സ്കൂൾ ചരിത്രത്തെ സംബന്ധിച്ച് അച്യുത് ശങ്കർ എസ് നായർ എഴുതിയ ലേഖനം

For women’s education

One of the first schools that attracted girls of the city and triggered a transformation among young women, Zenana was led by missionaries from Augusta Blandford to Dorothy Taylor who have left behind precious chronicles of the micro-history of the city.

Augusta Blandford, who founded the Fort Mission School in 1864 (known also as Zenana Mission School), was a missionary, teacher, writer and social reformer. She not only championed the cause of women of the city, but also gifted the city with a precious chronicle of its micro-history with her extensive writing.

There is perhaps no school in the city that can boast of documentation of the intimate thoughts of its founder-headmistress. She writes in her memoirs, Land of Conch Shell (1903): “I fancy the lives of its merry little children … as we pass their homes, they run out, double up their soft little bodies and make a smiling salaam, and I know of no sight prettier than the groups of boys and girls carrying books and slates or perhaps simply bundles of olas [leaves of the fan palm used in writing] , that we see in the early morning on their way to school. Most of them are neatly and sufficiently clothed, the girls having even found time to weave garlands of white Jessamine in their black knots of hair, and all go leisurely along, laughing and chatting gaily by the way”.

It was in 1834 that the first modern school for boys came up in erstwhile Travancore, in the form of Maharajas Free School, which grew up to become a part of the University College and then broke away to become the SMV High School. It took another 30 years for the first girls’ school to come up in the city. Interestingly, both schools were headed by missionaries.

When John Roberts was invited to erstwhile Travancore to start the school, the only condition he put forward was the freedom to teach the Bible in this school, which was readily conceded by Swati Tirunal. In 1864, when Augusta Blandford was invited by the Travancore king as well as his diwan, T. Madhava Rao, not only was teaching of the Bible central to the curriculum, but the school was housed right inside the fort, a stone’s throw away from the Sree Padmanabha Swamy Temple.

Augusta had come to Kerala in December 1862 along with Henry Baker and belonged to the Church of England Zenana Mission, a missionary agency which aimed at spreading the gospel among women. The school was started in Vadakkekottaram, an allegedly haunted palace in the palace complex that was used by the diwan (the Padmavilasom Palace behind the present school was the residence of the diwans. At present, it is the office of the Director of Technical Education). ‘Vadakkekottaram Pallikkoodam’ started with just three girls and one boy, two being the niece and the daughter of Madhava Rao. The school received “ suitable furniture, salaries for native teachers, peons etc and £30 for school books” as grant from the Government. Augusta Blandford, the founder of the Fort Zenana Mission School, has left behind not only a school that thrives even today, but also chronicles micro-history of the city. She wrote about her missionary work in a number of publications in 1870s-1900s.

In the August 1881 issue of the magazine India’s Women, she paints a “picture in words” (that is how the editor prefaces it) of the school and city life. She describes a walk (or a ride in a cart or pony, as we can gather from many of her writings) into East Fort one fine morning (of 1881). What she describes tell us about the mannerisms and customs of people, the social order and even minute details such as what the street vendors were selling. “ The streets of the Fort are pleasant in the early morning. The sky is blue, but not cloudless; nimble grey squirrels, favoured by Rama, according to the legend, and bearing the impress of his fingers in three black stripes on their backs, chase one another over the tiled roofs of the houses, and play hide and seek in the curiously carved gables; the black and white robin stops in his search for food to trill forth a note of gladness and praise; and contented-looking cows and calves walk about where they please…We meet a party of women of different ages, followed by an attendant carrying dry clothes and towels, evidently on their way to the large tank [Padmatheertham] where they will enjoy their morning bath, in a corner by themselves, but in sight of men performing their ablutions. We go a little further and see the street well surrounded by a group of graceful women dressed in clothes of shaded browns, reds, or plain dark blue, and covered with jewels. They are merrily laughing, chatting, and drawing water, while perhaps into the midst of the happy group comes a widow, distinguished by having one end of here cloth drawn round her shaven head. At the tank during the bathing hour incessant noise is heard, loud talking, sounds of merriment, muttering of munthrums or prayers, and the monotonous thud of beating their cloths against stones for the purpose of washing them.

Street vendors are there, hawking their wares; a woman with a large pot of buttermilk, which she ladles out to all who call her to their doors; a young boy with Brant and May’s matches [this is a rare record of the advent of matches in Thiruvanathapuram] , shouting ‘Thi-pe-thi-i-I’ with all his might, and a man with a round basket on his shoulders containing bread, which he announces by lusty cries of ‘Kau-thumb-roti’ [Wheat Bread].

Missionaries in Travancore worked among select social groups. While the downtrodden were the major choice of most missionaries, Blandford worked among Brahmin and Nair girls and women. We get rare insight of the inhuman treatment of Brahmin child widows from her writings.

She writes: Brahmin girls are very bright and intelligent, fond of learning for the most part, but much interrupted by religious festivals and marriages, which, together with the early age at which they leave school, prevents their studying for public examinations. They are married very young, and, even if children, at the time of the husband’s death are condemned to perpetual widowhood. The case of child widows is, however, very different, and I have grieved much and long over bright, intelligent Brahman girls, happy at lessons and play on one day, and the next struck down with the terrible news of the death of the young boy, a husband only in name, to whom they were betrothed. No more lessons; no more merry fun; feeling herself to have caused by her own fault, deep sorrow to her mother and other relatives who now cannot bear her embraces; despised by her neighbours; forbidden to attend marriage feasts lest she should bring bad luck with her; considered by some to be a vile, polluted thing; our poor little afflicted one drags on her miserable life without change till she becomes of marriageable age. Then, on an appointed day, the barber comes, and amid deeply-felt grief and loud wailing, shaves her head; her jewels are torn off, an old garment wraps her round, and she is consigned to life-long misery, with no hope of alleviation. I remember a case where the screams of the poor girl so touched the tender heart of the enlightened English taught uncle that he sent the barber away and would not allow the doleful ceremony to proceed.

She writes on the plight of the daughters of T. Madhava Rao, the progressive Dewan who enabled the opening of her school (who incidentally wrote a book in Malayalam on how to bring up children, addressed to fathers). My school was opened on November 3rd, 1864, with a daughter and niece of the good Diwan and two little Malayali girls of the Nayar caste, who were my only scholars up to the following May. The elder, Cavary Bai, was living with her husband; the younger, Ambu Bai, a sweet girl often, was married, but still in her father’s house. I taught them both English, drawing, and needle work five days in the week, to which music was added as soon as a piano had been purchased. Elder daughters of the Diwan then came in to share the music lessons and to chat and laugh. We soon began to understand each other and became great friends; but a very real affection sprang up between Ambu Bai and myself, and I was very sorry when she was suddenly withdrawn to go and live in her husband’s house two years afterwards. She sent me her eldest daughter Suckoo Bai, who attended the Fort School for some time and was a great favourite. Now, alas! Dear Ambu Bai has become a widow, and suffers greatly from rheumatism. I have not been allowed to see her for some years. Her companion in study, Cavary Bai, lost her husband, Annaji Rao, soon after the birth of her second son, and deep was my grief when I first saw her afterwards with shaven head and sad face worn with fasting and tears. Her husband, a good English scholar, well-read and of courteous manners, had now and then called on me and expressed great interest in her studies, but now her books and work must be laid aside, and nothing but privation and misery were before here. Her two baby sons would, I thought, be solace and induce her to try and live for their sake, but her health had always been delicate, and she could not bear up against the overwhelming grief and self-inflicted austerities. She drooped and died two years afterwards.

Blandford was successful in establishing a rapport with the women of the Travancore royal family, beginning with Lakshmi Ammachi. The first palace to open its doors to me was that of H.H. the First Prince, who afterwards reigned for five years. His Lady, Lakshmi Ammachi, as she was called, was then (1865) a young girl of eighteen who had been married at eleven years of age.

She not only read the Bible to them, but watched the intrigues in the palace with curiosity. We can find reference to petty royal fights of those days, such as the banishing of Kerala Varma Valia Koi Thampuran, which resulted in a literary ‘Sandesha kavyam’. About the wife of Kerala Varma, Lakshmi Baye ICI, Senior Ranee of Travancore, she mentions: Twenty-six years ago, her husband, although an enlightened, clever, scholarly man, fell under the displeasure of reigning Maharajah and was banished from Trivandrum with no hope of a return to his former station. At length her trial ended by the death of this Sovereign and the restoration of her husband, after five years’ absence, by his successor. Her late Majesty, our beloved Queen-Empress, on learning this incident from the Duke of Buckingham, then Governor of Madras, sent Her Highness the Order of the Crown of India, a distinction never before granted to any Rani of Travancore. The Investiture took place in open durbar on June 17, 1881, and was an occasion of public rejoicing.

Of the king’s demise, Blandford narrates a superstitious act of those days. The Maharajah died at half-past one on the morning of May 31st [1881]. It was a great shock to be awakened from sleep before daylight by the bugle, tattoo, and gong of the Nayar Brigade announcing the decease. During the Maharajah’s illness, a most touching ceremony was performed, which bears some resemblance to the Jewish institution of the scapegoat. A man was found willing for a consideration (Rs.10,000) to bear the responsibility of the Rajah’s sins; he was brought into the royal presence, and, after the performance of certain ceremonies by the Brahmans, was tenderly embraced by the sick man, and then conducted out of Travancore into the Tinnevelly district with a charge never to return.

Blandford witnessed and recorded minor and major events that caught her attention through her writings spread over about 40 years. This contribution to the history of the city is as important as her contribution to women’s education and reform.

Augusta writes in a magazine India’s Women in 1881 that the Government also published a notice saying, “The dewan is directed to inform the native gentleman of Trevandrum that his highness hopes that they will cheerfully send their female relations to this school and avail themselves of the advantages thus offered”. She mentions Madhava Rao’s family members “Amba Bai and her daughter Suckoo Bai” as “my dear old pupils”. Amba Bai was one of the first students of the Fort Zenana Mission School.

Raising her protest

Augusta Blandford was not only a teacher and a missionary; she was greatly interested in the well being of the girls and young women of the city. We are today in the thick of a controversy over the legal age of marriage of women. In the 19th century, early marriage was practised by all communities and Augusta was one of the first in Travancore to raise her voice against it. A family fable from the city bears testimony to it. Parukutty Amma of the Kaiyalam family in Vanchiyoor went to the Vadakkekottaram Pallikkoodam in late 1890s. When she became a teenager, her family decided to marry her off and her schooling was the first victim. Augusta came to know of this and visited the house in Punnapuram and pleaded with the parents in the brittle Malayalam that she knew “Parukutty Nalla Kutty – Aval Padikatte – Kalayanam Ippol Venda”. The parents relented for a few months, but then did marry off Parukutty. Augusta then continued to visit the house in the evenings and give private tuition to her pupil. Parukutty Amma continued to be motivated by her mentor to such an extent that her descendants remember her as a voracious reader who read almost all the books in the Sree Chithra Thirunal Granthashala in Vanchiyoor. This, perhaps, was not a one-off incident.

Harbinger of change

Augusta Mary Blandford worked tirelessly to educate the women in the city. She also opened a hospital for women and children

The Fort Mission School continued to receive patronage from administrators even after Madhava Rao left Travancore in 1872 as Dewan. However, the period under Rama Iyengar was not good for the school. The school was vacated in a week’s notice, but Augusta Blandford ran the school from a rented building outside the fort, which attracted less students, but nevertheless survived. The original school building was soon returned to the school. But there were more crises.

Augusta writes in the magazine India’s Women: “About ten days after we returned to it a fire broke out in the compound and entirely destroyed a shed close to the palace; the woodwork of the upper story was blackened.”

For some time, she managed three schools, two outside the fort and one inside. In her own words: For the next nineteen years a Tamil-English School was carried on there, and educated a large number of girls. A third school was opened by us in Trevandrum in 1885, in which English and Mahratta were taught for the benefit of a number of Maharatta Sudras, who had been settled in the town for about a hundred years.

In 1880, the Fort Mission school came under Church of England Zenana Mission Society (CEZMS)

In the book Southern India, Murray Mitchel refers to a visit in 1885 to Augusta's School. Murray observes: Her class is composed of quite grown-up girls, pleasing and intelligent, giving very thoughtful answers to the questing put. One question was. ‘What is better than gold?’ ‘Knowledge’, at once answered a pleasant-looking girl. ‘And is there anything better than knowledge?’ ‘Yes/ answered another, ‘What is it?’ ‘A pure heart!’ she said. They all seem fond of Miss Blandford, and also of the Miss Gahans.

Murray had this to say about the looks of the kids: Most of the children are disfigured by the elongated ear filled with massive rings and weights, and also by the unbecoming way they dress their hair.

Some have it gathered into an untidy bunch at the left side, and others have the bunch on the forehead; great pities, for the faces are bright and happy and pleasant, and show remarkable intelligence.

Examinations were big events. Augusta writes in 1881 in India’s Women – My annual school examination was held last Monday, and the new Maharajah sent me Rs.30 for prizes. We have had a very good and uninterrupted year for study, and far more regular attendance than ever before. The first class, consisting of nine girls, were examined in arithmetic by the Walia Coil Tambouran, husband of the senior Rani, and in history of India and geography of Travancore by the Malayalim Munshi of the High School and College. Both examiners were fully satisfied with the papers, and the Munshi offered a prize for the best essay to be written, on the ‘Duties of a school-girl’.

This was won by a Christian named Elizabeth. Junior Rani sent a beautifully engraved gold ring as a prize for punctuality. This was given to Salome. Two plain gold rings were given to Elizabeth and Ailey for regular attendance, both having been at school without missing a day for nine months. The school was closed for six weeks’ holiday after the prize distribution, and I hope to re-open on May 23.

Augusta records in great detail about teachers of the school in the book Female Evangelist (1880). Mrs Westcott, the east Indian Mistress is faultlessly punctual and has a salary of Rs. 25, the Brahmin Munshi, who gave her some trouble occasionally, but also paid Rs. 25, Kartiani and Letchmy, former students of the school itself, and Mariam, the infant school mistress. She even records in detail about many of her students, one of whom gifted an enormous bunch of plantain, which two men carried on a stick to the school and reminded her of the spies bringing the grapes of Eschol from the Promised Land.

Augusta lived in Fern Hills Bungalow (behind the Government Women’s College, where she lived for 36 years, now Bethany Hostel), where time seems to stand still and hold her memories. She ran a women and children’s hospital, which is now a hostel in Fern Hill. She herself got trained in Royal Free Hospital in London in 1883 and had the help of “Ms. Chettle and Ms. Lenna Beaumont”.

Augusta Blandford spent 43 years in the city and left in 1906 and died soon after on September 25, 1906, in England. Her gravestone in Ladywell Cemetery proclaims her Travancore connection. The Christ Church in the city has a grand marble tablet in the chancel, in her memory. Her portrait as a young woman hangs on the wall of the school. However, it is almost completely damaged.

In 1906 she wrote: The Fort School is still held in the old palace, and last year one out of three scholars sent up for matriculation passed. May it still continue to flourish!

In her personal letters, she reveals her sadness because she felt that she had failed in her missionary work and attempts at social reform. ‘My farewell to Travancore is a sad one. I came here as a bright young girl… after 43 and half years of labour, the darkness and ignorance seems much the same’.

Looking back, Augusta’s labour was not in vain. She remains a key figure in social transformation among women of the city in the late 19th and early 20th century. Even as early as in the 1940s, many of Augusta’s dreams were already fulfilled.

Miss Adamson who worked in the school from 1912 for some years returned to Kerala in the late 1940s after an absence of 10 years and was “astonished to note the changes taking place in the sphere of women. Caste restrictions were beginning to dissolve… children were sitting next to a child who thought this meant defilement.”

And of course, as we look back from the beginning of the 21st century, we can find that the transformation has come full circle.

Anniversary celebrations

The Fort Girls Mission School begins its 150th year in education on November 3. The year-long celebrations commence on November 4, Monday. Helen Violet, Headmistress of the school, invites all former students, teachers and well-wishers to attend a ‘Guruvandanam’ on November 4. The programme will be inaugurated by K.M. Abraham, Additional Chief Secretary. The school plans to publish a book on the history of the school, unveil a photograph of Augusta Mary Blandford, and also start a number of other activities involving students, management and teachers and the residents of the city.