Re-assessing the Classic Frames: Intersection of Caste,Class and Gender in Neelakuyil

Introduction

The grand narratives erecting Indian tradition identify the caste system as one of the most critical tenets of its hierarchical social order. The institution of caste, regarding birth as the sole determinant of an individual’s status has stood the test of time in its varied hierarchical divides across geographical domains. Canonical Indian historical records differentiate between four major caste groups, namely, the Brahmin, the Kshatriya, the Vaisya, and the Sudra ¹ , each division having numerous sub-divisions. Though the British project of modernity challenged many aspects of caste conditioning, certain essentialist notions such as ‘impurity’ and ‘untouchability’ continue to resist radical social change. The caste system in the Indian state of Kerala ‘reveals several strange paradoxes’ (Menon, 1979, p. 70). Though the caste system did not exist in ancient Kerala society, the Brahmins attained a position of superiority during the eighth century A.D. As a result, the constructs of ‘untouchability and pollution came into vogue’ (Menon, 1979, p. 66). The social milieu of Kerala during the pre-independent phase was mainly characterized by a structure analogous to the four-tier system until the Period of Renaissance extending across the nineteenth and the early twentieth centuries (Panikkar, 2017, p. 1). The Namboothiri ² community occupied the upper strata regulating norms governing the populace belonging to subsequent lower castes, wherein, the Pulayas, Parayas, Mannans, Cheramans ³ , and so on were segregated as the ‘untouchables’. Significantly, the Nairs ⁴ remained the caste demarcating upper and lower categories. Indeed, the feudal chieftains called jenmis ⁵ , represented by the Nairs, owned the agricultural land and had ‘the power of life and death’ (Menon, 1979, p. 78) over the tenants or kudiyans ⁵ , thus constituting the upper class of Kerala society. Akin to kudiyan men, kudiyan (or proletarian) women who worked meticulously in paddy fields were under the threat of coercion, abuse and exploitation from upper-caste jenmis.

Seeking to trace either the history of women in Kerala or the efforts to abolish all indignities associated with caste or the trajectory of class consciousness would certainly touch and impact one another, especially with respect to the historical junctures which calibrate them. For instance, Kerala’s dominant historical sense is characterized by a past of various practices followed mainly by the upper caste-groups, such as pandavacharam (polyandry), marumakathayam (matrilineal inheritance), and sambandam ⁶ (non-legal marriage). As far as women of such caste groups are concerned, such practices were progressive in a few ways and regressive in many other ways. In the same vein, discourses associated with the subaltern women of Kerala’s past may encounter contradicting explications. For instance, the women associated with Channar Rebellion ⁷ or Melmundu Samaram (1859), celebrated as the origin of the first collective voice against caste and gender discrimination in Kerala, occupy a significant position in historical narratives. Nevertheless, historical accounts present a social reformer of the times, Ayya Vaikundar ⁷ as the mastermind behind Channar Rebellion. As per myth, legend and historical accounts, Nangeli ⁸ , the Ezhava ⁸ woman who lived in Cherthala, protested against what was then called mulakkaram ⁸ or breast tax by chopping off her breasts and became the symbol of subaltern resistance. But Nangeli lost her life in a few minutes following her phenomenal protest. This occurred between 1901 and 1916 (Menon, 2019, p. 13). Although Nangeli’s resistance came to be recognized as martyrdom, we are perturbed beyond doubt to find that the same humiliating and oppressive tax continued to be levied till 1924. These two instances show that though the ‘presence’ of subaltern women in Kerala’s socio-cultural and political history is non-negotiable, it is an uphill task to establish that such ‘historical’ women possessed an ‘agency’ pertaining to free will in collective and individual actions. Sacrifices like Nangeli’s, reverberating individual resistances, which create a transient hope for an impending change, would embrace oblivion, to be excavated much later in history. This is because of the intersections of patriarchal power, racial discrimination and economic disparities, assisting one another to unveil a complex system of discrimination resulting from symbiotically supportive caste, class and gender norms.

Neelakuyil or The Blue Cuckoo, is set in the Malayalam-speaking part of post-independent India, characterized by an agrarian rural backdrop (Bhaskaran & Kariat, 1954). The film, produced in Malayalam, penned jointly by Uroob (P. C. Kuttikrishnan) and P. Bhaskaran and directed by Ramu Kariat in association with P. Bhaskaran, has been given the status of a classic and remains a canonical work for film studies across regional and national contours. Starring Miss Kumari, Sathyan, Prema and P. Bhaskaran himself in the lead roles, its contemporariness became the hallmark of a stellar theatre run. Set in the context of the ‘progressive consciousness’ (Zacharia, 2020) of the 1950s, ⁹ the film is an example of the genre of films that comes close to Italian neo-realism by having taken up an approach that presents a slice of life as it is from the social landscape of Kerala. Besides ensuring the inclusion of a range of characters representing differences with respect to religion, caste and class, displaying diverse signifiers of the contemporary social scene of post-independent Kerala, the film exhibits a nonpareil combination of narrative coherence, cinematographic brilliance and acting skills. A celluloid creation of this worth was nearly unrealizable at the time of its production, which paved the way for its tremendous success. The film went on to bag the All India Certificate of Merit for Best Feature Film and President’s Silver Medal for Best Feature Film in Malayalam (1954).

The award-winning film’s central themes include moral upgradation, rejection of caste norms and societal sensitization regarding the rights of a pauran or citizen. Nevertheless, the carefully knitted macrocosm of Kerala’s societal structure of the times flaunts gender stereotypes and the dominating dimensions of the upper-caste man supplemented by self-victimization of the lower-caste woman. With regard to the societal panorama embedded in Neelakuyil, contextualizing the protagonist Neeli suffices to situate the film within the socio-cultural landscape of Kerala, vis-a-vis gender, caste and class. These identities play a crucial role in the overall plot-construction and the film’s societal relevance. Neeli’s femininity, caste and class markers characterize her exuberance in certain parts of the film and in turn, become the underlying constituents manoeuvring her desolation. This aligns Neeli’s identity with the subaltern woman’s traces in extant historical records and Kerala’s historical consciousness. This is where the concept of intersectionality becomes relevant with respect to the socio-cultural histories, literature and popular culture of Kerala. My attempt here is to interrogate some of the essentialist assumptions reinforcing Neelakuyil’s claim to classical status as a woman-centric and caste-critiquing film and thereby unravel the crisis of Neeli, caught between the hypocrisy of individuals and the mindless hostility of society. Through this article, I argue that in the patrifocal and patriarchal society unravelled in Neelakuyil, gender-based oppression conjuncts with hierarchical class divide and caste-based social codes in manipulating a woman’s life culminating in her suicide. Drawing upon the perspective of intersectionality and theories of Dalit-feminism, a combination of discourse analysis and textual analysis is employed in the study.

Kimberle Williams Crenshaw, an American philosopher, introduced the concept of ‘intersectionality’ in 1989. Her article begins by citing the first volume on Black women’s studies, ‘All the women are white, all the blacks are men, but some of us are brave’(qtd. in Gopal et al., 2020, p. 189). Crenshaw describes intersectionality as ‘a method and a disposition, a heuristic and analytical tool’ to look at, understand and analyse ‘oppressions’ based on various social categories, including race, gender, class, sexuality, disability, nationality and so on (Runyan, 2018). In the Indian context, intersectionality becomes socially relevant, theoretically and politically debatable because of the infinitely diverse terrains of hierarchical differences pervading gender, caste, class and many other categorizations. Melting down the focus on intersections of caste, class and gender in the lives of women, Crenshaw’s division of intersectionality into three categories becomes pertinent. They are (a) structural intersectionality; (b) political intersectionality; and (c) representational intersectionality. Structural intersectionality looks at the societal structure, which includes all ‘categories’ that ‘intersect’ to oppress women. Political intersectionality pertains to what operates as a ‘silencing’ force at the junctures where the oppressive categories intersect. Representational intersectionality deals with the culture industry’s persistent creation of ‘stereotypes’, in a way, denaturalizing subjectivities and self-identities (Crenshaw, 1991, pp. 12–21). In the context of Neelakuyil, encountering structural intersectionality is inevitable as ‘the category women’ in the film finds stability inside a ‘heteronormative’ (Smith-Laing, 2017, pp. 25–31) patriarchal enclosure. Certain caste-driven codes are found to have moulded the identities of every individual within the narrative. These codes play a crucial role in determining the survival chances of Neeli, who has conceived out of wedlock. They act as a silencing force at the denouement, taking everything away, including space, language and love, which thus far belonged to Neeli, in fact, were possessed by her. This solidifies the presence of a political intersectionality whose agents are embodied by the men belonging to all sections of the society, including Neeli’s father, Chathappan. The most visible problematics regarding the authenticity of the way in which the woman/Dalit/proletariat projects their self through articulations(dialogues and songs), attires, body language and distinctly visible honouring of the man/upper-caste/landlord, charges the scope of representational intersectionality.

Matrilineal Patriarchy and Class Society

‘A feminist perspective recognizes that the hierarchical organizing of the world around gender is key to maintaining social order; that to live lives marked male and female is to live different realities’ (Menon, 2012, p. 8). But simultaneously, to be a proletarian Dalit woman is to occupy ‘the marginal, relatively powerless position with reference to every dominant framework’ (Menon, 2012, p. viii) embedding her. As reflected in different narratives, class oppression and patriarchy assume varied forms in specific socio-economic contexts. But both enter a jam of dialectical tension in the intersectional analyses of texts. Caught between the two forces, the subaltern woman has to abide by the rules set and executed by paternal figures, and also work hard contributing to the wealth possessed by the upper classes. A clear-cut economic divide between jenmi or landlords and kudiyan or tenants characterizes the societal set-up unravelled in Neelakuyil. While owners of the agricultural land are situated mostly in their traditional household called the tharavad, the site of production or ‘property’ in Marxian terms, a typical paddy field is occupied by the labouring classes or proletariat. Both men and women of the working class, including the protagonist, Neeli and her parents are involved in agricultural labour, which demands a lot of physical exertion, without ensuring adequate monetary benefits. When Neeli projects a lack of interest in work, her father, Chathappan, admonishes the lethargic daughter to join her mother soon and assist her in the paddy field. Thus, as far as Neeli is concerned, participating in the process of production has been placed outside the gamut of familial conditioning, dissuading female mobility.

Concerning the male protagonist Sreedharan, a school teacher, his Nair ⁴ caste identity is unclear as long as he derives carnal satisfaction even out of Neeli’s very presence in his house, notably out of wedlock. As soon as the question of marriage pops up, the dormant caste-Nair within Sreedharan leaps out. In the pre-modern social landscape of Kerala:

though families were based on mother’s home and organized through the female line, the controllers and decision makers were men. In Nair households…there was no stigma about changing partners…. A man who was no longer wanted would find his sleeping mat and personal effects left outside the door of the house where he was accustomed to visiting; signalling the relationship was over. (Jeffrey, 2004, p. 649)

Sreedharan can be located at the receiving end of the ill effects of practices such as sambandam ¹⁰ prevalent in the Nair community. Besides, the encapsulation of an ideal daughter/niece/wife to men of two generations who are deeply ingrained in a long-standing resistance to matriliny is to be found in the demure self of Nalini. Her modest demeanour and respect for customs hardly appear superficial. Performances assuring fidelity to the male partner, such as fasting for his health and well-being reflect self-driven servitude. She fits perfectly into the mould of standards for women set by men to ‘reshape marriage and conjugality in the image of the patrilineal monogamous nuclear family ideal’ (Devika, 2009, p. 22). We are likely to perceive a reflection of Indulekha, the female protagonist of the first ever printed novel ¹¹ in Malayalam, in Nalini’s visage. Still, her constant alignment with the patriarchal prescripts makes her a foil to the self-assertive heroine who defends tradition and patriarchy to unite with the man of her choice.

Free-flowing sexual desire, invading the bedrock of class and caste parameters, poses a threat to the sustenance of caste bloodlines and thus, the disciplined family becomes an essential superstructural component of modern regimes of production and wealth creation (Devika, 2009, pp. 25–26). Numerous films showcasing the Malayali upper-class male epitomes of high morality and honour extol free-flowing sexual desire as a natural constituent of feudal pride and celebrate the same as a time-honoured embellishment to their masculine vigour. Still, the hegemonic male heroes follow an indispensable pattern of maintaining a disciplined family outside the self-satisfaction received out of a spectrum of choices ranging from pre-marital affairs to being reckless libertines. Asuravithu (1968), Kuttettan (1990), Devasuram (1993), Sphadikam (1995) and Aaram Thampuran (1997) are some of the crowd-pleasing mainstream films, paradoxically flaunting debauched yet magnetic male protagonists. Sreedharan, one of the pioneers of Malayalam cinema’s privileged heroes, is no different from his successors. On the other side, one among the many ‘major shifts in the modern imagining of ideal femininity in Kerala in the twentieth century’ (Devika, 2009, p. 25), unlike its variant forms in the preceding times, was the conceptualization of strict adherence to monogamy, an assurance that a woman will have only one husband in her lifetime. Neeli verbalizes her conviction in this way: ‘No. Never. I won’t be able to marry anyone else. I have given my heart to you’ (Neelakuyil 54:26–54:30).

A fusion of the man’s consciousness of his privileges and the woman’s dedication to the monogamous ideal is systematically established in the film. Whether this applies exclusively to subaltern women is a question that bears out a debate in relation to the different approaches taken by creators to mark upper and lower-caste women in narratives. The ambivalence traces its roots to scriptural discourses, which also portray Namboothri women as chained by rules of chastity and the lower caste women, free from fasteners on their sexuality. In O. Chandu Menon’s novel Indulekha ¹¹ , Indulekha’s resistance to the Namboothiri and choice to marry Madhavan are backed by her education, inherited wealth and moreover, by Madhavan’s non-betrayal of mutual trust. Considering Neeli’s case, her trust is betrayed and choice is blocked out by the man in question. Besides, the cultural construct of the monogamous ideal unfolds as a self-oath in the line of protecting the honour of Sreedharan, fuelled by her community’s certainty that a woman bearing a child out of wedlock remains an outcaste. Hypothetically, at the dramatic turn of events following the father’s public display of fury, any Pulaya man of her generation could have accepted her as a partner. Unsurprisingly, the influence of the monogamous ideal has crossed caste as well as class boundaries to penetrate deep into the Pulaya imaginary. Here, Neeli occupies the threshold of being silenced and outcasted, signalling the operation of political intersectionality.

Latent conflict, as observed in the film also contributes to the action of political intersectionality. In Neelakuyil, conflict would have emerged and developed between the two hierarchically demarcated classes if Sreedharan’s identity was revealed at the juncture of the disclosure of Neeli’s pregnancy and the public humiliation that ensues. Kerala’s viewer response of the times was undoubtedly influenced by thespians such as Thopil Bhasi, whose much celebrated stage-plays foregrounded nothing but working-class unrest and the ensuing representations of class conflict. The depiction of love relationships within the plays remained the major crowd-catcher. Bhasi’s plays such as Ningalenne Communist Aaki or You Made Me a Communist (1952) and Mudiyanaya Puthran (1961) engage the communist ideology with specific cultural contexts, utilizing man-woman love relationships as their subtexts. Contrary to the spectator’s expectation, not a single class-based ‘conflict talk’ or expression of dissonance with respect to the injustice done to Neeli is found in Neelakuyil. However men’s disagreement in ‘cross-gender talk’ is unsubtly found both in high and low classes. In certain riveting gender related ‘discourse patterns in talk’ (Kryeziu, 2015, pp. 3–14), women speakers hardly negate or contradict the male conversational partner and quickly agree with the man’s opinions and decisions. In the shot where Neeli gets ostracized, her mother is emotionally charged but not in a position to contradict her father’s decision. Similarly, when Nalini is admonished by her uncle, the Karanavar (elder-most family member), in matters as simple as lighting the dusk lamp and chanting the disyllabic word deepam, she is all ears. Contrarily, Nalini’s mother, Lekshmi, projects the image of an opinionated woman, especially when she vocalizes her views regarding the necessity of asking for a woman’s consent in marriage. Interestingly, situating Lekshmi’s opinion in the overall plot would reveal that her words have been the perfect catalyst aiding Sreedharan’s marriage with Nalini, rather than representing a voiced woman among two generations of submissive ones.

Sexual Agency and the Proletarian-Pulaya-Woman

Tracing the implications of class-culture on female sexual agency, as reflected in Neelakuyil is uncomplicated, yet bidirectional. When the spotlight falls on the ‘female labouring body’, peculiarly in forward-looking writings and films, it has to be ‘doubly desexualized—first as a maternal woman and second as a proletarian woman’ (Devika, 2009, p. 29). Likewise, the upper-caste man enjoys prerogative rights over the body and sexuality of a lower-caste woman, and for her it is a privilege granted freely by him (Alosyous et al., 2020, p. 179; Devika, 2009, p. 29). At least in the first-half, materializing the Dalit (subaltern) woman’s intimate world, the inverse of desexualization appears as the project of Neelakuyil. But, the female labouring body is eventually sexualized, notably when Sreedharan makes her think he is providing security and shelter for her in distress, unabashedly projecting his repressed desire. In the oeuvre of Malayalam cinema, male persuaders have continuously relied on figurative language for the metaphorical glorification of a female partner’s or suitor’s physicality, implying that the spectator’s inattention to the association of hegemonic masculinity and metaphor is part of the larger plan of a willing suspension of disbelief. According to the famous lyric, Manennum Vilikilla (Neelakuyil 28:12–30:36) sung by Sreedharan, Neeli is ‘not a deer, neither a peacock, but a lamp embellishing the high sky’ (Neelakuyil 28:12–28:16). Skin of the Pulaya woman, an aberration to the dominant notion of beauty is extolled unconditionally by the schoolmaster. The song Manennum Vilikilla provides a cluster of cultural referents in which the Dalit female body is covertly sexualized. In doing so, the film is constructing a discourse in which the Dalit female body is situated at the focus of the masculine gaze, fashioning a ‘female body’ devoid of consciousness regarding her ‘self’ or ‘class’ (Mathur, 2021). Once acknowledged by the elite man, the heroine feels supremely joyous and fills her thoughts with the moments shared with him. The apparent dominance of romantic inclination towards Sreedharan over all other reveries concerning survival and sustenance carries connotations of a complete loss of Neeli’s autonomy. While her fellow women work stringently in the paddy field, Neeli loses interest in work and reminisces about herself as Sreedharan’s companion.

The implication of this behaviour is multifocal, far from the denotative level. In the aftermath of their love-making, the Dalit proletarian rustic woman’s unsatisfied desire and repressed sexuality are highlighted against the hero’s typical involvement with his workspace, friends and family. In the song sequence, Ellarum Chollanu (Neelakuyil 46:03–48:44), Sreedharan is found in an almost standstill position while Neeli appears restless, moving relentlessly around him. The rustic background of the song sequence implies Neeli’s workspace, disregarding which she devotes herself to a man. Subsequently, Neeli is desexualized as a wraith occupying the moors. She is abandoned simultaneously by her family and the man of her choice to inhabit the dusty quarters of the street. The ‘labouring body’ of Neeli, expected to work hard and contribute to the ‘process of production’, is propelled out of the orbit, neither allowing her to survive as a ‘maternal woman’ nor continuing to serve as a ‘proletarian’(Devika, 2009, p. 29) one, instancing structural intersectionality.

Caste and Gender Dynamics

The makers of the Indian constitution speculated that caste could not be ‘abolished’ but could be ‘confined to the private realm’ (Chakravarti, 2003, p. 140). In actual practice, caste and caste discrimination including untouchability continued in public and private realms. The ‘citizens’ cautioning Sankaran Nair against touching the ‘baby born to a Pulaya-woman’ represents the active spectre of caste. Pulayas ³ , having been misrepresented or unrepresented in the past, were forced to occupy the peripheries of civilization, attributing their unclean body and lack of intelligence as the grounds of aversion. Caste norms that naturalize subordination were embedded in this long-thriving disciplining. In line with such a past of misrepresentation, Neeli’s mother gets mentioned as Pulachithalla, an uncomplimentary term used to identify a caste-Pulaya woman who happens to be the protagonist’s parent. On the same grounds, a caste Namboothiri gets offended at the sight of Neeli, in an unexpected encounter. This establishes that the setting of Neelakuyil is peopled by those who practice caste and embody its principles.

To be noted with respect to the upper caste man who exploits lower caste women is the ‘contradiction’ of caste in practice. Claiming to be the flag-bearer of ‘caste purity’ and therefore not wishing to associate with an ‘impure’ Pulaya woman, he finds no trouble having sexual relationships with her (Alosyous et al., 2020, p. 177). The same body, beholding which elicits antipathy, becomes ideal for satisfying masculine desire. The mindset of the Brahmin priest who rapes Sohini in the Untouchable (1935) reflects the double standard. Brahminical supremacy has always remained the first reference point in discourses addressing Dalit resistance and subversive upshots. The specific case of Kerala seeks an understanding of the numerous caste divisions which raised and declined in economic and political power during different historical periods. During the post-independent era, even before state-formation in 1956, a gradual decline of feudalism had begun. This meant a radical shift in power blocs, marked by the rise of the Nair ⁴ and Ezhava ⁸ sects in economic power. If men of one community benefited from trade relations, the other ascended as a result of a foregone association with the Brahmins as karyasthan (manager), vakeel (advocate) and even as sambandakaran (non-legal husband).

Focusing on the exploitation of the poor Pulaya woman, Neeli, by the school teacher Sreedharan, an embodiment of concrete ideals regarding liberty and equality of people across caste and class boundaries, it is clear that his patriarchal privilege dominates caste and class superiority over the Dalit/proletariat. In addition, Sreedharan’s initial advances on Neeli do not find direct depiction on screen. The spectator is unaware whether the relationship commences with consent or assault. The symbolic use of the thunder-rain metaphor accompanied by an abrupt change of musical cadence has two significant implications. Firstly, Sreedharan, the Nair protagonist, is guarded against early disfavour that would arise out of a depiction of a violent assault on Neeli. Secondly, both the possibilities of consensual relationship and forcible violation are problematic with regard to the caste-gender dynamics. Highlighting or hinting at the caste-Pulaya’s desire or woman’s desire would be a manifestation of the language of intimate rights, which was inaccessible to both.

On the other hand, caste-Nair’s desire and man’s desire were subtexts in many literary and art forms characterizing the cultural imaginary of Kerala. Unlike the educated and considerably wealthy school teacher, Neeli seems hardly aware that ostracism is among the several implications of a woman’s self-motivated or circumstantial transgression. Neeli’s obedience, drenched in an unapologetic self-victimization acquires a tragic colour, particularly when her Dalit identity gets highlighted. Thus, Neeli has been conditioned to follow the caste code of male superiority-respect necessitating female inferiority deference undermining her self-identity and self-respect (Alosyous et al., 2020, p. 178). Keeping aside all ambiguities pervading the beginning of their relationship, it is evident that it is Neeli who gets magnetized and runs into him throughout the later meetings. At the revelation of Neeli’s pregnancy, Sreedharan’s immediate retort surprises both the heroine and the spectator alike:

‘Neeli. Listen to me. There is a solution. Let someone marry you…The best decision is that which evades danger…Shouldn’t I revere my caste’? Neeli retorts (in a yielding and submissive tone): ‘So, what about me? I may get expelled from my home..from my caste. I don’t desire for pleasure. Still, I wish to survive’ (Neelakuyil 53:54–55:33).

At this juncture, Sreedharan’s words illustrate an assertion of hierarchical power that indicates an enslaver/slave dichotomy. Neeli’s, conversely, hints at the commencement of constructing the stereotypical image of a helpless and much harassed unwed mother. But, the narrative’s rush past melodrama to a disenchanting realism requires its protagonist to endure much more than what such situations are suggestive of. When she compels Sreedharan to marry her or else end her life, Sreedharan pushes her off and walks away. The subsequent montage juxtaposes the image of strolling Sreedharan over that of Neeli, lying on the ground in tears. This conveys how effortless it is for the upper-caste man to escape and leave the lower-caste lover to life-long perils. Subsequently, the dirge that dedicates itself to Neeli, sung by an anonymous Pulaya-man, Engine Nee Marakum (Neelakuyil 58:43–1:01:30) traces her subjectivity- desire, dreams, pleasure and pain through a series of nature-imagery. Alternately, when Neeli articulates her thoughts through a song, Ellarum Chollanu (Neelakuyil 46:03–8:44), the caste-male forms its subject. Implying the operation of representational intersectionality, Engine Nee Marakum suggests that those were the times when Dalit men began becoming the voice of both themselves and their female counterparts. Contrarily, the Dalit woman’s voicelessness seems to have stemmed from the dichotomy evident in all relationships around her landlord/tenant, Nair/Pulaya, father/mother, projecting plain ideological subservience of one and the dominance of another. The ‘dominant’ in each duo is served and obediently tolerated by the ‘subject’. The same ideological subservience is demanded out of Neeli, in front of the larger society as well as individuals, including Chathappan, Sreedharan, and the Namboothiri. This is the hegemonic control, construing which has unfolded the intersections of caste, class and gender in an individual-Neeli. Hence, the suicide that results from all agonies forced upon her could be read both as an act resulting from desperation and as a signifier of the annihilation of the Dalit/proletarian woman’s identity from the entire filmic discourse and its sociopolitical setting, characterized mainly by the project of propagating the ideology of progressiveness.

The Paradoxical Progressive Thought

The subversive Left wave in Kerala, which began much before the 1950s, compelled its torchbearers to promulgate and mobilize the ideas of equality against caste violence and class markers among the public. The continuum of Kerala Modernity was informed by this progressive movement encompassing a combination of esoteric discourse generated from intellectual quarters and the relentless efforts made by organic intellectuals in acquainting the working classes with the new thought and the prospects of radical social change. E.M.S. Namboothiripad, the widely admired communist leader of Kerala and a prolific theorist of Leninist ideologies, stressed literature’s immense potential as a vehicle of progressive thought. Cinema was another genre looked upon by leftist thinkers to hail the tenets of progressive ideology and its social relevance. In the social context of Neelakuyil, contemporary social transformation in the form of an upsurge of progressive ideology among the educated Malayalis is mirrored in how the postman Sankaran Nair perceives Neeli’s child. If Sreedharan owns the hero’s space in the melodramatic parts of the film, Sankaran Nair occupies centre stage in depicting the socio-realistic scenario. His fervorous words about the baby: ‘He is a citizen of this land…He has rights’ (Neelakuyil 1:35:59–1:36:03), have been lauded as emanating from politically conscious Kerala society seamlessly resisting the social evil of caste prevailing at the time.

Sankaran Nair is at the forefront of claiming and ensuring the newborn’s rights as a ‘citizen’. He silences the unsympathetic crowd, including the unidentified offender/father. Sankaran Nair’s language reflects an apparently honest effort to supplant the stigmatized mentality of his community with progressive thoughts. He talks to the point through a reflexive use of appropriate words. Unsurprisingly, another ‘citizen’ who was made to encounter unpardonable torments in the same land by the same people could be offered a space in his house but not in the society. Nair could not relieve Neeli of her plight or reclaim her place atleast inside her own home. Nair, a prototype of the much adored ‘good man’ or reformer in many Malayalam films is seemingly sure of his vulnerability in voicing his support for a transgressive woman, that too in public. This shows that Neeli’s political subjectivity is ruled over primarily by patriarchy and subsequently by caste and class. P. Bhaskaran, the actor who has given life to Sankaran Nair and the auteur who gave life to Neeli’s story, has slipped past Sreedharan’s villainy. Despite his moralistic vigour and social commitment, Sankaran Nair enters an unlikely compromise with the precise embodiments of patriarchal standards. For instance, the film sympathizes with the senescent feudal lords who remember their heydays of absolute patriarchal control, economic stability and class-superiority in an evocative fashion. Witnessing the hardened economic crisis of the tharavad, Sankaran Nair offers monetary aid to the bereaved Karanavar. The ambiguity pervading a tilt of the film’s angle of inclination towards erstwhile feudalism reaches its zenith when the Karanavar’s lament, accompanied by a reminiscence of lost glory, gets highlighted to percolate the spectator’s emotions.

Pitilessness and Canonization

There exist similarities among widely discussed cases of smarthavicharam ¹² or excommunication of women conducted by the Namboothiri men, where the ‘caste council’ brings the woman ‘accused of illicit relationship’ for trial. This reflects a unanimous adherence to toxic rules and that they were followed by the entire community (Agarwal, 1994, p. 429). The excommunication of Kuriyedath Thathri ¹² and her outrageous revelation of hitherto clandestine memories of sexual liaisons, along with an array of name, including those of paternal protectors, form an integral folio of the cultural imaginary of Kerala. Unsurprisingly, an excommunicated man could affirm his innocence by procuring a letter from the concerned council. Among several tribes, excommunication was the penalty the tribal moopan ¹³ had imposed on ‘both men and women for violation of taboos’ (Nair, 2008, p. 179).

Nevertheless, the Pulaya community belonging to the peasant class of the 1950s did not have a strict power structure within their caste or dictatorial members belonging to an upper echelon (Moffatt, 1979, p. 218). On the other hand, the existence of patriarchal control over women was non-negotiable. Consequently, acceptance or abandonment of a daughter in distress was the sole prerogative of the male parent. Here, Chathappan, in his act of disowning, excommunicating and dislocating Neeli, follows the formula of the conventional upper caste people’s social and cultural behaviour, rituals and customs (Roy, 2021, p. 316). Chathappan adheres to honour talk indicating a lack of basic desire to stand at Neeli’s side. Gender norms that most patrifocal social groups sanction govern the familial bonds of the subaltern woman. Simultaneous criminalization of love and disrespect towards the woman’s agency surface in Chathappan’s non-compromising attitude towards her filial disobedience. The film communicates that the essence of paternal control over the actions, reactions and even desires of the female self is much the same for landowners and tenants, upper and lower castes, and dominant and marginalized classes. Uma Chakravarti expounds:

…Dalit thinkers have argued that women are less oppressed within the Dalit castes because there is less of the burden of the pativrata ideology among Dalit women who do not regard their husbands as ‘honoured’ beings who must be respected at all times…. However, it is not as if patriarchies do not exist among the Dalit castes, or that Dalit women do not have to struggle against the patriarchies within their own communities. (Chakravarti, 2003, p. 61)

The implication of the concept of patriarchy, a system of social structures and practices in which men dominate, oppress and exploit women (Walby, 1990, p. 20) for Neelakuyil is direct and plain. As the dominant caste male is perceived to be both superior to the lower caste female and the repository of caste purity, the male offspring born of a dominant caste man (Sreedharan) from a woman of low caste status (Neeli) is still considered to be superior in caste status (Alosyous et al., 2020, p. 179). Perhaps the most essential enquiry in this context is the relationship between the transgressive conduct of Dalit women and the concept of redemption through punishments imposed on them. How female sexuality is steeped in a disciplinary mechanism entailed in various punishments portioned out of patriarchal power operates in the guise of paternal anxieties. In turn, these are recognized as invariable icons of moral upgradation of a particular social group. To the transgressive woman, such a cleansing that results from punishment bears the ultimately important control over one’s embodiment away. While Neeli is deprived of basic rights over her own life and demoralized for executing her choice, the active re-construction of Sreedharan’s broken image gains a peculiar momentum at each stage of the plot’s progress following Neeli’s demise. Sreedharan’s sympathy for his son Mohan is clearly established, firstly, when Sankaran Nair lashes out at him and subsequently, when he gets bullied at school for being born to a Pulachi. Neeli’s memories are blotted out and Sreedharan’s paternity becomes the cardinal issue. This is further strengthened by means of his remorse and confession before Nalini:

‘He is the fruit of my biggest sin’ (Neelakuyil 1:49:28–1:49:29).

Malayalam cinema has invested its male protagonists with a responsibility to sanctify one’s paternity, though they are ostensibly shrouded in flaws including substance use and non-consensual sexual endeavours. Sreedharan, who abandoned Neeli and turned away from the newborn, gets reframed tardily for his son. His crime seems condonable, provided the paternal instincts take enough time to grow, mature and explode one fine day. At a point, the film weaves together the couple’s childlessness, Mohan’s fever and Sankaran Nair’s final decision to take Mohan to his father—super-additions to the project of distilling Sreedharan. The plot twist is an expectant route towards the resolution in a nuclear upper-class Nair family. The trajectory followed by the plot indicates this clear shift from the foregrounding of a Dalit/proletarian woman’s exploitation to the acknowledgement of her son’s identity displaced from the lower class/Pulaya mother to the upper class/Nair father.

Conclusion

Neelakuyil’s spirit of forward thinking contradicts itself when Mohan identifies himself as Sreedharan Nair’s son despite all the ill-treatments lavished out in his mother’s name. The narrative seems to fortify patriarchal, patrilineal and patrifocal ideologies re-assessed and re-asserted by the turn of events following the disclosure of Neeli’s transgression. Positioned within the patriarchal order, Neeli is a victim of gender-based oppression, which has joined hands with the hierarchical class divide and caste-based social codes in pulling the strings of her life which ends in self-destruction. Thus, Neeli becomes a celluloid mirror reflecting the lives of subaltern women of Kerala, who have found fewer representations in Malayalam cinema. The blue cuckoo who lost her dreams first, livelihood next and life, in the end, has been ‘buried deep’ when the film culminates in the happy note of a nuclear upper-class, high-caste family. In the long run, it is perceptible from the film that the language of ‘progress’ or ‘progressive thought’ encompassed in all the reformatory movements in Kerala, articulated through diverse discursive spaces including films, novels, documentaries, news and so on descends into an aporia while dealing with gendered subjectivities and caste bodies, and correspondingly, caste subjectivities and gendered bodies. If Neeli is ceded to the fringes of her socio-cultural world, what taboo-breaking, ambitious and self-assertive women receive is even more in the real world. Neelakuyil espouses the fact that although the oppressive schema prevalent in Kerala could be shuffled in terms of class, caste and gender, these factors continue to be disadvantageous vantage points. Gender asserts its hegemony even at a spatial and temporal dimension that has witnessed the withdrawal of the double disadvantage posed by caste and class. Neelakuyil’s relevance lies mainly in the panorama of visual and aural signifiers it offers, aiding us in discerning such tangled intersections scattered across the text.