Our notion of the traditional family is governed by the ramayana fixation

I have often wondered at the ways in which "tradition'' is invoked in our day-to-day conversations. We tell one another that traditionally Indian women have been submissive, nurturing, self-sacrificing. Or that the caste system has been an enduring feature of Indian society, or that there is something like the traditional Indian family, with its eternal values.

At the outset, we need to be aware of the plurality of what we now identify as India. Even today, inspite of processes of homogenisation that have been at work in the recent past, diversities stare us in the face. We are only beginning to recognise the fact that the upper caste and upper class Hindu woman of north India, who may be projected as the epitome of the 'traditional', is not in fact typical of the women in the subcontinent. We automatically marginalise and ignore the lives of Dravidian and tribal women, and brush aside rich regional cultures that do not fit into what we conventionally recognise as the mainstream.

Stereotypes about caste are equally stultifying in terms of understanding the past. We usually accept, somewhat uncritically, the view of the Brahamanical texts that suggest the four-fold division of society into brahmins, kshatriyas, vaishyas, and shudras as primordial, and hence beyond dispute. Yet, the four-fold order can barely contain enormous variations. In tribal societies caste categories have been irrelevant because of the fact that the theoretical hierarchical order has been called into question through the centuries.

From the 2nd century BC onwards, we have hundreds of inscriptions, commemorating gifts made by men (and women) to Buddhist and Jain institutions at sites such as Mathura and Sanchi. The donors include merchants, goldsmiths, blacksmiths, ivory workers, and washermen. None of these men identify themselves in terms of four varnas.

Turning to the traditional family. Our notions of this seems to be governed by what I would call the "Ramayana fixation". So our ideal family is supposed to be run by a benevolent patriarch, who rules over brothers, whose love for one another creates idyllic harmony. The only disruptions are caused by women like Kaikeyi, who are represented as selfish, and by outsiders, typified by Ravana. But the epic itself recognises other patterns associated with the vanaras and the rakshasas. We also have inscriptional evidence to suggest that matriliny was a mode of identification in at least some regions and times, as for instance in the Deccan under the Satvahanas, where rulers are identified in terms of the gotra of their mothers, once again an anomaly in terms of brahamanical norms.

Perhaps what we need to be aware of is how and why we invoke traditions today. What are we trying to argue to argue for or against? Are these invocations substitutes for closer, more painstaking examinations of our past? Are they meant to score debating points, to provide simplistic catchy slogans? These are questions that we need to ask ourselves.