For five years, Dharma stoically sustained his austerities, not once closing his eyes, staring constantly at a wall within his shadowy cave. But then his body started to rebel. A tremendous yearning to shut his eyes began to overtake him, even as his intellect realised this would mean compromising his sacred oath. He needed something to compel his defiant body to heed the commands of his mind, and in desperation he leaned forward and quickly grabbed the leaves of a nondescript plant growing nearby. He stuffed his mouth with as many leaves as he could, and swiftly began to chew. And there! Suddenly Dharma felt enormously refreshed. His fatigue retreated, his body surrendered to his mind, and he was able to finish the next four years of his unsleeping penance without a single hassle. At the conclusion of his stupendous effort, however, the monk realised that he had discovered a little more than just inner peace. For Dharma’s penance had inadvertently introduced the world not only to another inspiring story of spiritual deliverance, but also to something more earthly, something it was to savour with delight for all of time ahead. The renunciate prince, folklore tells, had discovered tea.1
Over the years, Dharma paled into history, first as an exotic memory and then as legend, but the plant he found flourished. From beginnings in his hill cave, it spawned a very industry and economy of its own, slowly seducing the entire world with the steady march of time and trade. By the era of the Tang emperors in China, cakes of tea were being transported across the empire, where those who could afford the luxury cut, powdered and happily consumed it as their ‘liquid jade’. Indeed, such was the opulence associated with tea that in 1391 the Ming emperor decreed that his trembling vassals could pay him their tribute in tea leaves! Europeans who travelled in China told alluring stories of this fine drink, but it was not until the Portuguese established a trading station at Macau that Dharma’s plant began its journey to conquer the West. By 1618, tea was an international delicacy, and when the Chinese emperor sent presents to the Tsar in Moscow, it was a beautifully carved box full of rare tea that he despatched. In 1660 King Charles of England received as the dowry of his Portuguese bride not only the islands of Bombay but also huge mountains of tea, popularising the drink in Britain. Soon his subjects were demanding massive imports, and fearing too much silver was being drained from the economy by an addictive beverage, the king imposed a ban on tea. But the fiat was short-lived, for it provoked such outrage that the government was forced to capitulate and revoke its restrictions in merely six days. Tea, it was clear, was here to stay.
By 1766, over six million pounds of tea was being imported into Britain annually, despite stringent protectionist terms imposed by the Crown. Taxes were as high as 119 per cent but far from sobering demand, it only led to a thriving business for smugglers, who catered to an estimated half of the market. This victory march of the beverage, the king and his court soon realised, was now irreversible, and finally taxes were trimmed. Tea even found a place in politics, and to defy the colonial state in 1773, nationalists in America organised the sensational Boston Tea Party, sending shivers down the back of the British establishment. By the early 1800s, the Duchess of Bedford provided tea a proper place in the cultivated Englishman’s daily routine by introducing ‘afternoon tea’, destined to become one of the favourite pastimes of the British. Concerns, continued, however, about the smuggling of cheap Dutch tea into the country; so finally the English East India Company decided it was time for them to start actually cultivating the crop in their colonies and obtain a steady supply.
In 1848, Robert Fortune, the botanist, was deputed in disguise into China to try and collect as many specimens of tea as he could, and to ascertain the precise formula for its correct manufacture. For two-and-a-half years he wandered in China, until finally he succeeded in smuggling out 20,000 saplings across the border into India. He even persuaded a number of experienced Chinese cultivators to accompany him to virgin estates in Assam. Wild tea, in fact, had been identified on these hills some time before but, as demand remained strongest for China tea, it was this that replaced the indigenous Indian plant. The British, controversially, produced opium in India and had been exchanging it for tea from China, but now they began to develop their own tea, boosting trade in the process.2 Soon tea spread into other parts of the subcontinent, notably into the Nilgiris in the south, and then onto the hills along the Kerala coast, where a new and happy home was, in due course, found for it.
For many years it was not tea but coffee that grew in Kerala. The roots of coffee are placed by legend in Koffa in Ethiopia, wherefrom sometime in the early seventeenth century a pilgrim called Baba Budan brought it to India. He is believed to have planted seven seeds in a garden in Chikmagalur, from where the crop spread to other parts in the south. But it was only into the nineteenth century that coffee estates were set up along the coast, again at the instance of the East India Company who had taken over Malabar from the Zamorin, and established supremacy over Travancore. To the Maharajahs of the latter region, the towering mountains guarding their eastern frontiers were resources of exotic forest produce and elephants, but all so mysterious and frightening that they were content to accept pledges of allegiance from local tribes, and otherwise leave the hills alone. The people here had no roads, no houses and not even the rudimentary semblance of an infrastructure. The ancient tribes of the forest ‘lived and died in primitive simplicity, unconcerned by any knowledge of, or contact with, the millions who lived below on the plains’.3 They ventured out occasionally to exchange their cardamom and honey for salt and textiles, but for the most part the high ranges, with their wild jungles and treacherous heights, remained an enigma.
The English, however, were determined to convert these hills into a plantation district. ‘The story of the transformation of the hills of Central Travancore,’ it is said, ‘is well worth the telling, for it is a story of enterprise, courage, and self-reliance.’ It was not officialdom that enabled cultivation in the virgin hills of Travancore. On the contrary it was through private initiative that this was achieved. It was in 1849 that the Government of Travancore first gave up 6,400 acres of land to one Mr Huxam to set up an estate, and by 1862 the sale of government land for plantations at the giveaway price of Re 1 per acre led to a precipitous explosion in commercial agriculture; within three years Travancore had forty-five new estates covering over 9,000 acres.4 In 1878, the old Rajah of Poonjar, a feudal chieftain at court, surrendered 1,37,000 acres of land to a British planter for a measly one-time payment of Rs 5,000, and an annual rent of an equally pitiful Rs 3,000. The Kannan Devan Hills Produce Company later acquired this lease, and continued to maintain estates in that tract. For decades taxes on these plantations were kept low and even when increased, yielded only a pittance in returns to the local government. The profits all went to foreign planters while benefits to the people of Travancore were largely inconsequential.
To be fair, however, it was these foreigners who opened up what was until then an acutely inhospitable terrain. They built the first roads here, as well as schools, hospitals and other modern amenities, opening a whole new avenue for economic advancement. Christian missions were established, drawing substantial numbers of converts from local tribes, and the high ranges emerged as something of a state within a state, with its own economy and way of life, largely untouched by the Maharajah’s government. ‘The early planters were plain practical men, who came to the hills to make a living.’ Some died of disease, while others gave up. But numerous ‘remained where they first settled and gradually accumulated land around them. A few became rich.’5 It helped that for many planters, Travancore’s hill ranges offered tempting incentives of social mobility also. One Richard Tweson, for instance, departed from home in England ‘with no particular regrets and few academic distinctions’, only to arrive at an estate here and become ‘monarch of 450 acres of tea and sahib and arbiter of a labour force of some 500 souls’.6 It was a giddying rise, albeit in an alien land.
The earliest planters preferred coffee on account of the fact th
at it required less capital than tea and the process of cultivation was simpler. ‘The soil,’ one testimony went, ‘is everything that can be desired and it only wants capital and energy to bring a large portion of this fine tract into cultivation.’7 Remarkable successes followed and whereas in 1860 less than Rs 9,000 worth of coffee was exported out of Travancore, by 1880, the value stood at Rs 8 lakh.8 A global economic boom also contributed, as a result of which demand was on an all time high. The opening of the Suez Canal in 1869 made trade even smoother, and ‘the accumulated wealth of Britain was poured into capitalist enterprises overseas’, including into Travancore.9 Even new companies flocked to obtain virgin territory, developing it with their own servants, and making phenomenal profits. Perhaps due to pressure from their colonial superiors, the royal government preferred to hand over tracts to foreigners than to Indians, and officials went out of their way to remove bureaucratic obstacles from the paths of these valued European investors.10 Such was the new-found preoccupation with plantations, in fact, that by the 1870s, old Ayilyam Tirunal himself wished to acquire some estates, only to be dissuaded by his humourless Dewan who sneered that engaging in such business was ‘hardly consistent with his dignity’.11
The cultivation of coffee, however, began to decline when a disease of the leaf swept Ceylon and south India and laid waste to old estates, paving the way for tea to finally arrive in Travancore. It entailed more complex processes but was so lucrative as to justify that effort. Indeed, in a matter of one decade, tea became such a prized crop that exports were valued at nearly Rs 7 lakh in 1891, and by the turn of the century rose to an eminently more agreeable Rs 12 lakh.12 The government eagerly welcomed foreign investment in the new sector, and this reflected well in the balance of trade for the state, although outsiders cornered actual profits. Even labour for tea cultivation was imported from the Tamil districts of the Madras Presidency, and slowly the public in Travancore, latterly aware of the benefits to be obtained from their hills and natural resources, began to voice disapproval. In 1907 the Malayala Manorama fulminated that it was simply ‘unpardonable and shameful’ that nothing was being done to enable locals to ‘undertake this profitable venture’. Legislators also issued impassioned pleas about how ‘capital, labour, and everything is foreign’, with ‘neither the state nor the people’ benefitting in a palpable manner.13
At the time there was little the government could do, partly because European planters were backed by the Government of India, but also because officials, mainly Nairs and Brahmins, had no interest in plantations themselves and couldn’t care less about who did what with the distant hills of the principality. Naturally, then, it was the traditionally entrepreneurial Christians who lobbied for gains in the sector; indeed as late as 1925, of the seven Indian-owned estates in the state, Christians held five.14 In fact while tea remained elusive, they did venture with greater success into rubber. By the 1920s, of the 48,000 acres under tea cultivation, almost all was dominated by Europeans, while Travancore Christians held 50 per cent of the 52,000 acres of rubber.15 Tea, however, continued to enjoy the leading position among all the exports of the state. In 1921–22, 9,000 tonnes of tea worth over Rs 1.2 crore were exported compared to only Rs 25 lakh worth of rubber.16 ‘The policy of the Travancore Government has always been to encourage the [foreign] tea planter to settle in the state,’ it was declared, ‘and the generous and sympathetic treatment he has consistently received has resulted in a large amount of capital being sunk in the country in opening tea estates’.17 While the government received incomes through rents, income tax from resident planters, and export duties, these were only minor compared to the advantages captured by investors. And this made local entrepreneurs and planters unhappy.
It was in 1926, when Sethu Lakshmi Bayi was in power, that her government announced that the policy of allotting valuable real estate and resources at throwaway prices to outsiders was being reviewed. It was felt that land, at this rate, would only be alienated into foreign hands, with no enduring benefits to the state. That is why when in 1926 a major buyer approached the government with the grandest proposal yet to purchase and develop an enormous 1,00,000 acres, the Chief Secretary was asked to make it clear that the Maharani was ‘unable to assent to a monopoly concession in the form proposed’.18 The old policy, it was informed, had been rescinded. Nevertheless, it was also made known that the Maharani was willing to examine schemes if they incorporated tangible, long-term benefits to Travancore in the process. Any proposals for concessions in the plantation sector, in other words, were to demonstrate exactly how locals of the state would benefit from these ventures.
Soon after the new policy was enunciated, the chief executive of ‘a certain very big company’ approached Mr Watts in London for purchasing land in the state. The Dewan immediately rejected the offer but suggested that a potential joint venture with locals might be more acceptable to the Maharani. In July, then, this company, Brooke Bond, officially put forth a proposal for the consideration of the government.19 The idea was to clear hitherto unused forest land in Travancore, if it were found suitable for cultivating tea, dividing it into units of 1,000 acres. Of these units, the company would hold 600 acres, with the rest divided among small native planters. Each unit would also house a modern factory, set up by Brooke Bond, for manufacturing tea.20 Other general terms of the proposal were as follows:
The smaller [local] owners will be supplied with tea seed. They will also have the benefit of the experience of the company during preparatory cultivation, and, until the lands begin to yield tea, the company will help the small holder with money. When the time comes for gathering the leaf, the company will undertake to manufacture tea for the small holder, and after the manufacture, the holder may take the tea himself and sell it wherever he likes, or the company will purchase it from him or will send it to England on his behalf to be sold there in auction.21
Mr Watts was very keen on the project and, with the Maharani’s consent, had the offer submitted to the Economic Development Board of Travancore for expert evaluation. The EDB looked at the gains and losses from such a scheme, which for the first time offered reciprocal and meaningful terms to the state. Considerable debate ensued. One advantage was that a significant area of land would be brought under profitable cultivation. Capital required per acre was £20, and it was evident that the government would be unable to embark on such a scheme single-handedly. Economically, to begin with, the proposal appeared sound. Fears were, of course, aired that if the company were to exit the scheme midway, the state would be in a fix. However, an assurance was offered that if the project were to be proceeded with, Brooke Bond would float a subsidiary for the purpose, registered under the local Travancore Companies Act, subject to the laws of the Maharani’s government. An institutional framework could also be set up to formulate rules and obligations of all parties, so that the enterprise might not be abandoned midway.22 The Chief Secretary also reminded the EDB that
…if this opportunity is missed, one like it may never recur. It is not often that a business concern established all the world over with vast financial resources and backing like that of Messrs. [sic] Brooke Bond will come this way to offer generous terms to the middle classes of Travancore in cooperating for their mutual advantage. If the Board will approve the scheme in principle, no assurance is necessary that the Government will in their future negotiations keep steadily before them the prime need for safeguarding the interests of the State and of the middle class smallholders who may enter into the scheme.23
The EDB gave its consent in principle to the proposal being taken to the stage of an official negotiation, with only one member objecting on grounds that foreign investors should not be allowed to purchase land in Travancore (even though the proposed company was intended to be registered locally).24 But by now rumours had begun to spread in the capital, and it was put out that the Maharani had already signed something with a foreign company, alienating huge areas of land. The Resident mused that no matter what the
benefits might be of the scheme, entering into agreements with Europeans was a highly emotional matter, ‘bound to meet with great opposition’.25 And indeed when the Legislative Council met on 24 November 1926, a member moved a motion of adjournment to discuss Brooke Bond. Mr Watts disallowed this, but invited questions. The member for Chirayinkil demonstrated how politicians had based their information on rumour, asking whether it was true that land between 1,00,000 to 2,50,000 acres was being sold in entirety to a foreign corporation. The Dewan clarified this was untrue and that only a discussion for a smaller area on a basis of partnership had been initiated. When the member for Pathanamthitta confronted him with hearsay again the next day, he responded with some annoyance:
To begin with, you seem to know more than everybody else. You seem to know that 200,000 acres of cultivable land exists in Travancore. I do not know. Nobody else knows. You seem to know that 100,000 acres has been assigned to some tea company. I do not know. No member of the Government knows. Nobody else of any responsibility knows. But you from Pathanamthitta seem to know.26
In reality the proposal was for an area of 25,000 acres, as a larger bloc of land was in any case not available in Travancore.27 Out of this, only 15,000 acres was to be registered in the name of the company registered by Brooke Bond, with the remainder assigned to local planters. The land was also far from the prime ‘cultivable’ property that rumour alleged. A survey team deputed to study the area found it ‘absolutely devoid of roads or paths except such as have been made by elephants and sambur’; it was in the heart of the forest.28 The Dewan also assured frenzied politicians that at this stage he could not, due to plain business ethics, divulge all the details but they could rest assured that no decision would be taken unilaterally, and only with the backing of the Legislative Council would the scheme be ratified if negotiations were to prove successful.29 The ‘final verdict’, he emphatically announced, ‘will be with the representatives of the people’.30
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