Journey of jallikattu: From a local event to Tamil totem

CHENNAI: Until recently, jallikattu was a localised Pongal event restricted to a few southern districts. But, in a matter of days, it has turned into a pan-Tamil issue, a symbol of Tamil culture for thousands of college and school students across the state.
The ban is being opposed by Tamils who’ve probably never seen jallikattu or been associated with it. People living abroad, and across faiths, and women who never participated in it, are now publicly supporting it, says DMK MP K Kanimozhi.“The ban and the unwillingness on the part of those making decisions to have a dialogue with those concerned have brought many Tamils together for jallikattu,” she adds.
What got jallikattu into national headlines was when a few thousand protesters arrived at Marina Beach in Chennai — a day after protesters in Alanganallur, Madurai, were evicted from the site. The students were assembling in Chennai to show solidarity to their counterparts from Madurai.
By Tuesday evening, Chennai, with its urban setting but a 30% migrant population, had become the epicentre of what was till then a rural, semi-urban protest. Some of the Marina protesters were first or second generation Chennaiites — they had either migrated from villages or their parents had. They knew, or their parents had told them, that cows and bulls are celebrated, even worshipped, as an indispensable part of village life on Mattupongal, which forms part of the three-day Pongal festival. Soon, the numbers swelled, driven largely by social media campaigns and text messages.
The scale of protests has been unexpected, says Badri Seshadri, Tamil writer and co-founder of cricinfo.com, who has been vocal against jallikattu. Cauvery, demonetisation (although that has little to do with Tamils specifically), the Centre not giving enough drought relief, a weak government and lack of towering political figures have encouraged the protesters, he adds. “Even some Hindutva groups are involved since they feel courts should not interfere in people’s traditions,” he adds.
Pongal has been an important but secular festival in the Tamil calendar. Sangam literature, nearly 2,000 years old, talks about ‘eru thazhuvuthal’ — hugging the bull — as a rite of passage for a man seeking a girl’s hand for marriage, says Stalin Rajangam, a Dalit writer who opposes jallikattu. “It’s conceivable that the practices have been observed in some form or the other over centuries,” he says.
In districts near Madurai, the sport is observed as ‘manju virattu’, or bull-chasing. The name jallikattu is a corruption of a Tamil term that refers to coins tied onto the bull’s forehead, and the winner is said to have tamed the bull if he could yank the coins off.
Like any village activity, jallikattu brings with it feudal values like caste domination, Rajangam says. “But the actual jallikattu event as a competitive sport and spectacle is only a few centuries old and restricted geographically,” he adds.
But, since the ban, various fringe Dravidian and Tamil nationalist groups as well as nearly all state political parties, have campaigned for jallikattu.
In the past, Dalit leaders and activists had baulked at getting involved, aware that Dalits end up being excluded or harassed during jallikattu events in villages. K Krishnaswamy, a prominent Dalit leader, remains a sharp critic of jallikattu. But VCK, another Dalit political party that seeks a pan-Tamil identity, has come out in support of protests.
It became the last straw for many Tamil students and youths when jallikattu didn’t happen this year despite promises by central ministers as well as the state government.