The whole rhythm of coastal life is geared to the monsoons. Ship styles historically were relatively uniform, as we will describe in detail in the next chapter. Certainly, as we have noted, littoral society is much more cosmopolitan than are parochial inland people for, at the great ports which constitute the nodes of the littoral, traders and travellers from all over the ocean, and far beyond, were to be found. This characteristic of cosmopolitanism produced another element of unity. Certain languages achieved wide currency, such as Arabic in the earlier centuries. There are some 5,000 words of Arabic influence in Malay, and more than that in Swahili, and about 80 per cent of these are the same, that is in Malay and Swahili, so that we have a 'corpus of travelling Arabic words'.
40
Freeman-Grenville tried to find links and commonalties between Swahili and the language of the Sidis of Sind.
41
Later a sort of nautical Portuguese, and today some variant of English, have achieved a similar quasi-universal status.
Folk religion on the littoral similarly is to be distinguished from inland manifestations. The concerns of coastal people were usually quite different from those of peasants and pastoralists inland. On the coast religion had to do with customs to ensure safe voyages, or a favourable monsoon. Particular gods were propitiated for these purposes. Specifically maritime ceremonies marked the beginning and end of voyages.
A particular west coast Indian rite celebrates the end of the southwest monsoon and so the beginning of the sailing year. The always quotable and always acerbic Dr John Fryer noted this in Mumbai in the 1670s: 'After this Full Moon, the Banyans, assisted by their Brachmins, go in Procession to the Sea-shore, and offer Cocoe Nuts to Neptune, that he would restore them their Mare Pacificum; when they make Preparations to go to Sea, and about their Business of Trade.'
42
Ovington in Mumbai at about the same time wrote that
the Bannians endeavour to appease the incensed Ocean by offerings to its inraged Waves, and in great plenty throw their gilded Coco-nuts into the Sea to pacify its storms and Fury, and render it peaceable and calm. And after these Ceremonious Oblations are past, the Oraculous Bramins declare safety to the Ships that will venture upon the Ocean, before which not one of them will offer to weigh Anchor
and similarly in the Maldives, in Goa and in Mumbai.
43
Dr Varadarajan's ethnographic work in Gujarat has found rather similar things happening today, though based on very old traditions. Her account makes clear that littoral location, and occupation, transcend religion. On the 'narial prunima' day both Hindus and Muslims take part in ceremonies when the forces governing the sea are worshipped, and boats are symbolically taken out to mark the beginning of the season. Rites are conducted by the community rather than the temple priest. 'As the ritual is so intimately connected with their vocational life, all seafaring folk come together to celebrate this day coalescing religious heterogeneity through group participation.' The god Darya Lall is worshipped under various names by different communities, both Muslim and Hindu. His protection is invoked to avoid peril at sea, but formal thanksgiving occurs on safe return to land. Hindus observe vows on the second day of the bright half of every month by passing water through a sieve. Muslims wade into the sea with votive offerings on any convenient day, and allow the sea to carry their gifts. The third important saint or god is Khizr Pir, the immortal one, invoked in times of distress at sea by both Muslims and Hindus. At Porbander there is a shrine dedicated to him, and at the start of the season boats salute this shrine as they leave. There is also a saint called Shah Murad Bukhari. When his grave covers are replaced they make pennants from the discarded cloth. These relics are hoisted in times of danger at sea so that the saint will save them: again both Muslims and Hindus do this. In general 'occupational hazards to which they are exposed cut across religious differences.'
44
Setting out and returning are obvious times to celebrate and propitiate. Qaisar found this in the seventeenth century. When a ship departed those on board may sip holy water, and offer curd, milk, rice, coconuts and garlands to the sea. Seafarers also printed auspicious palm prints over the vessels, especially on the seams. Sometimes an oculus was painted on the ship's bows, this being based on a very ancient Egyptian practice. Carrying bodies was considered to bring bad luck, so they had to be hidden. He also notes the importance of Khwaja Khizr, the guardian of the sea, whom we just met as the present day Khizr Pir. He could be relied on to answer an appeal for help from a traveller in distress. He is the patron saint of sailors, is omnipresent and has eternal life.
45
In Goa in the late sixteenth century we again find specific rites geared to the needs of those who go to sea. 'When they will make a voyage to the sea, they use at the least fourteene days before [they enter into their ships] to make so great a noyse with sounding of Trumpets, and to make fiers, that it may be heard both by night and day; the ship being hanged about with flaggers wherewith [they say] they feast their Pagode, that they may have a good voyage. The like do they at their returne for a thanksgiving fourteen days long'.
46
In Goa today fishing boats are
named after saints, and the owners and crew make offerings to the relevant saint on his or her feast day.
However this in turn raises other questions and problems: remembering our past distinction between people
on
the sea and people
of
the sea, can we assume that littoral people are necessarily
of
the sea? We can look particularly at fisherfolk. 'For the fisherman and the sailor, water is life and death, sustenance and menace; it eats away the wood of the ship just as it does the life of a man who ventures out on the treacherous, bitter sea, putting his trust in the fragile board his foot stands on'.
47
Fisherfolk are different from peasants. Their catches usually depend on chance, not on wise husbandry. Certainly fishing is more dangerous than cultivating land, but we should remember that the further out one fishes the more dangerous it gets. In far offshore fishing it is not so much individualism which is created, but rather a necessary stress on cooperation. While it is true that gender divisions are more important than in peasant societies, this also is significant in terms of our current discussion of land and sea. Essentially a fishing family links land and sea, with the woman on the former, the man on the latter. Indeed, women may not only do the cleaning and processing and marketing, they may well cultivate land as well. The fishing family, whether extended or nuclear, has the possibility of exploiting both land and sea, while peasants have only the former option. Yet this exploitation differs dramatically between land and sea, for unlike agriculture fishing is a purely exploitative activity; as Dakin says, 'man is always taking away life from the sea – he neither sows nor fertilises the waters; only reaps.'
48
All this said, and while there is no doubt that fisherfolk are
of
the sea, not
on
it, the fact remains that they live as much on land as on sea, and fishing activities are crucially dependent on land matters: middle men, markets, processing plants. If we were to try to construct a continuum of dependence on the sea, we would have peasants and pastoralists at one end, then maybe various gradations of the inhabitants of the port cities, then fisherfolk, and finally the truly and purely maritime people, to whom we now turn. We have frequently stressed the dominance of land over sea, but just for a while we can turn to people who are by definition exceptional. These people are people
of
the sea, and unlike all others on the shore they are
not
amphibious: their lives are spent on or in the water.
Some such people are simply sailors who sail for a long time, so long that they may lose their land ties. We have an account of the merchants of the great port of Siraf around 1000. Some of them travelled so much that they were away at sea all their lives. The contemporary account goes on:
I was told of one man of Siraf who was so accustomed to the sea that for nearly forty years he did not leave his ship. When he came to land he sent his associates ashore to look after his business in all the towns, and he crossed over from his boat to another, when the vessel was damaged and needed to be repaired.
49
Yet such people must have been uncommon. For most sailors in the Indian Ocean the monsoon regime meant that there was considerable 'down time', as they waited for the change in the winds, and this time would be spent in port.
The best studied truly aquatic people today are the famous Marsh Arabs of the Tigris-Euphrates delta, occupying the vast palustral triangle between An-Nasiriyah, Al-'Amarah, and Basra. The classic account is by the colourful and somewhat anachronistic Wilfred Thesiger. He lived in the marshes off and on from 1951 to 1958, and loved it despite the mosquitos, snakes, very large wild pigs (some the size of a donkey, weighing over 300 lbs), fleas, and flooding each year. The area was also riddled with disease: dysentery was endemic, also bilharzia, yaws, hookworm, eye infections, and tuberculosis. He spent so much time with them because
They were cheerful and friendly and I liked the look of them. Their way of life, as yet little affected by the outside world, was unique and the Marshes themselves were beautiful. Here, thank God, was no sign of that drab modernity which, in its uniform of second-hand European clothes, was spreading like a blight across the rest of Iraq.
50
This was a totally aquatic society. 'The ground looked solid but felt very soggy. Actually it consisted of a layer of roots and decomposed vegetation floating on the surface.' Some of the islands were only a few square yards, others an acre, some tethered, some floating about.
51
The houses were built on these reed platforms floating on the water, and all transport was in boats, usually very small. As Thor Heyerdahl noted, 'A Marsh Arab can rarely walk more than a couple of steps before he has to enter his canoe.'
52
When it floods they just add a few more layers of reeds on the floors of their houses so they can keep dry. Once Thesiger was treating patients, and there were so many of them that 'the weight of my patients submerged the floor. I finished treating them ankle-deep in water. My host assured me that it did not matter, but nevertheless he seemed relieved when I moved on.'
53
This way of life goes back perhaps 5,000 years. Yet even when Thesiger was there in the 1950s the oil boom in Iraq had begun, and many Madan, as the Marsh Arabs call themselves, had moved off to Basra and Baghdad in search of fortune. As he noted: 'Soon the marshes will probably be drained; when this happens, a way of life that has lasted for thousands of years will disappear.'
54
Gavin Young was a bit of a protégé of Thesiger, and first visited the marshes with him. He spent a considerable time there in the early 1970s, but by then things had already changed dramatically. There was a tourist invasion, with guests living in floating house boats or government guest houses or tourist bungalows, and people got about in motor launches rather than canoes.
55
Much marsh land was being reclaimed for rice cultivation, and there were even then schemes to control the flooding of the Tigris and Euphrates and so reduce further the size of the marshes, or even drain them completely. Since Young's time this process has continued; Saddam Hussein may have the political aim of ending the marsh sanctuary of his Shia political opponents, but in any case the marshes would be doomed regardless of who ruled in Baghdad.
Tourists have invaded other aquatic areas also, such as the backwaters of Kerala in southwest India. These lie behind a coastal sand spit, and again their inhabitants can be seen as moving beyond amphibious to aquatic. The area consists of narrow strips of land, with flooded rice paddies all around. The men fish: indeed when Frater was travelling along them in 1987 he was surprised to see heads sticking up out of the water. These were the bottom walkers, who trawl by hand, walking along the bottom of the shallow waters.
56
The women work in the neighbouring paddy fields, and indeed many of the paddy fields are reclaimed to make islands. Some islands are substantial with stone levees or dykes, locally called bands. Others are less substantial, having only earthen bands which can collapse, especially during the monsoon. Transport and commerce, and getting to school, is by water, mostly in tiny dugouts.
A Dutchman in 1689 left us an enchanting picture of this society:
So pleasing that it is really worth seeing how nicely the embankment on all sides has been divided into small and some large village-plots by trees and houses, and how everywhere around these villages there are beautiful large and small islands, planted with grain, as far as the eye can gaze. Everything looks so pretty and green that every view pleases the heart and every time, through the beautiful tincture and perspective, the sight is equally enjoyable. And not least pleasing are the many small dikes, galley and other creeks, the cattle grazing here and there, fences of long reed around the houses and mats very finely braided. Many different kind of crafts from one piece of wood float to and fro, some only one fathom long, in which men are standing upright, carrying some goods.
57
Today many of the rice boats which for centuries have moved large cargoes of rice around the region have been converted into luxury house boats for western tourists and Indian yuppies and dot.com millionaires.