Hyat Sahib, Ayaz Khan, or Velluva Kumaran

The adventures of an enslaved Nambiar from Chirakkal

Some years ago, I wrote a short note on Ayaz Khan, but it was incomplete and required much revision. In the meantime, journalist Ramachandran had also covered this man's story and referred me to C. Kunjirama Menon's book on Velluva Kumaran. Armed with additional details, I decided to rework the story and retell the adventures of this remarkable character, including the travails of his family after his death and a brief about Ayaz's stay in Bombay at Mazagon.

The early parts of Ayaz's life and his age are unfortunately in conflict. Logan, quoting Wilkes, notes that the boy was 12 years old when taken up by Hyder, implying he was born in 1744. He also adds that Ayaz was a Nambiar, from the Valiya Puthiya Veedu in Chirakkal, both of which conflict with the information in Kunhirama Menon's novel and Elayavoor's account in the Vadakkan Aithihyamala, which states Ayaz, originally named Kammaran, was born in 1713 (also mentioned so by the Kalliat and Velluva homepages). KVN Sastri, writing about Ayaz, follows the above Velluva account but does not address the age. A later entry mentions that his home was called Velluva Puthiya Veedu, which suggests that the Velluva is perhaps confused with Valiya by Wilkes/Logan. Nevertheless, the age remains an issue, as Kammaran would have been 53 when captured by Hyder, suggesting he was not the small boy Hyder admired for his looks and fearless qualities.

Velluva Kammaran accounts (Menon, Elyavoor)

The story begins in Velluva Desam, Edakkad, between Cannanore and Tellicherry. Kunhirama Menon's book is a (1918) 1927 translation of the English novel by Othena Menon, written based on information gathered while Menon stayed at the Velluva house as a young boy. However, the English copy is no longer traceable; only Kunjirama Menon's Malayalam translation remains. Anyway, let's go back to Velluva Desam, to a place called Inderi, where the Velluva house was situated. In those days, i.e., the early 18th century, the karanavar (head) of the tharavad (ancestral manor) was one Rairu Nambiar. His sisters married into the Chalat and Kalliat families. Kammaran (Kammu) was born to Chalat Palliath Kannan Nambiar (a Randathara Achan) and Velluva Kalyani, the sister of Rairu Nambiar, in 1713. Kammu is educated and trained in martial arts and grows into a strong boy. As the story goes, Rairu Nambiar loses his senses and gets involved in the murder of his Karyasthan, following which he is arrested and confined in Tellicherry, where Adhikari Mavila Chandu Nambiar is waiting. Rairu, by then, has collapsed and is near death, and now asks Kammu to try to protect their ancestral properties and prevent them from being taken over by the Kolathiri Raja. The Raja decrees that the lands be seized and that Kammu work in his army without pay for a year. Meanwhile, Kammu falls in love with Chandu's daughter Madhavi, and Chandu perishes in a fire, leaving Madhavi in Kammu's hands. However, Kammu has to join the Kolathiri army, so he leaves Madhavi at the Kalliat home, joins the forces, and is assigned to command 100 soldiers.

The Kolathiri kingdom had declined in those days, and the entire region was divided into three. The northern portion was administered by the Vadakamkur, the south by the Thekkankur faction, and the middle portion of Tellicherry (Chirakkal) by the Kolathiri Raja. The British had meanwhile settled in the EIC factory in Tellicherry. Continuing the story, Kammu gets involved in the intrigues among the prince regent of Vadakkamkur, the Kolathiri, the Ikkeri Nayaks, and the British. He is eventually caught in a trap laid by the Prince Regent and left to die, at which point he is rescued by Hyder, who has commenced his march southward. Kammu is taken to Seringapatam, where the grateful boy converts to Islam and becomes Ayaz Khan, a favorite of Hyder, and thereafter spends 20 years in Mysore, marrying and begetting children. According to the story, he returns to Tellicherry, picks up Madhavi, converts her, and takes her along, but the books don't mention them getting married or having any children. After his adventures, which we will get to, he passed away in 1785 - in one version as a Sanyasi, in the other in retirement at Mazagon.

That he was pretty young (and not 53) in 1766 is clear from another comment by Wilkes - Sheikh Ayaz had, while a youth, and a common chela of the palace, rendered himself unacceptable to Tippoo by the independence of his character, and had, in consequence, been treated by that prince with gross and repeated indignity. In mature age, Hyder's extravagant praises of his valour and intellect, and the habit of publicly contrasting the qualities of his slave with those of the heir apparent, perpetually embittered all the feelings of former enmity and rendered the death of Hyder a crisis which Ayaz must necessarily have contemplated with alarm. Some sources also report that Hyder treated Ayaz as his own son, infuriating Tipu.

By contrast, in 1766, Hyder (born 1722 or 1717) would have been 44-49, so even younger than a 53-year-old Kammu, and Tipu (born 1750) would have been just 16 years old. Most likely, Kammu's date of birth, stated by Venniyoor and Menon to be 1713, is incorrect and may have been closer to 1743. Or, as an observant reader noted in the earlier article, there was an uncle and a nephew, Kammu, by the same name; while the uncle was the valiant Kammu, the nephew was the boy Hyder had taken away. Wilks notes that Ayaz was illiterate (we also know this from the Bednur story) and could not read letters, whereas we understand that Kammu the elder was well educated.

Ayaz at Mysore, Chitaldroog, and Bednore

Ayaz became Hyder's right-hand man and was hated by Tipu for the trust his father placed in the chela, whom he regularly deputed on demanding missions. As Sastri explains, when there was trouble in Malabar, Ayaz was sent to punish the offenders. When Chitaldrug (Chitradurga) fell, he was appointed its governor, and when Bednore (Nagara) and Sunda fell, he was promoted and transferred to the new province.

When Ayaz once stated that he was illiterate in the matters of governance, Hyder is supposed to have said - Keep a Corla (rope whip) in your right hand, and that will do you better service than pen and ink. Place reliance on your excellent understanding, act for yourself alone, fear nothing of the calamities of the scribblers, trust in me as I trust in you. Reading and writing, how have I risen in the empire without knowledge of either?

He seems to have done well at Bednore and was a benevolent ruler, though strictly speaking, he was just a military governor – a quildar or, as some say, nawab (as used for the title governor). Bednore was also a location where Hyder had acquired and moved much of his loot and armaments. Giving this vital location and control over 12-15 million pounds' worth of treasure to Ayaz gave Tipu no amount of heartache, and Tipu never trusted the 'slave from Malabar,' as he always called him.

Even Donald Campbell, the traveler who was then in jail in Bednore, seems to have had a decent opinion of Ayaz. But things started to go south when Hyder fell terminally ill. Tipu Sultan was nominated as the heir to the Mysore throne by Haider on his deathbed, and Ayaz, seeing the possibility that Tipu would seek revenge against him, decided to desert the Mysore side and seek safety with the British, who were moving in to attack and take Bednore. In Mysore, Tipu Sultan was equally nervous, as he was sure that Ayaz would help the British defeat him.

At this point, Col Matthews and his forces arrived, disregarding their orders to unseat Ayaz and take Bednore. What happened next is reported differently in history books and later records. Ayaz learns from a Mysore messenger that Tipu has ordered to have him assassinated in secret. Wasting no time, he negotiated a settlement with Gen Matthews (while other sources say Matthews coerced him), handed over the treasures to Gen Matthews, and left Bednore by boat to Onore. At the same time, Matthew's brother, a captain, loaded some or most of the treasure in his personal ship and sailed off to Bombay. Ayaz, as agreed, instructed the officers in many of the forts under his command to surrender to the British.

Hearing that Ayaz has bolted, Tipu is enraged and tells everyone that Ayaz proved to be the ungrateful and treacherous slave, just like he had always thought. Tipu then begins the march with a large force to retake Bednore and seize back the treasure from General Matthews. Matthews is defeated and put to death together with some 20 officers, while all the other prisoners are sent to Seringapatam. Tipu also massacres a large number of Christians at Mangalore, suspecting them to be complicit in the business, and enslaves them. We had discussed that in the Baltu Chutney story.

The other officers and soldiers of the British army, involved at Bednore, who had been looking forward to sharing a good portion of the loot, saw none of it because Matthews classified it as Hyat's private hoard and did not distribute it. While Tipu felt that Ayaz had secreted the treasures, the British were sure that Col Matthews had misappropriated them after seeing the report made by some of Matthews's officers, who went to Bombay to report the situation. It was all quite murky, and the involvement of the highest levels of EIC in the matter makes one feel that the supreme command was involved in the embezzlement, though most accounts place the blame only on Matthews. We will discuss all of this separately later and attempt to track the treasure's movements.

Ayaz at Mazagon

From Tellicherry, Hyat provided a complete list of goods and treasures taken away by Matthews and demanded them back, as his private property. He also demanded his position at Bednore and the promised pension. The EIC referred the matter to the supreme command, who, after much deliberation, decided on a monthly pension of Rs 4,000, which was just under what the Bombay EIC governor was paid. Even this amount was delayed, though Hyat was allocated a magnificent home in Bombay as well as living expenses. Tipu continued to demand the return of Hyat per the terms of their treaty, but the EIC refused to consider it. On the other hand, the EIC repudiated the treaty with Hyat over minor legalities and did not pay him any additional monies.

Hyat Sahib spent the monsoon season under British protection at Tellicherry and reached Bombay by Dec 1783 with his wives and children (Details are scant about the extent of his family). In Bombay, he sat, hoping that Bednore would be restored to him, which, of course, never happened. After all this, the EIC began to avoid him, as Mathews had been defeated by Tipu and poisoned to death, and Tipu had retaken Bednore. Ayaz was cautioned not to cause trouble for the British and to lead a proper life in retirement, as he attempted to initiate correspondence with the Nawab of Hyderabad, which the British disapproved of. Tipu, meanwhile, unsuccessfully pressed on with his demands on getting Hyat back, terming him his prisoner, his domestic slave, and private property.

Ayaz ended up getting Rs 4,000/- per month 'as a pension' till he died (which unfortunately happened soon after, in 1799). His funeral expenses worked up to Rs 80,000/-, showing that he was leading a lavish life in Bombay and well beyond his pension.

Though recent reports term him as Nawab Ayaz Ali, a distant relative of Hyder Ali and Tipu Sultan, his name was Mohammed Ayaz Khan, and, as you read thus far, he was the military governor or quildar of Bednur before he took asylum with the British in Bombay. His home was quite majestic and can be seen as a landmark in the panorama of Bombay sketched by Burford.

Capt Ramesh Babu, writing about Magazon, has researched the story of Hyat Bombay and explains that he made a name for himself there. He had a well built for the dwellers in the Fort area, and the road leading to it is still called Nawab Tank Road. In addition to the tank, he built a mosque and a graveyard.

Apparently, he had a temple at Tellicherry rebuilt or renovated -a temple that his ancestors had promised to manage. The conflicts between the British and Tipu continued, and Ayaz, who was following the situation closely, provided substantial support to the EIC in 1790 during the final Anglo-Mysore battles, offering advice on attacking Mysore from the West.

Post-death claims on the EIC

Fyaz Ali Khan, his minor son, was denied the father's pension in full, and he then pursued due justice in the Bombay and London courts. The British did not give him permission to travel to the UK to fight the case, but a representative, Muhial Din, conducted considerable research on the case in the UK, only to soon find himself indebted and facing imprisonment there. The EIC offered to clear his debts by paying GBP 3,500 and a return ticket if he dropped support to Fyaz. As the London stonewalling continued, the EIC restored the pension to Rs 2,000 p.m., plus funeral expenses. The lawyer returned to Bombay, but, as fate would have it, the ship carrying all the case papers sank in the Bay of Bengal. Finally, in exasperation, Fyaz and his lawyer accepted the settlement as final. Fyaz Khan died in 1829, and his son, Akbar Ali Khan, continued to receive a monthly pension of Rs 1,500. Akbar Ali died in 1856, and his descendants received a pension of Rs 750.

In addition to all this, there was the involvement of a Parsi named Ardaseer Dady in the management of the Hyat estate as willed by Hyat, which proved to be a financial disaster for the Hyat family. Those interested in this can read the relevant section in the book by Michael Fischer under references. There is no further information about the family after this, nor do we know what happened to his Mazagaon home; perhaps his descendants sold it (I am not even sure whether it was leased to him by the English). Capt. Ramesh Babu mentions quoting a local historian that Hyat's last descendants moved to Calcutta and thence to England.

Ayaz and the Kolathiri Raja

After Ayaz settled in Seringapatam with Hyder, he visited Tellicherry in 1775 to assist the Chirakkal Raja (with Hyder's approval) by deploying his troops to collect Rs 10,000 from the Corengotte Nayar, who, in turn, was aided by the French. Hyder had to personally intervene and negotiate a settlement, as things dragged on.

Hyat's connections with the Chirakkal Rajas continued. In 1781, the Raja had arrears of over 2 lakhs owed to Hyder and was taken away to Seringapatam. After Hyat's involvement, he was sent back to Chirakkal in 1782 and, in return, had to leave two hostages (a successor, Ram Rajah, and another relation, Vnioma) to be jailed at Bednore. They were released by General Matthews and returned to Chirakkal by sea. In 1783, Hyat fled to Tellicherry and persuaded the Raja to formally grant his family three tharas (villages) in the Chirakkal taluk. The grant was subsequently declared invalid for having been obtained through fraud.

As for the Bednur treasures, there is no doubt that the British officers and probably their high commans were complicit. What happened to the many chests that reached Bombay? Ayaz tried to get to them, stating them to be his private treasure, while Col Matthews was put to death by Tipu. Tipu later recovered some of the treasure acquired by British officers and imprisoned by him, but the chests sent to Bombay were not heard of again. If you study the matter in more detail, you will find British dealings to be quite murky, and it is only after Hyat's death that things unraveled to an extent.

Velluva Puthiya Tharavad

The treaty executed between Ayaz and the EIC at Tellicherry provides some clues about his parentage. It mentions a Kunji Koni of the Cherical (Chirakkal) Valia Pudia house, presumably the Velluva Pudiya tharavad. The Velluva Puthiya Veetil family page appears to support these suppositions, although the timelines provided for the Karananvers do not align. Assuming Kunhi Koni is Kannan, we can see a match between Rairu and Kannan, but the timelines are off by quite a few decades.

Thus ended the legacy of the Nambiar from Chirakkal – the one who lorded a few million pounds of wealth and a small region, only to end up in relative poverty in Bombay, demonstrating yet another classic example of how the EIC ripped off the illiterate governor, without whose help, and the queer turn of events, they could never have taken Bednore.

References

Sheik Ayaz or Hayat Saheb of Bednore- K. N. V. Sastri, Proceedings of the Indian History Congress Vol. 8 (1945)

Vadakkan Aithihyamala (Velluva Kammaran) - Vanidas Elayavoor

Velluva Kammaran- Kunhirama Menon, Othena Menon

Historical Sketches of the south of India, in an attempt to trace the history of Mysoor – Lt Col Mark Wilks

Counterflows to Colonialism - Indian travellers and settlers in Britain 1600-1857 - Michael H. Fisher

My Own Mazagon – Capt Ramesh Babu

Bharat Ghothoskar – The Nawab of Mazagoan

The falsehoods in Gidwani’s work of historical fiction, concerning Ayaz Khan had been discussed earlier, so I will not repeat it (See link). Additionally, as Conjeeveram Hayavadana Rao incorrectly states, Ayaz was not a son or nephew of the Kolathiri Raja.

Col Jervis Thomas Bets and Hyat Saheb

This British military engineer (1796-1857) writing in 1853 (India in Relation to Great Britain) states - In the year 1819, (this is not possible as Hyat died in 1799, Jervis made an error and Hyat would have been just 55 when he died in 1799) I was one day in friendly conversation with Hyat Sahib, an old Mahommedan chieftain and soldier, then residing as a state-prisoner or pensioner at Mazagaon, and far advanced in years; when this veteran child of fortune told me he had for some years exercised the government of Bednore, in the Mysore dominions, from about 1790 to 1798 (erroneous as Matthews took Bednore in 1782-83), and engaged in many a bloody fight with our bravest soldiery. He related to me that, being on some occasion in attendance as a risaldar, or commander of native horse in the hoozoor (presence-chamber) of Hydur Ali, with numberless quilted and caparisoned military retainers, Hydur Ali beckoned to him, and said: 'Here, you see this worthless wretch, this rebel, willful son of mine, Tippoo, he is incapable of anything. Go thou, and take the government of Bednore. Alla Kureem, Sooltan (God is all-bountiful, mighty prince), said Hyat; Bring me a rope, replied Hydur Ali.

Hyat tremblingly obeyed the mandate, scarcely venturing to debate whether it was for the purpose of strangling him, or suspending him ignominiously to the nearest tree. Hydur, snatching the rope, deliberately tied some two or three huge knots, and commanding Hyat to approach nearer, administered several blows over his shoulders with such severity as to draw forth an involuntary shriek of pain. Hence, away! exclaimed Hydur Ali, You have your instructions, go with all assurance; this is the way to dispense justice.

In the next part, we will discuss the flight of the Bednore treasure.

 

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Kathleen Gough and Kerala

An eminent anthropologist's pioneering work in Kerala

I came across her seminal work and read several papers she wrote on Nair kinship many years ago while trying to understand the history of the Nairs of Kerala, and as part of my effort to grasp some of our customs. The first time I got hold of the ‘Matrilineal Kinship’ book, coauthored by Gough with Schneider, was after my late uncle, a history postgraduate and enthusiast, passed away. His copy of the book had been unused for decades by then, and I took it across to America. It was difficult to use because it had become musty and yellowed over time, making it impossible to read without an antihistamine. Eventually, I found another copy on the used books market and replaced the older edition. Over time, my collection of Gough’s papers has grown, and they have been constant companions during my many years working on articles about the people of Malabar.

Her interest extended beyond the Nairs and Moplahs to the development and overall condition of Kerala, which improved following her initial visit. I found it remarkable that, in yesterday's local body election results in Kerala, voters delivered a verdict against the ruling LDF party, just as Kathleen Gough had predicted. She had advised Joan Mencher, who followed her in the field many decades ago, that the Leftist party in Kerala, by concentrating all its efforts on electoral politics and ignoring employment issues, was not addressing the needs of its constituents—the very people who had entrusted it with power, implying that the people would eventually react against it.

As I mentioned initially, Nairs and Moplahs were the two communities on which she worked for many years, often in the field, in villages across both North and South Malabar. After completing the field visits, this Englishwoman moved to America, only to become disillusioned with the politics of the new world and to be deeply affected by nepotism in academia, as well as by the political intrigues of the 1960s in the US. Although we will briefly touch on her life and times, I will do my best to highlight her connection to Kerala—she not only studied the people of the state but was also heavily influenced by her subjects and continued to follow developments there. To a large extent, she was the driving force behind introducing and advocating the Kerala model to the Western world, remaining Kerala’s champion throughout her life. We’ll get into the details very soon, but first, let’s explore where she came from, why she came to Kerala, and what she did, because many of you might otherwise never know anything about this remarkable lady.

Born in Hunsingore, Yorkshire, UK, in 1925, to Albert Gough and Eleanor, she was raised in a rural setting and experienced the effects of industrial expansion on traditional British country life. After studying anthropology and archaeology at Cambridge, she married Eric Miller in 1947, and both received scholarships to conduct field studies in India in 1948-49. Although they earned their PhDs in 1950, they faced persistent difficulties due to strict nepotism policies. She recalled it this way: if your husband is chosen for a job, we can't employ you; if he isn't, we can't hire you and humiliate him. Perhaps this was to ignite her firm feminist convictions, which motivated her throughout her life.

After issues related to nepotism, failure to secure a teaching position, and others, Gough’s marriage to Miller ended. The situation that women professionals in the Western world have faced since the late 19th century, especially the underlying belief that a man's career takes precedence over his wife's, continued to cause serious problems for talented academics like Gough.

After Kathleen Gough's marriage to Miller broke up, she returned alone to South India to study ritual and mythology in addition to kinship. She was eager to understand and share information about the fascinating people of South India, as well as the stark contrasts between the ritualistic Tamil Brahmin and the free-wheeling (as she described it) Nairs of Malabar, and so she returned to Malabar and Madras in 1951. Settling among the very communities she studied, she observed, interviewed, and carefully documented the communities, their histories, and changes over time. Her first major publication was the book I mentioned at the beginning of this article, Matrilineal Kinship. Matrilineal Kinship was published in 1961.

I have not yet posted my articles on Matriliny, polyandry, Nayar marriage customs, and related topics because I planned to write them after an introduction to Kathleen Gough. Her studies are arguably the gold standard, although some aspects could use refinement. She had early on surmised that matriliny was destined to be the inevitable victim of capitalist development and the rise of the nuclear family, and that describing Nayar marriage customs as polyandry in the strict sense was oversimplified and procrustean. Therefore, I will discuss Nair matriliny, Tali Kettu, and Sambandham separately, with this article focusing more on the individual and her era in Kerala. Her papers and books have long been available to researchers, offering detailed analyses of kinship, family life, and relationships from medieval times to the 1970s.

She then spent a year at Harvard as a Visiting Research Fellow before taking a teaching position at Manchester in 1954. However, she never advanced into what promised to be a prestigious career. In 1955, she remarried, left her position, and moved to the United States, only to find that opportunities for married women academics were no better there.

Now, let's return to her initial visit to the sleepy villages of Malabar. For a woman from Britain, it must have seemed unfamiliar, primitive, and incredibly challenging. Malabar was still developing and was part of the Madras state, while Travancore and Cochin were independent kingdoms, as Kerala had not yet been established. Although there is little published on her time in Kerala, her papers and books offer valuable insights into Nayar and Moplah life in North and South Malabar and Cochin, along with brief notes on similar communities in Travancore.

Joan Mencher, who continued with similar anthropological work, explains – She went to Kerala immediately after Indian Independence in the late 1940s. This was a period of considerable turmoil in the area. During the 1930s in each of the main regions of Kerala (Travancore, Cochin, and the Malabar District of Madras State), a wide variety of legal reforms had been enacted that led to profound changes in the structure and organization of life among the land-owning matrilineal castes. Kathleen was the first to study these changes in detail, as well as the earlier changes that had resulted from contact with the colonizing Western powers, the invasions of Malabar by Haider Ali and his son Tipoo Sultan and the subsequent betrayal of the Zamorin of Calicut by the British which led to British rule in Malabar. She worked in two parts of the former Malabar District: (a) in a small town in South Malabar, and (b) in the northern part of the district in a village about 18 miles from the coastal cities of Cannanore and Tellicherry, where she studied not only the Nayars but also two other matrilineal groups, the Tiyyas (or Ezhavas) and matrilineal Muslims, as well as (c) in a village in Trichur District of Cochin State.

I was pleased to see a Westerner emphasizing the betrayal of the Zamorin of Calicut by the British, which led to British rule in Malabar. It is something I mentioned earlier and that most historians overlook.

Getting further details of her stay in Kerala during 1947-49 was not easy, but I did get a good idea of her days from her unpublished thesis. Interestingly, Gough was looking forward to revising it and publishing it, but never got to it during her turbulent life thereafter.

Her companion in Malabar during 1948-49 was Eric Miller. Miller served initially in the British Army. Commissioned into the Royal Artillery in 1943, he served first in Britain and then in the Royal Indian Artillery. He fought in Burma in the closing months of the war with a field battery which had been loaned to the Indian Army by the Maharajah of Gwalior. Returning to Britain, he became a keen anthropologist after observing and serving alongside Indian soldiers with whom he had fought.

Thus, it was with Eric Miller, her husband, that Kathleen set out for Kerala in Nov 1947. Miller was analyzing the Hindu caste system in its interaction with the broader social structure in certain parts of the Malabar Coast. Working in tandem, Gough concentrated on matriliny and the Nairs as well as the Moplah castes in the same geographic areas. She spent the first six months in Valluvanad, more specifically Perinthalmanna, collecting data on Nairs and Moplahs. However, she admits that the information on Nairs was insufficient, as it came from a cross-section living in an urban setting, whereas her intention was to get to the roots in a regular village setting. 

She then moved to Pattanur in Kottayam (Pazhassi Rajas' realm) in North Malabar, between Mattanur and Irrikur. It appears that she received assistance in developing a better understanding of the social structure from KT Kunhi Kammaran Nambiyar, the local MLA in the Madras Legislative Assembly. Interestingly, this Nambiyar hails from the same family that was home to our famous or infamous Ayaz Khan (Hyatt Saheb), the Chirakkal boy who was forcibly converted and adopted by Hyder Ali and who later crossed swords with Tipu Sultan. After 6 months at Pattanur, she and her husband moved to Puthurkara near Ayanthole in Trichur, where they spent another 8 months. Now you must understand that in the late 40’s there were no lodges or similar facilities in these rural areas, and homes had no en-suite toilets. Imagine a British couple in such surroundings! It was only last week that I learned that the grateful villagers (Pattanur I presume) constructed an outdoor toilet for the British couple whom they later came to respect and adore.

In passing, I must mention a comment made by Mencher: it appears that Gough had advised Mencher that she would never learn much from Nair women and that most of the input she received came from Nair men. Mencher later clarified that her experience differed when speaking with free-minded lower-class Tiyya women and younger Nair girls.

After gathering information on village structures, caste rules, and details about local chieftains and minor Rajas, they made brief visits to Palghat, a few small villages in Central Travancore, and several coastal towns, including Payyannur, Cannanore, Tellicherry, Mahe, Calicut, Ponnani, Ernakulam, Cochin, Quilon, and Trivandrum. As expected, she fell ill, possibly with a stomach ailment, which ended the trip early. Naturally, they learned some Malayalam, likely including the Northern and Southern Malabar and Moplah dialects. If you can imagine, this was a significant challenge for a foreigner traveling in Kerala during the 40s, especially since most villages lacked electricity and basic infrastructure such as regular motorized road transport.

Reading her papers, books, thesis, and articles makes it clear that, as a trained anthropologist, she developed a solid understanding of prevailing systems fairly quickly. My doubt was always about her interpretation of the raw data she collected and how she filtered it, since each caste and person in Kerala tends to twist the story to fit their own perspectives. By increasing the sample size and considering regional differences, she did a really good job, actually, though I will admit that you can, as expected, notice a little Christian morality here and there, and the impression she gives is that she was acting as an observer from above, trying to remain as detached as possible.

Her description of the post-World War II setup in Kerala is revealing—almost every village has its bazaar, with shops selling rationed rice and kerosene oil, vegetables, groceries, and toilet articles. Small tea-shacks and coffee-shacks are everywhere and have increased in number since many youths returned from the army with a desire to start "business" independently of their families. Besides the railways along the coast, privately owned buses now run somewhat irregularly through all the larger villages, creating much mobility between villages and between the coast towns and the countryside. She adds that trade (shops, shopkeepers, artisans, port jobs, etc.) primarily attracted non-Nairs, whereas Nairs gravitated toward government posts, poorly paid jobs in educational institutions, and work such as bus drivers, conductors, factory workers, and similar roles.

Her interpretations were largely accurate, and it was evident that she received some guidance in her decision-making. One figure frequently mentioned in her writings is KT Kunhi Kammaran Nambiyar, an MLA in Madras at the time. However, some aspects required a better understanding in the initial drafts, and she revisited them over time, refining her thoughts in papers written during the 50s. I believe she took another trip in the 60s and planned to return in the 80s to revise her thesis, which she felt was lacking.

Kerala, meanwhile, was undergoing rapid change, and matriliny and marriage practices were fiercely challenged by younger generations, prompting the enactment of the Malabar and Nambudiri Marriage Acts. Marriage in Kerala was legalized, and Gough studied these developments during her 1964 visit and continued to do so over the years, while simultaneously facing significant professional challenges that forced her to move between universities, migrate from the UK to the USA, and later to Canada.

Her studies led her to note that the Tharavad system was mismanaged by the Karanaver in some instances and that the family's wealth was not distributed evenly. Nevertheless, the feudal system was slowly giving way to a new society, and joint family systems were shifting toward what she termed single matri-households. Activism was taking hold, and the cries from Christians and Muslim communities to have permanent land ownership rights were becoming strident. A pioneer in the study of anti-imperialism, impacts of a capitalist society on joint families, exploitation of lower classes, and a keen student of the impact of left ideologies, which were soon becoming popular in Kerala, got her writing about these subjects

Although personally left-leaning, Kathleen quickly observed how different parties manipulate the public for votes and how leaders increasingly focus on winning seats while spending less on day-to-day organization in their villages. Her notable works include "Kerala Politics and the 1965 Elections" (1967), “Communist Rural Councilors in Kerala" (1968), and "Peasant Resistance and Revolt in South India" (1968-69). However, she also pointed out that neglecting industrialization would pose a major long-term problem for the state, and Gough emphasized that the left party’s focus on electoral politics and its disregard for real employment opportunities would lead to significant difficulties. Kathleen never joined any political party, although she initially sympathized with the CPI's aims and policies and later with those of the CPI(M). I sincerely doubt if anyone in CPI(M) in Kerala even knows of Gough today.

Mencher adds - Towards the end, she wanted to do something about what was happening in Kerala in the late 1980s. We shared a common view of the situation in Kerala and were equally distressed by the way in which Kerala was being touted as a "development model" while so many people were without work. Without the funds received each month from expatriates living and working in the Middle East, the Kerala situation would be far worse. We shared our fear about what will happen when this goldmine dries up.

It is now time to briefly trace her life after Kerala, a period characterized by professional and personal setbacks. As mentioned earlier, she returned to South India after her divorce in 1951 due to nepotism rules and worked in Tanjore for a couple of years. After returning to the UK, her first major publication was the pioneering book on Matrilineal Kinship, co-edited with David M. Schneider (who initiated the work) and contributed to by other scholars, with Gough writing nearly half of the book herself. Around this time, she met David Aberle, whom she married in Manchester in 1955.

Moving on to the USA, although David secured strong positions at Stanford and other institutions, Gough failed to secure regular appointments at universities, despite her background and substantial accomplishments. Activism took hold, and her staunch anti-nuclear stand got her partaking in clashes with the police on the Polaris (base at Holy Loch) and later the Cuba policy, followed by Kennedy. In 1961, she finally secured a regular appointment at Brandeis University, but that was also cut short when she joined the anti-nuclear protests over U.S.-Cuba policy. David Aberle and Kathleen resigned in protest and moved on to Oregon.

David obtained a new position in Oregon in 1963, whereas Kathleen was appointed to a lower-ranked position as an affiliated honorary research associate and visiting associate professor. Once again, both David and Kathleen chose to protest the use of college grades as a basis for drafting students into the Vietnam War. Her outspoken stance in support of civil rights and against nuclear weapons and the Vietnam War resulted in her being placed on an FBI watch list, and university reactions to her progressive views disrupted her career path several times. I am not sure whether Gough was aware of the CIA's involvement in Kerala politics at that time or of the efforts to influence the elections.

In 1967, they decided to leave the US after a 12-year stay and migrate to Canada, a decision she later regretted. Her work at Simon Fraser University was also troubled, and in 1971, she concluded her work on Indian matters and moved on to Southeast Asian studies in Vietnam and Kampuchea. Eventually, she withdrew from academia altogether to become an independent radical scholar, but her work continued to receive notice and was eagerly cited and used by subsequent scholars. Throughout her life, Gough maintained her steadfast commitment to the well-being of workers and peasants in the Third World. Always politically relevant and fervently anti-colonial, anti-imperialist, and anti-capitalist, Gough lived with the hope of a better, more peaceful, and more equitable world, never losing faith that such a world was within reach, much like John Lennon did when he wrote his song "Imagine."

Richard Lee states it succinctly - In spite of enticing offers from a number of institutions, she steadfastly remained an independent scholar for the last decades of her life. One can only speculate on the lost opportunities of students to work with her and the ultimate effect on the course of Canadian scholarship to have had such an important anthropological figure for so long on the proverbial sidelines.

Eric Miller, her first husband, after obtaining his doctorate, moved to Thailand for field work, and later to the USA, after which he worked in differing capacities for jute and textile mills in India, as an expatriate employee relations manager, working to implement organizational behavior strategies designed by the US Tavistock Institute. He was a founding member of what became the A. K. Rice Institute in the United States and supported similar developments in Finland, Denmark, Israel, India, and South Africa. I don’t think Kerala figured in his thoughts after 1950, but I must admit that his paper on the village structure in N Kerala is a valuable reference. Miller passed away in 2002, aged 78.

David Aberle, Gough’s second husband, was also a war veteran and held teaching assignments at Harvard, Johns Hopkins, Michigan, Brandeis, Oregon, and, from 1967 until his retirement in 1983, at the University of British Columbia. His focus, however, was on the American Southwest, particularly the Navajo. David died on September 23rd, 2004, at Vancouver Hospital at the age of 85. In their son Stephen's words, "They remained inescapably, sometimes tumultuously, always lovingly married until Kathleen's death in 1990" (Toronto Globe and Mail 2004). I believe Gough had a daughter from the first marriage and a son, Stephen, from the second marriage, as well as a couple of grandchildren.

Kathleen Gough Aberle died of cancer in Canada on September 8, 1990, at the age of 65. Her work continues to be a foundational influence for anthropologists and scholars studying the Nair caste in Malabar.

References

Kathleen Gough and Research in Kerala - Joan Mencher (this paper also provides a list of most publications by Kathleen Gough)

The Work of Kathleen Gough – R lee

I understand that Sandra Lindemann's book, A Radical Anthropologist: The Trials and Triumphs of Kathleen Gough, will be released soon, and I will surely read it. Some day I will try to review her vast collection of field notes at UBC, though much of it is embargoed for 75 years from 1964.

Joan P. Mencher is an Emerita Professor of Anthropology from the City University of New York’s Graduate Center, and Lehman College of the City University of New York.  She supports rural grassroots organizations in India and the United States that work with poor and small farmers on issues of sustainable agriculture.  She has worked primarily in South India but also in West Bengal briefly, on issues of ecology, caste, land reform, agriculture, women, and related issues over the last half century, and has published widely both in the United States and in India on all of these subjects, primarily in academic journals

Image - K Gough, courtesy - Utoronto

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The Mysterious Pakkanar

Although many Malayalis are familiar with this fascinating character from folklore, and quite a few probably know of Naranathu Branthan (who is similar to the Greek mythological figure Sisyphus), his brother, the lunatic from Palghat, I haven't come across any thorough studies on Pakkanar. Kottarathil Sankunni introduced him in his Aithihyamala. Kundur Narayana Menon published parts of Pakkanar Pattu many years ago, and recently Rajan Chungath wrote about the entire clan.

Few realize that Jacome Fenicio (Giacomo Fenizio), the Portuguese/Italian friar who served at Arthunkal and Calicut, introduced him to the wider world for the first time early in the 17th century. Although Fenicio claims to have documented about 300 of the 900 verses attributed to Pakkanar and used them in his religious debates with Brahmin priests at Calicut and possibly Arthunkal in Alleppey, we haven't found many of these in his existing written records. They may be stored in a European archive, as we currently only have an edited version that covers early myths about Hindu gods. Still, let's try to get a clear picture of this legendary figure, Pakkanar, explore some of his stories, and then wrap it all up with Fenicio's role.

Although born into the lower-caste Parayan community, he appears to have mastered the Vedas and other significant religious texts of his era, and it seems that the name Pakkanar was given out of respect, even by the upper castes. There are no solid historical records about him, and he remains somewhat of a myth. Now, let's start with the myth, which is especially interesting because Pakkanar and his kin lived without major caste conflicts (each caste carried out its duties). He seems to have commanded respect despite being very low on the caste hierarchy.

As we discussed earlier, a myth is a symbolic, sacred story usually involving gods or supernatural beings, believed to be true in the past. A legend is a traditional story regarded as historical but lacking strong evidence, often linked to a real person or event and usually exaggerated over time. Lore, on the other hand, encompasses a wide range of myths, legends, and various kinds of folklore. This story can, in theory, be all of those.

There are a few versions often cited by writers. The myth told by Kundur slightly differs from that of Kottarathil Sankunni, especially regarding the angels or Devatas on the tree. Still, they share many similarities.

Govindapadar, Sankaracharya's guru, had sons from each of his four wives, who belonged to different castes (There are other versions about the origin of Varuchi). From the Brahmin wife, he had Varuchi; from the Kshatriya wife, he had Vikramaditya; from the Vysya wife, it was Bhatti; and through the Sudra wife, it was Bhartruhari. One might wonder how he managed to marry women from different castes at that time, or why, but let's follow the story.

Vikramaditya became a king, and Varuchi ended up working in his palace. One day, it seems Vikramaditya asked Varuchi to recite the most important verse from the Ramayana. Unable to come up with a clear answer, Varuchi was lost in thought, and the king gave him 41 days to find one. The wise Varuchi was upset that he couldn't answer and wandered around the country searching for one. Forty days passed, and finally, a tired Varuchi sat down to rest under a large banyan tree in a forest, drifting off to sleep. Some angels or devatas hanging out in the tree started talking among themselves that the sleeping Varuchi would soon marry the daughter of a Paraya woman, and that the answer to the question bothering Varuchi was actually the verse which went like this - 'Ramam Dasharatham Viddhi.. maam, Viddhi janakatmajam, Ayodhyam atavim Viddhi, Gacha tatha yadhaa sukham'.

Varuchi, who had just dozed, heard all of this and, filled with joy, hurried to the palace, recounting the verse along with ten different interpretations. He also stressed that the most crucial part of the verse was 'maam, viddhi janakatmajam' – that is, consider Sita (janakatmaja) as myself, Sumitra.

The explanation goes like this: After saying goodbye to Dasaratha, Kausalya, and Kaikeyi, the exiled trio of Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita went to meet Sumitra, the third queen and Lakshmana's mother. She tells Lakshmana, "Think of Rama as Dasaratha, your father, and Sita as me. Look upon the forest (Atavi—where you are now going to live) as Ayodhya. Farewell to you, and may your journey be a blessed one!" In simple terms, it summarizes to 'be happy where you are'.

However, the prophecy that he would have to marry a Paraya girl upset Varuchi. After obtaining permission from the king and tracking down the newborn girl he was supposed to marry, his henchmen sent her floating on a banana stem raft with a 'kol vilakku' (a lamp strung on a brass pole) embedded in her skull. As you might have guessed, the girl did not die and was rescued from the riverbank by a Brahmin woman from the Naripetta mana at Paruthur on the Nila bank. The woman took care of the girl, who was then named Panchami. She grew up to be a beautiful, intelligent girl. Again, as you might have guessed, some years later, Varuchi, passing by (again, the story is charmingly different in Sankunni's telling), becomes enamored with the lovely girl (due to her intelligence, says Sankunni) and marries her, as fate had dictated.

Some days after a life of marital bliss, Varuchi notices a strange scar on the skull of his newlywed wife. As he listened to her story, he realized that this was the very girl he had cast off and exactly what the angels had foretold! Ashamed of his previous actions, he excommunicated himself, left his home, and after a long journey, settled with his wife on the banks of the Nila (Bharatapuzha) River in Malabar.

Along the way, they had many children. As each child was born, Varuchi would ask his wife if the child had a mouth, to which his wife would answer, "Yes." Varuchi would say, 'Well, if he has a mouth, he will survive, leave the kid in the forest, and let's get on.' The distraught mother did what was asked of each of their 11 children (it must have been a long trek, perhaps lasting some 20 years!). When they had a 12th child, the mother decided that enough was enough and lied that the kid had no mouth, and lo and behold – the child's mouth disappeared! Varuchi consecrated the child in stone on a nearby hillock, which over time was worshipped as the Vayilla Kunnil Appan deity at Thiruvazhiyode (Kadampazhipuram). A distraught Panchami committed suicide at Mannur in Palghat (the place is called Theeppattu kuzhi).

The 11 kids who were left in the forest were taken in by foster parents from 11 different castes, and they grew up in diverse backgrounds. These children later became known as Parachi/Parayi petta panthiru kulam (the 12 castes born from a Parayi's womb) in the Malabar region. In another version, after all the excitement and travel, Varuchi and his wife settled into a life of penance and disappeared from view. The 11 surviving children, knowing each other, got along well and would meet every year at Melathol Agnihotri's (one of the 11 children) house in Ponnani for their parents' annual rites.

The 11 children and their castes were - Melathol Agnihothri (Namboothiri), Pakkanar (Parayan), Rajakan (Washerman), Naranath Bhranthan (Ambalavasi), Karakkalamma (Kshatriya and the only girl child), Akavoor Chathan (Vaishnava), Vaduthala Nair (Soldier), Vallon (Pulaya), Uppukottan (Muslim), Paananaar (folk musician), Perumthachan (Carpenter, Architect).

Pakkanar was a skilled bamboo craftsman who specialized in bamboo weaving. Just a short distance from Mezhathol Agnihothri's home, Vemancheri Mana in Thrithala, Palakkad, is the still-existing Paakkanar colony, also known as Eerattinkal Paraya colony, adjoining Arikkunnu. The story goes that it was Paakkanar who actually created a "Thampraakkal" out of "Azhvanchery Thamprakkal", who is considered the head of the Namboothiris in the region. Over time, caste differences became obvious, and the upper-caste brothers and their wives felt ashamed to dine with the lower-caste brothers and their families during the annual rites. So when they gathered, they stayed in ten different rooms of the Mezhathol mana.

To learn about Pakkanar, one must explore some of the myths surrounding him.

Ganga and the Stick – A Brahmin going on a pilgrimage to Ganga asked Pakkanar if he had anything to be cast away in the holy waters (the concept was to wash away all bondages in Ganga, and free oneself). Pakkanar gave his walking stick to him to be cast off at the Ganga. When the Brahmin returned, Pakkanar took him to the pond next to his home and pulled out the stick, proving that there was no need to go to a distant Ganga for absolution, and that all waters were equally holy.

Siva, Parvathi, and the gold – An ardent devotee of Siva, Pakkanar's poverty evoked pity in Parvathi's heart, and she asked Shiva to gift him some gold. Shiva told her that Pakkanar was a wise man and believed that wealth is a destroyer of men. To test this idea, the gods filled some bamboo stems with gold and gems. When Pakkanar's axe split them open, they spilled out, and a shocked Pakkanar left his axe there and ran away. Some passing robbers gathered the gold, but in their greed, they ended up killing each other instead of sharing the loot, proving that wealth can be a deadly force.

The ten murams (winnow) tradition — Pakkanar would always weave ten murams and set out to sell them. He would ask for an exorbitant price for each, and when the buyer demurred, he would leave one behind and move on to the next house, and the next, until nine were gifted. The tenth would be sold at a nominal price, and with these modest earnings, Pakkanar led his contented and straightforward life. The moral of this story is that if he had made only one muram, he would have been leading a lazy life. Doing what one should and can, without expecting significant returns, leads to more contentment in life. So, be happy with what you get—his philosophy was, but do what you can. Many families in the region still observe the tradition of 'returning' to Pakkanar. The Erattingal families continue the 10-winnow custom during festive seasons.

Cows' Udders and the Kovakka Vegetable – During one of the annual feasts with the brothers, Pakkanar brought a couple of cow udders to be cooked, horrifying the wife of the Aginihotri. She refused to cook them and buried the udders. When Pakkanar asked where his udder dish was, the woman explained what had happened, and Pakkanar said that the udders would have already sprouted into plants. Sure enough, the plant had grown and produced udder-shaped vegetables, now known as Kovakka, which were then cooked and served as a vegetarian dish by the lady of the house.

A few more of these fables can be found, such as the one about a wife's faith and devotion, Azvanchery's story, and others. I will go into more detail about them some other time, along with stories of the other brothers of Pakkanar and their only sister, Karakkalamma.

While many believe this was a myth created during the Chera era, there is a substantial historical connection in the lands around the Nila where these 11 children lived. The Erattingal families at Arikkunninode in Thrittala still claim lineage to Pakkanar and are situated near the Mexhathol Agnihotri homestead (it seems he did not want to stray far from his brother). These Paraya families share a relationship with the Namboothiri family through (pula) pollution. It is also believed that the Paraya caste is named after the drum they played—seemingly, they were royal drummers who beat large 'para' drums. Later, they took up bamboo weaving. Other legends mention that he was the elephant doctor of the Chera army, that he belonged to the same family, and was actually a Nambuthiri who had been downgraded to Mussad because he was responsible for the flesh sacrifices practiced in ancient times.

It's also notable that a Christian missionary claims to have encountered about 800-900 verses related to Pakkanar, but only 4-5 are listed in all 20th- and 21st-century publications.

Let's now examine the conclusions reached after a genetic study was conducted to determine if any real facts are hidden in the stories. More details about this can be read in my article "The Wandering Y".

Why mention this? Since all the descendants of these children lived in Shornur, Pattambi, and Thrithala of the Palakkad district in Kerala, and despite differences in their caste and social status, these families are connected through various rituals and religious customs. These families were the focus of a study. Still, when the group led by Suresh collected genetic samples to examine the patterns, they actually found that the results contradicted the folktale. Common haplotypes were not found across the tested families, making it impossible to establish co-ancestry.

This suggests that genetic sampling and studies are not always conclusive over many generations, and therefore, hype about genetic studies is unwarranted. The authors concluded that considering the survival of a lineage from a single founder over 20 generations (roughly 700 years) is only 9.6%, the chance of survival for Vararuchi's lineage, which is believed to have started about 1600 years ago (approximately 45 generations), is very low. On the other hand, it's also possible that the haplogroups of the different families who adopted Vararuchi's children were different and that multiple men from their own families were involved at the time of adoption. The true descendants of Vararuchi's sons may have become extinct over time due to various genetic or social reasons, or they may have greatly declined compared to the descendants of their own family line. Alternatively, the Vararuchi story might be just a myth.

Now, let's see how the Italian Jesuit Jacome Finicio, who arrived in Malabar in 1583, initially worked at Arthungal and later spent several years in Calicut, became involved with the Pakkanar legend. In Calicut, he was involved in numerous intrigues, sometimes acting as a diplomat for Portuguese Goa, and was close to the Zamorin. He discovered that convincing the people of Calicut that his religion, Christianity, was quite challenging. The Brahmin and Nair aristocracy scoffed at his preachings, and that was when he found the teachings of Pakkanar useful.

Let's examine what he concluded based on the translation provided by Charpentier, The Livro de Seita, p. 185, note 8.

For in times past there was a great poet in Malabar, who, though not a Christian, as far as we know, yet left some written books, showing therein the great knowledge he had of things divine. In fact, he composed some 800 octaves against the idols and false gods of those lands, where he pleasantly laughs at their fables, and in the same manner, he treats of Divine Providence, Heaven, Hell, and other matters of our faith, according to what we believe, at least in many points. He says of the Providence of God that he gives to each one what is necessary according to his quality and that he assists us always with his presence and protection, in the same manner as he does who holds the rope for those who are fishing pearls. Of Heaven, he says that it consists in the vision of God; of Hell, that the damned will remain there 400 million years, plunged in fire, and yet always alive. As to the idols, he constantly sneers at them and calls the Brahmins fools.

The Father (Fenicio), having come across this book, copied more than 300 octaves in 1609, though many more are lost; and cleverly used them and read them in the presence of the Gentiles, both privately and publicly, so that they were confused and did not know what to answer." However, the edition by Jarl Charpentier, Livro da seita dos Indios orientais (Uppsala, 1913), although useful, is unfortunately not complete and lacks proper interpretation overall.  

In the following article, I will share the stories of other children and provide a conclusion detailing the impact the story had on the history of Malabar.

References

Paraiyipetta  Panthiru Kulam – Aithihyavum, Chatritravum – Rajan Chungath

Pakkanar – Kundur Narayana Menon

Aithihyamala – Kottarathil Sankunni

A Treatise on Hindu Cosmography from the Seventeenth Century - Jarl Charpentier

Preliminary Report on the "Livro da Seita dos Indios Orientais" - Jarl Charpentier

The Jesuits in Malabar – D Ferroli

The Intach Palghat 2025 calendar – Some lucky people would have come across a lovely calendar produced by Sanusha & Arun at Intach Palghat, which covers the entire Parayi petta story, through top-notch illustrations. The illustration of Pakkanar included here is a result of their hard work, and is duly acknowledged with thanks and reproduced with permission. Please do not copy without Intach's approval.

 

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An Electrifying Experience

Edison, Tesla, Westinghouse, ABB, Hitachi, and me…

The other day, I visited some historic sites related to Tesla and Westinghouse, which brought back memories of my time at ABB and Hitachi, both of which had links to Westinghouse over the years. While you might find stories about Tesla, Edison, and Westinghouse in many American books, magazines, and articles, there are hardly any about how Westinghouse eventually merged with the European ABB and, later, the Japanese Hitachi.

The last two decades of the 19th century saw a convergence of scientists, inventors, and industrialists working to harness electricity for lighting and powering rotating machines. While listing all those involved, fighting over their inventions, and patenting their ideas would take up a lot of space, the most prominent names are Thomas Edison and George Westinghouse. Another key figure connected to both is the highly admired Serbian Nikola Tesla. Interestingly, Edison was never formally educated and started his career as a newspaper boy, eventually becoming a publisher; however, he always made time to read about science. His fascination with telegraphy began in 1862, and by the age of 22, he had obtained his first patent for a vote counter. Eight years later, he had established his own companies.

A series of inventions followed, and when telephony was developed, Edison was working on modifications to microphones and the phonograph. Around 1878, he was introduced to an electric generator, which lit arc lamps, by another inventor named William Wallace. From that point on, power generation and lighting became his primary focus, leading to rivalries, numerous court cases, and what later became known as the 'War of currents.' Edison supported and believed in working with Direct Current, or DC. He worked on improving a filament for the electric bulb that could be mass-produced and last a long time, as well as enhancing the generating and power distribution systems. In 1879, he patented the light bulb, and by 1882, he had electrified parts of New York.

George Westinghouse, just a year older than Edison, too, had limited education and served in the US Navy until 1865. His first patent was for a farm steam engine, and he later invented the 'frog,' a device that helped trains cross tracks. His subsequent major development was the air brake for trains. One of his early supporters was the Vanderbilt family, and Westinghouse eventually established his operations in Pittsburgh. Afterward, he spent several years developing natural gas safety systems and continued to work on train signaling systems. Around 1885, while reading a report on the "International Inventions exhibition" in England, Westinghouse learned about the Gaulard Gibbs transformer and its ability to transfer electric power. Intrigued, he began studying the field eagerly.

Soon, he learned that Gaulard and Gibbs had successfully electrified parts of Turin, Italy, and transmitted power over about 50 miles. He quickly bought an AC generator made by Werner von Siemens and two G&G transformers. He hired an Englishman named Belfield to come to smoky Pittsburgh (all due to the iron industry) to help his engineer Stanley, who was working on lighting projects. In 1886, he founded the Westinghouse Electric Company, bought the G&G transformer patent, and redesigned the transformer as we know it today. Stanley and Belfield rapidly developed the first single-phase AC system, where a 25 HP steam engine generator produced power, raised it to 500V, transmitted it across town, lowered it to 100V, and lit 150 bulbs.

Edison, too, entered the field after purchasing a patent from a Hungarian trio, ZBD (Zipernovsky, Bláthy, and Déri), but AC did not interest him. Seeing that Westinghouse was successfully working with AC, and assuming that Westinghouse was promoting it only to bypass his (Edison's) patents, Edison responded by claiming that AC was dangerous. He also leveraged his connections to the media to suggest that many people could die if they worked with AC. However, his efforts to scare people did not quite have the desired effect.

Although we discussed DC, AC, and arc lights, the concept of an AC motor was still not fully developed in practice. DC motors existed and were used for transit applications. Once again, the first invention came from Turin, Italy, where Ferraris conceived the idea of a two-phase motor in 1885. In 1888, Westinghouse bought the patent from Ferraris for a small sum. It was at this point that a new player entered the scene: Nikola Tesla from Serbia.

Nikola Tesla (b. 1857), after an incomplete education and brief stints in Budapest working as a draftsman and electrician in the Central Telephony Department, and in Paris for Edison's lighting division, decided to move to the United States in 1884 for better opportunities. He joined the Edison Machine Works in New York but left after a few months, reportedly due to a dispute over an unpaid bonus related to the development of an arc lighting system. His attempt to start a company failed, and Tesla was nearly homeless, forced to do menial work. In 1887, Tesla patented his two-phase, self-starting induction motor (as well as a three-phase, 6-wire motor).

Westinghouse, who was searching for such a design, had previously tested prototypes created by the Italian Galileo Ferraris. He now decided to license Tesla's design and hired him at his Pittsburgh plant. Tesla later agreed that his design was similar to Ferrari's, but Tesla's had already been patented in the US. Nevertheless, Westinghouse faced many issues with Tesla's design because it was made for 60Hz. At the same time, Westinghouse systems and the Shallenberger meter were all suitable for a power frequency of 133Hz.

In 1891, Westinghouse engineers, led by Lamme, finally agreed on 60 Hz as their new power frequency, marking a departure from their previous standard of 133 Hz. That same year, AEG engineers in Berlin chose 50 Hz as their new power frequency. One reason was that arc light carbons used at that time did not perform well with 50 Hz. Other frequencies considered were 133, 30, and 60 Hz. The Westinghouse systems were then redesigned for a frequency of 60 Hz, mainly due to pressure from Tesla, who strongly advocated for changing from 133 Hz to 60 Hz.

The topic of frequency selection is complex and best explained in the detailed paper by Edward L. Owen. It discusses how the world had systems operating at various frequencies and how they gradually converged toward two main standards over time. Owen summarizes: There were many standard frequencies in use, even as recently as 20 years ago (1977). The outcome was determined by field operating conditions, not by the exploitation of specific systems to limit competition. Engineers focused on fixing defects rather than competing with each other.

Thus, we see Westinghouse electrifying cities with his 2-phase AC systems, while Edison continued with his DC concept. The competition turned unhealthy when copper prices made DC systems (which used much more copper) uncompetitive.

Although Edison attempted to tarnish Westinghouse's reputation and designs, he was unsuccessful. Meanwhile, Westinghouse faced financial difficulties when the banking industry collapsed in 1890, which halted further work on a Tesla motor. Several years later, Westinghouse purchased the Tesla patent for $216,000 and also signed a patent-sharing agreement with Edison's General Electric. Tesla moved on to work on new projects, including his Tesla Coil, wireless lighting, wireless power, remote control, and other ventures.

Meanwhile, AEG's Dolivo-Dobrovolsky developed a three-phase system in 1888-89, using three wires instead of six. He also perfected the Delta Star three-phase transformer but faced challenges with the three-phase motor, which he finally solved by using the squirrel cage design to reduce eddy currents. At this point, an engineer of English origin named Charles Eugene Lancelot Brown, working in Switzerland, teamed up with Dobrovolsky, Miller, and, with the support of the German government and a cement company, built the very first complete three-phase system, including a 15 KV transmission line 175 km long, which was celebrated in Europe as a remarkable achievement.

Brown and Dobrovolsky ended their cooperation around this point. Brown managed the English-speaking media effectively (Dobrovolsky struggled), then appeared to claim that the system's success was due to his efforts with Tesla's backing (Tesla was not truly involved). Brown mentioned Tesla's name mainly because there was a Tesla craze at the time, driven by the success of the Tesla Coil and the widespread belief that wireless power transmission might soon become common. Across the Atlantic, as seen in 1892, Lamme at Westinghouse in the U.S. agreed on 60Hz and optimized the two-phase motor. From that point on, Westinghouse used Tesla's good reputation to promote his work, especially two-phase systems.

It was indeed Tesla who proposed a design for the first three-phase motor and generator, and who also patented a two-phase and three-phase six-wire motor-generator in 1888. Still, if someone were to ask who demonstrated the 4-wire 3-phase electric generation, transmission, and distribution, as well as the development of a squirrel-cage motor, the answer would be different. It was indeed Mikhail Dolivo-Dobrovolsky. GE, however, favored three-phase motors. There is more to the story, including the involvement of Steinmetz and others, but we will leave it for another day.

On the North American side, the Niagara connection between Canada and the US was initiated on the Canadian side by Henry Pellat in 1903, while the Adams plant on the US side first started generating power in 1895. Westinghouse built the plants. Strangely, they used a 25Hz polyphase (2-phase) system, which was eventually phased out after 60Hz became the standard in North America. 25Hz frequency was chosen as the standard because the turbines for the original Niagara Falls power project were already designed to operate at 250 RPM, which required a 25Hz generator to produce power. This initial decision, influenced by mechanical and industrial needs for motors and DC conversion, established a precedent in the region.

Dobrovolsky died unheralded, while Edison was ousted from the pioneering company when GE was created, following its acquisition by financier JP Morgan. Ultimately, three-phase power became the standard for electrical transmission worldwide, with North America maintaining a frequency of 60Hz, thanks to Tesla. Meanwhile, most of the rest of the world adopted 50Hz, except Japan, which used both frequencies because AEG and Westinghouse installed systems with 50 and 60Hz in the country. I won't delve into the War of Currents between Westinghouse and Edison, Tesla's other major inventions and discoveries, the Nobel Prize dispute, or related topics; instead, I will move on to Europe and continue with Brown.

In 1887, Brown, the technical director of MFO (Maschinenfabrik Oerlikon), decided to start his own business. Following his association with Dolivo-Dobrovolsky, Brown co-founded the company Brown, Boveri & Cie with Walter Boveri in Baden, Switzerland, in 1891. After Brown retired, Boveri served as Chairman of the BBC from 1911 to 1924. He led various electricity companies, and his work on railway electrification earned him a seat on the board of the Swiss Federal Railways. Boveri's sons, Theodor and Walter Junior, later took on various roles at BBC. Walter's brother Robert (1873-1934) headed a subsidiary, BBC Mannheim, in Germany, for several years until his death. Robert's son, William Boveri, also worked at BBC as a director.

BBC achieved significant success in post-war Europe, especially in Italy and many other regions, including the Middle East. Their solid designs in the power, radio, and railway sectors were popular in numerous countries. By the 80s, it was known as the grand old lady of Switzerland, continuing to hire top-tier immigrant engineers but generating little profit.

Now, you have seen brief histories of Westinghouse, General Electric, AEG (partially), and BBC in Switzerland, along with their connections to one man—Nikola Tesla, whose name they all used or referenced. Siemens, English Electric, and many other organizations also made significant contributions to this sector, but their stories are not covered in this article.

Now, let's go to Sweden, where a young Jonas Wenström led the way in developing a power system for his country. In 1883, he co-founded Elektriska Aktiebolaget with Ludvig Fredholm, a well-known businessman, and patented his dynamo in 1884. In 1890, Elektriska merged with Wenström's brother's company to create Allmänna Svenska Elektriska Aktiebolaget, later shortened to ASEA, with Västerås as its headquarters. As early as 1893, the young company was involved in building Sweden's first three-phase electrical transmission line, a 15 km, 9.5 kV line from a hydroelectric plant at Hällsjön to a mine in Grängesberg. Sadly, Jonas died in the same year at just 38.

Interestingly, Wenström also received a patent in 1890 for a three-phase system, just like Dobrovolsky did! In 1897, ASEA built the first electric locomotive. Ernst Danielson improved the designs, and the company grew rapidly, teaming up with De Laval. However, they soon faced financial struggles. The Wallenbergs and the Enskilda bank stepped in, and after some growth, ASEA became a well-known name. Still, it soon engaged in talks with European manufacturing cartels, including the match king, Sweden's Ivar Kreuger, and also connected with U.S. companies GE and Westinghouse. Still, it remained independent and maintained close ties to the Swedish Wallenberg family.

By the mid-20th century, the company had expanded to produce a wide range of electrical equipment, including generators, transformers, HVDC equipment, motors, industrial automation systems, nuclear power plants, trains, robots, presses, and synthetic diamonds. Manufacturing plants in Ludvika and Västerås thrived, and overseas investments and projects began to expand. In 1980, after acquiring Flakt, Percy Barnevik, who was working for Sandvik in the USA, became the CEO of ASEA, sparking a wave of rapid changes and acquisitions. Attempts to acquire AEG and GE's T&D in the U.S. were unsuccessful, but Stromberg from Finland and Elsag Bailey quickly joined the company, and profits rose significantly.

In 1987, Barnevik orchestrated a merger between ASEA and the Swiss company Brown Boveri, its main competitor in many markets. Barnevik needed scale to grow further, and BBC had a broader international presence. A year later, the merger of the two companies took place, followed by a period of some turmoil. The new company, headquartered in Zurich Oerlikon (later Baden), was named ABB – ASEA BROWN BOVERI.

A year later, ABB acquired the company we had initially discussed, Westinghouse Electric's power and transmission and distribution (T&D) operations, which faced financial difficulties and low margins. The next major ABB acquisition was the large Combustion Engineering in Houston, working with notable advisors such as Henry Kissinger and Donald Rumsfeld (who became a company director). The company struggled with issues such as asbestos and a weakening Asian economy, finding it difficult to integrate what it had acquired, possibly more than it could manage. With investments in the US and many other regions not performing as hoped, the company's profits declined, leaving the group vulnerable to strategic shifts.

Hitachi in Japan was established in 1910 by Namihei Odaira, starting as an electrical machinery manufacturer for a mining company. Namihei Odaira, during his free time that year while still working at the Kuhara mine, developed Japan's first 5-horsepower electric motor, together with a colleague. After World War II, it played a vital role in Japan's reconstruction by producing industrial machinery, including trains and power equipment. The company expanded into electronics, launching the first transistor-based computer in 1959. By the 1990s, it had become a global leader in semiconductor and memory device technologies. In 2018, Hitachi and ABB established a joint venture, which was formalized as Hitachi Energy in 2021. This joint venture was fully integrated into Hitachi in 2022.

Thus, developments in North America and Europe converged, created, and eventually led to the breakup of the companies we grew up with. Ongoing developments and demands regularly drive change, with players from diverse regions—such as Japan in Asia—joining European and American industry leaders. Discussions and innovations, sometimes influenced or accelerated by government policies, continue regularly, transforming the electrical landscape. I thought it would be a good idea to reflect on how all this unfolded—how 60Hz became the standard in the US, a brief overview of the DC-AC battles, the development of polyphase power transmission, and so on.

As for me, I began my career with ASEA in India, then worked with ABB after the BBC merger in the Middle East and Europe. I moved to the USA following the Westinghouse acquisition and eventually spent my final years with the organization formed through a merger with Japanese Hitachi. It was a fascinating career that allowed me to travel and experience many cultures across different countries.

Last week, as I stood in front of the historic generating station at Niagara, built by Westinghouse and Tesla, and looked at the old equipment, I couldn't help but marvel at how much has changed and how we still work with AC and also with high-voltage DC transmission—something Edison would have winked at. Not to mention the talks about wireless transmission, which Tesla would have eagerly embraced!

References

The lightning Tamers – Kathy Joseph

The Origins of 60-Hz as a Power Frequency by Edward L. Owen

Electrifying Experience – First Century of the ASEA group - 1883-1983

ABB the Dancing giant – Kevin Barham & Claudia Heimer

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Sambhar - Marathi or South Indian?

 Sambhar – the curry and its origins

The other day, we discussed the origins of Idli, and a few days later, I came across a different version of Rasam, popularized by a well-known wedding caterer, cook, chef, and restaurateur, Nataraja Iyer, which turned out quite good. (However, it should be even better with less jaggery next time.) This indicates that every basic recipe evolves over time, resulting in numerous variations, with each person having their own favorite. The same is true for Sambhar; there are different versions for special occasions, simpler powder-based recipes, and of course, the one we make in Palghat—the aracha or ground Sambhar. When it comes to ready-made powders, there are many options—spicier varieties, milder ones, the Kannada version with a hint of sweetness, and so on.

I dislike it when a North Indian tries to call it Sambhal! Just as our Vada seems to have become Bhara or Bhalla, Dosa has become Dhosa. Similarly, when a Gujarati complains that South Indian restaurants skimp on the Sambhar, serving only a small tumbler instead of a larger bowl. My Gujju friend brings about 10 mini idlis (about 3-4 cm wide) to the office, drops them into a bowl of Sambhar, and slurps them like soup with a spoon. An Iyer seeing this would be aghast, muttering 'enna ithu'—what an abomination! Adding—Eat it like it should be eaten, using a finger, tear off a quarter of a large idli, dip it in Sambhar and chutney, and chomp it, while you raise your eyes to survey the world around, then back to the plate for the next morsel, not with a fork or spoon....

Sadly, they may not realize that Sambhal-sambol (which we loved and ate with everything when we visited Sri Lanka) is actually a Lankan Sinhala coconut-based chutney. It’s very similar to the Kerala red thenga chammandi, and it is often pungently hot, sometimes flavored with lime, onions, fish paste, and more. There are many Sambal varieties, so I don't want to offend a Lankan with this simplified explanation.

But then, when you read that the Sambhar may have a Maharashtrian connection, you might be surprised. True, this has been discussed in mainstream media and many websites, but let me now share my perspective, referencing some food experts and historical sources.

According to a legend, Sambhaji, the eldest son and heir of Chhatrapati Shivaji, was visiting Shahuji, who ruled Tanjore (1682-1712), when he requested his usual dhal curry with rotis. The cook, or as some insist, Shahuji, added tamarind to the amti dal curry instead of kokum (and replaced Tuvar dhal with Mung), as these were the only locally available substitutes, and served the mixture to Sambhaji. This is said to be how the basic version of Sambhar was created. Conversely, Shahuji and Sambhaji, who were actually half-brothers, were on bad terms, so it’s surprising that Shahuji would go to such lengths or get involved in palace kitchen matters for such an event. Some suggest that Shahuji may have named the dish Sambhar after Sambhaji to help rebuild friendly relations between the two families. All of this sounds strange considering the timelines—Shahuji became king of Tanjore in 1684 at age 12, while Sambhaji, busy fighting the Mughals, was later captured and executed in 1689. If Sambhaji did visit Tanjore between 1684 and 1689 (though no records mention it), Shahuji would have been between 12 and 17 years old, an age when it’s unlikely he had any interest or involvement in cooking. Let’s leave it at that, concluding that although it may have Marathi connections, it was probably a Tanjavur invention!

After a series of wars and transitions, Serfoji II Bhonsle (also spelled Sarabhoji II Bhonsle) took control, supported by the British, in 1798. Serfoji II's three-decade reign is best known for his contributions to art, literature, and cuisine. It's no surprise that another legend suggests Serfoji II himself created Sambhar after experimenting with lentil soup and adding tamarind. Interestingly, most of his culinary efforts are documented in the cooking diaries—Sarabendra Pakashastra, a collection of recipes from the royal kitchens at Tanjore, preserved at the Sarasvati Mahal library as two manuals compiled by Serfoji’s scribes in Marathi (using Modi script) in the 1820s. One Bhim Rao from the Sarasvati Mahal library apparently mentioned that Sambhar was originally called Sambhachi ahar—Sambha’s food—and that this name evolved into Sambhar over time. Was Sambha supposedly Sambhaji? It is not clear.

While these are popularly narrated versions, it is quite possible that the name originated from Marathi / Gujarati/Sanskrit usages. The word itself has no connection to any Tamil usages from the past (Tamils had mainly Kuzhambu for such curries), and it is quite possible that the name "saambhaar" came from one of the above languages. It could be a derivative of the Sanskrit root usage sambhara (Malayalam - sambharanam), meaning ‘a collection’.

Geeta Bharatan concurs - The primary meaning of saṃbhāra is a collection or assemblage of items, especially ingredients or materials needed for a specific purpose. Perhaps the curry was ritually offered to the King, and hence a Ritual offering. In a Hindu context, sambhara can denote the collection of materials and offerings required for a sacrifice. The word also refers to the act of putting something together or arranging it. The South Indian dish "Sambhar" likely derives from this Sanskrit word, referring to the various constituents of the stew.

Although the Sambhar name is associated with this curry, it is distinctly Deccan or Tamil in nature, characterized by the use of tamarind and other local spices. That must be how a parippu puli kuzhampu made with Tuvar dhal became the Sambhar of today.

Acharya’s Historical dictionary defines it thus - A fairly thick spicy extract of thuvar dhal soured with tamarind, frequently containing soft vegetables like the brinjal, drumstick, gourd, and lady’s finger. It is served in South India with rice as a middle course, after a course of rice with rasam and before a course of rice with curds. Sambhar is also eaten as an accompaniment to the idli and vada. The Kannada term for the dish is huli and the Telugu, pulusu. The Tamil country has a premixed sambhar & rasam, convenient for travel, and Karnataka has the bisibele-huli-anna, best eaten with ghee. However, I don’t believe that is the correct order in Kerala and Tamil Nadu, as the rasam typically follows the Sambhar course.

Many versions exist, and the vegetables included vary by region. In Tamil Nadu, Andhra Pradesh, and Karnataka, traditional vegetables are used, while in South Kerala, potatoes, cauliflower, or carrots are sometimes included, especially in the Travancore area. In Karnataka, a bit of jaggery is often added. Kerala and Karnataka grind roasted spices with coconut to create a flavorful mixture, though it's milder due to the coconut. Meanwhile, Tamil and Andhra versions tend to be spicier and tangier. In Malabar and Palghat, brinjal, ladies' fingers, drumsticks, and shallots are key ingredients in their sambhar. Other regions add exotic vegetables like bitter gourd, keerai, radish, kovakkai, and even garlic. Hing, also known as asafoetida, is always an important adder, providing zest and a pungent aroma.

We should also verify if there are any historical references to the curry. It appears that a Telugu poem written by the Vijayanagara king Krishnadeva Raya mentions the word "Sambharampuchintapandu." Srinivas Sistla, who studied this, states that there are references to "Sambhar ingredients packed in separate packs, jaggery, tamarind paste" when describing the food that Periyalvar's wife packs at Srivilliputhur in present-day Tamil Nadu. The Sabdaratnakaramu (1885), a dictionary, and Vedam Venkataraya Sastry's commentary (1927) on the poem also interpret the word in the same way. Based on this evidence, Sistla theorizes that Sambhar was likely part of Tamil cuisine by the 16th century.

K. T. Achaya also notes that the earliest surviving reference to Sambhar, called "huli," dates back to the 17th century in present-day Karnataka. Kanthirava Narasaraja Vijaya, a 1648 work by Kannada scholar Govinda Vaidya, mentions huli (puli), which literally means "sourness," a curry similar to modern Sambhar made with vegetables and tuvar dal. This suggests that the curry was present in Tamil regions, Deccan, and Vijayanagara even before the Mahrattas arrived at Tanjore in the 17th century, although it may not have been called Sambhar then. If ‘huli’ was a version of the early Sambhar, then the humble mulagu varutha puli koottan of Palghat, which was never served to a guest, should be similar—yet I believe it is not. It is a simple mix of tamarind and salt, with boiled vegetables.

There are also mentions that Sangam period cooking included Thuvaram paruppu kalavai (paruppu kulambu) and Mohana Kalavai (with tender coconuts), which could be considered early versions of Sambar. Sambhar contained red chilies introduced by the Portuguese in the 16th century. So, how was it made before the Portuguese arrived? Maybe using black pepper? I am not entirely sure.

In the Andhra regions, where food was also influenced by Nizami cuisine, there's dalcha, which includes meat, kaddu (pumpkin), and chana dal, as well as tamarind and a spice mix similar to Sambhar masala. These Hyderabadi Muslim versions of Sambhar, once popular also in Orissa, are now quite common in Malaysia. The Malaysian version was popularized by Muslim cooks, resulting in a distinct variation.

The Japanese learned a few things about curries from Rash Behari Bose and AM Nair, and today Kari rice is part of their cuisine, though it is not Sambhar rice. It should also be noted that they did not pick up the word Sambhar from the Tamil laborers during the war. Nevertheless, they named the mini truck manufactured by Subaru as Sambhar (nothing to do with the curry, though), so when you use the term in Japan, you may end up seeing a truck!

Another interesting piece of trivia is that Sambhar was added to the menu for Indian space travelers, along with Idli and Chutney! The DFRL, based in Mysore, developed Sambhar Chawal, along with several other Indian dishes, such as Sooji Halwa, Veg Biryani, Katti Rolls, and more, for its 60-item selection for astronauts.

Some Kerala versions

Sambhar arrived in Kerala much later, as the Sadya listing in Cochin’s Shaktan Thampuran period mainly mentions Erisseri, Kalan, Olan, etc., all of which were prepared without red chilli—a spice that arrived with the Portuguese in the 16th century and became a staple in the Tamil versions of Rasam and Sambhar. Interestingly, the use of red chillies never gained popularity in Kerala, despite the Portuguese presence in Cochin, until much later. It is also strange that the British never made any real mention of the dish; although there are references to Sambhar (a lentil and pigeon pea stew), they did not go beyond a broad name, curry, and Madras curry powder, which may have been a type of Sambhar powder with plenty of garam masala.

The coconut-based ‘arachuvitta’ (varutharacha or ground) Sambhar is popular in Nair and Iyer households of Palghat and is now often included in home cooking or ‘athu chamayal. There is a subtle variation in tadka styles, with some using hing and others using methi seeds, along with curry leaves, red chilies, and mustard. Most use coconut oil (or sesame oil in Tamil regions), but during festive occasions, Brahmins typically use ghee. Udupi Sambhar will have a touch of jaggery to mellow down the taste.

Arachuvitta and Varutharacha Sambhar: In these special variations, whole spices and coconut are roasted and ground into a paste before being added to the Sambhar, as a core flavor element. This creates a deeper, richer aroma than simply adding the ground powder. Bengal gram, coriander seeds, tuvar dal, methi seeds, red chilies, and other ingredients are dry-roasted and ground with grated coconut to make the spice paste. This paste is then boiled with tamarind water before adding the appropriate vegetables. Though desiccated coconut was used by overseas Indians, it is rarely used in South India, and fresh coconut is preferred.

A Kerala Sadya begins with a small serving of rice, accompanied by yellow dal and ghee. The taste buds are then awakened by the Sambhar, slightly tempered down by the salty pappadams. This is then followed by some rasam that provides valuable digestive acids, before being cooled down in the next course with a generous helping of yogurt or curds. Finally, you are carried to nirvana by one or two payasams (kheer).

A recent article by Vijish Gopinath calls sambhar the main star in the culinary drama we know as the sadya, but I am not sure it can overshadow all the side dishes, such as aviyal and kootu kari, not to mention the thoran and olan.

The excellent article by Vijish in a recent Vanitha magazine traces the journey of the Sambhar as it evolved from Kasargod to Trivandrum. While the Northern Udupi Brahmin versions have a bit of ghee and jaggery added to mellow the flavor, versions further south show an increased use of coconut and fewer dals. Tomato and Hing are common in most versions, but subtle differences exist depending on the maker's caste. A Nair Sambhar is distinctly different from a brahmin or Thiyya Sambhar, differing in spice ratios and vegetables. By the time the sambhar reaches South Travancore, most consider it a transformed version, not fully accepted by purists (in jest) as true sambhar. As you head south, the quantity and size of vegetables increase, resulting in a spicier and thicker vegetable curry. Muslims, on the other hand, simply call it a vegetarian curry, usually not considered as sophisticated as Malabar’s fish curries. There’s even a fish sambhar version served at the Samudra Feast in the Ambika hotel at Calicut.

In my opinion, the perfect Sambhar is the Palghat Sambhar, and the magazine agrees, stating that the Trichur Sambhar, which is a close second, is somewhat diluted. Palghat incidentally has three varieties: the Tamil version, the Brahmin Agraharam version, and the Nair version.

Tiffin Sambhar is a quick and easy recipe, perfect for idlis and vadas, which eliminates the need for ground ingredients by using powdered spices and dhal to save prep time. Tiffin Sambhar (or Idli Sambhar) is a thinner, milder, and often less tangy version, specifically made for breakfast dishes. In contrast, regular Sambhar is usually thicker, spicier, and contains more vegetables, intended to be eaten with rice.

I believe I have made my point, and the next time someone claims it is a Marathi dish, you can respond with some arguments to the contrary.

References

KT Acharya – Indian Food: A Historical Companion and A Historical Dictionary of Indian Food

Vanitha – Onam Mood, Sambhar Vibe – Vijish Gopinath

Maddy’s ramblings – Idli, a delectable dish

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