 "Licence to wed?")
Inder Singh Mor, a former junior commissioned officer in the Corps of Signals, is an unlikely agent of social change. He is every inch a Haryanvi patriarch. If there is missionary fire in his belly, it is hard for the visitor to spot it. Still, standing over six feet tall, his posture ramrod straight, Mor has initiated changes aimed at curbing the social violence that has scarred rural Haryana for centuries. He is the head of the Satrol khap, an extra-constitutional organisation that presides over all community affairs, and his say is final in the 42 villages that fall under it and among its 300,000 residents. Last month, he lifted the ban on inter-community marriages that has been in place for 650 years at a grand assembly in Hissar’s Narnaund village.
Transgressions of the khap diktat were met with inhuman violence. Offenders were assaulted. Several got killed. Honour killing was rampant. Harijan women who married into other castes were violated in the most gruesome manner. Nobody dared to take on the khap. Excommunication, after all, is the worst fate that can befall villagers here who share strong kinship bonds. Some saw the violence as a clash of civilisations, and the khap as the last attempt by the old world to assert itself. To rid the villages of this shame, Mor has allowed inter-village as well as inter-caste marriages, though the ban on same-gotra (a gotra is the sage from which a family traces its descent) marriages stays. It is hoped this will help the large army of unmarried men in these villages (Haryana’s sex ratio of 879 girls for 1,000 boys in 2011 is amongst the worst in the country) find wives and end the “bride trade” which, NGOs allege, is currently rampant: men secure brides, often from poor families, from states as afar as Bihar by paying up to Rs 80,000.
That apart, Mor is very much a man of his times. He is aware of China’s one-child policy and wants similar social engineering to control India’s population growth. Ten minutes after I had fixed a meeting with him, he had called back to ask for the copy of a magazine that had run a feature on him. On this day, he takes out his diary and reels off names of several international journalists and researchers who have called on him in the last few weeks. “Do you know any of them?” None, I reply. His grand-nephew, dressed in a pair of denims, shirt and Nike shoes, is visibly disappointed to see that it’s not an international journal covering his village.
Mor says that with better education, the boys in the villages want to find wives for themselves within the khap area and had repeatedly made requests to Mor to allow such marriages. There is also the question of consolidating wealth, and families in the khap felt that their sons should marry into families within the community. “I was approached by one family three years ago, and I took this matter up with the other headmen of our khap,” he says. It took him three years and several small panchayat (committee of village elders) meetings across the khap to garner support and offer it up for discussion in April. “Only when we knew that we had about 95 per cent support from our people did we proceed with this announcement at the mahapanchayat,” adds Mor. Over ghee-drenched chapatis, okra and a large glass of lassi, Mor calls honour killing the “biggest sin on the face of this earth”. Though women are not to be seen on the village’s main street, three are seated with Mor. They look at ease, though their heads are covered with their dupatta.
For Love Commandos, an organisation that gives refuge to lovers on the run, the khap’s decision is good but the ban on same-gotra marriages is a let-down. “They greet each other with Ram-Ram, but these people forget that Ram and Sita belonged to the same gotra,” says co-founder Sanjay Sachdev. Ravi Kant, president of NGO Shakti Vahini, says the decision “is a consequence of certain population statistics. The sex ratio amongst Harijans is quite neutral, and sometimes even in favour of women.” Yogendra Yadav, political scientist and Aam Aadmi Party leader, says this is yet another example of a social organisation’s inherent capacity to adapt to new situations. “In my opinion, the more these khaps differ from each other, the more normal they will become, allowing them to change with the times.” All told, there are 102 khaps active in Haryana.
At a tea-stall just on the Delhi-Hissar highway, Sudesh Chaudhary climbs out of a grey Toyota Innova. Dressed in a cream salwar-kameez, she rides upfront with the driver, while two men sit at the back. Chaudhury is the first woman to be appointed as the head of the women cell of the Satrol khap. This too happened at the mahapanchayat in April. The cell has been formed to understand and address the needs of the khap’s women, who had no representation or voice in the panchayats. “The society needs women, yet it keeps them out of the chaupaal (the village square). When Parliament asks for 33 per cent reservation for women, why is the chaupaal so special?” she asks. Chaudhary plans to expand her women’s cell, for which she travels across Haryana to conduct surveys and speak to women. “I won’t recruit just any woman. She has to prove that she can work and has the will to help better the conditions of other women.” Chaudhary smiles with a sense of subdued pride when she says that no one forgets the name of the first president.
In Bhaini Amirpur, a village under the Satrol khap about 20 kilometres from Mor’s home, Pradhan Hoshiar Singh applauds this decision, though he doesn’t fully understand how this will help improve the sex ratio. The men who surround him insist they are quite happy with this change, but it seems more because of the media spotlight their villages are receiving. Some youngsters talk about the need to remove the purdah system for women. Jai Beer, one of them, adds with a smirk: “What next? You want women to run the panchayat?” How real is the change, I begin to wonder.
Transgressions of the khap diktat were met with inhuman violence. Offenders were assaulted. Several got killed. Honour killing was rampant. Harijan women who married into other castes were violated in the most gruesome manner. Nobody dared to take on the khap. Excommunication, after all, is the worst fate that can befall villagers here who share strong kinship bonds. Some saw the violence as a clash of civilisations, and the khap as the last attempt by the old world to assert itself. To rid the villages of this shame, Mor has allowed inter-village as well as inter-caste marriages, though the ban on same-gotra (a gotra is the sage from which a family traces its descent) marriages stays. It is hoped this will help the large army of unmarried men in these villages (Haryana’s sex ratio of 879 girls for 1,000 boys in 2011 is amongst the worst in the country) find wives and end the “bride trade” which, NGOs allege, is currently rampant: men secure brides, often from poor families, from states as afar as Bihar by paying up to Rs 80,000.
Sudesh Chaudhary, head of Satrol khap’s women’s cell
Bass, Mor’s village, is 10 km off the highway from Delhi to Hissar. The lanes of the village are lined by rows of houses and cowsheds. Most houses lack any external plaster and retain the raw red-brick appearance. Open drains run parallel to the lanes. Mounds of cow dung can be seen all over the fields. Its smell hangs in the air. Mor’s house is like any agriculturist’s. The short flight of stairs leads into a large room, with tiled walls and about five neatly lined khaats (beds). The walls are bare. There is a large courtyard beyond the room and the kitchen on its right. There are large batteries connected to an inverter inside another room. Power supply in the villages of Haryana is evidently erratic. When photojournalist Sanjay Sharma brings out his camera, Mor calls for his pagdi, adding that the headgear, dhoti-kurta and the latth are what marks a member of the khap.That apart, Mor is very much a man of his times. He is aware of China’s one-child policy and wants similar social engineering to control India’s population growth. Ten minutes after I had fixed a meeting with him, he had called back to ask for the copy of a magazine that had run a feature on him. On this day, he takes out his diary and reels off names of several international journalists and researchers who have called on him in the last few weeks. “Do you know any of them?” None, I reply. His grand-nephew, dressed in a pair of denims, shirt and Nike shoes, is visibly disappointed to see that it’s not an international journal covering his village.
Mor says that with better education, the boys in the villages want to find wives for themselves within the khap area and had repeatedly made requests to Mor to allow such marriages. There is also the question of consolidating wealth, and families in the khap felt that their sons should marry into families within the community. “I was approached by one family three years ago, and I took this matter up with the other headmen of our khap,” he says. It took him three years and several small panchayat (committee of village elders) meetings across the khap to garner support and offer it up for discussion in April. “Only when we knew that we had about 95 per cent support from our people did we proceed with this announcement at the mahapanchayat,” adds Mor. Over ghee-drenched chapatis, okra and a large glass of lassi, Mor calls honour killing the “biggest sin on the face of this earth”. Though women are not to be seen on the village’s main street, three are seated with Mor. They look at ease, though their heads are covered with their dupatta.
Yash Pal, resident of Bass, Haryana
Bass-resident Yash Pal, 24, dressed in trousers and T-shirt, is happy with the khap’s decision to ease these restrictions on marriages, especially since he is unmarried. He looks healthy and well off. “This will be beneficial for the entire khap and it’s good to know that we are changing with changing times.” But when asked about inter-caste marriages, his enthusiasm wavers and he hesitates before adding: “Our elders have to consent to such marriages.” Social commentators too say the khap directive will not change things overnight — it will be a long wait before caste prejudices die down at Bass. “A khap can only do so much. If the families are against a marriage, how will the khap prevent them from killing their children?” asks Madhu Kishwar, founder-editor of Manushi, a journal for women’s rights.For Love Commandos, an organisation that gives refuge to lovers on the run, the khap’s decision is good but the ban on same-gotra marriages is a let-down. “They greet each other with Ram-Ram, but these people forget that Ram and Sita belonged to the same gotra,” says co-founder Sanjay Sachdev. Ravi Kant, president of NGO Shakti Vahini, says the decision “is a consequence of certain population statistics. The sex ratio amongst Harijans is quite neutral, and sometimes even in favour of women.” Yogendra Yadav, political scientist and Aam Aadmi Party leader, says this is yet another example of a social organisation’s inherent capacity to adapt to new situations. “In my opinion, the more these khaps differ from each other, the more normal they will become, allowing them to change with the times.” All told, there are 102 khaps active in Haryana.
At a tea-stall just on the Delhi-Hissar highway, Sudesh Chaudhary climbs out of a grey Toyota Innova. Dressed in a cream salwar-kameez, she rides upfront with the driver, while two men sit at the back. Chaudhury is the first woman to be appointed as the head of the women cell of the Satrol khap. This too happened at the mahapanchayat in April. The cell has been formed to understand and address the needs of the khap’s women, who had no representation or voice in the panchayats. “The society needs women, yet it keeps them out of the chaupaal (the village square). When Parliament asks for 33 per cent reservation for women, why is the chaupaal so special?” she asks. Chaudhary plans to expand her women’s cell, for which she travels across Haryana to conduct surveys and speak to women. “I won’t recruit just any woman. She has to prove that she can work and has the will to help better the conditions of other women.” Chaudhary smiles with a sense of subdued pride when she says that no one forgets the name of the first president.
In Bhaini Amirpur, a village under the Satrol khap about 20 kilometres from Mor’s home, Pradhan Hoshiar Singh applauds this decision, though he doesn’t fully understand how this will help improve the sex ratio. The men who surround him insist they are quite happy with this change, but it seems more because of the media spotlight their villages are receiving. Some youngsters talk about the need to remove the purdah system for women. Jai Beer, one of them, adds with a smirk: “What next? You want women to run the panchayat?” How real is the change, I begin to wonder.