How Hereditary Weaving Communities
Shaped India’s Textile Identity
By Chuppala Nagesh Bhushan
|
Long before the
factory existed, India clothed the world from the loom. Behind this
achievement stood not individual artisans, but entire communities — peoples
for whom weaving was not merely a trade, but a birthright, a cosmology, a way
of inhabiting the earth. |
India has been a producer of cotton cloth from time immemorial and is
generally regarded as the birthplace of cotton manufacture. The marvellously
woven tissues and sumptuously inwrought apparel of ancient India were not only
used within the country but found their way into Egypt, Greece and Rome. In
ancient Rome, Indian muslins and chintzes were the rage of fashionable women.
Yarn of very high counts was then in use and it is a marvel how such fine yarn
was spun by hand in those days. The principal centres of this ancient industry
were Dacca, Masulipatam and Paithan — names that recur like a refrain through
centuries of trade records, travellers’ accounts, and court inventories.
But behind the fabric was always a person. And behind the person was
always a community. The hand-weaving industry of India was not, at its
foundation, an industry of scattered independent craftsmen. It was an industry
of castes — of hereditary communities for whom the loom was the pivot of
social identity, religious obligation, and economic life simultaneously. To
understand how India clothed itself — and how it clothed much of the world — is
to understand these communities: who they were, how they organised themselves,
what they made, and what they lost.
Weaving as Dharma: The Cosmic Dimension of the Craft
In the ancient economy of India, every occupation was connected to a
caste, and each caste stuck firmly to its caste dharma — its rightful,
divinely ordained calling. This was not merely an economic arrangement. It was
a cosmological one. To weave, if you were born a Sali or a Devanga or a Tanti,
was to fulfil your place in the order of creation. To abandon the loom was not simply
to change jobs; it was, in some sense, to abandon yourself.
The social standing of the weaving castes reflected this cosmic
seriousness. The 1942 report of the Fact-Finding Committee on Handloom and
Mills is unambiguous: the weavers were counted among the Vaisyas — the third of
the four principal divisions in the Hindu caste system — and many among them
wore the sacred thread, the mark of the twice-born. This was not a lowly
station. In earlier centuries, when the courts of India’s rulers depended on
weavers to clothe their establishments and supply the luxury goods that
announced their power and refinement, the weaving castes had enjoyed
considerable social prestige.
The weaving castes bore different names in different linguistic regions,
but their shared character was unmistakable. Among Hindus, the principal
communities were the Salis, Devangas, Koshtis, Khatris, Tantis, and the
Sourashtras. Among Muslims, the Jolahas — also known as Momins — were the
dominant weaving community, concentrated in Bihar, Bengal, and the United
Provinces. Each community had its patron deity, its festivals, its local punchayat,
and its own internal economy of knowledge about fibre, count, colour, and
design.
|
2.72M Registered handloom workers, India 1941 |
1M+ Padmasalis alone, across five provinces |
500 Thread counts achieved at Dacca muslin looms |
The Geography of Hereditary Knowledge
What distinguished these communities from mere collections of craftsmen
was the depth and specificity of their territorial specialisation. Over many
centuries, each weaving community had staked out not merely a fabric but a
world — a particular set of raw materials, techniques, designs and markets that
constituted its distinctive contribution to Indian cloth. The result, by the
early 20th century, was a map of extraordinary intricacy, in which geography
and genealogy had become inseparable.
The report remarks that such a degree of geographic specialisation “did
not perhaps obtain in any other industry in any part of the world before the
Industrial Revolution.” This is not hyperbole. In the district of Salem alone
in Madras Province, the town itself concentrated on high-class silk and
lace-bordered saris, while smaller surrounding centres specialised in plain
cotton saris and dhotis for common wear — a division of labour so fine that it
operated at the level of individual townships within a single district.
|
Region |
Specialisation &
Community |
|
Dacca,
Bengal |
Home of the legendary muslin with counts
reaching 500, whose flowered jamdani patterns enjoyed a world reputation.
Dacca muslins clothed fashionable women in ancient Rome and were sought
across India at marriage seasons. |
|
Masulipatam,
Madras |
Birthplace of the kalamkari — printed calico
whose technique other countries learned from India — famous all over Europe
and Western Asia. The East India Company’s trade in chintzes was built on
this single town’s looms. |
|
Benares,
U.P. |
Silk saris a household name across India,
much sought after at marriage seasons. A large and highly skilled weaving
population plying about 25,000 looms. Weavers formed 25 per cent of the
city’s entire population. |
|
Ahmedabad,
Bombay |
The kinkhabs — silk brocades shot with gold
and silver thread — commanded markets from Cairo to Peking for centuries. The
craft was associated with the Muslim weaving community of the city. |
|
Paithan
& Aurangabad, Hyderabad |
Chief centres of himru and brocade in the
Telugu-speaking Nizam’s Dominions. Alongside Narayanpet and Nizamabad, these
formed the silk-weaving heartland of the Deccan plateau. |
|
Multan
& Amritsar, Punjab |
Multan for silk fabrics and daryae; Ludhiana
for pashmina and shawls; Amritsar for mercerised cotton and artificial silk
coatings. The Punjab’s six high-density districts contained over 4,000 looms
per 1,000 sq. miles. |
|
Chanderi
& Maheswar, C. India |
Chanderi in Gwalior noted for silk shalu,
turban cloth and high-class fabrics. Maheswar in Indore State long famous for
saris of fine gold-thread and silk texture with elaborate designs in body and
border. |
The Guilds: Corporate Life of the Weaving Caste
The weaving communities were never merely aggregations of individual
craftsmen. They were corporate bodies — complete with craft guilds, local punchayats,
patron deities, and community temples whose scale bore witness to the former
prosperity of the industry. The 1942 report draws an explicit comparison to the
craft guilds of mediaeval Europe, and the parallel is illuminating: like their
European counterparts, Indian weaving guilds regulated apprenticeship,
standardised working hours, maintained quality, and celebrated communal
festivals.
At Dacca — once the supreme weaving city in the world — the weavers’
guild maintained strict rules governing the hours of work, laid down standards
for the production of cloth, and kept certain festivals as holidays throughout
the year. In more recent times, the wider weaving castes had graduated from
local guilds to all-India associations: both the Padmasalis and the Devangas
had organised associations that convened national conferences to discuss the
problems of the industry. Among Muslim weavers, the Jamiat-ul-Ansar in the
United Provinces and the Jamiat-ul-Momineen in Bengal served analogous
functions.
|
“The weaving castes had
a fairly high social position and scorned to take the plough or wield the
hatchet. Their caste dharma was weaving, and weaving was all. In former days,
even a social stigma attached to any one of the other castes taking up the
loom.” — Fact-Finding Committee Report, Chapter IV,
1942 |
One of the most evocative physical expressions of community solidarity
was the weaving street itself. Warping and sizing — preparatory processes
requiring long unobstructed runs — were done in the open air, and in weaving
centres across the Madras Province and South India, the streets in weavers’
quarters were deliberately built broader than elsewhere, with shade trees
planted down the middle. In many centres an open shaded ground called a pavadi
— a sizing ground — was maintained by the weaving community collectively. “The
maintenance of such sizing facilities,” notes the report, “is among the
traditional duties of weaving organisations.”
When the Mill Came: A Century of Disruption
The story of India’s weaving castes in the 19th and 20th centuries is, in
large part, a story of shock — the prolonged, unevenly distributed shock of the
industrial revolution’s reach. The first Indian cotton mill was established in
1851. By 1900, there were 193 mills with nearly five million spindles. The
relationship between mill and handloom was never simple — for a long time the
mills actually supplied yarn to the handlooms rather than competing with them —
but as the 20th century progressed and mills moved from yarn to finished cloth,
the pressure on the hereditary weaving communities grew relentless.
The disruption came in waves, each with its own character. The first was
the depression of imports during and after the First World War, which created a
temporary revival. The second was the Swadeshi and Khaddar
movements of the 1920s, which brought political complications. The third, and
most devastating, was the global depression of 1929–33.
|
Pre-1850 |
The old order: courts, export trade and hereditary monopoly India’s exports of textiles to the western
world continued through the Middle Ages and into the 19th century. The
industry flourished under court patronage, and weaving castes held a secure
social and economic position. |
|
1816–1831 |
The first shock: foreign mill competition Exports of cotton piecegoods fell from Rs.
165 lakhs in 1816–17 to Rs. 8 lakhs by 1830–31. Imports of cotton yarn and
piecegoods rose from Rs. 3 lakhs to Rs. 60 lakhs over the same period. Large
numbers of weavers abandoned their hereditary occupation. |
|
1851–1900 |
Indian mills rise: from supplier to competitor The first Indian mill (1851) grew to 193
mills by 1900. Initially, mills supplied yarn to handlooms — a complementary
relationship. But as mills moved into finished cloth, the contest sharpened.
Yarn for the handloom now came from a distance, requiring financiers and
middlemen, and eroding weaver independence. |
|
1914–1922 |
Wartime revival, then the handlooms are beaten War reduced mill imports and gave handlooms a
brief revival. But handloom production fell from 1,088 million yards in
1914–15 to 598 million yards in 1916–17. The mills made serious efforts to
capture the home market. As one observer noted: “the handlooms were finally
beaten, and not only beaten but probably severely crippled.” |
|
1920s |
Swadeshi, Khaddar and the politics of yarn The Khaddar movement created paradoxical
pressures. The ban on imported yarn disadvantaged fine-weaving centres like
Dacca and Santipur. Meanwhile changing fashion — simpler, lighter, mill-made
attire spreading through schools and colleges — eroded the cultural demand
for the handloom’s elaborate creations. |
|
1929–1933 |
The Great Depression: wages collapse, communities scatter In Belgaum, wages per piece fell from Rs.
1-8-0 in 1929 to 12 annas in 1932. In Dhulia, piece-rates for a chandrakala
sari fell from Rs. 1-4-0 in 1927 to 4 annas by May 1931. Weavers in Hyderabad
migrated to Bombay; those in Dacca and Santipur took to agriculture. |
|
1930s–1942 |
The powerloom enters; the four-cornered contest A new competitor arrived: the powerloom.
Small workshop units multiplied rapidly — from 2,500 in Bombay Province in
1939 to at least 6,400 by August 1941, with 15,000 estimated across all
India. The handloom — the least resourceful party — was worst hit. |
The Transformation of Caste: New Entrants and Old Communities
The disruptions of the 19th and early 20th centuries did not simply
impoverish the hereditary weaving castes. They transformed the composition of
the weaving workforce itself. On one hand, many members of the traditional
weaving communities left the loom — some ascending into trade and the
professions, more descending into agricultural labour. On the other hand, new
entrants from outside the hereditary castes took up weaving, attracted by
opportunities in expanding centres or driven by the collapse of other
livelihoods.
In Bihar and Bengal, large numbers of Muslims called Jolahas or Momins
who had previously been agriculturalists took up weaving as competition eroded
returns from the land. Their subsidiary occupation gradually became their
primary one, and over time they became weavers by profession and culture, if
not originally by heredity. In Madras and Bengal — where handloom weaving was
still holding out against mill competition — the influx of new entrants was
largest.
|
THE INNATE CONSERVATISM OF INDIAN WOMEN The
survival of the handloom industry against mill competition owed much to a
cultural fact: the reluctance of Indian women — across all regions and
classes — to abandon the handloom for certain categories of dress. The women
of Bengal thought it improper to adorn themselves with anything other than
the light and elegant saris of Dacca, Santipur or Tangail. The women of
Bombay were amply satisfied with the saris and khans made in Ilkal, Poona or
Sholapur. The rather conservative women of Madras could not even dream of
wearing anything but the durable, heavy saris from Kornad, Uppada or
Dharmavaram. Especially
for marriage and ceremonial occasions, well-to-do classes everywhere in India
used only swadeshi cloth. The elegant silk saris from Benares were, and still
continue to be, sought by fashionable women everywhere in India, and even in
the distant South no bride from a well-to-do family enters into wedlock
without wearing one. This innate conservatism of Indian women was, the report
declares, “the greatest bulwark of the handloom industry.” |
The Middleman’s Grip: From Independent Weaver to Wage Worker
Perhaps the most consequential structural change in the condition of the
hereditary weaving communities was not the mill or the powerloom but the rise
of the middleman. In the traditional village economy, a weaver had owned his
loom, obtained yarn from his neighbourhood, and sold his cloth in the local
market. He was, in the fullest sense of the word, independent. The expansion of
trade networks and the shift from hand-spun to mill-spun yarn made this
independence increasingly untenable.
By the early 20th century, the typical hand-weaver in a major weaving
centre was not independent but a worker within a system controlled by the mahajan
(merchant-financier), the sowtar (middleman), or the karkhanadars
(factory-owner). The Fact-Finding Committee identifies a “three-fold contract”
at the heart of this system: the weaver took advances against future
production, agreed to weave at a fixed rate, and was required — as security —
to send his children to work in the karkhana. The children were
described, with barely concealed horror, as “hostages in the event of the
weaver trying to shirk the burden of the loan.”
|
“In the early thirties,
the condition of the handloom industry reached a pitiable stage. Unemployment
was rife in most important centres, and even employed weavers were often on
short time, with earnings barely sufficient for bare subsistence.” — Fact-Finding Committee Report, Chapter I, 1942 |
What Clothing Habits Reveal: Fashion as History
One of the most revealing sections of the 1942 report concerns clothing
habits — the subtle shifts in what people chose to wear and how those choices
rippled through the livelihoods of entire weaving communities. The story is one
of changing tastes meeting economic pressures, with the handloom invariably on
the losing end of the encounter.
The older upper classes had delighted in costly and elaborate fabrics.
Modern country magnates and the town bourgeoisie, influenced by Western ideas —
and paradoxically by the national spirit itself — adopted simpler attire. In
Southern India, Hindu women of the upper classes had formerly worn tastefully
coloured, nine-yard saris made in Kornad, Salem, Uppada or Dharmavaram. The
younger women, influenced by school and college, began taking to cheaper cotton
saris of white or light colours, mostly mill-made and six yards long.
Each of these fashion shifts corresponded to the contraction of a weaving
community’s market. The decline in demand for the gundanchu dhoti, a
former speciality of Salem, and the dumping of Japanese art-silk goods, cost
Salem’s weavers their livelihood. The change in Madura from dupattas and
high-class dhotis to cheaper ordinary fabrics put large numbers of Madura
weavers out of work. The women of Bombay who moved from Ilkal saris to light
mill patals were, without knowing it, writing the economic history of an
entire community.
The Enduring Thread: Identity Beyond the Loom
And yet the hereditary weaving castes did not disappear. This is perhaps
the most remarkable fact of all. Despite the mills, the middlemen, the
depression, the changing fashions and the entry of outsiders into their
occupation, the Padmasalis, Devangas, Tantis, Jolahas and Koshtis remained
identifiable communities — maintaining their temples, their festivals, their punchayats,
and in many places their looms. The 1942 report notes that even those weavers
who had prospered in business or entered the liberal professions “took pride in
calling themselves by the old caste names.”
What the hereditary weaving communities bequeathed to India’s textile
identity was not merely technique — though the technique was extraordinary. It
was the very idea that fabric can carry meaning: that a sari from Benares is
not interchangeable with a sari from anywhere else; that the ikat of the
Telugu loom and the jamdani of the Bengali loom and the kinkhab
of the Gujarati loom are as distinct as languages; that cloth, in India, is
always also biography, always also address, always also prayer.
The Geographical Indications system of modern India — which now protects
the Kanjeevaram silk, the Benaresi brocade, the Pochampally ikat, the Chanderi
weave, the Paithani sari, and dozens of other regional textiles — is, in one
sense, a belated administrative acknowledgement of what the hereditary weaving
communities had built and sustained over centuries. These protections name the
place; they do not, and perhaps cannot, name the people. But behind every
protected designation is a community — a caste, a guild, a set of families —
who kept the knowledge alive across generations of disruption, depression and
change. Their craft became India’s textile identity not because they were
uniquely gifted, but because they were unreasonably faithful.
· · ·
SOURCE NOTE
Report of the Fact-Finding Committee (Handloom and Mills).
Published by the Manager of Publications, Delhi; Printed by the Manager,
Government of India Press, Calcutta, 1942. Chairman: Dr P. J. Thomas, M.A.,
B.Litt., D.Phil. (Oxon.); Member: Rai Bahadur H. Mookerje, A.M.C.T.; Secretary:
Mr B. P. Adarkar, M.A. (Cantab.). This article draws on Chapters I (Recent
Developments in the Hand-Weaving Industry) and IV (Structure of the
Hand-Weaving Industry).
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