Illustration: Flickr / Triratna_Photos

(In commemoration of the Dalit History Month, we will be revisiting our archives with articles on the question of Dalit identity, politics and history throughout April. In this piece from April 2010, Nirupama Dutt looks at the failure of Sikhism to abandon caste discrimination. More articles from the series here.)

For us trees do not bear fruits
For us flowers do not bloom
For us there is no Spring
For us there is no Revolution
                              – Lal Singh Dil

These are lines from the last poem of Lal Singh Dil, hailed as the foremost revolutionary poet of Punjab. He passed away in 2007. The despondent note of the poem is both surprising and telling, for a poet who had once declared that the song and dance in his heart would not die, no matter how dire the circumstance. It took Dil a lifetime to discover this sad yet provocative truth, against the backdrop of the complexities of caste in Punjab. Yet centuries before Dil’s birth, the same frustration with caste was intricately linked to the emergence of the Sikh religion.

When Sikhism came into being during the 15th century, it was primarily as a protest against the caste system, in the same manner that leftist and other progressive movements came into being in reaction to a similar malaise of the modern times. In this context, the road to the Dalit identity has been a long one in Punjab, largely because such an identification was submerged in the Sikh identity, with much pride and celebration in the earliest known Dalit writings of the 17th century. The celebratory mood was one of overcoming the ills of caste-ridden society. In time, however, the tone saddened, as a religion that had started out to reform Hinduism fell prey to the same ills of caste-ridden social hierarchy.

An important point to take away from this historical evolution is that the contribution of those from the ‘low’ castes has never been wanting, as far as struggle and movements for social justice go. The story that was the turning point for the lower castes in Punjab was that of Jaita, a follower of Guru Gobind Singh. Jaita played a significant role in bringing the severed head of Guru Tegh Bahadur, the ninth guru of Sikhism, back to Anandpur Sahib in Punjab, after he was executed by Aurangzeb in Delhi in 1675. Seeing this act of bravery and sentiment, Guru Gobind Singh adopted Jaita as his son. As such, a popular rhyme in Punjab goes, “Ranghreta guru da beta; The scavenger is son of the guru”, as Jaita belonged to the community of ranghrets, scavengers, who had converted to Sikhism. Bhai Jaita, who died fighting the last battle for the guru in 1705, was the first known Dalit poet of Punjab. As Raj Kumar Hans, a professor of history, has pointed out:

In its true egalitarian spirit, Sikhism had succeeded in integrating the lowliest of the low, the former untouchables, the dalits, into its folds… The way Bhai Jaita was integrated not only in Sikh religion but also in the family of Guru Gobind Singh, it is understandable that any other identity would have been meaningless to him.

Thus Bhai Jaita cries out in thanksgiving, “O! Jaite the saviour Guru has saved the ranghretas/  The pure Guru has made us his sons.”

Disowned ranghreta
The second known Dalit writer of Punjab was Peero Preman (1830-1872). Peero had earlier been a Muslim courtesan named Ayesha, and later joined the Gulabdasia sect and inherited sainthood from her mentor, Gulab Das. Ditt Singh Giani (1852-1901), another Dalit writer, also made significant contributions to Punjabi literature, particularly in terms of defining Sikh thought. He was also founder-editor of the newspaper Khalsa Akhbar in Lahore. Similarly, Sadhu Daya Singh Arif, also a Dalit, (1894-1946) was a theologist and writer who enjoyed great popularity.

Before we step into modern times, it is important to note the reasons for Dalits moving out of the Sikh fold. To begin with, Punjab has a higher percentage of Dalits than any other state in modern-day India, making up almost 30 percent of the population. However, this community owns just 2.3 percent of the cultivated agricultural land in the state. Some 70 percent of Sikhs live in rural Punjab, as did a major chunk of the Dalits who worked as labourers in the fields before they moved to other jobs, making way for migrant labour to take their place. The relationship between the Jat landlords and their landless labourers was a complex one. The lower castes worked with the upper-caste Jats and, although the ‘otherness’ was the accepted order, there were instances of close bonding and even addressing elders as uncle (chacha or taya) or aunt (bhua or masi). The experience and skills of the elders were respected; tilling of the land was a shared task, and the relative well-being of everyone depended on it. This is articulated best in the lines of the celebrated Dalit revolutionary poet, Sant Ram Udasi: “The farmer embraces the labourer and weeps/ Water flows from the stacks of ruined crops.” The lower castes took on the caste name of their masters, and it was natural that there were amorous ties. Yet the clear-cut caste divide was always there – as were separate wells for drinking water, and separate cremation grounds.

While Sikhism did not, in principle, recognise caste, in practice it carried Hindu caste prejudices – hierarchies that went into Christianity and Islam as well, when conversions took place. In the customary scheme of working relationships, outcastes such as Mazhabi (chura or sweeper Sikhs), Ramdasi (chamar or leatherworker Sikhs), Balmiki, Ravidasi, Musalli, Teli, Mochi and others were not allowed to own land, but were allowed to build temporary structures on the shamlat, or village common land. How Dalits continue, even today, to be the wretched of the earth can be seen in the village of Badal, home to the ruling family of Punjab. Against plush structures of the Badal clan, fancy rest houses and more, the Dalits live in filth and squalor on the western side of the village – a common practice, lest the rays of the sun be ‘polluted’ before reaching the upper-caste homes. None have the foresight, compassion and love of the Tenth Guru to be able to see the outcaste ranghretas as their own.