Going south

Ramya (name changed) hails from a small village close to Virudhachalam in Cuddalore district of Tamil Nadu. Although her parents ensured she got the best education and are supportive of her career in the booming IT industry in Chennai, each time she visits home she is warned against doing anything that would disgrace the family and threatened with dire consequences if she “dares to behave like Selvi”.

Selvi is an example for all the young women in Ramya’s village. She was butchered to death by her brothers and father after she fell in love with a man from a lower caste.

Not 300km away, the district of Dharmapuri, is marking an anniversary. A year ago N Divya’s husband E Ilavarasan ended his life after caste-related violence and strong-arming put a strain on their Hindu-Dalit marriage. Divya, who belongs to the upper caste Vanniyar community that enjoys great political clout through the Pattali Makkal Katchi (PMK), had decided to give up the fight against people in her village who had earlier stormed Ilavarasana’s colony, torching and destroying property. This was after her father committed suicide in protest and ‘shame’.

According to UN statistics, one in every five cases of ‘honour killings’ globally takes place in India. While these incidents are reported mostly from the Hindi heartland, the fate of young women in the south, especially Tamil Nadu, is no better, despite higher literacy levels and a more equitable social status for them. In fact, several gruesome incidents have come to light in the recent past. These include the alleged murder of a 21-year-old pregnant woman in Ramnad, who married outside her community, and the retaliatory killing of a 23-year-old upper caste Hindu girl from Madurai who ‘dared’ to elope with a Dalit boy she met during her post-graduate studies.

In many communities across India, women are seen as the emblem of family honour and their actions as a reflection of family values. Consequently, any deviation from the ‘norm’ is viewed as an erosion of pride, to be prevented at any cost, including killing in cold blood.

Chennai-based social commentator and activist Raakhee Suryaprakash sees ‘honour killings’ as the outcome of a complex mix of factors: “They are a blot on our collective conscience as they feed on the ‘ lakshman rekha ’ mentality and so-called societal norms. Unfortunately, violence against women in many instances is perpetrated by the women of the family too. It’s a vicious cycle fed by patriarchal, communal and religious passions that dispenses with all sense of right and wrong.”

Girls like Ramya, who come from traditional backgrounds to make a life and career in the bustling State capital, constantly live under a veiled threat of violence. Says the youngster, “On one hand, parents want to educate their daughters, like mine did. And yet, they want to retain complete control over the way we lead our lives by ensuring that nothing we do will tarnish their reputation. When I was initially sent to Chennai to study, and even now when I am a self-sufficient working professional, I am constantly reminded of my ‘boundaries’. Whenever I go home, my parents issue fresh warnings lest I forget.”

The fact that ‘honour killings’ happen despite strict laws shows that this most dishonourable of acts is, in fact, cloaked in a false sense of comity. As Suryaprakash puts it, “Any decision or act against one’s family’s expectation and, overnight, daddy’s little princess or the most beloved sister becomes a stain on the family’s reputation that can be washed away only by spilling her blood. The killing of the boy or the man involved in the ‘forbidden’ relationship leads to revenge killings and blood feuds that keep communities in a state of insecurity and panic.”

So, why have the slew of tough laws proved ineffective in ending this crime? Advocate Aarshi Tirkey says the reason is that often the perpetrators perceive ‘honour killings’ to be above law. “‘Honour killings’ have been defined in several ways, but they are predominately an extra-judicial punishment carried out by the family or community members against a member, most often female, who they believe has brought shame to them, mostly through sexual- or marriage-related ‘offences’. The punishment is meted out by communal assemblies known as khap panchayats in the north and katta panchayats in the south. What is objectionable is subjective, and left to their warped discretion,” she says.

Protection against such violence is guaranteed in the Indian Penal Code, the Constitution as well as the Protection of Women from Domestic Violence Act, but many of the cases related to ‘honour killings’ rarely lead to prosecution owing to the undue influence the moral police exerts over the community. As Tirkey says, “In August 2012, the Law Commission of India had prepared a draft legislation known as the Prohibition of Interference with the Freedom of Matrimonial Alliances Bill, which was designed to target the unlawful activities of khap panchayats and punish honour killings. However, the draft has not been presented before Parliament, and the future of the proposed bill looks uncertain.”

It may be the 21st century, but the medieval attitudes towards ‘honour’ have endured with a ferocity that begs the question: how can there be honour in killing?

Kirthi Jayakumar, Women’s Feature Service

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