advisors, he found a compromise. At the
appropriate time of the year, his family holds a small, private prayer,
and he distributes the cost of a cock to charity.
Some people, particularly of the lower castes, perform such a
Dl-puja before occupying a new house. The one member of the
178 RELIGION

Slwala congregation—a Cattrl—who moved into a new home during

my stay in Amity, held a Hawan. A Di-puja, involving the sacrifice
of a cock, is always made at any KalT-puja, before the main part of
the ceremony begins. At one of the panceyti-Kall-ki-pujas I attended,
it was claimed that the " C a m a r priest," who cut off the head of the
cock himself, was possessed by the Dl for that moment.
While not exactly secret, the Di-puja—whether sur or asuri—is
performed with only immediate members of the family present. The
Di-puja is not considered the concern of non-family.

There is one ceremony, widely observed in Amity, which has not

been included in the preceding arrangement: the pitar-pakh, or
offering to the deceased members of the family. It is observed in the
home, each family offering up food and prayer during the m o n t h of
Kuar (around October). Since no animal sacrifice occurs, and since
it is a family-sponsored ceremony with some entertaining of friends
and relatives, it might perhaps be categorized as a "Semi-Private"
sur-puja. I have heard a few purists argue, however, that offerings to
the spirits of the dead are not in consonance with " t r u e " Hinduism,
and one informant advised me to count the pitar-pakh as an asuri-puja.
This attack is a relatively new one, and is not yet accepted by many
of even the most religious of the Slwala congregation, who continue
to observe the pitar-pakh with untroubled consciences.
The pitar-pakh does not lend itself to the preceding classification for
another reason: the ceremony is performed by the male head of the
family, and not by a pandit. Many people, furthermore, keep the
observance entirely private.

Since the founding of Amity, Hinduism as it is practiced in the

village has undergone certain modifications. Creole holidays such as
Christmas have achieved importance, Congregationalism is developing,
and there is a nascent anti-Brahman, every-man-his-own-priest,
 RELIGION 179

movement. The religious justification for caste distinctions is being

denied or ignored.
It would appear, nevertheless, that Hindu religious practices in
Amity are very far from being an aimless collection of "fossil" traits.
There is a yearly cycle of public celebrations, or festivals, in which
nearly every villager participates. While these celebrations have
religious bases, they are observed primarily as community social
activities, and Christmas has been incorporated as one of the celebra-
tions without any strain at all. Apart f r o m these, there are a large
number of specifically religious ceremonies, which I have dichotomized
in terms of " h i g h " (sur) practice or " l o w " (asurl) practice, with animal
sacrifice as the key criterion. The dichotomy reflects, overall, the
social dichotomy existing in the village today between high caste and
low caste. In both cases there is a polarization rather than a rigid
dividing line.

MAGIC

The people of Amity distinguish between two forms of magic:

"Creole" (or Obeah) magic and " I n d i a n " magic. Both are considered
equally real, but most people know which belief is of Creole origin
and which "comes f r o m India." Further, there is a feeling that certain
things " w o r k " only for Creoles, and others only for East Indians.
Creole Magic: Many men in Amity have heard of Shango, 2 7 but
few have actually attended ceremonies, since there is a feeling that it
is advisable to have a Negro friend to carry one to such a ceremony,
and few have such friends. I spoke to no one who had not heard of
Obeah, but I was invariably told that only a Negro could be an Obeah
Man. There were no Obeah Men in Amity, or even near it, for—so
27
Shango is an Afro-Catholic possession cult found in Trinidad. As in
Haitian Vodun, divinities deriving from Africa are identified with Catholic saints
(see Herskovits and Herskovits 1947: 321-39; Mischel and Mischel 1958: 249-60).
180 RELIGION

it was insisted—the old ones have all died and have not been replaced.
Many believe that Obeah is as dangerous to Indians as it is to Creoles,
although there is a strong feeling that Obeah can be counteracted by
the recitation of mantras (prayers) and other Indian devices.
One m a n told me that some person in the village (he claimed to be
uncertain about the culprit's identity) had worked some Obeah
against him when he was married. He had found "bits of magic"
outside his house, including knotted strings, and a note to the effect
that he would die in a few months. He said that he threw them aside,
and was in no way disturbed by them. He then went on to relate how
an uncle of his had once owned a bison that had been unquestionably
"bewitched" by an Obeah Man. It had been necessary for his uncle
to call in another Obeah M a n to have the spell removed.
Everyone in the village has heard of "soucouyants" (vampires) and
" l a g a r h o o s " (loup-garous, or werewolves), but none of these have ever
been known in Amity, and the feeling is that only a Negro, or at most a
Dugla (a person of mixed Negro-Indian ancestry), could become a
monster of this sort.
Indian Magic: On the other hand, there are certain misfortunes
which are believed to afflict only East Indians. One of these is the
rakas—a demonic infant, one or two of which are said to have been
born in Amity. A rakas is born as a normal-sized infant, but its
appearance is said to be distinctly abnormal. It is described as having
"strange, staring eyes," "boneless, rubbery arms and legs," and "long
black hair coming down almost to its waist." Feeble at birth, a rakas
is believed to gain strength rapidly, so that a few hours after birth it
will struggle out of the arms of the person holding it and clamber up
onto the roof of the house. If it succeeds in reaching the top of the
roof, it will disappear. Its parents, and perhaps some other members
of the household, will die immediately. When such a baby is born,
therefore, it is killed immediately by the midwife, and the body dis-
posed of. The birth is not reported, I need hardly add. I did not hear
 RELIGION 181

of any such birth occurring during my stay in the village. Such births
are said t o be exceedingly rare and none has occurred in many years,
people say.
Another East Indian evil is the patna. The latter is an invisible evil
spirit that attacks only unmarried girls. If such a girl walks down the
road unaccompanied by any member of her family, and there happens
to be a patna lying by the side of the road, it will attach itself to her
back and remain there. Neither she nor anyone else will know of it,
but when she gets married the patna will prevent her from ever con-
ceiving a child. If, therefore, a girl does not conceive within the first
few years of marriage, the first assumption is that she may have ac-
quired a patna, through carelessness on her part and on the part of
her family.
There are certain men of the Camar caste, called Ojha Men, who
are believed to have magical powers, including the ability to exorcise
the patna. The Ojha M a n "removes" the patna and carries it a con-
siderable distance f r o m the village. He drops it along a strange road,
where it supposedly lies in wait for some other unaccompanied un-
married girl. Though fear of a patna is rarely given by educated,
upper-caste people as a reason for their behavior, members of this
group incline to be least permissive about allowing unmarried girls
to leave the house unaccompanied.
East Indian magic tends to be protective and remedial rather t h a n
malevolent. Although it is believed that there are Indians capable of
performing " b a d " magic intentionally, most misfortunes are ascribed
to error rather than intent. Thus, there is a prevailing fear of the
"maljeu," or evil eye (the term is of Creole derivation), but it is rarely
said that the " m a l j e u " is given intentionally. The " m a l j e u " can be
given by overly effusive compliments to a child by a person who
means no harm. Children are considered to be particularly susceptible
to the "maljeu," and are required to wear a protective string a b o u t
the waist. Certain people are considered particularly capable of
182 RELIGION

giving a " m a l j e u , " whether they wish to or not. Barren women are
n o t permitted to view newborn children for fear that their grief and
envy at not having children of their own will injure the infant. It is
said, too, that a child who plays with and eats his own feces will
acquire the power to give a " m a l j e u " whether he wishes to or not, and
certain persons must be avoided by children for this reason.
Once, when I had acquired a particularly severe sunburn, one of my
friends—a landholder, a Cattrl, and an important person in the village
—decided that I must be suffering f r o m a " m a l j e u , " since he had
neither seen nor heard of such a phenomenon. While not an Ojha
M a n (such people, he said, were of lower castes and used dubious
techniques), he claimed that " m a l j e u " and other afflictions could be
cured by him. He treated me as he treated other people who came to
him; using prayer and touching the afflicted part of the body with his
hands.
Sometime later he became very ill himself, suffering from aches and
pains all over his body, and a general feeling of weakness. Terrified
that he might be dying, he visited a number of doctors, but was
dissatisfied with their diagnoses and prescriptions. After about a
m o n t h of illness, during which time he arranged for the disposal of
his property in the event of his death, which he feared was imminent,
he was finally able to discover the "cause" of his illness.
He told me that he had been ccrtain that he had "done something
wrong." After searching his memory, he recalled that shortly before
he had become ill he had helped a woman who had been troubled by
a severe headache by stroking her forehead. Remembering this inci-
dent, he had sent someone to "investigate." Sure enough, he told me,
he had found out that the woman had been " u n c l e a n " before visiting
him, and had not bathed away her (menstrual) impurity. His illness,
therefore, was the result of touching an "unclean" woman. Once he
knew that, it was an easy matter to remedy. He fasted for a
day, bathed, and called in a pandit to pray over him. From that
 RELIGION 183

time on, he was "cured," and insisted that he was in perfect health.
East Indians, like Creoles, may be troubled by "jumbies," but the
former define the term "jumby" as the spirit of a dead person who
possesses the body of a live one because of some injury received by the
dead person during his lifetime. 28 The mother-in-law of a young
Brahman of Amity had been possessed in this way for some eight
years by the "jumby" of her husband's dead brother. For eight years,
the woman (who resided in another village) had been in very poor
health, and had been losing her eyesight. Recently, the spirit had
spoken, using her voice. He announced his identity and explained
that the woman's husband had mistreated the deceased's son, cheating
the latter out of his proper inheritance. The family had considered
calling an Ojha Man to exorcise the spirit, but the spirit himself had
advised against the step, pointing out that he (the spirit) was a Brah-
man, and a Camar Ojha Man would be ineffectual. A Brahman
capable of performing such an exorcism would be very expensive,
however, and when I left Trinidad the family had as yet taken no steps.

28
The East Indian definition of " j u m b y " is not unlike at least one explanation
given to the Herskovitses. Nevertheless, the Trinidad Negro's " j u m b y " — a s an
agent of an Obeah Man, as an "emanation from Satan," etc.—is on the whole a
substantially different phenomenon. (Cf. Herskovits and Herskovits 1947: 234-36,
et. passim.)
VI. Community Organization

For many years there has been talk in Amity of building a

community center, a building in which the Village Council—should it
ever come alive again—might meet, and in which important social,
political, and religious events might take place. For all the talk, there
has been no effort made to sponsor such an undertaking, and the
center will probably never be built until a measure of local political
autonomy comes to Amity. If Amity has no "center," it nevertheless
has many loci of interaction and assemblage. Where one goes depends
upon one's age, sex, interests, and position in the socioeconomic
hierarchy.
The smallest children play in the yards of their own homes, oc-
casionally venturing out onto the road. Before the construction of the
nursery school the child's first playmates were the children in his own
home and in those of the immediate neighbors. Only when he first
attended school, at the age of five or six, did the child begin to contact
 C O M M U N I T Y ORGANIZATION 185

children from distant districts. Nowadays many children over the age
of two and a half are sent to the nursery school and begin to make
their first contacts at an early age.
This school was founded under the urging of the Swami to provide
care for the children of working mothers—of women, that is, who
had to supplement the family income by working in the canefields.
The school was built on Beharri Road, near the Slwala. The children
attending it are almost exclusively from this area, where few families
are so poor that the mother is required to work in the fields. Most of
the children come from the "better families," of the higher castes. In
a poor family, in any of the outlying districts, the child whose mother
is off working is generally cared for—now, as in the past—by his
father's mother, or by an older sister.
Once the children begin to attend the true elementary schools, they
spend most of their free time in the school yards. The people of Amity
rise early, and though schools does not begin until 8 A.M., by 7 A.M.
there are crowds of children in the yard of the Canadian Mission
School, and on the road outside the homes that are the temporary
quarters of the Hindu School. 1
One never sees boys and girls playing together, or even playing the
same games. Boys pitch marbles, play tag, or climb the trees in the
yard, completely oblivious to the school ordinance which forbids
climbing. The older boys turn from marbles to cricket in the appro-
priate season, using a coconut branch as a bat and stones or fruit pits
as balls. Girls, on the other hand, are forbidden by local custom to
climb any trees, for such activity is severely frowned upon as unfemi-
nine. Girls jump rope, play a form of hopscotch, and engage in an
activity in which two girls dance holding hands, whirling swiftly around

1
Primary school attendance is compulsory in Trinidad, but the law is hard to
enforce in most villages. In Amity, the child population is very large, and even
with two schools a sizeable minority of children (mostly from the poorer districts)
can obtain no schooling at all. There is simply no room for them.
186 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION

each other. In the morning, at recess, and after school hours, the
same games may be observed. The very young children either watch
the older ones and attempt fumblingly to imitate them, or pull one
another along the road in boxes intended to represent carts.
Close friends are usually made among children of the same sex
from neighboring homes. One Cattrl young man of Beharri Road told
me that as a child he had only one friend f r o m "the b a c k " — a n d his
father objected to the friendship because the boy was of a Sudra caste.
The father told his son that "People who are low are low in m i n d . "
The young man said that he had ignored his father's objection at the
time, but has since observed that such people are, in fact, "low in
mind," which he interprets as being "dirty" in dress, body, and speech.
Cricket is by far the most popular sport among the young men of
Amity. There is strict observance of the traditional English rules and
dress, but, for all that, the game has been incorporated into village
life. In its present manifestations in Amity, cricket reflects East
Indian, as well as West Indian, social structure.
There are three cricket grounds in Amity. One is on lower Beharri
Road, one is west of Lloyd Street at its northern end, and one is in
Jangll Tola. These are important centers of assemblage for the young
men of contiguous districts. The young men and older boys of north-
ern Beharri Road tend to use the Lloyd Street cricket ground, along
with young men from Lloyd Street and Casecu. Anyone may play on
the field, and cattle and goats are grazed there when an actual match
is not in play. The "Amity Attackers," the team using this field on
Sundays for cricket matches, is made up largely of young men in
their late teens and early twenties who derive predominantly from
northern Beharri Road, secondarily from Lloyd Street, with one or
two young men from Casecu.
The Jangll Tola cricket ground also has its team, the "Amity Hin-
dus." Its membership is drawn primarily from Jangll Tola and
Barrackville, with perhaps one or two young men from other districts.
 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION 187

The Beharri Road cricket ground draws the membership of its team
from southern Beharri Road, with a few from Junction and Jangll
Tola. Thus, while there is no formal rule, the "Attackers" tend to be
recruited f r o m castes of the Ves Varna or higher, while the " H i n d u s "
tend to be recruited from Jangll and Sudra castes.
The three teams are not in conflict, for they never play each other.
They belong to different "classes" within the island-wide amateur
cricket association. For many years the "Amity Attackers" of the
Lloyd Street ground was the best team in the village, playing in "Class
A " and winning many trophies. The older members dropped out as
they married and took over the responsibilities of family life. There
was a brief hiatus and now a new "Attackers" team has come into
existence, made up largely of the old team's younger brothers.
During my stay in Amity, a former star bowler for the old " A t -
tackers" team decided to return for one last season of cricket. He
had not played for three or four years, being too occupied with the
activities incumbent upon the head of a large and important family.
He first offered his services to the "Amity Hindus," since they were
the best team in the village. The team captain was eager to have him,
but the team, as a body, decided to turn him down, since to accept
him would have meant the necessity of releasing one of the regular
men.
With some reluctance about playing with the younger brothers of
his former teammates, he approached the "Amity Attackers," who
were short of good players. Neither he nor the younger men, he said,
would be entirely comfortable in one another's presence. But they
needed him, and he wanted very much to play, so he joined the team.
With his help it went on to victory.
During the course of the season, he often remarked sadly to me
that this would definitely have to be his last year—he only hoped he
could complete this one. His biggest problem was that of social
obligations. He was the oldest son in his family, and with his father
188 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION

dead it was necessary for him to represent the family. Since both
weddings and cricket matches are held on Sundays, it was impossible
for him to meet all his obligations. He sent his mother or a younger
brother to represent the family at a few weddings, but at some it was
absolutely essential that he put in an appearance, and he had to miss
one or two matches. Again, as a daheja member he could not fail to
be present at the wedding preparations of other members. These
"cookings" invariably took place on the Saturday nights before
weddings and this meant that he would appear on the cricket ground
without an adequate night's sleep. He managed, somehow, to struggle
through the season, looking forward to an end of his playing with
some regret, but also now with a certain amount of eagerness.
All young men in Amity are interested in cricket, but not all,
obviously, can play well enough to make one of the teams. Many
who might be accepted are unwilling to put in the necessary practice.
While a number of young men can be found practicing on the cricket
grounds throughout the long season, many young men prefer to con-
gregate away from the fields, where they may smoke, play cards,
discuss girls, and listen to cricket on the radio. Such places of congre-
gation are contemptuously termed "Idlers' Halls," because many of
the habitues have reputations for being lazy and unwilling to work.
The "Idlers' Hall," however, is also visited by hardworking young men in
their free hours. Each district has at least one "Idlers' Hall," and many
have more than one. On Lloyd Street it is a "parlor" run by the family
of a young cane-laborer. On northern Beharri Road, it is a tailor
shop operated by a young man. In other districts, it may be under a
tall concrete house or on someone's gallery. The fact that no older
people are around is the most important consideration, since young
men are not supposed to smoke in the presence of their elders, and
would have to censor their conversation considerably.
The "Idlers' Hall" groups and the cricket teams tend to be made
up of young men from the same age group (about eighteen to twenty-
 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION 189

five) but except for the occasional individual who gravitates from
cricket ground to "Idlers' Hall," each particular group tends to keep
to itself. Such young men would rarely be seen in the rum shops,
since they would be too shy to drink in the presence of their brothers
and fathers.
As boys grow older, the range of age group of association becomes
greater. Below twelve or so, the range is rarely as much as two years.
Boys from fourteen to sixteen tend to form one group, with some of
the group older or younger than that. The next group tends to include
those from eighteen to twenty-five. They are either unmarried or
newly married with little responsibility. These are the young men who
make up the cricket teams. The next group, those over twenty-five,
are merging into the general "male adult" population.
Even among the latter, distinctions in association are maintained
according to generation, and within generation according to sibling
rank. Brothers do not associate with one another, or with one an-
other's friends. In rare cases, two brothers who are only a year or two
apart in age will consider themselves "friends," but this is unusual
enough to be commented on by neighbors and by the young men
themselves.
Invariably, the reason given for this avoidance of association be-
tween brothers is that of the necessity for "respect." One may not
smoke, drink, curse, or discuss sex in the presence of an older, same-
sexed member of one's family, or for that matter in the presence of
any older person in the village. Elders must remember to set a good
example in front of their juniors. As a result, both old and young
are extremely ill at ease. If an older brother finds himself in the pre-
sence of his younger brother and the latter's friends, the older one
will leave the house. On the other hand, if a younger brother intrudes
on an older brother's circle, he may be ordered away, and if he is
considerably younger, his departure may be hastened with a slap.
One "youngest son," for example, who had three older brothers, told
190 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION

me that he began to avoid his brothers at a very early age. He was

"afraid of them," he said, for whenever they became aware of his
presence they would either find some work for him to do or punish
him for some misdeed.
Older men rarely gather on the road for a session of "liming"
(casual talk on varied subjects) as young men often do. A group of
older men may gather to smoke and talk on the gallery or in the yard
of one of their number. They may also meet in the rum shops where
over a bottle of beer or a glass or rum, they chaff each other and argue
in a friendly way. There are many rum shops in Amity, and each
caters primarily to the men of the surrounding district. A man may
drop into the rum shop for a drink any afternoon or evening, but
Saturday nights are the nights when the rum shops are crowded, and
particularly alternate Saturday nights during crop-time, when fort-
nightly pay has been received. The rum shop group frequently breaks
up into two or three clusters of friends. A special group, perhaps
made up of those of slightly higher prestige, or of friends of the shop-
keeper, sit in a small room to one side. Men of very high prestige,
such as small farmers, estate drivers, and representatives of the higher-
caste-wealthier-family class rarely visit the rum shops. When they do,
they are often invited to sit behind the bar with the shopkeeper himself.
Another important gathering point for older men of all districts is
the weekly Rameyn reading group. There is at least one such group
in each district. In Central Amity, the group meets on Thursday
nights in the Siwala. In other districts, the group meets either at the
home of one particular member of the group for the weekly reading,
or at a different home each week. Thursday is the generally favored
night. Since the purpose of the meeting is religious and highly re-
spectable, such groups consist of various ages, but even here it is rare
to see fathers and sons, and older and younger brothers sitting
together.
The associational patterns for girls and women follow somewhat
 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION 191

different lines. Once past the age of puberty, girls are kept under
careful surveillance, and are not infrequently removed from school
and commanded to stay close to home. The surveillance, however, is
really maintained successfully only by the wealthier upper-caste
families of Beharri Road. For other families, particularly in the
remoter districts, the problem is complicated by the distance from
the house to the nearest "stand-pipe" (roadside water tap) where
water may be obtained, and by the low pressure in the water pipes.
Because of the low pressure, the filling of a pail entails a lengthy wait.
A family needs a considerable amount of water during the day for
washing and for cooking, and the job of fetching it falls for the most
part upon the younger female members of the family.
At any hour of the day, there is usually a cluster of young girls,
married and unmarried, squatting near the "stand-pipes" and waiting
their turns. These usually separate: Amity-born unmarried girls are
often grouped together on one side and alien married girls on the
other, with any older women present sitting somewhat disapprovingly
apart in a third group. The girls giggle and whisper together, as do
the young wives—the latter frequently discussing and comparing
their husbands. Young unmarried men stroll by trying to catch the
eyes of the young girls. Occasionally they are successful, and many
scandalous affairs have had their inception in this way. Frequently,
however, the girls band together to hurl giggling insults at the em-
barrassed young man.
For older women, particularly of Central Amity, there are the
prayers in the temple two or three nights a week. Many who have
daughters-in-law to do the work in their homes spend an hour or so
each day visiting neighbors of like situation. For women of every
age there are certain important occasions for gathering together.
These include the night-long women's party (catthi or barahi) held to
celebrate the birth of a baby, and the wedding and the days and night
of preparation in which large numbers of friends and relatives parti-
192 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION

cipate. During the long "wedding season" there is at least one wedding
a week in the village, and often more than one. The women of Amity,
who tend to be demure, shy, and self-effacing normally, become
bawdy, raucous, and riotous when they gather together on such
occasions. Men who violate the privacy of a women's party are
peremptorily and scathingly ordered away.
This practice of separate association according to sex and age is
not a formal one in Amity: there are no "men's houses" or named
"age grades." Nevertheless, the separation is a conscious one, and it
is reinforced by ridicule and by a sense of shame and discomfort on
the part of the individual who transgresses the often-quoted rule:
"Bunch with your own sex and size." A woman of any age left alone
with men or even addressed by a man not her own husband, father,
or younger brother, will giggle and try to flee. A young man who
uses an obscene term is overcome with mortification when he realizes
he has been overheard by someone to whom he must show respect.
An older man who walks into a house and finds it already occupied
by a group of younger men, including one of his younger brothers,
will turn on his heel and walk away. During the Kartik Nahan ex-
cursion, men traveled by car while women and small children were
sent separately by bus: they "would have more f u n " by themselves,
was the explanation given. And it is certainly true that while women
in the company of men must be quiet and circumspect, women alone
in the company of women may joke and play and dance as they
please. Once they feel it is a women's party, it is the intruding male
who is made to feel embarrassed.

THE "VILLAGE PANCEYT" A N D THE COURTS

In Beharri Settlement's earliest years, according to my oldest in-

formants, four or five of the relatively rich pioneer settlers, including
Beharri, kept the peace. These men lived on Thomas and Beharri
 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION 193

Roads and were of castes of the Ves Varna or higher. They had some
control over Casecu, though not a great deal, and they left Jangll Tola
pretty much alone. Such powerful landholders were referred to as
"zamldars"2
In the late 1890s, one man took over undisputed control of Amity,
and maintained it until his death shortly before World War I. I shall
call him "Kublal Marajh." He was born in India, and as his last
name indicates, he was a Brahman. Upon completion of his indentures,
he settled in Amity, bought a piece of land, and soon acquired immense
personal power.
As the old men remember it, his power did not derive so much from
his wealth, which was not inordinate, nor from his religious prestige,
for he is said to have been illiterate, though it is claimed that he knew
much of the Rameyn by heart and frequently corrected others. His
power, they claim, derived partly from his physical strength, which
was greatly feared and which was soon augmented by that of a squad
of strong-arm supporters, and partly from the "justice" and "wisdom"
he exhibited in settling disputes.
The legends about Kublal Marajh are many. It is believed that he
controlled the police station in the Ward Center and that anyone from
Amity who was arrested for any reason would not be charged, but
would be turned over to him for punishment. It is said that male-
factors were tied to a tree and publicly whipped by him. His power
is supposed to have extended far beyond Amity and its environs,
including Casecu and Jangll Tola, to the entire East Indian population
of County Caroni.
* One informant, of the Cattri caste, insists upon a slightly different version.
He says that only those among the leading landholders who were Cattri or higher
(such as his own father) were called "zamidars." A man of a Ves caste, no matter
how important he was, would have been called a mahto, never a zamidar. Neither
term would have been used for a prominent Sudra—but in those days, he insists,
there were no prominent Sudras! Both terms have gone out of common use, and
are remembered by only a few people. The word zamidar is obviously the same as
zamindar, which Lewis translates as "land-owner" for North India. (1958: 80-81.)
194 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION

Kublal Marajh did not rule entirely by fiat, the old men say. On
important disputes, he would summon a "village panceyt," of all the
important men o f the district. 3 Both sides would present their
arguments before the panceyt, which would then give its decision. My
informants admitted, however, that Kublal M a r a j h would almost
invariably be the first member o f the panceyt to give his opinion, and
that out of fear the others customarily concurred. H e left no de-
scendants in the village. When he died, say the old men sadly, real
authority left A m i t y forever.
The "village panceyt,'''' nevertheless, remained a force for many
years. The same men, or their sons, continued to comprise it. The
panceyt was called irregularly over the years whenever a sufficiently
important dispute arose. With Kublal Marajh dead, physical punish-
ment was no longer resorted to. Rather, the traditional punishment
f o r significant misdeeds became the imposition o f kuja (ostracism).
A n individual found guilty by the panceyt was declared to be in kuja
until he made restitution or did proper penance.
The last time the panceyt was called was around 1950. A young
man o f A m i t y , o f the Camar caste, had " e l o p e d " with a M a r a j h l n —
the daughter of a Brahman—also o f A m i t y . The t w o t o o k up residence
on Beharri R o a d and completely ignored shocked public opinion.
T h e panceyt m e t ; the couple ignored it. They were placed in kuja,
and the verdict, too, they ignored.
Worst o f all, f r o m the point o f view o f the leaders of the com-
munity, was the fact that the punishment could not be enforced. For
a period of about three months the t w o were avoided by every man,
woman, and child in A m i t y . A f t e r that, the young man's friends
began to speak to him again, and he soon was once more a full member
o f his old " c r o w d . " T h e older people continued to avoid him, and
many still do, but he has no need o f their friendship, as they themselves

' Here the word panceyt may be translated as " c o u r t , " or "assembly." Cf.
" R e l i g i o u s Ceremonies," pp. 169-79, in this book.
 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION 195

admit. This spelled the end of the "village panceyt" in Amity, and
everyone agrees that it is unlikely ever to be called again. The old
people say that with the panceyt went the last possibility of controlling
unruly behavior, and that now one can only turn to Creole law and
its courts, for they say, " N o w a d a y s , the young people do as they
please."

Whatever the old men may believe, there are still controls in Amity,
for while the people of Amity love litigation, and enjoy attending
court as spectators, they tend to bring their own disputes before the
court only as a last resort, preferring to settle them within the village.
There is a mistrust of Creole justice, and a strong awareness of the
cost of such litigation. 4 The only dispute f r o m Amity to find its way
to the law courts in recent years was between members of the same
family, and was over the division of inheritance. The matter was first
brought before a respected member of the community, but one of the
parties to the dispute refused to acccpt an unfavorable decision.
The case is frequently discussed in the village, with disapproval
voiced at the length of time it is taking, and at the money that is
being spent. A number of men have told me they decided to arrange
for the equal division of their property a m o n g their sons before their
deaths. This is a direct result of observing the dispute taken to court.
When one old landholder became ill, a visitor asked him if he had
provided for the division of his property. When the sick m a n said he
had not, the visitor criticized him, reminding him of the current
litigation and asking if he wanted his sons to be involved in such a
case. Within a week, the sick m a n had called his sons together and
had arranged for the disposition of his property in the event of his
death.
4
One older informant told me that he had heard f r o m his father that the
village panceyt had its origin in similar ones held o n the various estates during the
indenture period. These settled disputes in the barracks and so kept them f r o m
coming to the attention of the estate authorities.
196 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION

The mistrust of Creole justice is also an important factor in the

reluctance of villagers to go to court. It has been complicated by
recent political developments, but apparently it always existed. The
police in the Ward Center are almost all West Indians. East Indian
taxi drivers from Amity feel strongly that the police discriminate
against them. The police rarely enter the village, and when they do,
they usually swoop in with a van to make an arrest. A single policeman
riding down Beharri Road on a bicycle during the daytime is the target
of many covcrt, anxious, and distrustful glances. If an arrest is made
for any reason, there is considerable interest in " w h o called the
police." Late one night the van rushed into the village and broke up
a group of young men gambling on the road. The men scattered in
all directions and hid in the homes of neighbors and friends. Only
one arrest was made, and this of an unfortunate m a n who had been
too drunk to run, and according to many, too drunk to have been
playing.
One night, at the " c o o k i n g " preceding a wedding, a group of young
men got into serious trouble. It started when two Negro policemen
arrested a youth who had been riding a bicycle without the proper
headlamp. The young men at the "cooking"—who had been passing
a bottle a r o u n d — r a n out onto the road and surrounded the two
unarmed policemen. The exact order and nature of the events which
followed are somewhat difficult to determine. Accounts vary widely.
Apparently the young men, at least ten in number, threatened the
police and insisted that they leave without arresting the youth. The
policcmen stopped a passing taxi and ordered the driver, a native of
Amity, to carry them and their prisoner to the station. The taxi
driver protested that he was on an emergency call, and drove off
without them. Someone made off with one of the police bicycles, and
the chargcbook of one policeman was taken f r o m him and torn up.
In response to increasing threats from the crowd, the policemen
promised to release the youth, but pointed out that he had been
 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION 197

handcuffed to one policeman, and that the key was kept at the station.
They said they would release the youth without charges, if they were
permitted to return to the station. The crowd refused, and someone
was sent for a file to remove the handcuffs. While the filing was in
progress, the policc van drove u p and rescued the two policemen and
their prisoner while the crowd scattered and ran.
After returning to the police station for reinforcements, the van
returned. A number of young men were arrested and charged with
interfering with the police and threatening them, as well as with
destroying police property. The taxi driver, whose number had been
noted, was found and charged with refusing to obey the orders of the
police. A second taxi driver was dragged out of his taxi in town and
charged with being a ringleader of the crowd, and with threatening
one of the policemen with a cutlass. After a night in jail, the men
were released on heavy bail. The matter was brought to trial, but the
case was postponed a number of times, and had not been settled by
the time of my departure.
No one in the village with whom I discussed the matter was at all
concerned with the lawlessness of the young men's behavior. If they
were criticized at all, it was for being "foolish," and for bringing "trouble
with the police" down upon the community. Strong disapproval was
reserved for the individual who had notified the police station.
There is only one telephone in Amity, set in a public booth in front
of the home of Mr. Marajh. Suspicion focussed on " R a m l o g a n , " a
young man who worked for M r . M a r a j h and lived in the same house.
No one had seen Ramlogan m a k e the phone call, but it was remembered
that he had been drinking heavily at the "cooking," and that he had
had a fight earlier in the evening with one of the young men in the
group threatening the policemen. It was also recalled that Ramlogan
had been part of the crowd surrounding the policemen and some said
that one of the policemen had whispered to Ramlogan, who then
wandered off into the night.
198 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION

Ramlogan swore that he was completely innocent. He admitted

that the policeman had whispered to him, but insisted that no such
request had been made, and that he had left simply to go home to
bed. He also said that he had seen a "strange c a r " drive by during the
excitement, and had noted that one of the policemen had signaled to
the driver. No one else remembered any such car, and Ramlogan's
story was not believed.
A number of the young men involved in the incident promised to
beat u p Ramlogan if they received sentences, and the general feeling
in the village was that he deserved such a beating. Some of his
friends came to him and pleaded with him to "stop playing the fool,"
for he was "destroying his reputation." To my knowledge, no one
remonstrated with any members of the group of young men who had
stopped the policemen.
Each person accused by the police swore to his own innocence, both
in the court and in the streets of the village. At most, they admitted
privately to being present in the crowd, but insisted that they had taken
no part in the threatening of the policemen. All claimed to have been
badly beaten by the police in the station, and many exhibited bruises
which they claimed had been received from police fists.
N o one in the village doubted the stories of the beatings, and there
were many bitter comments made about "police brutality." Why had
the police come to Amity "looking for trouble" in the first place, many
demanded? The incident occurred shortly after the Federal elections
of March 25, 195B, and many people felt that the whole thing rep-
resented an attempt on the part of the " N e g r o " police to " p u n i s h "
East Indians for the defeat of P N M candidates. For weeks after the
incident, taxi drivers from the village reported that the police were
being particularly unpleasant to Amity drivers.
Insisting that the incident had political overtones the young men,
assisted by a number of the "big men" of the village, appealed to
national East Indian leaders for legal aid. One of the best solicitors
 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION 199

on the island, a politically important East Indian, agreed to represent

them.
The first hearing, which ended in a postponement, was packed with
men from the village. The racial alignment in the court was particularly
striking that day: a West Indian judge and West Indian police versus
East Indian defendants and an East Indian lawyer. 5 Most of the
spectators were also East Indian. The alignment is fairly constant at
most court sessions: the same judge and police are present, the
lawyers practicing in the area are East Indians, and a large number
of the cases heard concern traffic violations. Taxi drivers commit most
of these violations, and most taxi drivers in the area are East Indians.
Thus, when conflicts arise in Amity, there is a strong desire to
settle them within the village, to prevent them from reaching a stage
where they will attract the attention of "Creole" police and "Creole"
law.
Such an avoidance of outside justice can be achieved largely because
individual East Indians in Amity are involved in a complex relationship
of mutual obligation between "inferior" and "superior." This
relationship, which makes possible both the settlement of conflict and
the control of political behavior, is known in the village as "feeling
praja."

THE "PRAJA" RELATIONSHIP

The expression nimakharam is a terrible insult in Amity. It is

usually translated as "one who eats another man's food, then does
him evil," but "ungrateful one" is a simpler and perhaps more pointed
definition. The term reflects the delicate web of reciprocal behavior
that forms between two non-related East Indians who are in constant
association. The behavior of kin relationships, and even "bye-family"
5
There are East Indian judges in Trinidad, but not in the court to which Amity
people must go.
200 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION

relationships, is structured differently. It is possible, however, for

two men of the same village to have a "bye-family" relationship on
one level, and this reciprocal relationship on another.
A certain resemblance may be noted between the Amity phenome-
non of praja and what Lewis calls " t h e jajmani system" in his study
of a village of Northern India (1958: 55-84). I prefer not to use the
term " j a j m a n i , " however, partly because the Amity relationship is
somewhat different f r o m the one described by Lewis, and partly
because the word " j a j m a n i " is not in common use in Amity. Those
who do know the term employ it in much the same way as do Lewis'
villagers : to refer to the recipient of caste-derived services, such as
the "client" of the N o barber, for example, or of the Brahman pandit
(cf. Lewis: 56 et passim.) While such jajmani relationships in Amity
are considered praja relationships, they form only a small part of the
praja behavior in the village. 8 One reason for this may be that in
Amity, unlike Rampur, caste and occupation do not necessarily
coincide, except in a few special cases, such as that of the N o barber
and the pandit.
While we are concerned here with praja relationships within the
village, it is important to note that such a relationship is not necessarily
limited to villagemates, but may come into existence between two
East Indians f r o m different parts of the island. The relationship is
not always on the conscious level, and may even develop between an
East Indian and a non-Indian. One Amity man who worked for a
Creole Sanitary Inspector told me he "felt praja' to his boss, who had
done many favors for him, including releasing him from work when
he was needed in his ricefield. In return, the laborer washed the in-
6
The term " p r a j a " may be defined, in its most limited sense, as a person under
an obligation to another, the latter being conceived of as a social superior. Since
such a definition does not express the reciprocity so intrinsic to the relationship
it is not entirely satisfactory. I prefer to have the term " p r a j a " stand for—as it does
in Amity—the entire manifestation of this reciprocal obligation relationship between
"inferior" and " s u p e r i o r . "
 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION 201

spector's car, acted as chauffeur after working hours, and gave his
boss frequent presents f r o m his garden and field.
The setting u p of a praja relationship may take different forms, but
the basic pattern may be expressed as follows. Individual A, who
needs some kind of help, goes to individual B who is in a position to
supply the help, A relates his problem, but usually will not come right
out and ask B for aid, for fear of being embarrassed by a refusal and
also because it is simply not good manners. If B then offers to solve
the problem by getting a j o b for A, or by helping him arrange a loan,
or by renting him a piece of riceland, a praja relationship comes into
existence. This means first of all that A will return the favor in some
way, probably with a present of some kind, or a day's free labor to be
volunteered without request. But, most important, it means that A
has acknowledged the superiority of B, and has become, in a sense, a
dependent of B. By the very act of assisting A, B has also become
obligated. Unless A turns out to be a nimakharam, B will consider
himself obligated to help A in the future, even if such later assistance
is somewhat inconvenient. When Mr. Hardeo, the driver, was asked
to mediate in a dispute, he rose f r o m a sickbed to d o it. 7 A will come
to B from now on for advice as well as material assistance, and will
accept instruction and correction f r o m B. If A has now become the
responsibility of B, B has now become the guide and leader of A.
It must be emphasized that there are different degrees of obligation.
If, for example, a taxi driver offers a fellow-villager a free ride into
town, and the latter accepts, a praja relationship may be said to be set
up. It is not of the same order, obviously, as the praja relationship
between two men, one of whom has helped the other to get a good job.
G o o d manners direct that the obligation, like the request, go
unstated—although there is considerable bitterness felt if one side
fails to respond properly. Thus, during a cricket game one Sunday
an Amity team found itself short of some equipment. One player sug-
7
See "Conflict and Sanction," pp. 206-20, in this book.
202 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION

gested they approach the other team for a loan of the necessary items.
The captain turned down the suggestion, saying that the other team
must be aware of the Amity team's deficiencies, and should have
offered to help without waiting to be asked. His teammate persisted,
pointing out that the Amity team had loaned equipment to the other
team the previous week—why couldn't the Amity captain remind them
of the loan? The captain grew furious and demanded, " Y o u do things
for people only to get something in return?" The other young man
grinned and nodded. " Y o u a dangerous m a n ! " the captain pro-
nounced, and turned his back.
The term praja was first used in my presence by a poor man who
explained that he "was praja" to a certain landholder. Questions
about the nature and extent of any obligations the landholder might
have to him appeared only to confuse him. On the other hand,
" M r . Ramsingh," a Cattrl and a landholder, explained praja as the
obligation a m a n has to a tenant of his, w h o m "he must care for, as a
father cares for a child." When I asked whether his tenant was also
obligated to him, he said yes, but went on to discuss the ways in which
he, himself, looked out for the needs of his own tenants.
It would appear, therefore, that the individual conceives of the
praja relationship in terms of his own obligation, either up or down
as the case may be. It can even be both up and down, as in the case
of the m a n who feels praja to the Sanitary Inspector. This same man,
whose family owns some land, and who holds the position of "charge
h a n d " (gang foreman), has a praja relationship with his tenants and
the men of his gang, and to them he is the "superior" in the relation-
ship. For most people, however, the praja relationship is in one
direction only. It is " u p " if one is a poor man, and " d o w n " for one
of the wealthy, influential, "big m e n " of the community.
While the praja relationship in Amity today is not significantly a
caste relationship, it is still reflected in inter-caste relationships in the
village, and to some extent in the behavior of members of certain
 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION 203

castes. First of all, most of the "big m e n " are of high castes, while
most of the poorest men are of low castes. Secondly, a highcaste
child, particularly a Brahman or Cattrl, is taught early what his
behavior with "inferiors" must be. One young Brahman informed
me that when he was a small child and a beggar came to the house,
his parents always insisted that he dispense the charity, requiring him
to use a set formula in which he called the beggar "my child." The
beggar would respond by touching the child's feet and calling him
" f a t h e r . " A lower-caste child is also instructed, quite frequently, in
the respectful behavior appropriate to a Cattrl, to a "big m a n , " and
especially to a Brahman. Years ago, it is said, no m a n of lower caste
could observe a Brahman engaged in a menial task, such as cutting
grass for his cow, without taking the blade out of his hand and doing
it for him. Today, many men would not go to his assistance, but there
are still those who would, even among the young people.
This may help to explain the peculiar positions occupied in the
community by two wealthy Sudra men and their families. Mr.
" M a n g a l , " who is commonly referred to as "the richest man in A m i t y "
(though he denies it piteously), is a member of the Bhar caste. He
began life as a member of a poor cane-laboring family in Amity. He
acquired a cart and two bulls, and began to build his fortune as a
"private" cane-loader. It is said that he and his wife could load
faster, and thus make more money, than any other team in the village.
In the 1940s, he was one of the first men in the village to become a
taxi driver and he reaped a fortune during the "American Occupation."
He has no sons, but one daughter teaches in the nursery school, and
another married a teacher in the Amity Hindu School.
Old Mr. " B h i m , " a Dusad, worked himself up from poor beginnings
in much the same way. He owns about six acres of caneland now,
plus some riceland. One son is a businessman in Port-of-Spain,
another is a headmaster in a Hindu school.
The two Sudra men now have very good houses on Beharri R o a d .
204 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION

It is common knowledge that Mr. Bhim, at least, raised pigs before

he moved to Beharri Road, but neither man engages in the practice
today. Both attend the Slwala ceremonies on important occasions,
and support the political party advocated by the village leaders.
Nevertheless, neither family is ever included in anyone's list of the
" i m p o r t a n t " families of Amity. Neither man is ever approached for
assistance or advice, nor is ever asked to help settle a dispute. They are
definitely not members of the ruling inner circle of Amity.
N o one in Amity would admit that low-caste membership has
anything to d o with the denial of the prestige which would seem the
due of the two wealthy Sudra men. " W e are all equal, now!" is the
indignant response to the suggestion. Some Sudra man is then
mentioned, f r o m this village or that, who is accorded high prestige.
The people of Amity say that Mr. Mangal and the Bhim family are
disliked simply because they are " n o t generous." It is possible, of
course, that these families are "not generous" because they know they
are disliked. Still another explanation may be sought in terms of the
praja relationship.
After all, a Brahman or Cattrl is aware, from an early age, of his
obligation to "inferiors." A Sudra may be aware of his obligations
to "superiors," though he may not always be willing to observe them,
but certainly if he is poor he has no sense of obligation to "inferiors."
A poor Sudra can have no praja "inferiors." If he becomes wealthy,
therefore, it m a y well be difficult for him to assume the behavior
appropriate to one of high station. A man tends to view the praja
relationship as having only the direction in which he customarily
faces, and he is only marginally aware of the fact that there is another
direction with behavior appropriate to it.
The two taxi driver sons of Mr. Ramsingh (Cattrl) are both noted
for their willingness to help persons in distress. In an emergency, they
may be counted on to drive someone to the hospital late at night. I
the person is poor, they have been known not to charge. Mr. Mangal,
 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION 205

on the other hand, is reputed never to have carried anyone free of

charge under any circumstances. It is said that when he had the only
taxi in the village there were many times when he turned emergency
cases away because they were unable to pay his exorbitant charge for
a special late-hour trip to the hospital.
Again, it is a widely-held belief in Amity that the aforementioned
Bhim family does no favor for anyone. When Mr. Bhim's oldest son
told me that his family was building a house for an old, childless
widow who worked for them, I discussed the matter with other villagers.
Everyone expressed astonishment at the news ("it never happened
before!"), and a few people absolutely refused to believe it. Others
frowned and then sought explanations. One man suggested that the
Bhims intended to subtract the cost of the house f r o m whatever the
woman earned in the future. Another dccided that it was probably a
clever plan: the childless widow undoubtedly would be required to
pay part of the costs, and then when she died the house would revert
entirely to the Bhims. N o one would credit the Bhims with anything
but selfish motives.
It may well be that some of the dislike felt for these two families
stems f r o m a—perhaps unconscious—resentment against Sudra
people who have become exceedingly wealthy. Caste feelings exist
still, for all the protestations of equality, and a Brahman is forgiven
for his transgressions much more quickly than a Sudra. The behavior
of Mr. Marajh—a Brahman, one of the leading landholders, and
perhaps the most influential m a n in Amity, has not always been above
reproach. It is said for example that as a young man he helped to
break a strike of cane-laborers on the estate. But he is well aware of
his praja relationships, and he fulfills them. When animals belonging
to one of Mr. M a r a j h ' s tenants damaged the Brahman's garden, the
latter was furious, but announced that he would assume the burden
of the damages "if they were small," because he felt obligated to do so.
"He is my tenant," he said resignedly.
206 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION

CONFLICT AND SANCTION

Conflict within a family is settled by the senior males of the family;

conflict between families requires an arbiter or it is liable to turn into
violence. If both disputants "feel praja" to the same "superior," the
latter stands a good chance of ending the disturbance in short order.
Speed is of the essence, for any dispute between two individuals is
very likely to develop into a dispute between their respective families.
The families involved must choose between disowning their kinsman
and withdrawing all support from him, or supporting him completely
and thereby becoming parties to the dispute.
The first reaction of an Amity family is to come to the support of
its own member, and it usually requires the commission of a serious
" c r i m e " 8 for an individual to lose his family's support. Because of
this, disputes between individuals develop almost immediately into
family feuds, with the individuals directly concerned sometimes
receding into the background as more powerful members of the family
enter the fray.
An example of this is an incident which had its origin during the
Holl celebration. The "good suit" of Headmaster Bhim, a son of the
M r . Bhim mentioned in the previous section, was stained with abir
thrown by " J a i r a m . " The latter is a neighbor of the Bhim family and
the head of an important landholding family of the Ahlr caste. Head-
master Bhim was incensed and demanded recompense. A younger
brother of the headmaster told me privately that he wished his brother
would forget the matter, for he was afraid it would create ill-feeling
for the family. Publicly, however, he supported his brother vocifer-
ously, and stopped speaking to Jairam. At first, the young landholder
wished to settle the matter quietly by paying the damages demanded,
though he felt he was in the right since good clothes are often ruined

• What is considered a serious crime in Trinidad courts may not be considered

one in Amity—and vice versa.
 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION 207

during Holi (it had happened to him in the past, and he had said
nothing). Jairam's family and friends, however, were furious that a
supposedly "good Hindu" should complain about an abir stain, 9 and
they wished to bring the matter before the Mahasabha organization.
The conflict took on momentum. The mothers of Headmaster
Bhim and Jairam quarreled in the street. Two young brothers almost
came to blows. Finally, when a member of the Mahasabha executive
next happened to visit Amity, the matter was put to him. Headmaster
Bhim was not present; his father presented the case for him. The
decision was in Jairam's favor, and the furor died down.

Another consequence of inter-familial conflict is that retaliation for

an offence is frequently directed at the entire family of the offender,
or any member thereof, if it is assumed that they are supporting the
offender. 10 A "Creole" Visiting Nurse related, with some contempt
for what she called East Indian "barbarity," the comments made to
her by an old East Indian woman whose son-in-law had threatened
to kill his wife (her daughter). The old woman said that if anything
happened to her daughter, she would hire someone to annihilate the
man's family in a gruesome manner: cutting off his mother's leg, his
father's arm, etc. Very occasionally in the history of Amity, blood has
been shed in the course of a family feud. The danger is always present.
To most people of Amity, once the family extends support to a
culprit—or at least does not publicly reject him—it is only right and
proper that all members be subject to retaliation. After an election
there was a rumor in the village that a leader (East Indian) of the
DLP intended to punish a PNM candidate, who was also an East
Indian, by building a fine new movie theater in the man's home town.
The candidate himself would have suffered only indirectly, but his

" See section "Public Celebrations," pp. 157-68, in this book.

10
The question "who are your enemies?" is answered invariably with a list of
the enemies of the respondent's family.
208 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION

widowed mother, who owned the hitherto only theater in the town,
would have been ruined. The criticism to be heard in Amity was never
directed against the leader, but was rather against the candidate for
having engaged in behavior which might result in such misfortune for
his family.
A final consequence of what might be termed the "family feud"
attitude in Amity is reflected in the local reaction to an individual
who actually loses the support of his family. Since it is assumed that
a family will support a culprit except in the face of an enormous crime,
news of the family's withdrawal of support is interpreted as " p r o o f "
of the culprit's guilt. Thus, when Ramlogan was suspected of sum-
moning the police to Amity, 1 1 he complained to a friend in my
presence that "even my family is against me." When Ramlogan left,
his friend said sadly that this " p r o v e d " Ramlogan's guilt: his family
would not conceivably have turned against him otherwise.
One night a young man, who had been deserted by his wife,
threatened his father-in-law with a cutlass, demanding the return of
the girl and their children. Neighbors gathered, advising the young
m a n to bring his case before some "big m e n " and to put away his
cutlass for fear of prejudicing his case.
In Central Amity, the "big m e n " tend to be the most influential
men in the entire village: Mr. Hardco, the estate driver; Mr. Marajh,
Mr. Ramsingh, Mr. Ramesar (all big landholders); plus Jairam, and
Headmaster " M a h a d e o Singh" of the Amity Hindu School, who are
young men of considerable local prestige. Every district in the village,
however, has its "big m e n " who settle disputes. Shopkeepers, wise
old men, and estate drivers help to keep the peace in their neighbor-
hoods.
Such men derive their authority f r o m a number of sources. Age is
always a source of respect in Amity, but for a man to be a "big m a n "
in his neighborhood, age must be accompanied by some other factor;
11
See " T h e Village Pameyt a n d t h e C o u r t s , " pp. 192-99, in this b o o k .
 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION 209

there are many old men sitting in the shade around Amity to whom
n o one ever goes with a problem. True piety counts; the two pandits
of Amity are rarely called upon to act as arbiters because both have a
reputation for immorality. The Headmaster is consulted because his
wisdom and education are respected. Wealth and economic power,
control over jobs and riceland, are very important, and the biggest of
the "big m e n " are the driver and the important landholders. With
wealth must go "generosity," which means appropriate behavior as a
" s u p e r i o r " in a praja relationship. Thus, Mr. Bhim and Mr. Mangal
are never asked to arbitrate disputes.
C o m m o n sense and "fair play" contribute to the verdict, and in
some cases religious books are consulted. India is a final authority
to be appealed to in any dispute over correct practice or behavior. 1 2
It is understandable that this might have been so when there were many
old people still alive who had been born in India. Today, the fact
that one's father or grandfather said that in India it was done "this
way," is still sufficient reason for continuing to do it that way. Through
the movies, modern India is a source of authority as well as innovation.
The traditional jama jura, or bridegroom's gown, was replaced at one
wedding I attended with a copy of a wedding coat seen in an Indian
movie. Again, the cars that make up the barat, or wedding procession,
compete dangerously for the position of honor right behind the car
of the dolaha (bridegroom). Once, in a barat, as the cars skidded and
twisted past one another, a passenger in the car in which I was traveling
asked the driver not to take part in the "nonsense." The driver
replied angrily that it was not "nonsense," that he had just seen an
Indian movie in which barat carts were raced in exactly the same
manner. The passenger was silenced.
According to the "big m e n " I interviewed, drunkenness, conflicts
12
Villagers will claim, for example, that only people b o m in India can p e r f o r m
really powerful and efficacious magic. It is said that magic performed by even the
best of the Trinidad-born practitioners is only a feeble reflection of the real thing.
210 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION

involving women, and the depredations of livestock are the most

common causes of disputes. Sample accounts from interviews:

"Bridglal" (Casecu shopkeeper):

Two men of the district came into his shop arguing bitterly. They
explained that the bull of one had slipped its tether a n d " b o o t e d " (butted)
the bull of the other man. The man whose bull had been the victim demanded
damages. Bridglal's decision was that the owner of the offending animal
pay for any "medicine" needed by the other's animal, and make a small but
appropriate payment if the trouble caused the other to lose work and
therefore money for the incident took place during crop-time, and both
men were using their bulls to pull cane carts.
Bridglal feels that the most frequent "troubles" brought before him arise
out of drunken quarrels, which frequently begin in his own rum shop. If,
as a result of the fight, a man is injured, the dispute may be brought to him.
In one recent case, he said, the injured man was unable to work for a fort-
night, and demanded a fortnight's pay in damages. Bridglal said that he has
a standard decision for such cases: he pointed out that the two men are
neighbors, that the situation easily could be reversed next time (thus giving
the injured man a good reason for reducing his claim, and the injurer a good
reason for paying it). "Let there be peace," he advised, and cut the claim
from $30 to $20. The offender paid, and there was peace.
Bridglal said that he tries to settle the dispute by himself, when he can,
and is usually successful. When the parties involved are not satisfied,
Bridglal calls in other "big men" of Casecu. These are men who also settle
"troubles" privately. In particularly knotty disputes, as many as four or
five men may sit in judgment, but this is rare.

Mr. Hardeo (Estate Driver, Central Amity):

Two or three weeks before, " M o t i " of Lloyd Street had had a number
of drinks on a Saturday night, and had "cussed o u t " a neighbor, " G o p a l , "
whose fowls had created havoc in Moti's garden earlier in the week. At
around 10:30 P.M., Gopal appeared at Mr. Haideo's house, much upset,
to announce that "My neighbor cussing me out." According to Gopal
the drunken man called him obscene names and threatened to burn his house
and kill his animals.
Mr. Hardeo, who is not a well man, got dressed and walked to the house
of Moti, finding the man in bed. To Mr. Hardeo's questions, he replied,
 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION 211

" N o , bheya, I ain' do nothing." Mr. Hardo responded severely that he did
not believe him, and warned him not to do it again. He then told Gopal
to forget the matter, and returned home. There was no further trouble.
Neither man is in his gang, but he says they listen to him because they
"respect my judgment." Also, he has assisted both in times of need with
money and gifts of food, and has gotten work for them on occasion.
Saturday night is the most troublesome in the week for Mr. Hardeo
because people get drunk. The rest of the week, he said, is "cool and calm."
In his experience, the most frequent cause of conflict is that of fowls invading
a neighbor's garden. The neighbor may, in anger, kill the bird, and trouble
starts. Next most frequent cause is praedial larceny. It can usually be
smoothed over, but once a man shot a neighbor for stealing, and the matter
went beyond Amity.
For Mr. Hardeo, the most serious case would be an "elopement"- -when
a man "steals" his neighbor's daughter. Men such as Mr. Marajh and
himself would sit in judgment, and influential East Indians from outside
Amity might even be called in.

We see, therefore, that ordinary small neighborly disputes in Amity

are settled by one "big man" sitting in judgment. Customarily, two
praja "inferiors" w h o acknowledge the same praja "superior" bring
the matter before him, and accept his decision. If he cannot decide to
their satisfaction, or if the dispute is of major proportions, he calls in
other "big men." Such courts are also called panceyts, but the villagers
distinguish them from the old "village panceyt," and I shall use the
term "informal panceyt" for the kind that still exists. The membership
of the informal panceyt is not fixed, and chance frequently determines
who will be on it. Thus, Headmaster Mahadeo Singh told me that
once he was passing a house on Lloyd Street and was called in by an
old man who was listening to a dispute between two neighbors. A
well-known East Indian from Chaguanas passed the house a few
moments later, on his way to visit a friend, and was also asked to join
the panel of judges. The three listened to both sides, consulted, and
issued a verdict.
An informal panceyt may be called, too, if the dispute is between
212 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION

two men of unequal status. The m a n of lower status may fear that
his opponent will be able to exert undue influence on only one judge.
In the incident mentioned earlier, in which a young man threatened
his father-in-law with a cutlass, demanding the return of his wife, I
was able to observe almost every phase of the case firsthand, even
participating in the informal panceyt.
The young m a n — " S u g r i m , " an illiterate cane-laborer born in
another village—had married the sister of Headmaster Mahadeo some
years previously. Both a religious ceremony and a legal registration
had taken place. Sugrim had moved to Amity when his brother-in-
law's fortunes had risen. Unfortunately, Sugrim drank a good deal,
and when drunk, beat his wife unmercifully. Periodically she had to
run to her family with her two children for protection. On the last
occasion he had beaten her so severely during a drunken rage that he
had broken her wrist. The next day, while he was off working, she
had taken the two children and gone to her father's home. Her
brother sent her off to the home of some cousins in a distant village.
Upon discovering his wife's absence, Sugrim went to the home of
her family. They ordered him out, saying that she had "run a w a y "
because of him, and that they did not know where she was. For a
week he brooded alone. Then, on Saturday night after drinking up
his pay, he took his cutlass and went to her family's house. He stood
in front of the house shouting and threatening the occupants. Perhaps
he was aware that the Headmaster Mahadeo, the only member of the
family he really feared, was away f r o m home. N o member of the
family came out of the house and he was eventually quieted by neighbors
who advised him to seek justice in a more proper way.
Next evening, Sugrim came to see me. He said that he missed his
wife and children terribly and wanted them back. He was sorry about
the beating, although as he related it, it had been nothing more than
an ordinary husband-wife quarrel. He was willing to promise never
to drink or mistreat his wife again. He came to me, he said, because
 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION 213

his position was a difficult one. His brother-in-law was a "big man,"
while he was a poor laborer, and a stranger, at that. Under the
circumstances, he was dubious about his chances of getting fair
treatment from an Amity panceyt. He would go before a panceyt
therefore only if I—in his eyes a person of consequence, and like
himself a stranger to the village—would sit as one of the judges
thereby assuring a fair decision.
Headmaster Mahadeo agreed, and within a week a meeting was
held in my house. The Headmaster and Sugrim attended, plus two
arbitrators agreeable to both: Jairam and a cousin of his who was a
bookkeeper for the estate. The Headmaster spoke first, demanding
to know whether—should he decide to permit his sister to return—
Sugrim would promise to turn over a new leaf: to stop drinking and
beating his wife, and to work hard. Sugrim said he would be a good
husband and father, and would make no more trouble for anyone.
On that basis the Headmaster agreed to bring his sister home, but
he called upon the three of us to witness the agreement, and the fact
that he swore never to give Sugrim another chance. The three of us
murmured agreement, with Jairam giving Sugrim a brief lecture: He
told Sugrim to behave "like a man." Sugrim, his head bowed,
promised. Jairam then said that he might be able to help Sugrim get
a much better job. The meeting lasted about fifteen minutes.
The wife did not return immediately, however, and a week later
Sugrim demanded another hearing. It was granted and the same people
were present, plus the Headmaster's father. The Headmaster again
spoke first, saying that the press of work had kept him from visiting
his sister until the previous day. She had been informed that he had
decided she was to return to her husband, and she would be back in
the village within the next day or so. This time Sugrim was a little
more argumentative. He said that he suspected a "trick," and he was
beginning to wonder whether his wife was not in actuality living with
some other man.
214 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION

This angered the Headmaster. He said, first, that he had placed

his sister in the home of a "brother-in-law" (that is, with his father's
sister's daughter and her husband), and that this couple had watched
her carefully all the time she was there. True, he said, they were
technically only " b r o t h e r " and "sister," but in age they were almost
contemporaries of his own parents, and so quite competent to protect
his sister's honor. Therefore, let no one say his sister had dishonored
her husband—she had been given no opportunity. He then repeated
vehemently that if there were any further trouble, he would listen to
no importunities from anyone. The Headmaster's father mumbled
that he had many sons-in-law but that only "this one" gave him trouble.
Sugrim promised once more to be good, and the meeting ended after
twenty minutes.
Later that evening the Headmaster informed me that he had not
really made up his mind about his sister's return, despite his promise
of the week before. He didn't trust or like Sugrim, and he seriously
doubted that the young man would keep his promise. Furthermore,
he objected to the treatment his sister had received at Sugrim's hands.
He was seriously considering reconvening the panceyt to announce
that he had changed his mind.
Finally, the day before, he had decided to visit his cousins and
determine his sister's attitude on the matter. Sitting in one room, he
outlined the situation to his relatives, while his sister waited in another
room. The female cousin had carried the matter to his sister, who
was "too shy" to speak to him directly. The cousin reported that the
sister desired very much to return to her husband, although the
cousin herself, and other female friends and relatives had tried to talk
her out of it.
The Headmaster told me that he was still reluctant, but decided to
allow his sister to return, after all. The marriage was a legal one, they
had children, and she wanted to go back. He could only hope that
the long separation had chastened Sugrim, who had been truly
miserable without his wife and children.
 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION 215

It is important to note that Sugrim and the Headmaster were not

equal disputants, as in the cases of the neighborly conflicts mentioned
earlier. Not only was the Headmaster a "big m a n " while Sugrim was
an ordinary cane-laborer; the latter had the additional disadvantages of
being a stranger and clearly in the wrong. There was little that Sugrim
could hope for. He told me privately, before the first meeting, that
he would settle for the return of "only one child," and he seemed to
be steeling himself against the permanent loss of his entire family.
Furthermore, of the two disputants, only Sugrim behaved as a man
being judged. The Headmaster, obviously more accustomed to
judging than being judged, tended to take over the meeting and hand
down his own decisions. To him, the three "judges" were more in
the nature of witnesses to his decision and Sugrim's promise.
When "big m e n " dispute, the case may have to be brought to
someone still higher—as when Headmaster Bhim demanded that
Jairam pay for the suit the latter had ruined with abir during Holl.
The mechanism for settling disputes in Amity works best when dis-
putants are "small" men. If one man is "small" and the other "big,"
as in the case of Sugrim and Headmaster Mahadeo, the machinery
begins to break down—or would, if it were not for the fact that the
"small" man generally accepts, without argument, the decision of the
"big" man. Thus, when some cattle belonging to a tenant of Mr.
Marajh wandered into the garden of the latter, doing considerable
damage, there was no talk of bringing the matter before anyone.
Mr. Marajh told me he would have the damage evaluated. If it were
small he would stand the expense himself, since the owner of the
cattle was his own tenant, and it would not be right to "press him"
unnecessarily. If the damage were extensive, he would demand that
the tenant pay a substantial part of it, for, in Mr. Marajh's opinion,
allowing the cattle to wander freely was not a malicious act but
represented a lack of proper concern for the property of others. In
effect, Mr. Marajh issued a judgment, complete with moral justifica-
tion, in a case in which he himself was one of the disputants!
216 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION

A number of years ago, when the "village panceyt" was still

functioning, pandit Sookram Marajh was accused of rape. It was
not the first accusation of its kind made against him, although the
charges were never pressed in court, and the "village panceyt"
assembled and considered placing him in kuja. Nothing ever came of
the meeting, however, for very few villagers were willing to vote for
sanctions against a Brahman pandit.
A few years ago, Pooran Marajh, the other Amity pandit, became
interested in the young childless widow of a recently deceased cousin
of Jairam. N o one had any proof, but it was whispered about the
village that he was visiting her late at night. This was before Basdeo
broke with the STwala, and he and Jairam were close friends. One
night the two men lay in hiding and observed the pandit sneaking
into the house about 10:30 P.M. I heard the story from each m a n
separately, and both gave the same explanation for their behavior
that night. They realized that there was no way of punishing the
Brahman, short of beating him up, and they were reluctant to do that.
Instead, they woke up a number of young men, including the deceased
man's younger brother who lived nearby. All the young men sur-
rounded the house, a small concrete one on pillars, in which the
woman lived alone now that her husband was dead. With Jairam
behind him, the younger brother was sent up the stairs, instructed to
tell the woman that his mother was ill and needed her. When she
opened the door, Jairam tried to push his way in, but she was able to
slam the door and bolt it. She shouted from inside that there was no
one in the house but herself. Jairam replied that no one had said
anything about there being anyone in the house with her and that he
merely wanted to visit. After all, both he and the young brother were
chotkas of the widow. She continued to shout that she was alone in
the house. Though it was close to midnight, a crowd of about
five hundred villagers soon gathered. When they learned what
was transpiring, they surrounded the house, shouting, "Come
 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION 217

out, p a n d i t ! " 1 3 He refused to emerge, or even to show himself.

The members of the crowd began to enjoy themselves, calling upon
the pandit to give them a lecture upon morality. The wife o f the
pandit joined the crowd, and told Jairam and Basdeo she was very
happy to see her husband publicly shamed, but asked them to promise
not to hurt him. Jairam and Basdeo, who had exacted the same
promise from the young men they had first awakened, reassured her.
The pandit's brothers and male cousins, however, were frightened
by the crowd, and summoned the police from the Ward Center. The
police (Negro) came, exhibiting much amusement about the whole
matter. They called up into the house, advising the pandit to emerge.
They demanded to know why—since this was apparently his woman
now, and he was obviously staying here—he wasn't man enough to
step out, so inform his neighbors, and demand that they stop bothering
him. The pandit made no reply to this suggestion, and eventually the
amused policemen returned to the station house—obviously unable
to comprehend the horrid circumstances o f a Hindu guru being
ridiculed by his own initiates after being surprised in flagrante delicto.
At 5 A.M. the matter was still at an impasse, and Jairam and Basdeo
decided that the pandit had been punished sufficiently. They sent for
Sookram Marajh, the other pandit of Amity, and asked him to speak
to the man hiding in the house. Sookram was admitted to the house,
and emerged after conferring with his colleague. He proposed a
compromise: let a taxi be brought right up to the steps of the house.
The pandit would then come out but only to leap into the taxi to be
driven home. Jairam and Basdeo agreed. The taxi arrived, and the
pandit ran out of the house and into the taxi—amid a crescendo of
cheers, jeers, and laughter. With his finger on the horn, as if he were
carrying a bridegroom, the taxi driver drove the miserable pandit
through the crowd slowly to his home.

" S i n c e he would n o r m a l l y be addressed either by his n a m e o r by s o m e kinship

t e r m , the use o f the title was intended as s a r c a s m .
218 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION

Within a few days, the widow departed from her late husband's
home and the insults of his family, and the pandit set her up in a
house in Casecu. He is now considered to have two wives—both
being called "Mistress P o o r a n " — a n d spends his time between the
two menages. The wives are not on speaking terms.
Both Jairam and Basdeo, when they separately recounted the story
to me, indicated resentment at the implication that they had intended
to beat up the pandit. Jairam was particularly annoyed. He pointed
out that Pooran M a r a j h had been his family " g o d f a t h e r " u p until
this incident. 14 He added emphatically that if he and his brothers and
cousins had wished to use violence, they would never have awakened
people, but would have waited quietly in the dark for the pandit to
emerge, and pounced on him then.
It might be argued perhaps that, after all, the "public shaming" of
the pandit amounted to a very minor and ineffectual punishment.
Within a few days most of the pandit's clients returned to him, and
he continued with his religious practice essentially as before, much to
Basdeo's disgust. Nevertheless, as punishment for his sin the pandit
had one excruciatingly embarrassing night with his entire village
standing around and jeering at him, much as if he had been placed on
a public pillory. Though his practice returned, his prestige as a Brahman
and a village leader was permanently impaired. As for the widow,
while pandit Pooran may have intended the relationship as only a
brief affair, now, after the public scandal and her ejection from the
home and protection of Jairam's family, he had no alternative—
whatever his plans may have been before—but to set her up in a house
of her own, and to support two menages.
Public ridicule, as a sanction against disapproved behavior, is used
in other circumstances. A m a n who marries a girl of the village and
comes to Amity to dwell, instead of taking her to his own village, must
14
T h i s m a d e t h e p a n d i t ' s a c t i o n s all the m o r e r e p r e h e n s i b l e , since h i s a f f a i r
w a s w i t h t h e w i f e of o n e of his initiates, herself his i n i t i a t e .
 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION 219

learn to live with the mocking appellation, " g h a r d a m d a , " shouted at

him by the young men of the village for months and even years there-
after. But the most striking use of public ridicule is as a punishment
for sexual transgressions, as in the case of the pandit.
One afternoon when the C. M. School was closed (because of
cricket Test Matches in Port-of-Spain) a young monitor f r o m another
village slipped into the empty building with a fourteen-year-old girl of
Amity, whose father had sent her to the shop. Some children playing
in the yard spotted the pair in the building and informed the girl's
parents.
The girl's mother ran to the school and began to scream at them to
come out. Other women gathered quickly, mocking the boy with
laughing shouts such as, " C o m e out, Teacher! Teach me!" After a
few minutes, the girl emerged, sheepish and fearful. She was slapped
by her mother and sent home. For more than half an hour the boy
refused to come out, much to the amusement of the village ladies
gathered in the street. Then a small boy took pity on the monitor,
and brought the latter's bicycle around to the door. The monitor
dashed through the crowd of women who simply stood there laughing
at him, making n o move to threaten or hold him. He clambered onto
his bicycle and took off down the road.
There are striking similarities in the pattern of events and behavior
in the two cases of "public shaming." In both cases, the ridicule was
directed against the males, while the females were ignored by the
crowd. At the same time, there seemed to be an unspoken, and
perhaps unconscious, agreement that the ridicule was sufficient
punishment for the men. True, the pandit's prestige was permanently
impaired, but his practice remained, and only Jairam's family and
Basdeo stopped speaking to him. In the case of the young monitor,
one of the women on the road called out a threat to inform his head-
master. It was apparently intended as a final scare for the headmaster
never learned of the incident. It is interesting, therefore, that the
220 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION

residual effects were felt most strongly by the females in both cases.
A woman's reputation, whether she be an unmarried girl or a married
woman, must be preserved by her at all costs. Illicit liaisons occur, of
course, but no female will ever admit to them. Even when an un-
married girl becomes pregnant, her family may try to cover up for her
as much as they can, to preserve her chance of making a decent
marriage. On the other hand, the family may cast her out in the street.
This withdrawal of familial protection makes her shame a public
matter, and permanently destroys her reputation.
Although Jairam and his brothers and cousins awoke the neighbors
for the purpose of shaming the pandit, the act also served as a public
announcement of the immorality of their cousin's widow. That this
was also their intention is demonstrated by the fact that within the
next few days she was permanently ejected f r o m the family and from
her late husband's house. In the case of the schoolgirl, the situation
was similar in that her reputation, too, was damaged. Later in the
week, other girls in the village commented bitterly on the mother's
behavior. By making a public scene, she had affected the girl's chances
of making a good marriage. If she had cared for her daughter, the
girls said, the mother would have waited home quietly until her
daughter returned, then punished her as severely as she wished, but
kept the incident a secret, and thus the girl's reputation reasonably
intact. By making a public scene, she was making her daughter the
butt of the scorn of other women, who immediately responded. Since
the scorn of the women was directed at the boy (as in the case of the
pandit), we might speculate that some of the anger felt against a man
in such cases derives from the fact that he has contributed to the
destruction of a w o m a n ' s reputation. As far as the young girls in the
village were concerned, a large measure of blame must go also to the
father of the girl for sending his daughter off alone to the store.
 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION 221

NATIONAL POLITICS ON T H E VILLAGE LEVEL

In the 1958 federal elections, two major parties contested in Tri-

nidad: (a) the Peoples National Movement which, in Trinidad, re-
presented the West Indian Federal Labour Party; and (b) the De-
mocratic Labour Party of Trinidad and Tobago, representing the
West Indian Democratic Labour Party. The DLP represents a merger
of a number of small parties which contested the 1956 national elec-
tions. The villagers themselves are not at all concerned with party
labels or party platforms. For them, there is a "Creole" or "Negro"
party, the PNM, and they believe this party has a Creole mem-
bership and Creole leadership. There is also the DLP, an "East
Indian" party, which in the minds of the people of Amity is supported
and run by East Indians.
There happen to be men of all races among the candidates and
elected officials of both parties, but this is not of concern to the vill-
agers. As they view politics, the PNM is a "Creole" party, run by
Dr. Eric Williams, the present Chief Minister of Trinidad, and the
DLP is an "Indian" party controlled by the Honorable Bhadase Sagon
Maraj, Leader of the Opposition in the Trinidad Legislative Council.
The villagers are absolutely certain that each of these men is primarily
concerned with the well-being of his own ethnic group.
Both the election of 1958, which I witnessed, and the one in 1956
were hotly contested in Amity. Each time, the "Indian" party can-
didate won overwhelmingly in the area of which Amity is a part, the
victories being attributed to solid East Indian support. However, in
Amity itse'f, which has almost no Creole population, the "Creole"
party did very well, securing over forty percent of the vote in each
election.
East Indian political behavior is a source of much confusion and
bitterness for many non-Indians in Trinidad. Educated Creoles in
Port-of-Spain, as well as some Westernized East Indians, express
222 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION

astonishment at the way the East Indians of Trinidad have turned so

resolutely away from the PNM. Voting behavior of East Indians is
something else that puzzles many Trinidad non-Indians. The East
Indian vote is always large, and almost every single registered East
Indian voter in any given district goes to the polls, it is said.
A rumor is current in Port-of-Spain, even among highly-placed,
educated non-Indians, that before an election agents of the Mahasabha
go from house to house in the rural districts with a lota (ceremonial
brass vase) filled with Ganges water, ordering the illiterate—and
presumably otherwise politically unconcerned—East Indians to swear
on the lota that they will turn out to vote, and will vote for the East
Indian candidate. It will be seen that for such non-Indians, the
question of why a conservative, overwhelmingly East Indian village
such as Amity should turn in a split vote, while other Indian villages
in the same area voted solidly against PNM, is unanswerable.
The problem for the people of Amity was that, in both elections,
they were faced with a conflict of almost equally strong praja-type
obligations. Party platforms and election issues carried much less
weight. The candidates in both elections were East Indians. The
same PNM candidate, whom I shall call here "Nandilal," ran each
time.
Nandilal had been a member of the County Council for many years,
and had done many favors for Amity village as a whole, and for many
individuals within it. The people of Amity credit him with bringing
paved roads, electricity, and street lights to the village, and with
"protecting" villagers from "Creole" law and justice. Any villager in
trouble with the law would turn to Nandilal first for assistance, and
even his opponents in the village had to admit that the assistance was
invariably forthcoming. This help was particularly important to taxi
drivers, who find themselves continually charged with all manner of
traffic offenses. Moreover, he had relatives and personal friends
within Amity, and had always been a frequent visitor at weddings and
 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION 223

religious affairs. In a speech in Amity, during the campaign of 1958,

Nandilal said that any m a n in Amity who voted against him would
be a nlmakharam (an ingrate), and in the audience men who knew
they would be voting against him nodded sadly and said it was so.
For the Honorable Bhadase Sagon Maraj, there is also a strong
sense of praja on the part of the villagers. He is given full personal
credit for having built the Hindu schools in Trinidad, and the weight
that this carries for the average East Indian of Trinidad cannot
possibly be overemphasized. He, too, has a reputation for helping
people in distress, and a number of villagers have gone to him for
aid in getting a loan. He is admired for his wealth, respected as a
Brahman, and hailed as the East Indian " C h i e f " who has advanced
the status of the entire ethnic group.
On the other hand, the many villagers who had been personally
assisted by Nandilal, and who were familiar with him, felt closer to
him than to the " C h i e f , " who was a distant, somewhat awesome
figure. Further, Nandilal was running himself, while M a r a j was not
a candidate in the 1958 elections.
Since for most men to decide for either candidate was to be a
mmakharam to the other, it was not an easy decision to make. Many
of the leading and most vociferous supporters of the D L P spoke
sympathetically of Nandilal, w h o m they liked personally. Some, when
approached by Nandilal, told him straightforwardly that, much as
they felt obligated to him, they simply could not support him against
the "Chief." A few men even went to him on their own to inform
him that he could not have their votes.
Although the balloting was secret, and despite the heated feelings
engendered by the election conflict, a surprisingly large number of
people announced publicly how they intended to vote. Almost all
the taxi drivers, who were under heavy obligation to Nandilal, sup-
ported him despite considerable pressure in many cases f r o m family
and friends.
224 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION

T h a t Nandilal did n o t in the end carry Amity can only be attributed

to the fact that the really i m p o r t a n t m e n of the village threw their
s u p p o r t behind the " C h i e f . " While there is no one ruler in the village
today, as in the time of Kublal M a r a j h , there is a small g r o u p of m e n
(all f r o m Central Amity) who, between them, control and run the
village. They are the truly " b i g m e n " mentioned earlier: M r . H a r d e o ,
M r . M a r a j h , Mr. Ramsingh, M r . R a m e s a r — p l u s Jairam and Head-
master M a h a d e o , both of w h o m have considerable influence a m o n g
the young m e n of Amity.
Their leadership is effective even t h o u g h they have no formal
organization. W h e n a Village Council was formed in Amity in 1955,
under the direction of a G o v e r n m e n t Education Extension Officer,
these men ruled its deliberations. T h e y lost interest in the Village
Council, a f t e r a while, a n d stopped attending meetings. In 1956, the
Council was " c a p t u r e d " by supporters of the P N M , and they p r o m p t l y
withdrew completely. So did their followers, and the Village Council
became m o r i b u n d .
These leaders, it will be noted, are the " b i g m e n " of the village w h o
have the greatest prestige—not those w h o arc only called u p o n t o
settle m i n o r disputes. These include the descendants of the earliest
settlers, the present big landholders, a n d the m o s t senior driver of the
estate. In other words, these are the men w h o are the prajâ " s u p e r i o r s "
to the greatest n u m b e r of villagers. Therefore, once these m e n de-
clared for the " C h i e f , " for m a n y lesser m e n the problem of which
way to vote became simplified immediately: they voted according to
the advice of the men to w h o m they "felt prajâ."
Putting aside a n u m b e r of Creole votes f r o m the Main R o a d , which
were counted in with the Amity total, and a p a r t f r o m Nandilal's
popularity in Amity, the explanation for the fact that the P N M got
almost 700 votes in 1958 in Amity to the D L P ' s 800 may be sought
within the structuring of the Amity c o m m u n i t y . Almost all East
Indian P N M vote in Amity derived f r o m Jangll Tola and Barrackville.
 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION 225

Jangll Tola, in fact, is the stronghold of the P N M in Amity, while

Barrackville is somewhat more divided. A much smaller proportion
of the P N M vote came f r o m Casecu. 1 5 This means that there is a
rough correlation between low caste and P N M vote, and high caste
and D L P vote—the latter party being particularly strong in Central
Amity and Thomas Road. The D L P had to receive a large number
of low-caste votes in addition, of course, in order to achieve its
majority. The highest caste I was able to note among Nandilal's sup-
porters was Baniya (interestingly, the same caste as Nandilal, him-
self).
The fact that Nandilal drew most of his strength f r o m people of
low caste was first mentioned to me by village leaders in discussing
the cessation of Ramllla in Amity. It was their opinion that un-
scrupulous supporters of Nandilal—they did not blame him person-
ally—had played upon caste hostilities during the national election
two years before, saying to the people "in the b a c k " that the party of
Bhadase Sagon M a r a j was " M a r a j h business" and not the concern
of men of low caste. Noting that almost all the leaders of his party
were Cattrl or Brahman, they made an issue of the treatment of low-
caste children during Ramllla.
Just before the election of 1956, it is said, a "victory p a r a d e " of
cars drumming up support for M a r a j and his party felt the effects of the
anti-Brahman whispering campaign in Amity. The procession of cars,
said to have been miles long, drove slowly down Thomas Road,
turning left on Beharri Road, and was enthusiastically cheered all the
way. When the first cars reached Border Street, a jeering crowd came
pouring out of the back districts, and a few stones were thrown at the
cars. Several "drunken old ladies," so the story goes in Amity,
whipped off their sandals and offered to press the inner soles to the

15
The foregoing derives f r o m an analysis of the returns f r o m each poll in
Amity, made after the election by the D L P leaders of the village.
226 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION

m o u t h of the candidate, with the o b v i o u s if u n s p o k e n implication,

" Y o u can kiss my feet, B r a h m a n ! " 1 6
It is also possible to analyze the voting b e h a v i o r of the people of
Jangll Tola a n d Barrackville in terms of "feeling praja.'''' Jangll T o l a
is the district of crabcatchers a n d fishermen. T r u e , m a n y work o n
the estate in crop-time, but f o r the m o s t p a r t they d o n o t raise rice—
and thus they are not tenants of l a n d h o l d e r s . In general, they d o n o t
have the strong praja relationships with the " b i g m e n " of Central
Amity to be f o u n d a m o n g the p e o p l e of C a s e c u . T h e people
of Barrackville rarely raise rice either, partly because they are relative
newcomcrs to Amity, and land for renting is scarce. Because they d o
not raise rice and because they arc newcomers, they d o not have s t r o n g
praja relationships with the Central A m i t y leaders.
T h e situation in Amity, therefore, m a y be s u m m e d u p as follows:
Both Bhadase Sagon M a r a j a n d N a n d i l a l m a d e s t r o n g personal ap-
peals for the vote of the people of A m i t y in terms of obligation f o r
services rendered. The leaders of Amity swung behind the " C h i e f , "
bringing with t h e m the vote of their respective followers. The p o o r
and low-caste people who felt n o s t r o n g sense of obligation to A m i t y
leaders decided in terms of their sense of obligation t o N a n d i l a l .

" That castc is a factor in village political atTairs s h o u l d n o t be interpreted t o

m e a n — a s I have o c c a s i o n a l l y heard C r e o l e T r i n i d a d i a n s m a i n t a i n — t h a t rural
East Indians are unable to operate in d e m o c r a t i c , free-choice t e r m s . The villager,
w h o s e standards o f w h a t is " g o o d " a n d " b a d " are as m e a n i n g f u l t o him as a
different set o f standards is to the urban C r e o l e , w o u l d be unlikely to vote for a
man simply because he was a Brahman. But leaders must c o m e f r o m s o m e w h e r e ,
and a m o n g Trinidad East Indians, the q u a l i f i c a t i o n s for leadership (wealth, e d u c a -
tion, piety, charismatic personality, a n d e x p e r i e n c e in leadership and c o n t r o l )
tend to cluster with high-caste m e m b e r s h i p . It is s i m p l y m o r e likely, therefore,
that an East Indian o f Trinidad w h o w o u l d be c o n s i d e r e d a s u i t a b l e c a n d i d a t e for
high office w o u l d be a m e m b e r o f a high, rather than a l o w , c a s t c . A n d this w o u l d
be true even w h e n t h o s e selecting c a n d i d a t e s were c o m p l e t e l y uninterested in the
matter o f caste: H i n d u m e m b e r s o f the T r i n i d a d Legislative C o u n c i l in 1 9 5 8 — o f
whatever p a r t y ! — w e r e almost all B r a h m a n o r Cattri.
 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION 227

Because of the prestige of both men it was a hard fight, but the leader-
ship of Amity was able to demonstrate for the second time that they
commanded a majority of the population.
F o r most of the people of the village, the entire campaign, from
February 25 to its climax on Election Day, March 25, was viewed as
an extended period of fun. Tremendous crowds turned up to listen
to every speaker who visited the village, and there was little cat-calling
or trouble-making. Many men made an effort to attend as many
speeches of all candidates in surrounding areas as they could. Indian
women, however (unlike Creole women), rarely attended the speeches,
for East Indians conceive of politics as man's business.
Apart f r o m speeches, electioneering consisted of visits by the can-
didates, or more often their local agents, to each home where the vote
might be at all in question. During such visits, attention was paid
only to the male head of the house, who, it is assumed, commands
the vote of the household. This indeed seemed to be the case most of
the time, for almost all women interviewed on the subject expressed
little interest in the election, claiming they voted as their husbands
directed. I overheard an exchange between a D L P representative and
a m a n who had promised his own vote, but said that he could not be
certain of his wife. " A man must be master in his own house." said
the D L P man, and the other nodded humbly.
A secret caucus was held by each side a few nights before the elec-
tion. Both groups were convinced that the other would use any
means, fair or foul, to insure the success of its candidate. Each there-
fore felt justified in doing the same. Arrangements were made care-
fully. Men were assigned to be poll watchers and given explicit in-
structions on the kind of foul play to expect; they were not to leave
their posts even to eat or to visit the latrine unless someone was present
to take their places. Roving substitutes were appointed for this.
Other men were stationed in houses near each polling place to assist
voters. Each side arranged for a fleet of cars to carry voters to and
228 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION

f r o m the polls. Men were assigned to cover the most remote paths,
to insure that no possible vote was overlooked. Nothing was left to
chance.
On Election Day matters were actually quite peaceful for the most
part. There were stories that a P N M poll watcher was challenging a
large number of D L P voters, and there were other very minor inci-
dents on both sides, but nothing really untoward occurred. The
active party workers of both sides scurried down the streets on bicy-
cles, in automobiles, or on foot, jeering at their opposite numbers in
quite a friendly way as they passed. For most people it was a kind of
holiday, and for most of the active workers, the election was sport.
There was a certain amount of chicanery, but it seemed to be engaged
in by high-spirited young men for the relatively pure pleasure of out-
witting the authorities. After voting, a person was required to dip his
right forefinger in indelible ink. To avoid this dipping required agility
and quick-thinking. The rare young m a n who accomplished this feat
would run to the nearest information booth of his party, ascertain the
name of a voter for the opposition who had not yet arrived at the
polls, and vote in that person's name.
The "dipping" requirement caused one amusing incident. One old
m a n flatly refused to stain a finger of his right hand, pointing out to
the election official that he needed his right hand to eat with. He offer-
ed to stain any number of fingers on his ¡eft hand (which he used only
in the latrine, anyway). The official refused to accommodate him,
and he left without voting, to the chagrin of his party.
Many people refused to vote unless a car picked them up at home,
drove them to the polls, and returned them to their homes. This
request was always granted, and both parties used only the newest
cars at their disposal. I saw no coercion. For the most part people
were quite eager to vote, and the few who flatly refused to vote were
not disturbed in any way. The turnout, however, was phenomenally
high. In one polling station all but ten actually voted out of the 327
 COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION 229

people registered. Of the ten, one old m a n had died, and two or three
were women away f r o m home visiting their families.
Because of the complexity of the voting lists and the general illiter-
acy, most voters had to stop at one or the other of the party booths
for advice, choosing the booth of the party for which they intended
to vote. It was a secret ballot in name only. After the results were
announced, one D L P man compared the returns for a particular
polling station with his own estimate of the vote to be received, and
expressed astonishment at the fact that he was four votes off.
After the polls closed, Beharri Road was crowded with people of
both parties, waiting for reports from each polling station. When the
D L P victory in the village was announced, the supporters of the P N M
melted quietly away. I was reminded of this much later in the evening,
when a rumor spread that a "gang of Negroes" was on its way to
attack Amity because it had given the D L P a majority. "See!" one
angry D L P man said to me. "When Indians lose they just go home
quiet, quiet!" Fortunately, the rumored " g a n g " never materialized
and the election passed peacefully.
VII. The Summing Up

Amity is a community. The full round of life of its East

Indian cane-laboring population is to be observed in the village. It
has its own internal stratification, bearing little relationship to that
of Trinidad as a whole, and it has its own distinctive patterns and
cycles. Disputes are settled inside the village without recourse to the
Trinidad legal system, in terms of the relationships existing within
the family and between persons occupying specific positions in the
village socioeconomic system. Founded in the next to the last decade
of the nineteenth century by indentured laborers from India, Amity
exhibits today a high degree of community self-identification and
integration.
That this should be so is particularly striking in view of the com-
plex problems surrounding the founding of the village. The original
settlers derived from different villages in northern India. The majority
came as individuals, leaving family and friends behind. For a mini-
 THE S U M M I N G UP 231

m u m of five years the immigrants were incorporated within an alien

sociocultural system, permitting only the most incomplete expression
of their culture. For as long as they remained in the sugar-producing
area, they were economically tied to the sugar plantations, even after
they had been permitted to depart as " f r e e " laborers.
Although some of the original settlers of Amity may have become
acquainted with one another during their period of indenture, they
still had problems to solve relating specifically to their differences in
origin. Each different village in India represented among the settlers
implied a variant of the general north Indian sociocultural system.
It was necessary for the early settlers to reach some kind of consensus
if a true community with a new social structure was to come into
existence. Undoubtedly, there were conflicts in the early days. This
is indicated by the semi-isolation reported for the district of Jangli
Tola, and the fact that an integrated caste system, involving a web of
reciprocal caste relationships identical to that found in India, never
came into being. But it is highly significant that some agreement was
reached as to the relative ranking of castes in the village, and that
certain types of inter-caste relationships were—and continue to be—
important in the lives of the villagers. The settlers of Amity succeeded
in reconstituting a new community. It exhibited the structure of what
might be called the generalized north Indian society. The founders
of the village were able to reconstitute social institutions which could
be maintained by their descendants, and which functioned as mecha-
nisms for the transmission of their culture and the maintenance of
community cohesiveness.

Perhaps the most important structural element in the lives of the

people of Amity is that of kinship relationships. The individual
knows the appropriate behavior for any given kin relationship; he
knows what he must do, and what he can expect in return. He knows
with whom he ought to associate, whom he ought to avoid, and how
232 THE S U M M I N G UP

and when. He knows whom he ought to support and obey, and from
w h o m he ought to be able to expect support and obedience. With
non-kin, unless certain other relationships come into play, he is
uncertain and suspicious. This is illustrated in behavior to be observed
during the arrangement of a marriage. Two families, ideally com-
pletely unrelated to each other in any way, often exhibit considerable
hostility and fear at such a time. Each side may desire the marriage,
but each side may fear it is being cheated by the other. Only after
the marriage has taken place will the suspicion each family has for
the other begin—slowly—to decrease.
Every East Indian is a member of a far-flung circle of kinsmen.
This kindred, as a whole, is exogamous and committed to a principle
of mutual support and assistance. Within the kin group, however,
there are subgroups. The immediate family receives the individual's
primary allegiance. He or she occupies a position within its hierarchy
and submits to the authority of its "elder heads." The family ideally
has one purse, one kitchen, and one roof.
With his kinsmen who live beyond the village, the villager main-
tains a pattern of continued reciprocal visiting. A member of Amity
society may, for example, have to visit his mother's family, his father's
mother's family, his mother's sister's family, his father's sister's
family, his sister's family and his daughter's family. He would typi-
cally attend weddings, funerals, ceremonies, and other events at the
homes of his relatives, and they would come to similar events in his
home. He may make considerable financial contributions, particu-
larly at weddings. In time of difficulty, he would be expected to come
to their assistance. He has what is called "bye-family" (Active kin)
and "respcct family" (respect kin) in his own village and in other
villages. Visits to them will not be as frequent as to "real" kin, but
they must be made, and he will attend their cercmonies and affairs.
Obligations to "bye-family" are almost as strong as to "real family."
Except in unusual circumstances, however, he is unlikely to be called
 THE S U M M I N G UP 233

upon for financial assistance by his "respect family," and he will not
normally be required to take a stand if they become involved in a
dispute with another family.
In India, a pattern exists whereby Active kinship may be ascribed
to non-kin castemates of one's own village, and to a lesser extent to
villagemates of other castes. Such " k i n , " however, are invariably
natives of one's own village. 1 The indentured Indian immigrants of
the nineteenth century usually came to Trinidad as individuals (small
nuclear family units were comparatively rare) and left their villages
and circles of kin behind. Since the concept of Active kinship already
existed, it required only a slight reworking to permit its application
to the new circumstances. Men who came over on the same ship
considered themselves a circle of kin. In later years, scattered through-
out the island, they continued to visit one another as they had been
accustomed to visit relatives in India. The men who founded Amity,
though originally a collection of strangers, eventually became not
only fellow villagers to one another, but village "brothers," regardless
of caste. With the growth of true kin networks in recent years, the
importance of shipmate "kinship" has declined. Village "kinship,"
however, is still of major importance, and for some people village
exogamy counts for a great deal more in the arrangement of a marriage
than does, for example, caste endogamy.

The second traditional element that persisted and allowed the

people of Amity to reconstitute their East Indian community was
caste. In this case, there were two major problems. Coming as they
did from different villages in India, and representing a large number
of castes, the problem of the rank each caste was to hold in relation to
the others was a knotty one. Again, the caste system of the immigrants
received no recognition within the larger social system of the island of
Trinidad, and even met with active opposition. A commonly agreed
1
See Lewis 1958: 161.
234 THE SUMMING UP

upon hierarchy of castes, however, was finally achieved in Amity.

Castes were grouped according to the Indian Varna system, with the
criterion of membership in the Sudra ("lowest") Varna being the fact
of swineraising and porkeating. All non-Brahman and non-Kshattrlya
castes whose members in Amity avoided these two " l o w " practices
were considered to belong to the Ves Varna. Every Cattri was
considered a Kshattriya, and every M a r a j h a Brahman.
The circumstances of life in Trinidad made it impossible for all
important aspects of the caste system to be reconstituted. Caste
panchayats have never been known in Amity. Castes do not function
as groups, with group interests and leaders, nor do caste members
exhibit any indications of a desire for the mobility of the entire caste.
Individuals of Amity may be economically mobile within the context
of the socioeconomic system of Trinidad, and if they wish to leave the
village they may achieve mobility in terms of the Trinidad system of
social stratification. Within the village, however, such economic
mobility is only one factor of many for social mobility, and the others
include primarily " I n d i a n " values, such as piety, generosity, and the
giving up of swineraising. Caste is still an important determinant of
social status, as evidenced by the tendency of socially mobile families
to upcaste themselves, pretending to membership in a higher caste.
It is highly significant that the founders of Beharri Settlement, f r o m
Beharri on, were of castes of the Ves Varna or higher. Considering
the fact that people of Sudra caste membership constitute over half
the population of the village (which accords well with the figures we
have for their proportions among the Indian emigrants) why were no
representatives of these castes among the founders? A number of
explanations may be offered. First, if a member of a caste considered
Sudra in India became a wealthy landholder in Beharri Settlement,
lived respectably and piously, and did not raise pigs, it is highly likely
that his caste would be considered Ves—as long as there were not t o o
many ill-behaved and impoverished members of his caste around.
 THE SUMMING UP 235

Second, an industrious, sober, prosperous man deriving from a low

caste could simply claim to be of a higher caste. Unless there happened
to be someone in the village who had known him in India, his claim
was hardly likely to be disputed. A man of " l o w " origins capable of
"rising" in this way would surely have enough presence and quick wit
to carry off such a deception successfully. Finally, once the settlement
pattern of the village was established, with only Ves, Cattri, and
Brahman people living on Thomas and Beharri Road, a Camar or
Dusad who had emerged f r o m his indentures with some savings may
well have preferred to seek his fortune in some other part of Trinidad,
where residential segregation was not enforced.
This matter of residential segregation is very important. Once the
founders had achieved this, the future of Amity as an " I n d i a n "
community became a real possibility, for it signified that agreement
had been reached between the former strangers on major areas of
interrelationship. In the " m a i n " village—now the district of Central
Amity—lived the upper-caste landholders. The people who rented
riccland from them and worked in their sugar fields, lived in the out-
lying hamlet called "Casecu." These people were of Sudra castes,
raised pigs, and became the "inferiors" in the developing praja
relationships.
Today, the outlying hamlets have merged into the village proper,
but socially ranked "districts" are still sharply distinguishable. While
rigid separation of castes no longer exists, there is a polarization, so
that the " b e s t " district is populated primarily by higher-caste people,
and the "lowest" district by lower-caste people. This same polarization
is reflected in quality of houses, and in participation in religious
activities.

Something resembling the jajmani relationship described by Lewis

for Rampur in northern India exists in Amity and is here referred to
as a praja relationship. This may be termed the third diagnostic
236 THE S U M M I N G UP

element of traditional Indian culture. Reciprocal caste relationships

form only a small part of the prajâ relationships in Amity, for in the
Trinidad village the latter are conceived of as being man-to-man,
rather than caste-member-to-caste-member, relationships. Never-
theless, caste still affects prajâ relationships to the extent that higher-
caste men are more comfortable than lower-caste men in the role of
what has been termed here prajâ "superiors." The men who are the
prajâ "superiors" in the greatest number of prajâ relationships control
the community, settling disputes, and directing the village response
to national politics. These prajâ "superiors" are men of considerable
economic power, for they control access to jobs and riceland. The
very table of organization of the Trinidad sugar plantation functions
to maintain the " I n d i a n " social structure of Amity since the estate
driver is a leading prajâ "superior." The system of rice cultivation in
Amity—for subsistence only, with all land in excess of what is needed
for family subsistence rented to others—also functions in the same
way to maintain the social structure.
Though most of the prajâ relationships tend to be intra-village, they
do not have to be, and two men f r o m very distant villages may enter
into a prajâ relationship. What is involved is a reciprocity of obliga-
tion, but in a highly patterned way. One person in the relationship is
the "superior," and has the responsibility of guiding, advising, and
assisting the "inferior" and his family. The "inferior" must obey his
"superior," and perform labor for him, asked or unasked. The
villagers have this sense of being prajâ to East Indian political leaders
because of services rendered to the village, to the individual, or to the
East Indian group as a whole. Any prajâ relationship may dissolve if
one side fails to reciprocate properly.

The fourth element of considerable diagnostic significance is the

version of Hinduism practiced in Amity. A succession of major public
celebrations or festivals makes up the religious year for the Hindu
 THE S U M M I N G UP 237

villagers. All involve the participation of the greater number of the

villagers. According to Lewis (1958: 234), there is considerable
variation among the villages of northern India, even when they are
not widely separated, in terms of which festivals are locally celebrated.
It is impressive that, despite this background, the villagers of Amity
should have achieved such a large measure of uniformity in the
religious sphere over the years. Some festivals may have dropped out
and some may have been modified. New ones, such as Christmas,
have been adopted. What stands out is that there is overall agreement
as to which holidays should be celebrated, by whom, and in what way.
Apart from the cycle of festivals, most religious activity in Amity
takes the form of the puja, or ceremonial offering. There are many
different pujas known, and I have categorized religious ceremonies in
Amity in terms of whether they involve animal sacrifice, and whether
they are of a community, semiprivate, or private nature. A polarization
exists in the village, so that the "higher" type of religious ceremony
tends to align with "higher" caste membership and residence in the
" b e t t e r " district. Religious practices thus reinforce the social
stratification.
The religious ceremonies are conducted by specific religious leaders,
and the "higher" forms by Brahman pandits. In their dual capacity
of pandit (ceremonial officiant) and guru (spiritual advisor, also known
as "godfather"), the Brahmans may be said to have controlled the
expression of Hinduism in Amity. Recent developments have
challenged their power, however. Sparked by teachings deriving out
of modern India, plus an awareness of Western religious forms and
concepts, new religious leaders have come forth among the young
people of Amity. They have introduced congregational weekly prayers
in the temple, and one of them is even preaching an every-man-his-
own-priest rebellion against the monopoly of the Brahman pandits.
Hinduism has been modified in Amity since the foundation of the
village, and the process of change continues and may even be ac-
238 THE SUMMING UP

celerating. The change, however, is always in terms of Indian values,

and Indian forms still predominate.

The final structural element to be emphasized here is the East Indian

life cycle. From birth until death, the villager may normally expect
to undergo certain patterned experiences. The most important of
these is marriage. It is the fact that marriage is so important, as well
as the nature of marriage itself, that makes the life cycle of the Amity
East Indian so different from that of his Creole neighbors in Trinidad.
Despite the fact that until a decade ago Hindu marriages were not
recognized by law and the issue of unions contracted "under the
b a m b o o " were considered illegitimate, almost every first marriage in
Amity has been—and is—solemnized in this manner. Since the
founding of Amity, marriage has undergone only minor changes in
content, even less in form, and almost none in terms of the part it
plays in the social structure. In Amity, marriage is an arrangement
between two families, and the rare union made without parental
approval is considered scandalous whether or not it has been legally
registered. The distinction the villagers make between what they
consider right and proper and what the larger Trinidad society
considers right and proper stands out more sharply in the case of
marriage than in any other.
Marriage represents a major changc in the life of a Hindu East
Indian woman, for the marriage will most often be village-exogamous
and virilocal. The birth of a child usually stabilizes the union and
makes it permanent. The "marriage season" is a period of extended
community and kinfolk assemblage, for a wedding calls for a com-
munity feast requiring financial contributions and activc general
participation.
Unlike marriage, the response to death in Amity has undergone
certain important modifications. Perhaps bccause cremation was not
feasible, burial has been adopted along with the West Indian practice
 THE SUMMING UP 239

of a night of " w a k i n g . " The " w a k e " in Amity, however, has never
assumed the proportions of a " w a k e " among rural Trinidad Negroes.
In basic structure, therefore, Amity is an " I n d i a n " community and
not a "West Indian" community. The similarity between Amity and
what might perhaps be called a generalized North Indian community
structure must certainly be apparent to students of the Indian socio-
cultural system. Students of the West Indian scene cannot but be
aware that Amity is not "West Indian" in almost any sense but the
geographic.
In this work specific cultural content, while undeniably important,
has not been deemed as important as the structural relationships
involved or the significance of the trait in the lives of the people. Thus,
in the case of religion, we may note that the festival of Tij is celebrated
in Lewis' Rampur, and not in Amity, which celebrates Christmas—a
holiday unknown in Rampur, but known among the Negroes of
Trinidad. What is significant here is that the "festival cycle" is as
important in the religious life of Amity as it is in Rampur—while
religion in Toco, Trinidad, takes the form, primarily if not entirely,
of weekly congregational meetings in the church. 2
We have seen that in Amity an individual's first allegiance is to his
family, and his second to his kin group. 3 The solidarity of the kin
group against all outsiders is so strong that it frequently results in the
development of family feuds, while the withdrawal of kin support is
taken as proof of an individual's guilt. For India, Lewis writes: " I n
Rani Khera kinship plays a major role in the ordering of human
relations and is the basis of most social and political g r o u p i n g s . . . .
The extended family is strong and forms a basic unit for individual
identification" (1955: 153-54). On the other hand, Braithwaite points

' Compare, for example, Lewis 1958: 207 with Hcrskovits and Herskovits
1947: 175.
' Amity "cousin" and "uncle" kinship types appear to be the same as those
Murdock has noted for northern India (1957: 679).
240 THE S U M M I N G UP

out for Trinidad t h a t : " K i n s h i p ties a m o n g the lower c l a s s . . . are not

one of the main means, as in some societies, of integrating the social
structure" (1953: 146). He says, f u r t h e r : "Relations are sometimes
traced at great length, but the diffuse solidarity of the extended
kinship group is extremely tenuous and completely subordinated to
the system of social stratification and other forms of integrating the
social system" (ibid.: 148).
It would seem hardly necessary to document the importance of the
caste system in the social structure of an Indian community. For
example, in his examination of "the structual relations of village and
state in India," Marriott states:

The existence of an extensive system of castes, present in all villages and

cutting across many villages, perhaps provides the ultimate in proofs of the
ancient inseparability of the little communities of India from the greater
community which they collectively constitute. Three aspects of caste
organization in particular demonstrate the mutual influence of little and
great communities: (1) its complex ethnic composition; (2) its partial
correlation with and determination by differential allocation of wealth and
power; and (3) its maintenance by elaborate ritual usages [1955: 187-88],

Trinidad is of course not India, and the caste system of the East
Indian population has no place within the social structure of the island
itself. Even within the village of Amity, caste relationships are much
weaker than has been reported for any Indian community. Never-
theless, caste membership is an important element in the village
stratification system, and aspects of the caste system may be found
reflected in many areas of Amity culture. Nothing comparable to it
exists among the Creole population, unless it be the "color" hierarchy.
Braithwaite feels that even this caste-like phenomenon has given way
to the "open-class system" in Trinidad (1953 : 60-63, et passim). F o r
Toco, the Herskovitses write: " A s everywhere in the Euro-American
economic system, the fluctuations of market-prices of world crops can
make for individual economic disaster and this, in turn, is the com-
 THE SUMMING UP 241

monest cause for change of status" (1947: 33). In Amity today, a poor
but pious Brahman would inevitably rank higher than a pigraising,
wealthy Camar.
The similarity between the Amity praja relationship and the Jajmani
system noted in North India has already been mentioned. What is
important here is that both relationships function to maintain the
political structures of the two villages, Amity and Rampur. Through
them, conflicts are settled and economic life is regulated. In b o t h
cases, obligation relationships between "superior" and "inferior"
form the basis of the system, although in R a m p u r caste relationships
play a greater role in the system than is the case in Amity, and caste
panchayats are important mechanisms of social control.
The fact that the praja relationship permits the settlement of
disputes within Amity, without recourse to the courts, is highly
significant. The Herskovitses write: " T h e effective political controls of
Toco life rest entirely outside the hands of the people in the village"
(1947: 264). They point out that conflict in Toco is invariably resolved
in the courts: " N o point under dispute is small enough to escape
being brought to trial—the Magistrate even told of cases where an
accused, aged six, was charged with pummeling a defendant, aged
five!" (ibid.: 268). The cases observed in the Toco court (ibid.: 266-69)
bear a startling resemblance to the cases settled in the village of
Amity by "big m e n . "
The point has been made that marriage is the most important life
crisis in Amity, involving an expensive community feast for the
family. Lewis writes: "The most important and lavishly celebrated
[ceremony] is that of marriage" (1958: 47). In his chapter entitled
"The Marriage Cycle," Lewis gives an exhaustive analysis of the
importance and complexity of marriage in Rampur. It is village
exogamous and caste endogamous, and is arranged by the parents.
"It is customary to spend large sums of money on weddings, even at
the risk of going deeply into d e b t " (ibid.: 162).
242 THE S U M M I N G U P

While in Amity and Rampur a formal marriage, arranged and

conducted according to established patterns, occurs in the over-
whelming majority of first unions at least, the situation is far different
in a rural Trinidad Negro community. According to the Herskovitses,
there is an established procedure for entering into a formal marriage
in Toco, but "matters actually proceed in this theoretically regular
manner only in a few cases" (1947: 87). Some 46 percent of the
couples in Toco are "keeping" (unmarried), and in 21 percent of the
total cases, while the couples are now married, the households contain
"premarital offspring" (ibid.: 98). Marriage in Amity is virilocal and
village exogamous, and authority is always in the hands of the males
though a widow may exercise considerable influence over her sons.
Braithwaite says of the lower-class family (Creole) of Trinidad: "The
unit consisting of grandmother, daughter and children would appear
to be a widespread form of household organization. In such a house-
hold authority frequently lies with the grandmother or is shared"
(1953: 147).

In the foregoing comparison, the community of Amity has been

compared with the rural Trinidad Negro community. Amity, however,
is in the sugar-producing area of Trinidad and is inhabited predomi-
nantly by cane-laborers. It would therefore be instructive to compare
Amity with Negro plantation communities. We must go outside of
Trinidad for this, since labor in the canefields is primarily an East
Indian occupation on this island.
Students of the Caribbean have been giving increasing attention to
the absence of community cohesion in plantation villages populated
by Negroes. 4 Actual studies of such plantation communities have
* Wagley (1957: 8) has suggested that "this lack of community esprit de corps
is p e r h a p s the reason why so many studies of the Caribbean area are not, in the
strict sense of the term, 'community studies,' and why the community unit remains
so vaguely defined." A recent study of the variations in degree of community
integration in the Caribbean, and the relationship between degree of integration
 THE SUMMING UP 243

contributed to the picture of loose integration, "paternal" control by

estate owners, and an absence of any significant degree of continuous
mutual cooperation and interdependence. 5
Amity is also a plantation community, but it is a tightly integrated
one, with strong internal lines of authority and mechanisms of social
control. The community unit is anything but vaguely defined, and
there is a substantial esprit de corps.
Compared with the Negro plantation communities of the Caribbean
and surrounding regions, Amity emerges as a strikingly different
phenomenon. Whatever the correlates of plantation labor may be in
the Caribbean, they do not hold for Amity. This can only be explained
in terms of the fact that Amity is not a Caribbean community, but one
that is structurally Indian.

The emphasis throughout this book has been on the persistence of

Indian culture in Amity. This may have led to an underemphasis of
acculturation f r o m the West Indian environment, but there is no
desire here to deny that acculturation. The increasing importance of
the " w a k e " as a life-crisis rite in Amity may be mentioned as just one
example of the acculturation going on.
There are radios and newspapers and even a telephone in Amity,
and there are good roads leading to Port-of-Spain. Yet in some ways
Amity is a closed world, and it is easy for an observer living there to
forget that Amity is part of a "Creole" Trinidad, which in turn is
part of a greater West Indian complex. Amity is not really isolated
from the world. Fluctuations in the price of sugar in London affect
the personal income of every villager. Hindu and Muslim friendships
in the village were strained during the early India-Pakistan conflicts.

and type of agricultural activity, indicates an association between loosely integrated

community and plantation economy (Horowitz 1959).
4
See particularly Clarice's study of rural life in Jamaica (1957), and Hutchinson's
study of village and plantation life in Brazil (1957).
244 THE SUMMING UP

The Negro Trinidadian has a definite place in the villager's universe.

The East Indian of Amity has both fear and contempt for the
Negro. The typical stereotype of the Negro held by the people of
Amity is that he is big, strong, quicktempered, and prone to use his
fists. Villagers sincerely believe that the Negro of Trinidad wants to
keep " u s " down, and that the P N M , whatever its stated objectives,
really has only one objective; to "raise" the Negro and "keep d o w n "
the Indian. They are unenthusiastic about the new West Indian
Federation. Some feel it is a Negro plot to swamp the growing
political power of the East Indians with Negro votes. Most worry
about "unlimited immigration," fearing that hordes of Negroes from
the most impoverished islands will swarm to Trinidad, willing to work
for pennies, and will thus bring unemployment and low wages to the
East Indian cane-laborer.
At the same time, there is contempt for the Negro. He is "Kirwal
sar"—the m a n who allows his womenfolk complete sexual freedom,
and does not even exhibit shame when his sister becomes an unmarried
mother. The East Indian of Amity is also convinced that the Negro
does not know how to save money. He points to all the land, formerly
owned by Negroes, that has been taken over by East Indian farmers.
To an East Indian, a m a n who sells land, and thus deprives his children,
is beneath contempt. He believes that the Negro is too interested in
" f e t i n g " : dancing. Carnival, and expensive clothes. In Amity, even
the wealthiest men rarely own suits or ties. A villager considers his
dress wardrobe complete if he has a white shirt, a good pair of trousers,
and a pair of shoes. They will have to become quite shabby before
he is willing to replace them. He has contempt for the Negro for not
planting rice, for he feels that a man without a piece of riceland has
nothing to fall back upon, and must always be at someone else's mercy.
The East Indian who can supply his family's rice needs has a basic
sense of security and independence: let any employer mistreat him, he
insists proudly, and "1 go live on salt and rice!"
 THE S U M M I N G UP 245

The villager is also aware that the Creole world has no real under-
standing of himself and the ways of his people and he takes advantage
of it, though at times he is incensed by it. He knows there is a wide-
spread stereotype of the rural East Indian as a foolish, illiterate
"Coolie." When the Creole official comes to Amity, every villager he
meets will more than fulfill the stereotype. Every question the man
asks will be answered with an ingratiating, but hopeless, " M e ain'
know." When the official leaves, baffled and unsuccessful, the men
who talked to him—frequently intelligent and often well-educated—
will spend an hour hilariously analyzing the way they tricked him.

The East Indian of Amity conceives of himself as a member of a

large social group occupying a position as one unit within the social
structure of Trinidad. As the status of the entire East Indian group
advances, so does his own status. "We going up!" the impoverished
cane-laborer says proudly, referring to other East Indians in politics
and in business. The view that such East Indians have of their own
group may perhaps be described in terms of caste. The factor of
group, rather than individual, mobility within the larger society is
widely recognized as an important structural element of the caste
system. 8
It is obvious, of course, that the East Indian ethnic group of
Trinidad cannot be said to form a caste identical to a caste of India.
The caste system of India itself differs from north to south, as Ryan
has pointed out (1953: 17), and caste in Ceylon is very different from
caste in India as a whole. Ryan defines caste, so as to make the term
applicable to both India and Ceylon, as:

a social organization structure functioning through hierarchical birth status

groups, they, or their sub-units, being communalistic [in a footnote, Ryan

' See Hutton 1946: 98; Cox 1948: 312; O'Malley 1932: 172-75; Cohn 1955:
passim.
246 THE S U M M I N G UP

notes that in India "community" has a connotation of ethnic identity and

interaction, rather than locality] and usually endogamous, and possessing
functional or ritual roles including symbolic expressions of social distance
a n d privilege in reference to and in distinction from other groups in the great
society. Both the structure and the functional or role content are subject
to infinite variation within the range of Indian influence [ibid.: 19],

If this definition of caste system is acceptable, it would seem t h a t

t h e East Indians of T r i n i d a d — i n terms of their view of their o w n
position within the total society, a n d their attitudes t o w a r d the other
m a i n g r o u p — m i g h t be termed a " c a s t e . " Even the fact that the
i m p o r t a n c e of caste is denied c a n n o t be put f o r t h as a n objection f o r
we find t h a t in m o d e r n C e y l o n : " S t a n d a r d s of good taste render
caste topics t a b u in the mixed classes of u r b a n society" (ibid. : 21).
T h e " r i t u a l roles including symbolic expressions of social d i s t a n c e "
f r o m o t h e r g r o u p s are also present. In discussing H i n d u marriage
in British G u i a n a , Smith a n d J a y a w a r d e n a c o m m e n t :

The fact of performing this marriage ceremony at all is in itself symbolic

of the participants' position in the Guianese social system. The strict
performance of all the ritual actions involved in an orthodox wedding has
its own value for the participants because it is thought to be the proper
" H i n d u " way of doing things, irrespective of whether each element has
meaning in itself [1958: 191],

Whatever the view of the East Indian g r o u p , t h e larger T r i n i d a d

society, of course, has n o such viewpoint or a p p r o a c h . 7 If the East
I n d i a n s continue to m a i n t a i n this viewpoint, however, the n a t u r e of
the total Trinidad society will be open t o serious a r g u m e n t , when,

7
This is n o t t o deny t h e existence a m o n g T r i n i d a d West I n d i a n s , particularly
of t h e lower class, of a t t i t u d e s a n d values different in c o n t e n t b u t s i m i l a r in effect
u p o n b e h a v i o r . Such o b s e r v a t i o n as I have m a d e of this g r o u p certainly s u p p o r t s
the h y p o t h e s i s t h a t their political b e h a v i o r reflects—in t e r m s of u n d e r l y i n g m o t i -
v a t i o n s — a s little of " i d e a l " d e m o c r a t i c open-class values as d o e s t h a t of their
lower-class East I n d i a n c o u n t e r p a r t s .
 THE S U M M I N G UP 247

within the next couple of decades, the East Indians constitute the
majority of the population of the island. 8
Amity village and the circumstances of its existence pose interesting
questions for further research. It was reconstituted, as was the Tapirapé
village described by Wagley, during the lifetime of individuals born
into such communities. Could it have been done by a second or later
generation born in an alien social system?
What happened to East Indians in the other areas to which they
migrated? What effect did contact with very different cultures have
on such attempts at reconstitution as may have been made in the Fiji
Islands, Mauritius, Natal, etc.? What happened in Jamaica, Martini-
que, St. Lucia, and the other islands in the West Indies to which fewer
indentured East Indians were brought?
The founders of Amity were able to establish a community in which
it is possible to see a "'whole,' a 'full round of local life'" (see Arens-
berg 1954: 111). This would appear to have been a factor of con-
siderable importance in the reconstitution of the social structure. Is
reconstitution possible without it? Suppose neither riceland had been
available in Trinidad nor rice cultivation as it is practiced in Amity
been practicable—could the social structure still have been re-
constituted?
The problems of other ethnic groups in similar circumstances may
be compared with those of the East Indians of Amity. To what
extent, for example, do urban ghettoes such as a "Little Italy" or a
"Chinatown" represent reconstituted communities reflecting the
society of origin, and in what ways do they fail to be such?
These questions are raised here, but they will have to be answered
elsewhere. The concern of this work has been solely with what

9
Many aspects of Trinidad's socioculturel complexity are reviewed in the
papers by Braithwaite, Crowley, and Klass in "Social and Cultural Pluralism in
the Caribbean" (Rubin et al. 1960).
248 THE S U M M I N G UP

happened when a group of Indian immigrants settled in Trinidad and

established an "Indian" village.
In concluding, I wish to emphasize again that Amity is in Trinidad,
and the villagers are not Indians but "East Indians in the West
Indies." The village is part of the ongoing social, economic, and
political system of Trinidad and cannot legitimately be separated
from it. This is the fact that makes a study of the village so fascinating.
Except on special occasions, the villagers dress as do their Creole
neighbors, and speak the same language. It is only upon close and
continual examination that one perceives the differences in what
appear at first glance to be similarities.
The East Indians wear the same clothes—but clothing is not the
validation of status for the East Indian that it is for the Negro. They
speak the same language—but the words frequently mean very
different things. "Legal registration" has nothing to do with marital
respectability for the villager : that is determined by paternal approval.
"Free choice" means only the right of veto in a match otherwise
arranged by parents. A "keeper" in Amity is a woman who is living
with a man other than her original spouse, whether or not her present
union is a legal one.
"Legality," "respectability," and "propriety" mean certain things in
Amity, and frequently they do not have anything to do with the terms
as they are used in Creole Trinidad. Non-legal Hindu marriages are
said to be "under the bamboo." In the same sense, the entire social
structure of Amity may be said to be "under the bamboo."
A comparison of the nature of Amity small-farmer sugar cultivation
with that of Amity rice cultivation shows in microcosm both the extent
to which Amity is part of the Trinidad socioeconomic system, and the
extent to which Indian culture has persisted.
Sugar is cultivated by a small number of people in Amity. It is a
cash crop, and cultivation, harvesting, and monetary return are con-
trolled by the estate. Fluctuations in the world sugar market affect the
 THE S U M M I N G UP 249

Amity small-farmer's profit. It is cultivated by Individual families,

and all nonfamily labor must be paid for in cash.
Rice is cultivated by almost every family in the village, as a sub-
sistence crop. Cultivation and harvesting are in terms of village, and
not Trinidad patterns, and assistance is given by communal work-
groups or in terms of a praja relationship.
The villager dreams of becoming a small cane-farmer, for he wants
the cash. But rice means subsistence, and should anyone threaten his
sense of independence, the villager is ready to say: " I go live on salt
and rice."
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Brunswick, Rutgers University Press.
Sampath, H.
1951 An Outline of the Social History of the Indians in Trinidad. Un-
published Master's thesis, Columbia University, New York.
Skinner, E. P.
1955 Ethnic Interaction in a British Guiana Rural Community: A Study
in Secondary Acculturation and Group Dynamics. Ph. D. disserta-
tion, Columbia University, New York. Ann Arbor, Michigan,
University Microfilm.
Smith, M. G.
1955 A Framework for Caribbean Studies. Extra-Mural Department,
University College of the West Indies.
Smith, R. T.
1956 The Negro Family in British Guiana. London, Routledge and Kegan
Paul Ltd.
Smith, R. T., and C. Jayawardena
1958 "Hindu Marriage Customs in British Guiana." Social and Economic
Studies, VII: 178-94.
Stevenson, S.
1920 Rites of the Twice-Born. London, Oxford University Press.
256 BIBLIOGRAPHY

Underhill, M. M.
1921 The Hindu Religious Year. Calcutta, Association Press.
Verteuil, L. A. A. de
1884 Trinidad, Its Geography, Natural Resources, Administration,
Present Condition, and Prospects. London, Paris, and New York,
Cassell and Co., Ltd.
Wagley, C.
1955 "Tapirapé Social and Cultural change, 1940-1953." Säo Paulo,
Anais do XXXI Congr. Internacional de Americanistas: pp. 99-106.
1957 "Plantation America, A Culture Sphere," in Caribbean studies, A
Symposium, ed. by V. Rubin. Jamaica, Institute of Social and
Economic Research, pp. 3-13.
West India Royal Commission Report
1945 London, His Majesty's Stationery Office.
Williams, E.
1944 Capitalism and Slavery. Chapel Hill, The University of North
Carolina Press.
Woodruff, P.
1954 The Guardians. New York, St. Martin's Press.
Index

Acclimatization: of immigrants, 15 control by Kublal M a r a j h , 193-94;

Africans: as indentured laborers, 6 founded by indentured labor, 230-31;
Aged: type of work, 69; wages, 70; persistence of Indian culture, 243
see also Old age Amity, Central, 41-42; housing on, 52;
Aghor panthi, 145, 146 castes, 61
Agricultural Credit Society: reluctance Amity Hindu School, 150
to join, 155 Animal husbandry, 86-87
Agriculturalists: as immigrants, 12 A n t h r o p o l o g y : growth, ix
A j o u p a (term), 31 Arensberg, C o n r a d M . : cites, xvin, xxii,
A j o u p a houses, 45, 46, 48 133n, 247
Allotment of laborers t o estates, 14 Artisans: as immigrants, 12
Amitié Estate, 37 Assee, Sigmund, xxii
Amitié Section: organization, 70 Asuri-puja, 177-78
Amity: East Indian culture, 3-4; Authority, family, 131-34
founders, 24; relations with non-
Indians, 25; location, 30; history, Barbers, 54
30-39; separation of settlements, 34; Barrackville, 38, 44; housing in, 52, 53;
castes, 36/i ; physical and social castes, 61
change, 38; present condition, 39-44; Basdeo, 150-52, 155/j, 175
socioeconomic groupings (tab.), 52; Bauri, see Bori
258 INDEX

Beard, L., xxii Burning of cane fields, 74-75

Behar: immigration from, 11 Bye-family, 104, 105, 232; forms of,
Beharri Road, 33, 37-38, 41; housing 107-8
on, 52, 53; castes, 61; kinship terms
on, 98
Cacao: attempts to grow, 30
Beharri Road East, 73
Calcutta: indentured laborers from, 10;
Beharri Settlement: population, 34;
primary port of embarcation for
castes, 36; intercourse withCasecu, 37
British colonies, 10
"Beharri's Settlement": early name of
Calendar, Hindu, 158
Amity, 31
Camar caste, 61
Bengal: immigration from, 11
Canadian Mission school, 38, 42, 139-
Bhadase Sagon Maraj, 221; popularity
40, 185; teachers, 1 4 M 2
in Amity, 223
Canadian Mission Sunday School, 157
Bifurcate collateral terminology, 99n
Cane cutters, 72
"Big men" of village, 208, 224
Caribbean area: differences in social,
Birth, 118-19
economic and political systems, 1;
Bison, 87
ethnic composition, 2
Bori: castes, 36, 37
Caroni Swamp, 29, 40
Bowen, N. P., and Montserin, B. G.:
Carr, Andrew, xxii
cited, 9
Carts: sugar plantations, 70
Boxing Day, 165
Casecu, 35, 38, 43; housing in, 52;
Boys: play, 185
castes, 36, 61; intercourse with
Brahmans: as immigrants, 11; in Beharri Settlement, 37
Trinidad, 58; part in religious Casecu, East, 73
ceremonies, 237 Casecu, West, 73
Brahmcari, 146, 150, 151, 162; per-
Caste, 36; immigrants drawn from, 11;
formance of Sur-puja ceremony, 170
in politics, 225, 226n; definition, 245
Braithwaite, Lloyd, xvi; cited, 2n, 240,
Caste distinctions: religious justifica-
247n; quoted, 239-40, 242
tion, 179
Brazil: study of rural life in, 243n
Caste identifications, false, 58
Bridglal, Mr. and Mrs. Basraj, xxiii
Caste membership: inheritance, 136
British Anti-Slavery Committee, 8
Caste status: raising, 62; importance, 63
British Guiana: labor shortage, 6;
Caste system: obstacle to attempt at
under the British flag, 6; indentured
reconstitution, 25; in Amity, 55-64,
labor, 8, 20; East Indian immigra-
231, 233-35, 240; and reincarnation,
tion, 9; allotment of laborers to
154n
estates, 14; shortage of women, 19;
Cattle, 87
re-indenture in, 21; integration of
cultures, 23 Central India: immigration from, 11
Brothers: relations, 189 Chaguanas, Ward of, 29, 39
Bulls: respect for, 153 Chamars: as immigrants, 11
Business enterprises: Amity, 55 (tab.) Charity: importance of, 155
Chen, Brian, xxii
 INDEX 259

Childhood, 120 Cricket: popularity, 186-88

Children: effect on marital relations, Cricket fields, 42
115; religious teachings, 1 SO; religious Crowley: cited, 247n
training, 157; play, 184 Crown land : purchased by East Indians,
Chinese contractual labor: use on sugar 30
plantations, 8 Culture: definition, xiii
Chinese immigrants, 15 Culture transformation, ix-x
Christian Indians, 139-44 Cumpston, I. M.: cited, 7, 14, 21
Christians: as immigrants, 12 Currency, xxi
Christmas, 163-64
Church of God families, 143-44 Daughters: lack of inheritance rights,
Clarke, E.: cited, 243n 134
Clothing: shops for, 54 Dayworkers: wages, 70
Coconut (area in Amity), 41 Death, 129-31
Collens, J. H.: quoted, 29,30 Debt: avoidance of, 155
Comins, D. W. D.: cited, 10, 11, 12, 13, Democratic Labour Party, 221 ; sup-
14, 22; quoted, 15, 18, 19, 21 porters of high Varna membership,
Community center: building discussed, 159; supporters of lower Varna
184 membership, 160
Community ceremonies, 169, 170-74 Dentist's office, 54
Community organization, 184-229 Dhobi caste, 60
Community reconstitution, 24 Di (term), 176
Community study method, viii Dï-pûjâ, 178
Conflict and sanction, 206-20 Disputes: causes of, 210-20; settling
Contracts, 14 within village, 230
Cooperative work groups, 83-84 "District" (term), 28
Corporal punishment, see Physical Divine Life Society, 150
punishment Dïwàll (festival of lights), 160-61
County Caroni, 29 Dïyà: definition, 160/i
County organization: Trinidad, 27 Doctor's office, 54
Courts, 195-99, 241; racial alignment, Drivers, 16, 236; tasks, 70; status, 92
199 Drunken quarrels, 210
Cow: part in religious life, 153 Durgâ: pûjâ in honor of, 172
Crabcatchers, 78-79
Crabcatching, 64, 66; low status, 92 East Africa: laborers from India, 25
Credit buying, 91 East Indian children : elementary educa-
Cremation, 25 tion, 38
"Creole" (term), xxi East Indian indentured laborers: re-
Creole houses, 46-47, 48-49 placement of Negro slaves, 17
Creole justice: mistrust of, 196 East Indian villages : acculturation with
Creole magic, 179-80 West Indian culture, 22-23
Creoles in politics, 221 East Indians : importance in New World
260 INDEX

p o p u l a t i o n , 2 ; p e r c e n t a g e of Trini- G a n g u l e e , N . : q u o t e d , 5, 12; cited, 8, 9 ,

dad's population, 2; indentured 13, 14, 15, 22
l a b o r , 8 - 2 0 ; r e a s o n s f o r c o m i n g to G a r d e n i n g , 86
T r i n i d a d , 9 ; p u r c h a s e of small plots G i r l s : play, 185; social life, 190-92;
of l a n d , 22; a t t i t u d e t o w a r d N e g r o e s , surveillance, 191
244 G o a t s , 87
E c o n o m i c mobility, 234 G o b a r d h à n - p ù j à , 172
E d u c a t i o n : A m i t y , 38 G o d : belief in, 156
Elections, 227-29 G o r d o n , Sir A r t h u r , 30
Electricity: in A m i t y , 38 G u a d e l o u p e : l a b o r s h o r t a g e , 6n; re-
E l o p e m e n t , 115-17 i n d e n t u r e in, 21
E n d o g a m o u s u n i o n , a p p r o v e d , 113 G u r u , 148
E n g a g e m e n t s , m a r r i a g e , 123
E s t a t e drivers, see Drivers
H a r d e o , Mr., 210, 211; influence, 224
E s t a t e m a n a g e r , 16
H a r r o w i n g of rice fields, 83
E s t a t e o r g a n i z a t i o n , 16-17
" H a w a i i a n C o u s i n " terminology, 99
Evil eye (maljeu), 181-83
Herskovitz, M. J . : cited, 2n, 92n, 120n,
129, 242
F a m i l y councils, 134 Herskovits, M. J., a n d Herskovits, F.
F a m i l y expenditures, 88-91 S.: cited, 179n, 183/1, 239/7; q u o t e d ,
F a m i l y feuds, 207-8 240, 241
F a m i l y relations, 20 H i n d i language, xix-xxi
Family visits, 128n H i n d u M a r r i a g e O r d i n a n c e , 108
Fatel Razack: first East I n d i a n immi- H i n d u School, 138, 185
gration ship, 9 H i n d u theology, 152-57
Field w o r k , 15 H i n d u i s m : unity a n d division, 145-52;
Field w o r k e r s : a p p r e n t i c e s h i p system, 5 practice in A m i t y , 178-79; modifica-
Filial disobedience, 132 tion in Amity, 237
Financial c o n t r i b u t i o n s t o relatives, 232 H i n d u s : as immigrants, 12; friendships
Fish vendors, 77 with Muslims, 243
F i s h e r m e n , 77-78 Holi, 165
F i s h i n g : low status, 92 Holy days, 157n
Fleet, J. F . : cited, 158« H o r o s c o p e : d e t e r m i n a t i o n of child's
Fletcher, K e n n e t h , xxii initial by, 118
F o r e m e n , see Drivers H o r o w i t z , Michael, xxii
Fortnightly budget, 89 (lab.) H o u r s of labor, 17-18
Fowls, 86 H o u s e h o l d s , 44-52; defined, 45
F r e e return p a s s a g e : p l a n t e r s ' o b j e c t i o n H o u s e s : on stilts, 47n
t o , 21 H o u s i n g , 38, 39, 4 0 ; types, 45-52;
F r e n c h West Indies: East I n d i a n inden- distribution of types (lab.), 49, 50
t u r e d labor, 8-9 H u t c h i n s o n , H. W . : cited, 243n
F u n e r a l s , 129-30, 146, 238-39 H u t t o n , J. H . : cited, 36n, 56, 59n
 INDEX 261

" I d l e r ' s H a l l s , " 188-89 L a b o r s h o r t a g e : British West Indies, 6

Illegitimacy, 109 Lall, E d w a r d , xxii
I n c o m e , 8 8 ; A m i t y , 6 9 ; of s u g a r Lalla, R o b e r t , xxii
workers, 68 L a n d : p u r c h a s e o r r e n t i n g by E a s t
I n d e n t u r e d labor, 6 ; in British islands Indians, 22; see also C r o w n l a n d
of C a r i b b e a n , 4 ; East I n d i a as L a n d p u r c h a s e : effect o f , 63
source, 8; a t t e m p t at regulation, 8-9; L a n d o w n e r s , 73-74
c o m p a r e d with slavery, 20; n u m b e r Lee, Ulric, xxii
of years c o n t r a c t e d for, 21 Levine, Lewis, xxii
I n d i a : overseas colonies, ix; t r a n s p l a n t - Lewis, O . : cited, 118, 157/r, 162/r, 165,
ing of culture, 231 193n, 200, 233n, 239; q u o t e d , 241
I n d i a n magic, 180-83 Life cycle, 117-31, 238
I n d i a n villages: f o r m a t i o n of, 22 Living c o n d i t i o n s f o r w o r k e r s , 14
I n d r a - p u j a , 172 Lloyd Street, 37-38, 41
Inheritance, 134-36 L o c h a n , S o l o m o n , xxiii
Intersexual bodily c o n t a c t : avoidance L o c h h e a d , A. V. S., xvii
of, 166 L o w c a s t e s : as i m m i g r a n t s , 12

J a c o b s o n , Claire, xxii
M a d r a s : immigrants drawn from, 9;
J a i r a m : influence, 224
important port for emigrants for
J a j m a n i , see Praja relationships, 200
F r e n c h colonies, 10
J a m a i c a : l a b o r shortage, 6; study of
M a g i c , 179-83
rural life in, 243/j
Jangli castes, 60 M a h a d e o ( h e a d m a s t e r ) : influence, 224
M a h a s a b h a o r g a n i z a t i o n , 207
Jangli Tola, 35, 38, 40, 43-44; castes,
M a r a j h , M r . , 150, 205, 211; influence,
36-37, 61; h o u s i n g in, 52
224
Jenkins, E . : cited, 13, 15; q u o t e d , 14,
M a r k e t , 53
16, 18, 19
Judges, 199/j M a r r i a g e , 108, 121-27; between castes,
" J u m b i e s , " 183 6 2 ; legalization, 109-10; p a t e r n a l
J u n c t i o n , 35, 44; inhabited primarily by a p p r o v a l , 110-11; in C a s e c u a n d
Negroes, 37 Jangli T o l a , 146; a r r a n g e m e n t be-
tween t w o families, 232, 2 3 8 ; in
K a l i : sacrifices to, 172-73 Trinidad Negro community, 242;
K a r t i k N a h a n , 161-62, 192 British G u i a n a , 246
" K e e p e r " union, 113 M a r r i a g e , H i n d u , 25
K i n s h i p relationships, 93-108, 231-33 M a r r i a g e , second, 113
K i n s h i p terminology, 94-99, 105 M a r r i a g e b r o k e r s , 122
Kitchen gardens, 86 " M a r r i a g e s e a s o n , " 72, 238
Koss, J . : cited, I07n M a r r i e d life, 127-28
K r i s h n a : c o m m e m o r a t i o n of birth, 172 M a r r i o t t , M . : q u o t e d , 240
" K u b l a l M a r j h " : c o n t r o l of A m i t y by, M a r t i n i q u e : l a b o r s h o r t a g e , 6/i
193-94 M a t t h e w s , B . : cited, 2n
262 INDEX

Mauritius: East Indian indentured Omaj Maharaj, xxii

labor, 8; free return passage, 21 O'Malley, L. S. S.: cited, 35n, I54n
Medical care: for workers, 14 Orissa: immigration from, 11
Medical examinations: of immigrants, Ostracism: as punishment, 194
13 Oudh: immigration from, 11
Megass: definition, 17n Overseers: duties, 16
Midwives, 119; training, 136
Mischel, W., and Mischel, F.; cited, Panceyt (term), 194n
179 n Panceyt, informal, 211-20
Modem houses, 47-48, 49 Panchayat (term), 173n
Montserrat Hills, 28 Pandit, 147-49; as licensed "Marriage
Morris, H. S.: quoted, 25; cited, 57, 58 Officer," 109; part in naming child,
Morton, John: diary quoted, 31-32
118; setting of date for wedding, 123
Morton, S. E.: biography of husband,
Parlor (term), 54
31
Parry, J. H.: cited, 17
Mourning, 130
Parry, J. H., and Sherlock, P. M.:
Murdock, G. P.: cited, 99n, 239n
cited, 5
Muslim families, 137-39
Patna, 181
Muslims: as immigrants, 12; friendships
People's National Movement, 138-39,
with Hindus, 243
160, 221
Persad Path, 41
Names: determination, 118-19 Physical punishment, 132
Names, Christian, 143 Piece work, see "Task" labor
Nandilal: PNM candidates, 222-26 Pitar-pakh, 178
Native States, India: immigration from, Planters: power over workers, 14
11 Planting: of rice, 83
Negro family life, 242 Ploughing: of ricefields, 83
Negro slaves: importation by British Plural societies, x-xi
planters, 4 Plural unions, 113n
Negroes: attitude of East Indians Plurality within unity: concept of, 156
toward, 244 Police: accused of brutality, 198
Non-Hindu religions, 137-44 Politics, national: on village level, 221-
Northern Range, 28 29
North-Western Province, India: immi- Pooran Marajh, 147; gossip about, 216
gration from, 11 Population clusters: Trinidad, 28
Nursery school, 184-85 Pork-eating, 59, 62, 234
" P r a j a " : definition, 200n
Obeah, 179-80 " P r a j a " relationship, 199-206, 236, 241;
Occupations: relation to caste, 57; class and Jajmani system, 241
divisions, 92; Muslim, 137 Precedence, 59, 60
Ojha men,181 Presbyterians, 140, 142
Old Age, 128-29; see also Aged Prestige, 208-20
 INDEX 263

Private ceremonies, 169, 176-78 Rice: subsistence crop, 80

Prostitutes: among immigrants, 19 Rice beating, 84-85
Pseudo-kinship relationships, 103-8 Rice cultivation, 31, 32, 80-86, 249;
Puberty, 120-21 importance, 65; by family labor, 66
Public celebrations, 157-68 Rice cutting, 84
Public ridicule: as sanction against Rice harvest, 85
disapproved behavior, 218-20 Ricefields: use for vegetables, 86
Puja room, 48 Riceland: measurement, 81
PGjas, 237 Rice-mills, 54
Punishment after death, 154 Richards, V.: cited, 10, 11, 12, 13, 18;
Punjab: immigration from, 11 quoted, 14
Pun'kin-vine family, 104 Roberts, G. W.: cited, 9
Rosenfeld, H.: cited, 132n
Radcliffe-Brown, A. R.: quoted, xvin, Rousseau, L. E., xxii
23 Rubin, Vera, xv, xvi; cited, 23/j, 247n
Ryan, B.: quoted, 245-46
Rakas, 180-81
Rama: commemoration of birth, 171
Ramanandi panthi, 145; religious Sacrifices: feeling against, 177
practices, 146 Sampath, H.: quoted, 22
Ramayana: weekly readings, 172 Sanatan Dharma Mahasabha: Hindu
Ramesar, Mr.: influence, 224 school, 141
Rameyn reading group, 190 Sanction, see Conflict and sanction
Ramlila, 158-60; cessation, 225 " S a r " (term), 108
Rampur: contrasted with Amity, 239 Savanna land of County Caroni, 30
Ramsingh, Hardeo, xxiii School attendance, 185n
Rations: for workers, 14 Sealy, Ben, xxii
Real family, 104 Semi-private ceremonies, 169, 175-76
Reconstitution: of country of origin, Separation of husband and wife, 114
xii-xiii Sewing classes, 54/i
Redfield, Robert: as cultural anthro- Sexual intercourse: among adolescents,
pologist, viii-ix 121
Reesal, Dr. and Mrs. Michael Rabin- Shango (term), 179/j
dranath Ojah, xxii Sherlock: cited, 17
Reincarnation, 154-55 Shoes, 144n
Re-indenture, 21 Shopkeepers, 76
Relationships, "Avoidance," 102-3 Singing, 165«, 168
Relationships, "Joking," 101-2 Sisters-in-law, 135; conflict between,
Religion, 137-83; of early settlers, 35 132n
Religious ceremonies, 169-79, 237 Siunareyni panthi, 146
Religious teachers: from India, 148 Siwa, Lord: commoration of birth, 171
Rental rights: inheritance, 135 Siwala, 149; twice-weekly congrega-
"Respect family," 104-5, 232 tional meetings, 172
264 INDEX

Skinner, Elliot P., xxii; cited, 21, 57 " T a s k " l a b o r , 17

Slack seasons, 22 T a x i drivers, 79-80
Slave t r a d e : abolition, 5 Taxi driving, 6 6
Slavery: in British West I n d i a n colonies, T e n a n t - l a n d l o r d relationship, 66
4-6; c o m p a r e d with i n d e n t u r e d l a b o r , T e r m i n o l o g y : differences between Cre-
20 ole a n d East I n d i a n , 248
Small f a n n e r s , 73-76, 248; profits, 75 T h o m a s R o a d , 33, 4 2 ; center of
S m i t h , M. G . : cited, 2n B e h a r r i Settlement, 34; housing o n ,
S m i t h , R . T . : cited, In 52; castes, 6)
S m i t h , R. T., and J a y a w a r d e n a , C . : Tij : n o t celebrated in A m i t y , 239
q u o t e d , 23, 246; cited, 126n T o b a g o : a d m i n i s t r a t i o n by c o u n t y , 27
Social a d v a n c e m e n t , 203-5 T o c o : T r i n i d a d N e g r o c o m m u n i t y , 129;
Social mobility, 234-35, 245 c o u r t s , 241
Social p r o b l e m s : m e t h o d of e x p l o r a - T r a c t o r s , 83
tion, viii T r a n s p o r t a t i o n of criminals, 6
Social s t r u c t u r e : individual in, 23 T r i c k e r y : suspected in East Indian im-
Society; difference f r o m culture, 24 m i g r a t i o n , 10
S o l o m o n , Cyril, xxii T r i n i d a d : u n d e r the British flag, 6;
S o o k p a l e e , Mrs., xxii l a b o r s h o r t a g e , 6 ; history, 6n\ East
S o o k r a m M a r a j h , 147; accused of r a p e , I n d i a n i m m i g r a t i o n , 9 ; shortage of
216 w o m e n , 19; indentured labor, 2 0 ;
" S p i r i t u o u s l i q u o r s " : sale o f , 54 a d m i n i s t r a t i o n by c o u n t y , 27 : setting,
Staff of estate, 16 28-30
Stevenson, S.: cited, 118 T r i n i t y Hills, 28
Student-teachers, 139
S u d r a caste, 61, 234 U n d e r h i l l , M . M . : cited, 157
Sugar cultivation, 4-8; T r i n i d a d , 28-29; U n i t e d Provinces, I n d i a : i m m i g r a n t s
i m p o r t a n c e , 65 drawn from, 9
S u g a r estates: labor on, 66-73; p e r s o n - U x o r i l o c a l e x o g a m o u s m a r r i a g e , 112-
nel t u r n o v e r , 67 13
Sugar i n d u s t r y : o r g a n i z a t i o n , 70
Sugar I n d u s t r y Welfare F u n d loans, 39,
V a m p i r e s , 180
47
V a r n a s t r u c t u r e : of I n d i a n caste system,
Sugar m a r k e t : fluctuations, 248
56
Sugar priccs: effect o n i n c o m e of
villagers, 243 V a r n a system, 234
Sultanti, A., xxii V a r n a s ( I n d i a n caste system), 35;
S u r n a m e s , 59 o r d e r o f , 59
S ù r - p û j â , 170-77, 178 Verteuil, L. A . A . d e : q u o t e d , 6
Swine-raising, 60, 62, 64, 87, 234 Vês castes, 59, 60, 61
" V i l l a g e " (term), 28
T a p i r a p é , Brazil: destruction of village, Village elders, xvii-xviii
24; reconstitution, 247 " V i l l a g e P a n c ë y t , " 192-95
 INDEX 265

Villages: circle of, xiii West Indian Federation: lack of

Virilocal exogamous marriage, 111-12 enthusiasm among East Indians, 244
West Indies: as plural society, x; social
Wages, Un, 17-18 stratification, 2
Wagley, Charles, xv, xxii; quoted, 24, Wife-murder, 19
242n ; cited, 247 Williams, Eric: quoted, 5, 7; PNM
Wakes, 129, 239, 243 leader, 139n, 221
Wards: administration, 27-28 Women: among East Indian immi-
Wedding season, 79, 125 grants, 13; shortage, 18-19; work,
Weddings, 123-26; specific rituals per- 71n; property ownership, 134-35;
formed by certain kin, 107; expenses, social life, 190-92
124-25; animal sacrifices at, 176; Woodcutters, 78
preparation for, 191-92 Woodruff, P.: cited, 10*
Werewolves, 180 Working conditions, 14, 17-18
West India Royal Commission Report:
Yufe, Mr. and Mrs. E., xxii
quoted, 5
West Indian Federal Labour Party, 221 Zâmïdàrs (term), 193«