Colours of Violence

by Kakar, Sudhir

  The Muslim sample from Karwan consisted of ten men and ten women. The women ranged in age from eighteen to fifty and all except the youngest were illiterate. The ages of the men were between nineteen and seventy-five. A couple of the men had a few years of schooling but none had finished high school. A third of them were unemployed while others worked in low paid jobs as casual labourers, vegetable sellers and auto-rickshaw drivers.

  Before I discuss the morality judgements of the Muslims, there are two general remarks that need to be made. First, the idea of convention, the idea that the disapproved interactions with the Hindus could be based on a consensus within the community and are relative and alterable, is almost totally absent. Once a behaviour is seen as a violation it generally tends to be viewed starkly as a sin and it does not matter if it is done secretly or openly or whether it is permitted in other places. These interactions, except in the area of religious faith, tend to be viewed as part of a moral order, categorical, imperative and binding on all Muslims. Second, the moral code, to follow Dworkin’s distinction, is duty- rather than right- or goal-based.10 In other words, a duty like ‘Obedience to Allah’s will as expressed in the Qur’an’, is taken as fundamental and given priority over a right such as the ‘individual’s right to freedom of choice’ or a goal like ‘improving the welfare of the community’. The morality is traditional or customary, deeply connected to the ancestry and the narrated history of a group. The transgressions of moral ways of acting are accompanied by anxieties relating to the unexpected and the fear of narcissistic injuries such as being excluded from the group or the loss of a fantasized union with others of the community.

  The statements on which there was a consensus—a consensus referring to judgements of right and wrong shared by at least 75 per cent of the sample—are the following:

  Permitted Interactions

  In Normal times

  To have Hindu friends.

  To eat with Hindus.

  To work with Hindus in a factory.

  To learn the Gita from a pandit.

  To beat up a Hindu boy for whistling at a Muslim girl.

  To beat up a Hindu who is making fun of Allah.

  In Riot Time

  To give shelter to a Hindu.

  Wrong Interactions

  In Normal Times

  A Muslim girl going to the cinema with a Hindu boy.

  A Muslim girl eloping with a Hindu boy.

  To throw a dead cow in a temple.

  In Riot Time.

  To rape a Hindu girl.

  To kill a Hindu woman.

  Let us begin by looking at the interactions which are consensually considered wrong. In normal times, the strongest reaction is evoked by the idea of a Muslim girl going to the cinema with a Hindu boy. This is not only a serious violation of the moral code but unequivocally a sin. The other day we beat up one such pair,’ says a nineteen-year-old man. ‘We watched them for three days and followed them to the cinema. I slapped the girl and informed the girl’s brother. He was ready to poison himself and die as he could not bear the dishonour of his sister being caught with one of their [Hindu] boys.’ Almost a third of the respondents would have the girl killed, expecting the parents to quietly poison her, bury her alive or themselves commit suicide. Here, of course, our ‘law’ that ‘expression is contingent upon its medium’ also works in the reverse direction. The outrage which is being expressed in such violent words will generally be more controlled if and when it comes to concrete action. Then we can expect a beating rather than murder, wounding words, yes, but rarely the sharp stabs of a knife.

  The younger Muslim women, whom I would have expected to identify more with the girl, are at one with their menfolk in considering the action a grave sin. They are, however, much less harsh in the punishment they envisage as adequate. Most would be content if the girl got a good thrashing and a couple recommend marrying the girl off against her will. In fact, the only two voices which do not consider the behaviour a sin, though it remains a serious offence, are women.

  What is the culture-specific aspect of the moral code which invites such wrath on the head of a Muslim girl who goes to a movie with a Hindu boy? Pre-eminent here is a notion of the family which is not an association of individuals but a structure with differentiated roles and obligations. The structure itself is a part of and in service of a larger whole, the Muslim community. The movie-going of a Muslim girl is not an individual affair but the establishment of a particular kind of relationship with the other qaum which is a deadly insult to the Muslim community. Yet the ferocity of the imagined punishments arouses the suspicion that there are also some unconscious fantasies involved in this act which, for instance, are absent in the case of a Muslim girl eloping with a Hindu boy. To an outside observer, with a different moral code, the latter would seem to be a far more serious affair. Although considered a sin, the punishments for elopement are not so severe. The girl should not be readmitted to the home and should be considered dead by the community, is the general tenor of opinion in dealing with this particular ‘sin’. My hunch is that going to the cinema gives rise to images of hot, hurried gropings in the darkness of its foyer, fantasies of forbidden sexuality between the pair, whereas the elopement makes sexual congress between the couple more acceptable in that it is legitimized by marriage. The girl who has married a Hindu is outside the bounds of the community, dead as far as the Muslim qaum is concerned. The girl who went to the cinema is still a part of the community, a boil which must be lanced.

  Throwing a dead cow in a temple is the only violation which is not considered a sin but a minor transgression. It is wrong because it hurts the religious sentiments of the Hindus and, more rationally, can lead to outbreak of a riot. Some will content themselves with pointing out to the offender the error of his ways while others will consider handing him over to the police.

  During riot time, the two consensually forbidden acts of violence relate both to Hindu women, namely, their rape and murder. In contrast, there is no consensus on the moral status of the killing of men, looting, and arson. Although both rape and killing of women are regarded as sinful, there is a hesitation, almost reluctance when it comes to punishment of the guilty. What comes to the fore here is the conflict between the perceived interests of the community and its moral codes. ‘The men who have raped and killed are our own. Who will protect us if they are severely punished or handed over to the police?’ expresses the nature of the dilemma. The recommended punishments range from educating the culprit, leaving it to Allah, letting the law take its course, to handing over the men to the police.

  In the case of rape, there is no difference of opinion between men and women in either perception of the act or the punishment of the wrongdoers. Of the two in the sample who favour the severest sanctions—castration and killing of the man—one is a man and the other a woman. During a riot, a time of danger to individual and collective survival, identification with the community outweighs all other identifications, including the identification with one’s gender.

  Killing and rape of Hindu women are sins because they are forbidden by Islam. This is elaborated through the idea of Islamic chivalry where a riot between Hindus and Muslims is a battle exclusively between men in defence of the honour of their qaums. The women are noncombatants. Weak and vulnerable, they are entitled to protection, even by men of the enemy host.

  Rape of a Hindu woman, though, has some surprising twists to the nature of its sinfulness. The seventy-five-year-old man regards rape as a sin because a Hindu woman is haram, forbidden to the Muslim like the eating of pork or meat of an animal not slaughtered in the ritually correct manner. Rape of a Muslim woman, on the other hand, is not a sin because she is halal. This view is echoed by another, much younger man, who reacts with horror to the idea of raping a Hindu woman and thereby entering the polluted and contaminating inner regions of an infidel body. In these two cases rape is not a violation of the moral code that forbids the causing of harm to another individual but the bre
aking of a code that decrees the preservation of one’s own sanctity.

  Turning to permitted interactions in normal times, there is no difficulty in Muslims having Hindus as friends. There are three sceptics, all women, who believe such friendships are no longer possible after the riots of the last decade. They mistrust the Hindus; ‘Hindus are sweet outside but have poison in their hearts.’

  It is also all right to eat with the Hindus. The only reservation is that since the Hindus eat haram foods, a Muslim might inadvertently eat something which is forbidden.

  Working with Hindus in a factory does not pose any problem. It is a matter of work, of survival, and beyond the personal control of any single individual or even a community.

  Learning Hindu scriptures from a Hindu priest is also not wrong. The Gita, too, is the voice of God in their language so it is not wrong to listen to it, opines one respondent. To do so is to gain knowledge which is pleasing to Allah, says another. It does not matter if one does so, says a third, after all a Muslim will remain a Muslim. The few dissenting voices express the fear that an exposure to unbelief (kufar) may corrode a Muslim’s own faith.

  I must confess to a mild surprise at this evidence of tolerance in matters of faith, reminding me once again not to underestimate the impact of the Hindu images from my childhood, of the Muslim as a religious fanatic. This becomes especially true if we look at the dissension on the question of a Muslim who converts and becomes a Hindu, an action I would have expected to be overwhelmingly rejected as wrong and sinful. Even the ones who condemn the conversion are reluctant to punish the offender. Others see such a conversion as a matter of personal choice. Of course, such an action is not a matter of indifference. It is an affront to the Muslim community yet does not call for its interference. Ironically, ‘religious fanaticism’ is less prevalent in the religious domain, in interactions at the level of faith, less than in any other area of social exchange with the Hindus. The otherwise duty-based moral code is suspended here as the individual’s right to freedom of choice takes precedence over duties.

  Beating up Hindu boys for whistling at a Muslim girl or for making fun of Allah are retaliations for straightforward insults to the collective honour and earn consensual approval. The qualifications are minor. In the first case, try to explain and then beat, says one man; another man will let the whistling go unpunished if the girl was out without a veil because then she has invited this unwelcome male attention. In the second case, a couple of respondents recommend forbearance in the face of this stupidity. Mostly, though, violent reprisals are fully in order, as in the case of Salman Rushdie, whose example was specifically cited by two respondents.

  But during a riot, giving shelter to a Hindu is the only consensually approved action. This is viewed as a religious duty owed to Allah. It is a duty independent of one’s personal feelings about Hindus in general and the individual seeking shelter in particular. It is the expression of the compassion and mercy in the heart of a good Muslim and is enjoined by Islam.

  On several significant actions, the sample of twenty Muslims did not estabish a consensus. The question of renting a house to a Hindu in normal times produced several reactions. The dissenter’s argument is based on the pollution of the Muslims by a Hindu living among them. Hindus plaster the floors and walls with cow dung, eat pork, will perform puja where ibadat has been done. A few feel more strongly: ‘My mother said if you give alms to a Hindu your hand will burn on Judgement day.’ It is not a sin but certainly an error to be avoided. The assenters argue that not all Hindus are bad, and there is nothing wrong with renting one’s house to a good Hindu.

  Dissensus existed on a number of actions if taken in riot time. Those who see setting fire to a Hindu house as a wrong act do not consider it a major violation. It is a minor offence during a riot, and the offenders should be properly counselled. Others who approve look at it as something that is inevitable during a riot.

  Looting of Hindu shops is an action that produced pro and con arguments that are the same as in the case of arson.

  The respondents, both men and women, are almost evenly divided on the action of killing a Hindu man during a riot. Those who consider it a sin will still not sanction any punishment by the community. Some will allow it only in retaliation. Others who consider nothing wrong with killing a Hindu in a riot liken the situation to a time of war when killing and being killed is the normal order of things.

  Morality and the Hindus

  The Hindu sample from Pardiwada consisted of ten men and ten women. The men ranged in age from twenty-two to forty-five with a median age of thirty years, while the age range of women was between twenty and fifty-nine, with a median of thirty-five years. The Hindu women, like their Muslim counter-parts, had had no schooling, whereas the Hindu men were better educated than the Muslim sample, with an average of seven years of schooling. Economically, too, the Pardis, though poor, were visibly better off than the Muslims from Karwan. Most of the men were fruit vendors while two drove auto-rickshaws for a living.

  Before I discuss the Hindu responses to each of the behavioural cases, there is one general observation that needs to be made. As compared to the Muslims, the Hindu respondents were much more relativistic and contextual in judging a behaviour as a transgression and more easygoing in proposing punishments for actions judged as wrong. Irrespective of age and gender, ‘It all depends’ was an almost reflexive response, and the individual had to be persuaded to engage further with the standard interview.

  In responding to cases of interaction with the Muslims, both during normal and riot times, which were not clearly labelled as unobjectionable at the outset, the answers were almost always framed in terms of a context, temporal or spatial. The linking of the morality of an interaction with time would be typically expressed thus: ‘It was wrong when times were different but it is not wrong now.’ By ‘different times’, the person is alluding to a past golden era of individual and collective morality as compared to the degenerate Kali-yuga of today. The individual can thus convincingly state that an action is wrong in right times but right in wrong times. Similarly, demographic space seemed to be intimately involved in moral judgements, and I was often told that actions such as the beating up of a Muslim or arson and looting of Muslim shops were wrong if you lived in a Muslim majority mohalla but all right if you were living in a Hindu majority area. This appears to have less to do with morality than with prudence and expediency unless, of course, one is willing to consider the case for an expedience-based morality. As a consequence of this contextual stance, it is understandable that the envisaged punishments by the community for wrong actions were nonexistent or weak and evoked far less emotion and righteousness than the corresponding sanctions among the Muslims against the violators of their community’s moral codes.

  This striking difference between Hindus and Muslims can be accounted for in religious terms. The difference in the approaches to morality may be seen as a consequence of the difference between humanist and authoritarian religions (Fromm) or between precept-based and prophetic religions (Obeyesekere).11 In more culturalist terms, as I have discussed elsewhere, in Hindu philosophical and ethical tradition, the rightness or wrongness of a proposed action depends on the individual’s desa, the culture in which one is born; on kala, the historical era in which one lives; on srama, the efforts required of one at different stages of life; and on gunas, the innate psychobiological traits which are the heritage of a person’s previous lives.12 ‘Right’ and ‘wrong’ are relative; they can emerge as clear distinctions only out of the total configuration of the four coordinates of action.

  The Hindu approach to the making of moral judgements may well be a part of a basic Hindu way of thinking which the poet-scholar A.K. Ramanujan has called ‘context-sensitive.’13 Hindus, Ramanujan believes, idealize context–sensitive rather than context–free rules. Whether it is in medical matters, where the context is vital in diagnosis, prescription, and preparation of herbal medicines, or in music, where the raga
s have their prescribed and appropriate times, the context–sensitivity extends even to space and time, the universal contexts, the Kantian imperatives, which in India are not uniform and neutral. Every moral rule thus has a number of exceptions, each of these additions a subtraction from any universal law so that one falls back on the universal only if one fits no context or condition (which is rare). Yet before wholly embracing the religious–culturalist explanations, as I am tempted to do, we must remember that the Pardis are not completely contextbound in their moral judgements. The rape and killing of a Muslim woman are unequivocally condemned as sins, unalterable by any contextual considerations. To me, even more significant than the differences between the Hindu and Muslim approaches to morality is their similarity in the condemnation of the rape and killing of the other community’s women; both groups regard these acts unalterably as sins. At an emotionally more neutral level they also share a common disapproval of acts which hurt the religious sentiments of the other community. What is most encouraging is the fact that this disapproval is often couched in terms of empathy:’ Their feelings are the same as ours and we would not like it if it were done to us.’ The existence of this empathy—even if it is in a restricted sphere—demonstrates that the history of violence between the communities (which can fairly be said to have made enemies of Hindus and Muslims, at least in the poor underbelly of the city) has not yet dehumanized the enemy. There is still empathy on both sides which does not let a Muslim consider a Hindu—and vice versa—less than human and therefore a deserving prey for every imaginable brutality. Empathy with members of the other group, even when considered the enemy, defends the Other from the untrammelled aggression which can so easily be let loose against all those considered subhuman.14