Rethinking Cholera in Jagannath Puri in the Nineteenth Century

Introduction

Cholera is one of the most heavily explored diseases in modern South Asian historiography and its relationship to the practice of pilgrimage—a popular theme of study. Historiographical approaches have ranged from the management of disease in pilgrim centres and its relation to the colonial policies of control and surveillance to the networks of disease exchange; the international concerns and global public health policy debates that pilgrimages fostered. This strand of historiography has greatly enriched our understanding of not only modern disease epidemiology and management, but also highlighted some of the critical socio-political aspects crucial to comprehending both ‘local’ and ‘global’ histories.

The particular implication it has had upon the regional histories of pilgrim cities, however, requires some reconsideration. Pilgrimage centres have largely been treated as spaces that are more ‘sacred’ than ‘urban’. Consequently, the practice of pilgrimage has come to play a critical role in the conceptualisation of diseases in these spaces. Thus, the nineteenth-century outbreaks of cholera in such localities have been understood in terms of the mass pilgrim mobility, overcrowding, unsanitary conditions, difficulties of long-distance travel, and so on. Even the colonial cholera management in these places has been understood in terms of the demands necessitated by pilgrimage. Yet, ironically, despite ‘mobility’ being intrinsic to pilgrimages, most historiographical writings on cholera have tended to focus on local factors and challenges alone when comprehending the history of the disease in ‘sacred’ cities.

Puri in Odisha which is famous as the seat of Lord Jagannath and was a major cholera hotspot in the nineteenth century is no exception. Though still a much under-explored region in modern South Asian historiography, Puri’s role as a chief cholera centre has drawn much scholarly attention in the past couple of decades. The existing historiography, however, largely tends to implicitly or explicitly stress the ‘sacred’ value of the city in understanding the disease in light of its relationship to the practice of pilgrimage. Historians have looked at the nature of colonial health and sanitary interventions in the region particularly noting the various complexities and challenges involved in the management of disease in the pilgrim centre. ¹

The focus has primarily been on understanding cholera management in Puri via the prism of ‘colonial power’ and how it operated within a pilgrim city. In this paradigm, the Jagannath temple has naturally emerged as the key focus to understand the negotiations and contestations of the colonial state with the indigenous Indian society vis-à-vis health and sanitary policies.

The current historiography, despite acknowledging the role of pilgrim mobility in fostering cholera in the region, provides a spatially restricted and localised account of cholera management. Mobility itself remains auxiliary to the understanding of the larger processes of colonial health and sanitary interventions, being treated merely as a reason to explain cholera outbreaks. The reasons for colonial mismanagement and failure in containing cholera outbreaks in the region have thus mostly been attributed to factors confined to the town. This obsession with the ‘sacred centre’ has led to a lack of attention on the ‘trans-local’ influences that may have shaped the workings within Puri, compromising with a holistic understanding of history.

This article argues that if cholera in Puri is to be understood in terms of pilgrimage, the very category of ‘mobility’ needs to be substantially explored. The Turnerian paradigm in pilgrimage studies regards a pilgrimage centre as the goal towards which the movement gravitates and where pathways converge. It is seen as a kind of ‘attractor’ in the nodal network of mobilities around which objects, emotions, cultures, and people circulate and become temporarily grounded. The ‘centre’ is seen as a place that is constituted, displaced, moved, and decentred as people, objects, and ideas travel. ²

In light of this understanding, the mobility to and from Puri should not only be restricted to explaining the outbreaks of cholera. Rather, it should also explain cholera management in a ‘centre’ that is constantly being re-configured by the movement of humans, objects, and ideas. ³ The movement of humans constitutes the ‘trans-local’ as they become the carriers of not just disease and infection but also the means via which ideas of health and wellbeing circulate.

The article, thus, argues that the practice of pilgrimage made Puri a dynamic centre where the understanding and management of cholera evolved via a constant dialogue and cooperation between the ‘local’ and ‘trans-local’. It begins by explaining how circulating ideas of health and well-being in the nineteenth century played a vital part in developing colonial perceptions of Puri as a ‘valley of death’ and the ways in which it influenced the medical discourse. It shows how this idea triggered colonial health and sanitation interventions in the region, transforming Puri into a ‘colonial laboratory’ for medical and scientific advancements. Finally, it discusses how cholera was controlled in Puri within a ‘trans-local’ framework and concludes by engaging with some of the ideas in extant historiography to establish why colonial cholera measures in the region failed.

Puri as the ‘Valley of Death’ in Missionary Discourse

Puri, popularly known as Jagannath Puri, derives its name from the literal meaning—the city of Jagannath and undoubtedly lives up to it. ⁴ Located on the Bay of Bengal Sea coast in the eastern Indian state of Odisha, it forms a part of the ‘Char Dham’ pilgrimage for Hindus and owes its significance entirely to the twelfth century Jagannath temple located there. ⁵ The urban landscape of the region has evolved via constant interaction with the temple that dominates to a great extent, the socio-political, economic, and cultural life of the city. ⁶

The temple had been frequented by pilgrims ever since the thirteenth century but, from the sixteenth century onwards it became extremely popular as a pilgrim city. ⁷ In 1803, Odisha was annexed by the British which was followed by improvements in communication facilities that further encouraged this trend. By the early decades of the nineteenth century, Puri had become a bustling town with an enormous volume of pilgrim traffic that grew with each passing year. Annually, important festivals of the Jagannath temple, such as the Rath yatra, Dole yatra, Chandan yatra attracted thousands of pilgrims from across the Indian subcontinent.

In the nineteenth century, the pilgrim population far outnumbered the residential population of the region. Puri evolved as an urban centre with its unique social characteristics whereby the pilgrims came to enjoy the same amount of influence over the workings of the city as its residents, if not more. Thus, Ujaan Ghosh has pointed out that while other urban centres were planned keeping in mind the settled population, Puri’s urbanisation was centred on the ‘peripatetic pilgrim population’. ⁸

Nevertheless, the constant movement of pilgrims had its limitations. As the devotees congregated, thus increased the likelihood of a cholera outbreak. The disease presented itself year after year without fail and became a major cause of concern for the colonial authorities. Puri became a disease conduit spreading cholera far and wide via the travelling body of pilgrims. ⁹

Throughout the nineteenth century, the region came to be described by missionaries and British administrators variously as the ‘valley of death’, ‘valley of skulls’, ‘the hotbed of disease’, and so on. The very first missionary to make a connection between cholera and pilgrimage to Puri was Claudius Buchanan who in his account Christian Researches in Asia narrated his journey to the temple of Jagannath. ¹⁰ The missionary ‘gaze’ and his understanding of Puri as a ‘stronghold of Hindu idolatry’ lent a particular prejudice to his ideas. He combined his ‘practical observations with moral judgements’ to form an understanding of the region as ‘epidemiologically dangerous’. ¹¹

Buchanan remarked that ‘one knows that they have approached closer to the Juggernaut by the human bones strewed through the last fifty miles of the road’. ¹² He described in detail the sight of large numbers of pilgrims dying on roads and of dogs, jackals, and vultures feasting on their dead bodies. ¹³ He commented that ‘no record of ancient or modern history can give, an adequate idea of this valley of death; it may be truly compared with the valley of Hinnom’. ¹⁴

Buchanan vividly described the ‘offensive effluvia of the town’; the filthy and horrifying appearance of the starving pilgrims; the sight of devotees practicing their various austerities and modes of self-torture; the open defecation of persons of both sexes on the sands close to the town. ¹⁵ This was the first account that tied together Puri and pestilence and came to shape the opinions of missionaries such as William Bampton, James Peggs, Charles Lacey, Amos Sutton, and others who visited Odisha after Buchanan. Their views were reflected across letters, journals and books and in much of these texts, Puri appeared as a city of misery disease, and death. ¹⁶

Their ideas showed stark continuity with those of Buchanan echoing a ‘morally judgemental’ tone. Almost all of these accounts referred to the unsanitary state and effluvia of the town, the sight of dying pilgrims and animals and birds feasting on dead bodies, strange customs, and so on. They contributed to the idea of Puri as a city where only superstition, immorality, and misery prevail. Even until the mid-nineteenth century, these ideas resonated writings of missionaries like Reverend Charles Acland and Reverend J. Buckley. ¹⁷

Such similarity arose in part as a result of the exchange of ideas that began in the early nineteenth century, both in person and in the form of literature. As the colonising power, Britain was always the most closely connected to India. The frequent mobility of British troops, bureaucrats, administrators, missionaries, and doctors brought it closer, allowing for more knowledge transmission. India-related news reached Britain faster than any other European country. Thus, not surprisingly, Puri, which was renowned as one of the most prominent centres of Hindu pilgrimage in India was a region well known by the British populace during the early 1800s.

It featured in newspaper reports published across Britain from time to time. Some stories rehashed missionary ideas while describing the ‘filthy’ state of Puri. ¹⁸ Others reported starvation, overcrowding, and sight of dead and decaying bodies in Puri as recorded by locally stationed British officials and medics. ¹⁹ Such articles did much to provide credibility to the understanding of the practice of pilgrimage to Jagannath as ‘epidemiologically dangerous’ and worked on the image of Puri as the ‘valley of death’.

Certainly, missionary writings and reports exaggerated the incidence of death and misery in Puri, as acknowledged by R. B. Cumberland, an officer of the Bengal Army, who was posted in Odisha during the early 1800s. ²⁰ Nevertheless, despite exaggeration, the ‘biased’ view of Puri managed to influence a greater number of people during the early nineteenth century and had also made its way into the medical discourse on cholera.

Puri as ‘Cholera Centre’ in Medical Discourse

Puri’s reputation as a ‘valley of death’ had begun to pervade medical journals by the early 1800s. Since missionaries were the first to introduce Odisha to the rest of the world, their tales became valuable sources of information for medical professionals of the time.

During the early 1800s, medicine was a practice guided by experience, observation, and speculation. The idea of the particular influence of air, water and places upon health was very influential in Europe and it gave primacy to what Mark Harrison has called the ‘medical topography’. ²¹ This particular feature of early nineteenth century medicine enabled a dynamic process of knowledge sharing that cut across boundaries of the ‘medical’ and ‘non-medical’. Since the emphasis on medical topography entailed knowledge regarding geography, climate, lifestyle, and customs, medical professionals frequently consulted a range of non-medical sources for these facts. In this regard, missionary texts proved helpful.

One of the prominent cholera texts of the early nineteenth century written by a British doctor, Reginald Orton, is a case in point. To understand the consequences of travel on cholera production, Orton relied on British missionary accounts that reported the casualties at the Rath Yatras of 1821, 1825, and 1829. ²² He claimed that Hindu celebrations such as the Puri Rath Yatra and its associated ceremonies caused immense fatigue amongst pilgrims that eventually led to cholera. ²³ During the nineteenth century, such reliance of medical men on missionary observations was not unusual and was an interesting consequence of the circulation of knowledge.

In the words of Arnold, ‘the missionary propaganda had a profound effect on the way Europeans thought about Hinduism, its sacred places, and its connections with the disease. Puri epitomised all that was, in Western eyes, obscene, degrading, and “epidemiologically dangerous” about Hindu India’. ²⁴

Consequently, the particular understanding of cholera in the region which became dominant in medical discourse was one that gave primacy to its ‘filthy’ surroundings. This was a part of an older tradition of relating illnesses in the region to its locality. It was also supported by the fact that in the 1840s and 50s, ‘filth’ as a category had begun to gain ground in Britain owing to the efforts of Edwin Chadwick and others. ²⁵

The reputation of Puri as ‘valley of death’, subsequently gave way to the formation of an ‘epidemiological link’ between cholera and pilgrimage. While for most of the nineteenth century the notion of pilgrims as carriers of disease was already being debated in medical circles, the real break came with the 1865 cholera outbreak that ravaged Mecca and parts of Europe. ²⁶ This was also a time when John Snow’s ideas of contagionism were gaining ground and Britain had begun to adopt a middle ground that combined Snow’s idea of contagionism with Chadwick’s idea of sanitarianism. ²⁷ In such a scenario, Puri that had already earned the ‘evil’ reputation from the beginning of the century, came to be recognised as a key accused site in spreading cholera making the ‘epidemiological link’ more firmly established. ²⁸

The International Sanitary Convention of 1866, did much to strengthen this belief when it recognised Puri along with other pilgrimage centres as cholera hotspots. In 1868, David B. Smith, the Sanitary commissioner of Bengal, wrote a detailed report on a pilgrimage to Puri. Smith’s report had stark continuities with the ideas of missionaries and maintained a critical attitude towards Hindu beliefs and practices. He identified connections between disease and pilgrimage to Puri and pointed out how Hindu customs, consumption of stale Mahaprasad, polluted water supply, and overcrowded lodging houses were chief sources of causing cholera in Puri. ²⁹ These views were shared by many men in the British medical and sanitary establishment during the mid-nineteenth century including government officials like G. B. Malleson, J. M. Cuningham, and W. Cornish. ³⁰ W.W. Hunter, a renowned statistician, compiler and officer of the Indian Civil Service, went on to call Puri a ‘hotbed of disease’. ³¹ Hunter’s work came to be widely read in England and was influential in shaping perceptions about pilgrimage and epidemic. ³² Consequently, the recognition of Puri as a centre of cholera led to increased involvement of the colonial government authorities in the realm of health and sanitation towards the late 1860s, much as at other pilgrimage centres in India.

The Making of Puri as a ‘Colonial Laboratory’

Puri certainly came under scrutiny in the broader context of handling cholera in the global territories. ³³ However, the colonial health and sanitary interventions were not merely aimed at containing cholera but also at understanding the nature of the disease and mastering its management. The region became in many ways a perfect ‘colonial laboratory’ contributing to the ‘advancement of science’. This was true for most pilgrimage centres in India and other parts of the British empire that were seen as hotspots of disease.

Odisha’s use as a ‘laboratory’ had already begun during the early 1800s with the coming of British missionaries who were not merely religious men serving the role of ‘information gatherers’ but at times also took on the responsibility of administering medicines to patients. Claudius Buchanan, James Peggs, and Charles Lacey, for example, were well aware of prevailing medical opinions and practices that they put to use while treating patients. ³⁴ Others such as William Bampton and Otis Robinson Bacheler were professionally trained in medicine. ³⁵ The treatment administered by them not only helped cure patients but also contributed to knowledge regarding the efficacy of different treatment methods.

In the early 1800s, the ‘germinating cause’ of cholera was unknown, so any therapy was a matter of trial and error, based solely on experience and observation. In such an effort, doctors and missionaries became active collaborators. Their experiences in treating cholera patients and their triumphs and failures with various treatment strategies circulated within and beyond India. Thus, Dr. Ayre of Hull in England followed the style of treatment employed in Odisha, according to a missionary text and the Belfast News Letter published in 1832. ³⁶ This was a crucial way in which Odisha initially came to serve the role of a ‘colonial laboratory’ and its significance only grew as time progressed.

Puri’s true role as a ‘laboratory’ began in 1866 when the region became known as a cholera hotspot. Even though the Puri Pilgrim Hospital was founded in 1836 and Dr. Mouat attempted to lay out a plan for health and sanitary improvements in the city in 1855–1856, not much was done until the 1860s. ³⁷ The International Sanitary Convention of 1866 marked a major watershed after which the British started making serious inquiries into the sanitary state of the city.

The report of David B. Smith published in 1868, ‘marked the first attempt to coherently work out a strategy of intervention to counter cholera, which had emerged as a nightmare for the colonial administration and its health establishment’. ³⁸ This report was an exhaustive text on a pilgrimage to Puri wherein the author suggested measures to be taken for the improvement of sanitary conditions of the region. He proposed methods of sanitary engineering such as the system of systematic scavenging, deployment of sanitary police, prevention of overcrowding, and the improvement of the drainage system and water supply. Attempts were made to implement these suggestions during the 1870s and 1880s. ³⁹

This particular report provides the best evidence of Puri’s use as a ‘laboratory’. It was written at a time when the cholera bacillus had not yet been discovered, but a lot was known about how the disease operated and the conditions that made it thrive. Smith’s recommendations for the sanitary measures to be adopted were in tune with the then prevalent medical ideas about cholera and from what he observed in Puri. His understanding of cholera in the region was largely based on a thorough examination of its geography, climate, environs, lifestyle, and customs.

Puri, thus, offered to him a perfect ‘colonial laboratory’ and a site for sanitary engineering. Though Smith suggested some sanitary measures for the prevention of cholera that remained significant even in the post-bacteriology era, it is crucial to highlight that these ideas did not have a firm scientific basis when this report was written. They were solely based on experience and observation as the colonialists were still learning to deal with the sickness. Puri was used to evaluating the efficacy of various cholera management measures, which were still not infallible but could be adopted elsewhere if found successful. This is evidenced by the fact that several of his recommendations failed or were impossible to implement due to regional circumstances. ⁴⁰

Historians believe that imperial medical and sanitary initiatives in Puri failed due to a lack of serious direction. Though there is some reason to believe this, it is important to note that if a threat to the army or international pressure to contain cholera were the reasons why colonial authorities intervened, their actions should have reflected a tinge of seriousness. ⁴¹ Contrary, to the historiographical claim of ‘colonial negligence’. It is more likely, that colonial authorities’ efforts to address the cholera issue were futile because they were still in process of learning the art of cholera management. Chandi Prasad Nanda also notes that ‘uncertainty’ regarding the nature of disease also accounted for the unsatisfactory intervention. ⁴²

Official papers from the 1870s and 1880s reveal the meticulous planning that went into sanitary precautions during big festivals like the Rath Yatra when cholera was more common. Though many of these reports appear to be ‘self-congratulatory’ and ‘express satisfaction over sanitary measures adopted’, it is worth noting that they frequently conclude with a suggestion on what more could be done to improve the situation further. ⁴³ Despite the establishment of sanitary rules, cholera continued to wreak havoc in Puri, indicating a general sense of dissatisfaction with the inadequacy of measures. ⁴⁴ Such reports were common in the late 1800s when the colonial bureaucracy was constantly learning from its mistakes and proposing or implementing fresh sanitation measures.

By the late 1800s, steps had been taken for improvement of drainage, regulation of lodging houses, and improvement of health infrastructure as alternatives to cholera prevention. Puri became a municipality in 1881 and had its municipal dispensary by 1882. The Puri Lodging House Act was passed in 1871 and revised in the ensuing years aimed at forestalling congestion of lodging houses that were viewed as epicentres of cholera in Puri. Interestingly, despite the ineffectiveness of this Act in containing cholera outbreaks, it came to serve as architype for other pilgrimage centres in India such as Nadia, Sitakud, Gaya and Deogarh among others where it was applied with minor amendments but the same name, which again attests to Puri’s ‘laboratory’ function. ⁴⁵ In 1895, the Bara Danda scheme was also completed for the improvement of the Puri’s drainage system. The cleaning of water tanks using a pulsometer pump was additionally undertaken from 1904 onwards. By 1908 ten general hospitals/dispensaries had been established, one of which was the Cholera hospital. ⁴⁶ Restrictions and safeguards were also suggested to improve Puri pilgrim canal traffic facilities to prevent outbreaks of cholera on-board steamer vessels. ⁴⁷

Cholera was, nonetheless, never completely eradicated in Puri despite sanitary measures, and the disease returned in 1873, 1886, 1887, 1889 and 1892. ⁴⁸ The colonial records reveal that the region’s sanitary policy was always in the making until the end of the century, as the colonial health system was continually learning from its experiences, mistakes, and failures, and reworking them.

Puri, however, became a talking point in other parts of the world due to its reputation as a cholera hotspot. News regarding cholera epidemics in Puri and its overall sanitary state during such outbreaks moved speedily across continents as warnings, and lessons for other parts of the world. The region came to be connected to Europe as a site of experimentation. If the Western world provided theoretical knowledge of cholera, Puri provided the platform for testing the efficacy of these theories in practice.

The understanding of cholera in Puri and the sanitary measures implemented there were frequently in line with medical theories popular in the West at the time. This is evident in David B. Smith’s report, where he discusses the ideas of individuals like Southwood Smith, Max Von Pettenkofer and Lord Palmerston. ⁴⁹ The outcome of the schemes being implemented there, as well as the thoughts of men like David B. Smith and T. E. Ravenshaw who were stationed in Odisha, were frequently published in newspaper reports in other countries for discussion. ⁵⁰ Based on reports by locally deployed medical officers, even medical men who had never been to Puri were able to make deductions regarding cholera and its occurrence in the region. ⁵¹ This was helped by the intense circulation of men and ideas happening via the Indian ocean. Puri, in this sense, became a laboratory aided by the movement of people and ideas.

Even after the medical and bacteriological advancements post-1880s, the use of Puri as a ‘laboratory’ for testing methods of treatment and sanitary engineering continued. Puri’s survival as a ‘testing ground’ was aided by the fact that, despite the discovery of germs as a cause of cholera, the germ theory was carefully incorporated into existing ideas of causation that emphasised the role of the environment. The region’s ‘filthy’ environment was now thought to be a breeding ground for newly discovered germs.

Even into the twentieth century, bacteriologists experimented in Puri or used it as an example to better understand the nature of the cholera bacterium. In Puri, Leonard Rogers put his hypertonic saline to test. Major Edward David Wilson Greig, the assistant director of the CRI and one of India’s eminent bacteriologists, conducted research in Odisha to better understand the clinical and pathological features of the cholera organism. ⁵²

The ‘Trans-local’ Management of Cholera in Puri

Over the nineteenth century, the nature of colonial cholera control strategies in Puri witnessed a marked change. The colonial cholera concerns were more restrictive during the initial decades, as they were linked to the increasing number of pilgrim deaths within Puri and so were the disease control policies. Thus, ‘sickness and loss of life’ among the pilgrims were attributed to the ‘lax management’ of those in charge of the Puri Temple in the 1860s, a few years before the paranoia surrounding cholera spread through Puri. ⁵³ However, as the century progressed, the colonial concerns came to encompass the larger issues about cholera dissemination beyond Puri via the travelling body of pilgrims.

By the late nineteenth century, the notion of pilgrims as carriers of pestilence had begun to gain ground in the colonial cholera discourse. Local concerns and international pressures fused to facilitate the emergence of a more holistic approach to cholera management in Puri during the latter half of the nineteenth century. It came to be acknowledged that the mobility of pilgrims set in motion the process of pathogen circulation that also had to be monitored for successful cholera control.

The idea that cholera did not always have a ‘local’ origin but also spread via travel routes was however not completely alien during the early decades of the century. While the town of Puri unquestionably remained the centre of focus, missionaries and official reports noted from time to time the pilgrims’ miseries on their long-distance journeys and incidents of cholera outbreaks on travel routes.

Captain Phipps, an officer who attended the Car festival in 1822, described the suffering of pilgrims on travel routes, noting the lack of shelter, nourishing food, and medical aid as the main causes of their plight. ⁵⁴ Similarly, the Cuttack collector, Thomas Pakenham, attributed the 1825 outbreak to weariness, exposure to the vagaries of weather, and the intake of unwholesome food.

Thus, to alleviate the miseries of pilgrims, Pakenham recommended the construction of seraees and temporary sheds at convenient distances on the travel routes. ⁵⁵ Urging the government to take steps in this direction, Pakenham however stressed the importance of the ‘judicious expenditure of revenue’. He recommended the residents of the district, and holders of endowments be induced to take an active part in affording relief to the pilgrims as it might incur greater benefits than government efforts. ⁵⁶ This point is noteworthy as it indicates how the cooperation of other districts that lay on the travel route was already being seen as critical to improving the condition of Puri pilgrims and consequently, Puri.

In 1827 serais for the accommodation of pilgrims and travellers were erected at Bhadrak, Akhuapada, Balasore, Bastah and Rajghat funded by a Hindu nobleman of Bengal. He also contributed money for numerous bridges on the road—as recorded on stone slabs let into parapets on these roads. ⁵⁷ Many developments in other districts, such as Cuttack and Balasore, in fact, happened due to the Puri pilgrimage. The best case in point is the Cuttack Medical School and Hospital which initially came up as a facility for pilgrims who succumbed to diseases like cholera on the travel route. ⁵⁸

Such voices were, however, limited in scale, and their outcome meagre until the latter half of the century. As previously stated, the earliest attempt towards holistic cholera management in Puri that paid heed to factors beyond the region itself was made by Dr. Mouat between 1855–1856 followed by David B. Smith in 1868. ⁵⁹ They proposed a variety of initiatives, including the establishment of rest-houses, hospitals, and dispensaries at important places along the Jagannath grand trunk road, provision of clean drinking water, and improvement of sanitation on travel routes, among others. During the Rath Yatra of 1869, apart from the general conservancy arrangements in Puri, a host of other sanitary measures were applied along the travel route that included the establishment of four cholera hospitals; patrolling of dooly-beerers along the roads for picking up and conveying sick patients to the nearest hospital; and the distribution of cholera medicines to police stations. ⁶⁰ Similar measures were recommended before the Nabakalebara festival of 1874, to safeguard pilgrims’ safety and health. ⁶¹ Five critical areas were highlighted in particular: arranging for proper ferry and lodging facilities for pilgrims; sanitation and conservancy; provision of healthy and timely food; health and medicine and ensuring convenience in darshan. ⁶²

Despite such a holistic approach, mismanagement on pilgrim travel routes resulted in a large number of outbreaks throughout the century. Pilgrims were invariably afflicted with cholera, whether on their spiritual journey to Jagannath or their return voyage. ⁶³ In 1868, the Magistrate of Cuttack reported 21 deaths during June amongst pilgrims going to and returning from Puri. ⁶⁴ Likewise, the areas most traversed by pilgrims, that is, Puri, Pipili and Khurda furnished the largest mortality from cholera in 1869. ⁶⁵ Even until 1902, the situation had not improved much. S. Anderson, I.M.S, observed that cholera frequently became an epidemic in Puri and that whenever the mortality was high in the town, it was also high in Cuttack, Balasore, and Howrah. He reported that ‘the Puri district was placed first in 1901 with a high death rate of 9.20 per 1,000 of population, and an increase of 5.44 as compared with the average of the previous ten years’. ⁶⁶

Puri’s history was, therefore, greatly intertwined with the fates of other regions, particularly those located along major communication routes. The outcomes of policy in Puri were heavily influenced by the triumphs and failures of dealing with cholera in these locations.

‘External Determinants’ of Cholera Control Policies in Puri

The colonial authorities well realised that for a place like Puri, which was greatly impacted by the constant movement of its pilgrim population, any attempt at successful cholera management would necessitate cross-regional cooperation. The swiftness with which cholera spread was such that any spatially restricted policy of management was unlikely to contain the disease. Therefore, Puri’s health and sanitary policies came to be shaped or at least altered as much by the ‘trans-local’ factors as it was by the temple–state politics.

The question of resource sharing was one of the most significant obstacles. Puri was no exception to the rule that an area can never be completely self-sufficient and must frequently outsource resources in the form of materials and manpower when the demand arises. It began to rely on its surrounding areas for materials such as medicines and supplies for the building of various sanitary facilities, as well as manpower in the form of doctors and labour to accomplish various tasks. The availability, unavailability, or difficulties of procurement could thus have a great impact on the policy outcomes.

Some of these nuances can be discerned from Smith’s text, where he mentions the difficulties involved in constructing wooden/iron encampments for pilgrims because Puri lacked the necessary facilities. He determines that completing the task would necessitate a significant financial expenditure because materials and manpower would have to be acquired from other areas. ⁶⁷

Likewise, anticipating a greater influx of pilgrims during the 1874 Rath yatra and increased demand for medicines, the civil surgeon of Puri wrote to the district magistrate, requesting that he submits the list of medications to the Medical Storekeeper in Calcutta for procurement. ⁶⁸ While these are some stray references, it is probable that colonial authorities in Puri encountered comparable difficulties from time to time, in effectively containing cholera.

The question of funds is a second concern that emerges from sources as a barrier to successful cholera management in the region. The financial crisis that the British authorities faced is well documented in colonial papers and by modern-day historians. It was possibly one of the major reasons that contributed to the failure of Puri’s cholera control strategies. ⁶⁹ Thus, colonial records show how the British authorities often encouraged donations by Indians. These monetary contributions have been frequently classified as ‘native donations’ in colonial records, being treated as a homogenous unit. It is worth noting, though, that financial capital flowed in from a variety of quarters. A report from 1870 mentions how the Raja of Mudhoopore (Madhopur in Mayurbhanj) donated money for the re-digging and repairs of the Narendra/Chandan Tank and Jagannath Bulhab Tank in Puri alongside residents of Puri. ⁷⁰

According to the Sebaka of May 1885, the commissioner in consultation with the superintending engineer of Puri planned to appeal to the ‘native’ princes of India for funds to carry out the water scheme project in the town as they believed, all of them were ‘interested in the cause of Jagannath’. ⁷¹

In 1868, H. C. B. C. Raban, the officiating Magistrate of Puri noted that during June that year, the pilgrims greatly suffered due to floods beyond Cuttack as they did not receive the expected remittance from Calcutta due to disruption of postal communication. ⁷² Thus, as we can deduce, the question of funding for the welfare of Puri pilgrims, was not as straightforward as it appears given the diversity of financial sources. Puri, as one of the most venerated cities on the subcontinent, may have attracted funds from all around India, which were subsequently used to benefit pilgrims. As a result, the implementation of sanitary improvements in Puri may have been heavily reliant on the availability of these funds. However, these donations should not be confused with those directed towards the Jagannath temple, as the temple administration held sole control of those funds and the colonial authorities had no claim upon them.

Another financial obstacle that hampered holistic cholera control measures was the big question of who would shoulder the costs of pilgrims’ welfare. Was it to be paid for out of the Puri town funds, the municipalities along the travel routes or by the pilgrims themselves? Puri’s civil assistant surgeon, W. D. Stewart, expressed this concern in 1870 by stating that the town funds were insufficient to cover the costs of improving sanitary facilities in Puri because the temple proprietors, who were the only people benefiting from pilgrims, contributed nothing and there was no hope of government assistance. ⁷³ He thus recommended the establishment of a municipality empowered with powers to levy a tax from the pilgrims.

For the provision of facilities along the travel routes, it appears from the colonial reports that the responsibility of funding was often shifted to the locals of districts that lay on pilgrim travel routes who were reluctant to pay such dues. Smith notes in his report that Dharmshalas (resting places) in Balasore and the Jajpur dispensary was in great need of repair but the operations were greatly restricted due to the want of funds as the locals failed to pay the promised subscriptions. ⁷⁴ Locals from other districts may have been hesitant to pay for the welfare of Jagannath pilgrims because they were unwilling to take on the ‘forced obligation’ that had been pushed to them. Although there were always exceptions, and affluent members of the local populace occasionally volunteered to help. However, by and large, there appears to have been some kind of tension vis-à-vis the issue of funding. The formation of municipalities in the 1870s and 1880s would have further complicated the process of allocation, sharing, and expenditure of funds.

This seems much more plausible when we consider the issues underlying the formation of Puri Municipality in 1880. Ghosh has shown how its establishment was opposed by the temple priests and residents since it would lead to increased taxation. It is probable that comparable concerns also conditioned the actions of the inhabitants/authorities in other towns. ⁷⁵

Moreover, different priorities of other municipalities often led to the spending of money on tasks other than the welfare of pilgrims. The Utkala Dipika of December 1882, lauds the exertions of the Puri committee in attending to the ‘real wants’ of the town, namely, the water supply and the construction of the side drains for the removal of filthy water. However, it criticises the Cuttack municipality for squandering away its money on illuminations and other ‘useless’ works. ⁷⁶ It thus urges the Cuttack municipal authorities to learn their lesson from its neighbouring municipality and not be fond of the ‘vain pursuits’. Similar reports are also found on the ‘misuse of funds’ by the Cuttack municipality and the negligence by the Balasore Municipality. ⁷⁷

Perhaps, the ‘careless’ attitudes or differing priorities of other municipalities that lay on pilgrim travel routes could have led to the unsuccessful attempts at cholera management and in turn impacted the outcome in Puri. After all, not always did the disease originate in Puri. While some pilgrims carried the disease from Puri, most others carried it to the region. This is significant because it calls into doubt the historiographical claim that Puri’s efforts were half-hearted.

Even when steps were taken towards the welfare of pilgrims in other municipalities, there appears to be scepticism about spending money on such projects. Magistrates and municipal officers of other areas often complained about the shortage of funds sometimes also demanding that the expenses be met from the Jagannath road fund. ⁷⁸ They were often hesitant to make sanitary arrangements in areas that lay beyond their ‘municipal limits’, considering it to be beyond their duties. ⁷⁹

Further, there were also problems of coordination between different municipalities and administrative loopholes that could have greatly hindered effective cholera control. The timely collection of data and early intelligence regarding the course of cholera was regarded to be one of the crucial elements in the successful containment and prevention of cholera. While this step could have proved useful when carried out efficiently, in practice it seems to have had its ruptures. In 1868, Mouat requested every magistrate on the line of the road to Puri to look through their records and to ask the civil surgeons to do the same to gather facts relating to cholera among pilgrims. Upon receiving these reports, he described them as ‘vague’ and of the ‘smallest scientific value’. Some of the estimates provided in the reports were in fact ‘untrustworthy’ and ‘inaccurate’ as per him. ⁸⁰ This document indicates how the recording of data was often haphazard. Several other reports of the period from different districts of Bengal also make similar observations about the scanty and ill-defined data. ⁸¹ Thus, it is possible that the absence of proper information from different districts could have further limited the possibility of preventing cholera in Puri and vice-versa.

Even as late as 1894, the district sanitary officer of Ganjam district in Odisha requested that intercommunication between his district and the neighbouring district of Puri be established for better disease containment. Thus, it appears that even until the latter half of the nineteenth century, the scheme of obtaining useful and early information had not been perfected. Not surprisingly, there were fears about cholera spreading to other provinces via districts in Odisha that shared borders with other provinces-one of which was Puri. ⁸² The problem of ‘geographic jurisdiction’ often presented itself as a hindrance to effective cholera management.

Similar ambiguities existed in other policies as well. According to the Utkala Dipika of March 1870, a sanitary cordon was established in Cuttack to prevent the spread of cholera. It notes that, while pilgrims were not allowed to enter the town, there were no restrictions on the mobility of town residents who were freely mingling with pilgrims and spreading the sickness. ⁸³

Such flaws undoubtedly hurt cholera prevention efforts. Moreover, cholera management was not always about the colonial authorities and municipalities. The system remained pretty fragmented with various intermediary groups being involved and a lot of challenges to effective cholera control could have therefore emerged from this.

Cholera was especially prevalent on the ghats in Odisha, where pilgrims boarded ferries and arrived. The Utkala Dipika of 1883 records how superior officials like the magistrates frequently delegated the task of arranging ferries for pilgrims to ijardars (revenue collectors) at these ghats. Such a shift of responsibility had its drawbacks, as the ijardars frequently failed to make suitable arrangements, permitting thousands of pilgrims to sleep in the open air, exposed to the inclemency of the weather, which exacerbated disease. ⁸⁴

While the struggle between various groups and municipal bodies was paramount, the individual agency also had a significant impact on cholera management—a reality that remains unacknowledged in historiography. Even though there are few references to support this claim, they nevertheless exist. Smith’s report lauds the ‘native’ doctor of the Jajpur dispensary, Meer Koomar Ally, for his efforts in keeping the dispensary in good shape despite a paucity of money. ⁸⁵ Similarly, the Utkala Darpan hailed a gentleman named Baboo Shital Nath Bose for his efforts in providing cholera pills to patients and taking timely action to remove unwholesome foods from the local bazaar, both of which proved to be quite effective in cholera control. ⁸⁶ Another gentleman named Baboo Radha Raman Dass gave up his garden for a temporary outdoor dispensary during the 1879 cholera outbreak in Balasore. ⁸⁷

Indigenous men in high social positions frequently also took on the responsibility of distributing cholera medicines supplied to them by the colonial authorities to make them more easily accessible for those in need. ⁸⁸ While special exertions by some individuals positively impacted cholera control policies, at times lack of efficiency at the individual level could also hamper effective cholera control. The Utkala Dipika of 1883, criticised the conduct of the ‘native’ commissioners of the Cuttack Municipality, describing them as ‘submissive and bought servants of the sahibs’ who obstruct competent governance. ⁸⁹ Such examples, therefore, indicate the critical role individual agency could play in determining the outcome of cholera control policies.

Conclusion

Considering Puri’s ‘sacred’ space as an attractor in the nodal network of mobilities enables the recognition of the multifaceted aspects that shaped the history of cholera in the region. This article has demonstrated how Puri’s emergence as a ‘cholera centre’ and its subsequent role as a ‘colonial laboratory’ was linked not only to the spread of pathogens but also the circulating knowledge of disease and knowledgeable communities. The policies implemented in the region were shaped as much by ‘trans-local’ factors as it was by the local circumstances.

The historiographical focus on the temple–state politics vis-à-vis cholera management in Puri tends to cloud the day-to-day experiences of managing the disease in a pilgrimage centre. A shift in focus away from the Jagannath temple enables the recognition of the nitty-gritty involved in implementing health and sanitary measures on the ground.

Most historians today agree that Puri’s cholera control policies were a failure. One of the main reasons behind this, according to some, was the ‘colonial fixation’ with the Puri town alone, which limited urban planning in neighbouring towns. ⁹⁰ The failure of cholera control measures has thus often been attributed to Puri-specific circumstances such as disputes with the Jagannath temple administration, indigenous backlash, and financial constraints. Indeed, these factors greatly hampered effective cholera control in the town.

However, as the article has demonstrated, a closer examination of the sources reveals that, though Puri remained the epicentre of imperial health and sanitation interventions, this did not imply a complete disregard for other areas.

Perhaps, it was not the lack of measures in other regions but instead the absence of effective implementation and coordination that led to the failure of cholera control policies in Puri. The system of cholera management remained deeply fragmented and the colonial policies were often ambiguous. There remained a huge gap between policies being suggested by professionals and the ground realities. Moreover, the wider global social currents in disease management and medical understanding always had a critical role to play in shaping the course of cholera management.

Puri was not an isolated region cut off from other areas of Odisha or the rest of the world. Instead, its role as a chief centre of pilgrimage and the constant human mobility to and from the town tied it much more to other places and necessitated ‘trans-local’ collaboration. The outcomes of cholera control policies could, thus, not have been determined by the policies implemented in the region alone. Neither were the successes wholly its own, nor its failures. It was all part of a larger scenario.