A Glimpse of the Criminal Justice System in Hindu Villages of South India through Historical Anecdotes - Sandeep Balakrishna

THROUGHOUT THE CENTURY of the modern Indian Renaissance, it was an article of truth that one could not offer cogent and honest interpretations of the Sanatana civilization unless one imbibed its spiritual core. Writing in 1927, this is what N.N. Law said:

In the case of the ancient Hindus, the value of the spiritual side of their civilization is very difficult to be realized by a man of the twentieth century because of the frame of mind that is generally developed in him under the influence of the current thoughts and environment. But it was this spiritual culture which was indissolubly bound up with every phase of the ancient Hindu civilization, and influenced and determined…their manners, customs, and institutions, through which their thoughts and feelings found expressions.

Nowhere is this truer than in the political systems, institutions, traditions and practices that Hindus founded and nurtured throughout the ages. More than merely bookish codification, this political system operated via customs, which in turn acquired great authority because they were actually values lived by real people and were generationally transmitted. We cited one such glorious example in our essay on the ancient, Yogic village of Sorade.

Thus, when we remove this spiritual element from our politics and statecraft, we get the crude type of competitive politics that we observe in Western democracies. It is unfortunate that we blindly adopted the same system without first conducting a philosophical debate as to its feasibility for a spiritual civilization like India, which had just emerged from a millennium of oppression. The Western model of democracy is essentially competition and competition divides, and there is no telling when competition culminates in bloodletting. However, the Sanatana theory and practice of statecraft whose roots are moored in Vedanta, recognizes what is known as tara-tama bhava, or the hierarchy inherent in nature. In its political expression, this was transformed as a continuous attempt at harmonizing the various elements of this hierarchy after giving due recognition to the value of each element. This is how social and other conflicts were minimized and a mechanism for self-rectification was built into our civilisation and culture. The inseparable companion of self-correction is self-renewal: the lake renews itself when the silt at its bottom is cleared out. This is the Sanatana method.

The other facet of harmonizing the aforementioned hierarchical elements shows itself in the near-ideal decentralization of the administration, in its widest possible meaning. For several millennia, Bharatavarsha had almost perfected the system of what is today fashionably known as “last mile delivery of governance,” i.e., the village. It is not a coincidence that the luminaries of the modern Indian Renaissance and Mohandas Gandhi repeatedly stressed on the fact that the “real India lives in her villages.”

Successive monarchs throughout our history recognized and respected village autonomy and rarely extended their imperial hand upon it. Quite the contrary. They actually made it a point to honour the village, its headman and its councils. The Gupta, Pallava, Chola, Chalukya, Rashtrakuta, Hoysala, and Vijayangara monarchs made liberal gifts to villages and endowed their temples with various sevas. The reason was rather straightforward: the villages were self-governing in every sense. They knew their place in the hierarchy of the Empire and were endowed as self-restraint. They did not impinge on the affairs of other villages and vice versa. They were the preservers of their own unbroken traditions, which in turn, was a subset of the umbrella of Sanatana Dharma, which they obeyed unquestioned. The king or central government also knew his place in this umbrella: it was impossible for one person to adjudicate on matters purely local or unique to each village or locality. Our greater admiration for this system is the fact that the king had the humility to understand this limitation and conducted himself accordingly. Thus, when we today notice supreme court judges making authoritative pronouncements on every Hindu cultural tradition and even upon our sacred Devatas based on a superficial understanding, it is clear that our democracy seems to be premised on an inversion of Dharma.

The village was an independent republic in a manner of speaking. It had its own administrative machinery, revenue-collection mechanism, police, and above all, the timely delivery of justice. In this essay, we shall look at some glimpses of how justice, especially criminal justice was delivered in the villages of South India. These are derived from epigraphic records spread over seven centuries: from the 11th century to the 18th century, cantered mainly around Tamil Nadu and Kerala.

What Real History Tells us

We first provide some real-life incidents of crime followed by the verdict of the respective village council. All the incidents occurred in various villages in the South Arcot district between the 11th and 12th centuries.

1. Two men had gone out for hunting in the forest. One of them, endowed with poor marksmanship, mistakenly shot his companion with the arrow which he had aimed at a deer. A case was lodged. The verdict: the crime was unpremeditated, and the shooter was required to give a gift of 64 cows to the Tiruttandonri Aludiyar Temple for burning a lamp to the deity.

2. In a friendly swordfight in which the practitioners tested their skills, a thrust by the sword unfortunately killed one of the participants. The verdict: the offender had to provide 32 cows for the burning of a lamp in the Tirunageshwaram-Udaiyar Temple.

3. A drunk husband, in a fit of anger, pushed his wife down and the poor woman died. The verdict: the guilty man had to work free of cost at the local temple for a specified period. At the end of each day, he had to light a lamp at the same Tiruttandonri Aludiyar Temple and recite stotrams praying for the peace of his wife’s Atman.

4. An ill-tempered mother once flung a stick at her daughter. However, the stick missed its target and instead hit another child who was standing nearby. Twenty days later, the child died as a result of the injury. The verdict: the husband of the woman had to present 32 cows to the Urbagangondarulina-Nayanar Temple for the merit of the deceased child.

All the four instances are clear demonstrations of what is known as prayaschitta or expiation or atonement, one of the main pillars of the Hindu justice system. It is equally clear that this was not just any form of prayaschitta but a specific one involving donation and service to the temple. The annals of Sanatana literature—both sacred and worldly—are replete with hundreds of stories and real-life examples of the value of prayaschitta as a form of punishment, a guiding ideal of life, and as a soul-purifying agent. In these four instances, it is significant that prayaschitta was recommended because of the purely accidental nature of the offence. Even more significant is the fact that these judgements were engraved on the walls of the respective temples.

On the purely mundane plane of life, the donations to these temples also helped to keep the economic engine of the villages well-oiled.

We can also cite some more examples of a similar nature.

1. A merchant had a concubine whom another man attempted to outrage. The merchant stabbed the latter and killed him. The verdict: strictly speaking, this was not a crime in those days. However, it was also held that the act of murder should not go unpunished. And so, after the village council consulted with the dead man’s relatives, the merchant was ordered to offer a perpetual lamp to the Tanronri-Alvar Temple in the name of the deceased. Period: 1012 CE, Tamil Nadu.

2. A village official demanded heavy taxes from a woman and repeatedly harassed her. The unfortunate woman took poison and died. The over-zealous tax-collector was found guilty and excommunicated from the village. He was also ordered by the village assembly to expiate his sin by paying 32 Kasu (money, cash or coins) to the Tiruttandonri-Mahadeva Temple and lighting a perpetual lamp. Period: 1054 CE, Tamil Nadu.

3. A poor man named Chedirayan was responsible for the death of a fellow villager by some indiscreet act of his. The verdict: the murderer’s uncle was ordered to give a gift of lands to the temple to atone for his nephew’s crime. Period: 1170 CE, Kerala.

4. Two men severely beat a man who had allowed his buffalo to trespass into their field. The buffalo had caused substantial damage to the crops. Unfortunately, the victim died. The verdict: the Bhattas of the village ordered the offenders to provide for a lamp in the temple. Period: 1190 CE, Kerala.

Punishing Royal Offenders

Apart from the common citizenry, royalty was also unexempt from punishments ranging from the mild to the harsh. We can cite a few instances of this from the Travancore kingdom.

First, we have an interesting inscription from Kollam dated 1702 CE. It narrates how a high-ranking temple official assaulted some of his juniors. As punishment, he was suspended and ordered to pay a huge fine to the temple treasury.

Now we can see some instances of royalty being punished.

1. The Chera king Kulashekhara-Chakravartin (1102 CE) was once summoned to trial by the town council, which met in Panaingavu Palace at Kollam. He had been found guilty of killing some Ariyars (Brahmanas) who were functioning as Archakas in the Rameshwara Temple. The verdict: the king had to make a substantial land grant to the temple and had to undergo some prescribed penance for atonement.

2. In 1344 CE, Vira Keralavarman of Tiruvadi was found guilty of murdering some Brahmanas and other temple officials. The verdict: he was ordered to pay land compensation to the survivors. He also had to make substantial donations to the temple.

3. In 1382 CE, Vira Martandavarman atoned for certain atrocities he had committed against various people, by giving the gift of silver pots and fines to the temple.

4. In 1416 CE, Vira Ravivarman paid a huge penalty for having killed some men in a petty scuffle. The survivors were suitably compensated.

The epigraphic records that narrate these incidents say that these penalties were called garvakkattu or amercement for high-handed conduct. The delinquent kings were forced to pay them in order to pacify popular anger and to bring the offender to justice no matter how powerful he or she was. The penalty and punishments were awarded by the local assemblies which wielded enormous power in those days. Clearly, it is noteworthy that the kings allowed themselves to be fined. But then, they were merely adhering to the timeless Sanatana dictum that the power of the king is derived by the popular consent of the people. This is the exact opposite of that criminal generalization peddled by our “history” books about Hindu kings as being uniformly despotic. Indeed, as DVG correctly observes: “wherever there was a Hindu sovereign, there was no tyranny.”

Hindu kings subjecting themselves to trial and punishment also finds several echoes in Sanatana jurisprudence. It may be summarized as follows: the ruler, who is a servant of the people and receives his revenue of rakshabhaga, or remuneration for his services, is thus logically liable to pay fines for wrongdoing.

In a majority of cases, justice and punishment depended on Deshachara (customs specific to a region) and Kulachara (customs specific to clans, etc). Thus, some village assemblies or councils or other local bodies which wielded judicial powers within their own jurisdictions, did not award punishments commensurate with the degree and circumstances of the crimes which they adjudicated. It could be argued today that the clemency they showed towards the murderer was quite unjustified. It also appears that they only provided for the spiritual welfare of the soul of the murdered individuals by ruling that the culprits shall offer lamps, donate cows, and similar Dharmic actions.

One reason for this could be a conscious and time-honoured custom of trying to reduce the tendencies of extreme vengeance on the part of the victim’s survivors. Simultaneously, it was also meant to induce the feeling of remorse within the perpetrator by putting him in front of the Devatas, the real judges. The idea of all Hindu lawgivers was to mitigate ill-will within the society as far as possible through a determined pursuit of the spiritual. Conscious forgiveness on the part of the survivor and conscious expiation on the part of the perpetrator are two sides of the same coin.

In a paper written in 1925, the Trivandrum-based academic, Dr. Ramanatha Ayyar puts this beautifully:

This humane legislation compares very favourably with the barbaric severity of the penal laws of the so-called ‘enlightened’ nations of the West, which till the last century punished such trivial offences as the breaking of a window and stealing of two pence worth of paint, with death.

There is much food for thought when we think about it in a different light: violent prosecution of a criminal as opposed to ordering the criminal to light lamps in a temple daily without fail. Hopeful reform and self-purification.

Our ancients chose wisely.

Courtesy: https://www.dharmadispatch.in/culture/a-glimpse-of-the-criminal-justice-system-in-hindu-villages-of-south-india-through-historical-anecdotes

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An Enchanting Miniature of Village-Level Jurisprudence in South India - Sandeep Balakrishna

THE CIVILISATIONAL, CULTURAL AND SOCIAL HISTORY of Bharatavarsha is also the history of its Grāmas or villages. It is in this treasure-chest that we find the foundational and enduring aspects of the all-round life of our people. Our Grāmas really hold the magic key that unlocks an array of secrets. Indeed, from time immemorial, our villages were the countless miniature centres that provided civilizational sustenance and cultural preservation and cushioned both these in face of serial depredations.

As we never tire of repeating in these pages of The Dharma Dispatch, the administrative system of Bharatavarsha was characterized by a genius-level decentralization of which the Grāma was the last, the smallest, and the best functioning unit. 

The first is by a British joint collector, B. Knight:

It is in the villages of southern India that we must go to see Hindu life at its best, unaffected as it is by Mahommedan conquest or by the influence of Western civilisation.

The second is by another British official, the racist Grant Duff:

…no good can be effected for these people, but only much harm, by introducing European methods of Government, foreign to their characters and conditions. What we can do is to enable these myriad little worlds to live in peace, instead of being perpetually liable to be harried and destroyed by every robber or petty tyrant who could pay a handful of scoundrels to follow him.

However, within the scope of this essay, we shall focus on just one chief feature: the typical, timeless Hindu village as a centre of noble jurisprudence, a feature that “democracy” has wholly obliterated and made irrecoverable.

To do this, we will consider a few illustrative examples drawn from inscriptions and epigraphical records describing some real-life cases and their judgements in the Tamil desam. The period spans about three centuries: from the tenth and eleventh century Chola era to the thirteenth century Pandyan era.

Custom as a Hallowed Judicial Precedent

IN THE VEDIC ERA, the Grāmyavādin was the village judge assisted by a Sabha or advisory council. There was also the Śatapati, a judicial official who doubled as a revenue collector.

The Manusmriti gives us Grāmika or grāmaṇi, or village headmen who also performed juridical duties.

Then, Kautilya wisely says that disputes should be settled by Sāmanta-grāma-vr̥d'dhāh, meaning elders and leaders of the village.

All these ancient Sanatana lawgivers and luminaries of jurisprudence were unanimous on a cardinal precept: the centrality of custom and usage which were honoured by time and which no law-book can adequately and fully define. This among others is the reason for Kautilya’s emphasis on the wisdom and the sense of judgement of grāma-vrd'dhāh. In this, he echoes his predecessor Manu:

The customs handed down in regular succession (since time immemorial) … in any country is called the conduct of virtuous man.

The other famed lawgiver Gautama says:

The customs of countries, varnas, and families, which are not opposed to the sacred literature (i.e., Vedas), have authority.

We can append any number of such citations but all of them affirm and reaffirm the same truth of Sanatana jurisprudence: Custom and usage were inextricable from the life of Hindus taken in a total sense. And in the specific case of justice, ancient usage was raised to the dignity of law. The more ancient, greater the dignity, i.e., this antiquity added sanctity to the sanction of law.

If this was the attitude of the proverbial ordinary citizen, there is a profounder side to it. An injunction found in every text of Dharmasastra is this: the ruler had to preserve, respect, uphold and defend the ancient customs of even those lands which he had newly conquered. As we have noted elsewhere, this injunction forms part of the Dharma-Vijayi king.

Imprint on History

Now, when we consider how this tenet of Hindu jurisprudence manifested itself in South Indian history, we get a term used for centuries in the Karnāṭa-dēśa: Pūrvada maryāde, meaning customs, usages, mores and manners inherited from an un-dateable past.

Inscriptions and records from the earliest political empires of the Karnāṭa-dēśa up to the splendid Vijayanagara Empire invariably mention the term. From the obscure chieftain up to fabled monarchs, every ruler proudly declared that he was a promoter of Pūrvada maryāde. In fact, even the Vijayanagara Empire at its zenith under Sri Krishnadevaraya, rarely altered this Pūrvada maryāde; on the contrary, he scrupulously adhered to it. His governors and chieftains and judges decided cases based on these ancient customs and usages that had the sanction of the eons.

Which brings us to the pre-Vijayanagara Era of South India.

In the early years of the consolidation of Vijayanagara power, Tamil and Karnataka kings had already established an efficient and well-oiled system of judicial administration, which largely continued to endure in the same unbroken fashion till the demise of the Wodeyar rule. The success of the awesome longevity of this system was not only its time-consecrated and citizen-sanctioned roots but the manner in which changes or reform were introduced. No drastic changes were thrust. No “revolution” occurred. By itself, that is a subject of a separate study.

Village Jurisprudence in South India: Inscriptional Glimpse

IN THIS SYSTEM, villages had their own well-defined courts of justice, in which the king scarcely interfered.

We have a brilliant inscription authored in the third regnal year of the King Parthivendradhipati Varman, which throws some superb radiance on the spirit of the era and the people embodying the spirit. It was issued by the members of the Great Assembly (Mahānāḍu) of the now-fabled Uttaramēlūr-Caturvēdimaṅgalaṁ. Here is how it reads:

We, the members of this Great Assembly, having received Pūrvācāraṁ from Sandiran Eḷunnūruva Nuḷamba Māyilaṭṭi for the above land, ordered it to be free from all taxes as long as the moon and sun last. We shall not show any kind of tax… against this land. We, the members of this Great Assembly, have also ordered that if any such taxes are shown against it, each person so showing, shall be liable to pay a fine of twenty-five Kaḷan̄ju of gold in the Dharmāsana or court of justice.

Clearly, the operative word here is Pūrvācāraṁ, meaning these tax-free lands were allotted to the village by a certain ruler of the Nuḷamba (Noḷamba) dynasty preceding Parthivendradhipati Varman. The Uttaramēlūr- Caturvēdimaṅgalaṁ villagers are asserting their moral right in writing to continue this tax-free status by directly addressing the King. The assertion makes it unambiguous that it has judicial sanction and penal authority to punish violators.

When we travel up from Uttaramēlūr to South Arcot, we discover some more inscriptions and records that offer us a clear picture of the manner in which these village courts of justice dealt with cases of a serious nature.

We have considered a couple of epigraphs that contain details about cases of murder under provocation and accidental death, and the method by which the culprits were punished.

The first occurs in 1054, in the reign of Rajendra Chola II. A village officer in his dominions demanded taxes from a woman, who declared that she was not liable to pay taxes. However, the unrelenting officer who disbelieved her, put her through an ordeal (Divya). Accordingly, she consumed poison and died. A general assembly comprising the people from “the four quarters, eighteen districts, and various countries” was summoned, and the man was pronounced guilty. As punishment, he had to pay a fine of thirty-two kasu for burning a lamp at the temple of Tiruttandonri-Mahadeva. Unfortunately, I have been unable to trace this temple.

The second incident occurs in the third year of the rule of Kulottunga Chola Deva. In his kingdom, a Sudra, who had gone out hunting, missed his aim, and fatally shot a Vellala. The villagers “from the seventy-nine districts” assembled together, and found the Sudra guilty of homicide not amounting to murder. He was ordered to pay sixty-four cows to the selfsame Tiruttandonri-Aludaiyar temple for burning two lamps.

Functioning of Village Courts

AS WE HAVE NOTED EARLIER, the King not only did not interfere with the village courts, he also gave them full sanction even in the conduct of criminal cases.

Two inscriptions in the regime of the selfsame Kulottunga Chola testify to this.

One of these inscriptions says that a certain individual shot a man belonging to his own village by mistake. Then the provincial governor and people of the district to which the culprit belonged, called an Assembly. The verdict: the man had committed the offence out of mere carelessness. He had to expiate the sin and guilt by burning a lamp in the Tundandar temple at Siyamangalam. This is the same Stambhēśvara Temple we had written about in The Dharma Dispatch.

Accordingly, the guilty man provided the temple with sixteen cows from the milk of which ghee was prepared for burning the lamp.

Another notable feature of a majority of these cases was the near-total absence of Brahmanas in these judicial proceedings. They were called only on rare occasions.

Here’s one such occasion.

In the thirteenth century, a citizen of Arumbondai aimed an arrow at another man, mistaking him for an animal. The wound never healed and the man died.

The Nāṭṭar (derived from Nāḍu; people of the district) formed a court of enquiry and sought the participation of Brahmanas. The final judgement: the accused, on behalf of the deceased, had to provide for a lamp in the temple of Bhūmīśvaraṁ (now spelled, “Bhoomeeshwarar”) at Marakkanam, in the South Arcot district.

A marked feature of these punishments is the fact that they were extremely mild even by today’s standards given that the crime was murder not amounting to homicide. While this is clearly a direct inheritance of the overall humane and gentle nature of penal action in Sanatana jurisprudence, severe punishments were imposed for crimes that disturbed public order and social harmony.

We can cite the case of a certain venal criminal named Aliyangaiyan Sattiyanavan, who with his armed gang, murdered Vamana Bhatta at night. The gruesome episode occurred when Vamana Bhatta, a Purohita, was returning home from the temple. It occurred in the reign of Jatavarman Sundara Pandya I in the village of Karuvakkurichi.

The criminal Aliyangaiyan Sattiyanavan eluded arrest and ran into hiding and became untraceable. At this, the village court approached Sundara Pandya directly. After patiently hearing the case, the Tribhuvanachakravarti ordered the confiscation of all properties of Sattiyanavan. The properties were indeed substantial: vast tracts of land, several houses and a retinue of servants. These were then attached as the Tirunāmaṭṭu kāṇi (seva) to the temple of Nayanar Chokka-Narayana at Tirukkoshtiyur in Ramnad district. Tirukkoshtiyur now falls in the Sivaganga district.

Sundara Pandya’s punishment elicited the anticipated result. The villain, still in hiding, was distraught and sent a representation to the village court pleading his case. After much negotiation, Sattiyanavan agreed to cough up a whopping sum of 800 pon (gold coins) as compensation and recovered his properties.

Closing Notes

WE CAN CITE scores of similar cases but the aforementioned ones suffice to give us a representative flavor of the spirit that informed and shaped the structure, substance and operation of justice in south India, broadly speaking.

These instances also give us the following unerring conclusion: that South India—including the Tamil Desam—from very ancient times, had already put into practice these fundamental and time-tested injunctions of our ancient Sanatana lawgivers: that justice (1) had to administered in proportion to the seriousness of the offence and in a timely fashion (2) that the culprit was always entitled to appeal even after having received his sentence for grave crimes (3) in every case, justice had to strictly conform with ancient custom and usage, and (4) only people living for generations in a particular geography (i.e., village) were the best judges of these customs and nuances, i.e., dēśācāra and kulācāra.

Evidently, this essay is only a pixel of a miniature of an endless panorama representing the lived history of village-level Sanatana jurisprudence.

An ardent student of the subject will find his lifetime insufficient for a single-minded and devoted tapas in this realm.

|| धर्मस्य तत्वं निहितं गुहायां महाजनो येन गतः स पन्थाः ||

Courtesy: https://www.dharmadispatch.in/culture/an-enchanting-miniature-of-village-level-jurisprudence-in-south-india