‘What did he say?’
‘He said that his last few ancestors lived in cold climatic conditions, so his genes had mutated further and the colour of his skin had changed from mine.’
‘So generations and climate changes affect gene composition?’
‘Yes, that is correct. But I had more questions for him,’ Virumandi continued. ‘I had read different things in different books. In some, I had read that humans were first born in India, and then they went from here to Africa. In some other books, I read that humans were first born in Australia. I asked Wells what the truth was.’
‘Without scientific evidence, there can be many claims,’ I remarked, to which Virumandi quickly nodded in agreement, and said, ‘Yes, yes, Wells told me that people can write anything they want in general books, but scientific research has to be accurate.’
Virumandi continued, ‘But then I asked Wells why this M130 was found in me. He explained that it was because firstly, mixed marriage was strictly forbidden in my community; secondly, all generations of my community had always lived in the same area; and three, the place we lived had a climate very similar to that of Africa, where man originated.’
We sat crammed, all three of us, on the back seat of a local taxi on our way to Virumandi’s village, Jothimanickam, located about 25 kilometres from Madurai. En route, Virumandi explained that he and Ganesha both belonged to the autochthonous Piramalai Kallar tribe, which consisted of no more than fifty families, all of them living in the same village to which we were going.
Talking about personal affairs, he said that inspired by his association with Professor Pitchappan and all the scientists who were interested in his genes, Virumandi had been the first in his ancestral history to complete university education. In fact, he had submitted his PhD thesis a year ago at Madurai Kamaraj University, in which he had researched the possibilities of incorporating new technologies within the university’s library documentation procedures. On the other hand, Virumandi’s cousin Ganesha earned his livelihood through farming, the traditional practice of the tribe.
After reaching the village, we carried on the conversation in Virumandi’s home, surrounded by his mother, his wife, his children and Ganesha. We were later joined by Virumandi’s father. The family lived in a three-room shack with mud walls that were painted bright blue on the inside.
I found out that my two friends from the Piramalai Kallar tribe were both about the same age. However, while Virumandi had twins who were barely three years old, Ganesha’s son was married. Virumandi explained to me that the tribe was so close-knit that even his young children knew every tribe member.
‘How is that possible?’ I asked.
‘We have not mingled with other communities, so we remain very small. In ancient times—much before the caste system was established in India—the Piramalai Kallar tribe was isolated physically and culturally. Later, it was considered “dangerous” by the British, so much so that every male member was to appear at the police station at 6 p.m. each evening, submit a thumbprint, and sleep behind bars all night in police custody. In present times, our tribe, much like many other communities in the south of India, allows marriage only among cousins.’
‘Is this to keep your community closed to any outside influence?’
‘No, it is because we have a system,’ Virumandi explained. ‘We first look among the mother’s side of the family for a cousin who is the same age as the prospective groom or bride. The community then comes together and discusses the match. If the community feels that their temperaments do not match, we look at the next in line on the mother’s side of the family in order of age. If we find no one, then we look on the father’s side.’
‘Does the couple have to accept the marriage arranged by the community?’ I asked.
‘If a person refuses to marry the son or daughter of a maternal uncle as proposed by the community, there is a fine of Rs 1 lakh that this person has to pay to the rejected candidate,’ Virumandi explained.
‘Does anyone marry outside the tribe?’
‘It has happened twice as far as I can remember. One time the couple soon committed suicide, and the other time they escaped from Tamil Nadu,’ he said.
‘How would you react if your son wished to marry a girl outside the tribe?’ I asked Virumandi.
‘I would not encourage it, but I would accept his choice. We have to change with the times,’ he replied.
‘How about you?’ I turned to Ganesha, who had told me about his still unmarried younger son.
‘I will not allow it,’ he said in Tamil, which was translated for me by Virumandi.
‘Why?’ I asked. I had gathered by then that Ganesha could understand English, but could not speak it.
‘Marriage for love fails. Just look around you. A young couple needs the support of the family to guide them during the ups and downs of life. If my son marries outside the community, he loses his tribe. This is the tradition,’ Ganesha replied.
‘So are there no divorces in your system?’ I asked Virumandi.
‘If the couple quarrels, the community comes together to counsel them both. If the quarrels continue and no mediation is possible, the community decides that the couple must separate. The court is never involved in the separation. A divorce is not recorded in the court,’ he explained.
‘What about remarriage?’ I inquired. ‘Does that happen?’
‘Yes, of course. The community again looks for suitable partners for the separated girl and boy.’
‘Is there a minimum age for marriage?’ I asked.
‘No. The community prefers to wait and find the right match rather than marry a person off in a hurry. We want to make sure that our children are handed over to good companions who will care for them after the parents die,’ Virumandi replied.
The traditions by which life must be led in a community are different all over the world. But in India, thousands of diverse communities coexist—more than anywhere
