From: divaka@vccsouth23.its.rpi.edu (Ajay Divakaran)
Subject: Essay
Reply-To: divaka@rpi.edu
Organization: Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, Troy, NY.
Date: Sat, 10 Oct 1992 20:23:48 GMT

                 Beyond the Rajasthan Tourism Posters
                                by
                           Ajay Divakaran


   "Visit Rajasthan!", the posters seem to exhort.  The majestic saffron tur-
bannned Rajput against the backdrop of an imposing fort, the colourfully be-
decked belles, and the silhouettes of camels trudging across a desert landscape;
these popular images of Rajasthan evoke an exotic land in the minds of non-
Rajasthanis, Indian and non-Indian alike.  The traditional tales of Rajput
chivalry have inspired art, literature, theatre, dance, music and last but cer-
tainly not the least, films. From the accounts of Rani Padmini's leap into flames
(jauhar) to avoid capture by the enemy and the battle unto death banner of
the saffron turban (kesariya bana), to the moustache twirling macho inanities
of some popular movies, the popular tradition spans a wide range of subtlety.
   But it is not a mythical Shangri-La that you will visit, my tourist friend! *
 *So
let us take a brief glimpse into what lies beyond the travel brochures. Let us
look at a land that is struggling with the dichotomy of a feudal tradition and
modern parliamentary democracy.
   The modern state of Rajasthan was formed by the merger of several princely
states, almost all of which were ruled by Rajput rulers. The pre-independence
name for this region was Rajputana i.e. the land of the Rajputs. Prior to the
Muslim invasion, the princely states were independent and engaged in incessant
internecine warfare.  While some of the princely states resisted the Muslim
invaders, most chose to collaborate and cooperate with them.  Most of them
became vassals of the rulers of Delhi, and even as the throne of Delhi passed
through the hands of various dynasties on its way to the British, remained secu*
 *re
in their fiefdoms until independence in 1947.
   The hierarchy of the princely state had the maharaja at its apex, followed
by feudal landlords and court officials, their lackeys in turn forming the bot-
tom rung.  This hierarchy survived all the regimes in Delhi, except the post-
independence government of India. Benevolent or despotic, the Maharajas and
their retinue led aristocratic lives that bore little resemblance to the often *
 *squalid
existence of their subjects.
   In Mughal times, some Maharajas were distinguished generals of the em-
peror's army. The British Indian army also boasted of gallant Rajasthani offi-
cers who displayed their bravery in the two World Wars.  Such loyalty to the
Delhi throne was not without its rewards. The British granted an exalted status
to them and conferred various glorious titles on them. They continued a tradi-
tion of leaving the feudal structure intact while securing the loyalty of the a*
 *pex.
After the arrival of the British, the Maharajas adopted a highly Westernised
way of life.  Quite a few of them got an Oxbridge education, and hobnobbed
with British "residents" and "agents" in colonial clubs, while rural life remai*
 *ned
unchanged.
   The common man had an ambivalent attitude towards the feudal structure.



                                 1


The lower rungs of the hierarchy, beginning with the feudal landlords, were pas-
sionately hated. Yet, the royal family had a demigod like status. The Maharaja
Sahib, or "His Highness", was revered and respected. Till 1953, well after inde-
pendence in 1947, bicycle riders had to dismount from their saddles when they
passed the royal palace in Jodhpur, and even now, the Maharaja of Jodhpur is
referred to as "His Highness."
   This ambivalence towards a feudal tradition has evolved and persisted in
various forms. We proudly show off our palaces and forts to tourists. We lead
our guests through the Jodhpur fort (Mehrangarh) and palace (Umaid Bhavan)
and point out the various jewels of feudal glory. "Look at the air conditioning
ducts!", we say, "The palace was fully airconditioned in those days!" We walk
proudly through the Maharaja's private movie theater - once again built in those
days - and marvel at the limpid calm of the royal swimming pool. As we step
over the murals of the signs of the Zodiac on the pool deck, we somehow forget
the rural women who walk for miles to get just a pot of water.  We gape at
the golden ceiling of the royal court and the hall of Belgian and Dutch mirrors.
The Steinway pianos, the ballroom, the tennis and squash courts awe us with
their stories of royal elegance and style. The miniature replicas of the royal *
 *air
fleet tell us about the aerobatic daredevilry of the Maharaja.  At the fort we
reel off the names of the scions of the royal dynasty, and point out the spiked
doors, the swords, lances and daggers, paintings, royal costumes and of course
the royal palanquin. We boast of the architecture, the exquisite marble and the
translucent alabaster. And finally, as we relax amidst the battery of cannons
we look down at the city of Jodhpur and tell its story.
   But in no way do we look towards the royal family for livelihood. Indepen-
dence from the British, and modern Indian democracy liberated us from that.
Independence sounded the death knell of the old feudal order. Universal adult
franchise ensured that the new administration did not consist of the old feudal
lords. And thus began a new order.
   With independence came the new rulers, the khadi clad politicians and the
pant-shirt clad bureaucrats and technocrats, who talked about the good times
ahead. We were a democratic country, they told us, and we would soon become
a casteless, truly egalitarian society. We had an exciting task ahead of us: the
building of a modern Rajasthan.
   Millions of rupees were poured into new colleges, schools, roads, hospitals,
irrigation projects and so forth. The politicians and bureaucrats together for-
mulated the vision of a modern, well developed Rajasthan. It was a vision of
scientific and technological development. Such development alone would deliver
us from all our problems, said our mandarins.
   This new approach to government seemed radically different from the feudal
order. Any citizen could now aspire to participate in the development process
and advance in life. Our leaders were elected now, and hence could conceivably
be removed from office if they did not perform. We had freedom of speech. We
were free from all feudal shibboleths.



                                 2


   But were we really? The new order had one important feature in common
with the old order. It was top heavy. It did not envision upliftment of people *
 *in
their own setting. It emphasized the development of privileged centres. Within
the state, the state capital received preferential treatment in terms of better
roads for example.  Within the district, the district headquarters was treated
preferentially at the expense of the smaller towns and villages. Resources star*
 *ted
out as a rushing torrent at the top and ended up as an intermittent trickle
at the bottom.  A strange river indeed!  So while many village children still
studied in one room schools, the universities and colleges added new blocks,
living quarters, and other facilities.  While many people continued to live in
ramshackle hutments in the desert, various memorials and monuments were
constructed to celebrate the new heroes, living and dead.
   The new rulers did not lose any time in assuming the pomp and splendour of
the erstwhile Maharajas. They swept past us in their motorcades, ensconced in
government limousines, seemingly deaf to the wailing sirens of the police escor*
 *t.
The pant-shirt clad bureaucracy could not assume the same hauteur, and so
was completely visible to the public eye.  Visibility did not in any way imply
approachability. The pant-shirt class protected its privileges quite jealously *
 *and
brooked no interference.
   Since the pant-shirt people implemented government policy, they had at their
disposal the entire government machinery. With so much of money flowing into
development, there was plenty of booty.  After the politicians had had their
share, there was plenty left in the carcass for the lesser predators to feast o*
 *n.
The sobriquet "Plunder Without Danger" (PWD) earned by the "Public Works
Department" epitomized the attitude of this class. A case in point is the still
unfinished "Rajasthan Canal" which is now called the "Indira Gandhi Canal."
Its scheduled date of completion came and went into oblivion.  Heralded as a
harbinger of prosperity in the parched desert, it still inches forward as polit*
 *icians
continue to squabble over its course. Every politician wants it to pass through
his constituency, and the latest plan is to divert it to provide the city of Jo*
 *dhpur
with yet another source of water. Its original purpose of transforming the dese*
 *rt
into a granary still receives lip service. But it did bring prosperity. It brou*
 *ght
prosperity to all the bureaucrats, contractors and engineers who worked on
it. With every inch of progress come new houses, cars and capitation fees for
engineers and their offspring.
   The engineers are by no means the only beneficiaries. The entire bureaucracy
is quick to capitalize on opportunities, as and when they present themselves.
Liquor and lucre are the passports to several positions of bureaucratic privile*
 *ge.
Those who enter the order through such means cannot but be expected to
perpetuate it.
   The colonial clubs are now populated by bureaucrats, technocrats, busi-
nessmen, military officers and other privileged people. Officers strut about in
government jeeps and cars, with liveried flunkeys in close attendance. Instead
of the Maharaja, now it is the portly Collector Saheb and his equally sedentary



                                 3


friends who loll in garden chairs after a strenuous five minutes of tennis, awa*
 *iting
the bearer who brings them their lime juice cordial. Umaid Bhavan, the royal
palace of Jodhpur, is, quite appropriately, a five star hotel now. Foreign tour*
 *ists
and exalted Indians like super-bureaucrats get to stay there. The uniformed at-
tendants run errands for their new masters, and curse them in Marwari under
their breaths, secure in the incomprehensibility of Marwari to the outsider.
   The response of Rajasthani society draws on tradition as well as current
reality.  Those who actually can move up into the pant-shirt class accord the
fullest respect to the newly rich and powerful. While they are aware enough to
rail against corruption in the severest terms, they are much more than willing
to be part of the new aristocracy.  They fall over each other in offering their
daughters in marriage to present and potential members of the officer class:
the ultimate social sanction.  Their children dream of air-conditioned offices,
chauffeur driven jeeps and a battery of peons.
   Those who cannot, realistically speaking, move up in social station, have
much more modest ambitions. A typical villager in Barmer, a desert district,
may dream of becoming an enlisted soldier or a police constable. Some of them
become peons and attendants of officers. For all their lack of formal education,
they appear to have a perfect understanding of their position in the pecking
order. I was once called "Banna" by a peon who wanted me to plead with my
father on his behalf. "Banna" is an honorific for a Rajput feudal lord, but is
often used to flatter his Rajput flunkeys as well. I differed from a "Banna" on*
 *ly
in dress and appearance, and hence could definitely be propitiated by tradition*
 *al
servility and flattery.
   So while there is increased awareness all around, society as a whole explici*
 *tly
or implicitly endorses the new order. Understandably, everyone wants to climb
a rung or two in the social ladder, but somehow the legitimacy of the ladder
itself is rarely challenged.
   So you ask me, "What about the colourful pictures? They are not false, are
they?"
   No, they are not false.  But they do not only tell you about the rich folk
tradition (mostly oral) and culture of Rajasthan. They also tell you about the
fascination which the pant-shirt class has for the exotic. Rajasthani food, mus*
 *ic,
dance, handicrafts to mention but a few, are all facets of a culture of joie de
vivre amidst geographic and social adversity.
   The craftsmen of Rajasthan are a diverse bunch.  On one hand we have
the fine gold leaf "Tewa" work of Pratapgarh, and on the other you can see
the doughty old men each winter morning, all bundled up in coarse shawls,
spinning yarn from sheep's wool. Making things for themselves is part of their
way of life.
   Music and dance are no less integral. In the villages, the womenfolk gather
every evening and sing their hearts out. They sing of their love for their chil-
dren, quarrels with their in-laws and flirtations with their brothers-in-law, j*
 *oy
at the first rainfall and of course devotional songs. Noor Mohammed Langa, the



                                 4


moustachioed singer from the desert, expresses the passion and courage of the
people of the desert with his powerful voice. "Aave Hichki" (I hiccup), he sings
with his brother. There is a tradition that whenever you hiccup, it is because
someone is thinking about you. So he celebrates his love for that special lady
who is thinking about him.
   Transposed to a stage, and performed to an audience of urban sophisticates,
Rajasthani music and dance become yet another symbol of the flirtation with
the exotic. What is worn by a peasant woman every day of her arduous life, is
donned as an "ethnic" fancy dress to suit the latest whim of fickle fashion. We,
the pant-shirt types, the new patrons of the arts, the proud patriots, market o*
 *ur
folk culture using colonial terms like "exotic,", "ethnic," and "vernacular," b*
 *liss-
fully unaware that in doing so, we give away our ignorance of and indifference
to folk culture.
   No, independence did not magically grant us an egalitarian society. It was
upto us to shape it and we did not. So do I advocate a return to the "good old
days?" Those days were old but by no means were they good. There is a lot of
beauty in our tradition, but it is mostly inspite of our feudal history and not
because of it. So we struggle to retain the beauty and undo the new feudal order
at the same time. As Kenzo Tange, the Japanese architect says, "Tradition is
a millstone around our neck. We have to shatter it and then put it together in
a whole new way." We can do that only by understanding our tradition in its
entirety with all its virtues and faults.
   So my tourist friend, do visit Rajasthan.  Stay in the best hotel that you
can afford and buy all the costumes and curios you want from our handicraft
emporiums. We can certainly use your dollars, marks, francs and rupees. We
will greet you with our famous traditional hospitality.  Just do us one little
favour. Don't think of our way of life as a museum piece. Just think of us as
human beings coming to grips with changing times and a many faceted tradition.


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