Was 'Ettappan' a traitor? A royal family battles to reclaim its honour

ETTAYAPURAM

In south Tamil Nadu’s Thoothukudi, the sun blazes overhead without mercy, bleaching the landscape in shades of ochre and pale ivory. Heat rises from the ground, making distant hills ripple like mirages. The air carries the faint scent of hot stone and sun-baked sand; it is dry enough to sting the throat. Rows of modest homes and small shops line the streets, their walls painted in fading blues, greens and earthy yellows. The highway from Kovilpatti turns right leading to Ettayapuram, the land of palmyra palms, red earth and enduring traditions. History speaks in two very different voices here. One celebrates poetry, patronage and culture, while the other echoes with a single word that has shadowed the town for generations—Ettappan, once a title associated with benevolence, is now used as a slur meant for a traitor.

The town was the seat of the Ettayapuram zamindars, whose court nurtured Tamil literature, Carnatic music and culture. It is the birthplace of Subramania Bharati, a poet and writer who gave a voice to the freedom struggle in verse; Umaru Pulavar, whose Seerapuranam (on the life and teachings of Prophet Muhammad) remains an important part of Tamil literary heritage; and Muthuswami Dikshitar, whose devotional compositions and deep knowledge of music, philosophy and temple traditions are still central to Carnatic concerts. Today, the princely court that preserved art and culture seems to be in need of conservation.

A huge iron gate opens to a muddy lane, dotted with milkweeds planted unevenly on either side. The palace, semi-dilapidated with a part painted in white, still stands tall. Time has softened its grandeur but not its spirit. Neem trees spread their emerald canopies over worn stone, while wandering shafts of sunlight drift across the ground like celestial dancers. The palace does not dazzle with excessive ornamentation, but captivates through quiet elegance—a beauty born of proportion, craftsmanship and the patient touch of time.

Dressed in a trouser and a white shirt, Raja Chandra Chaitanya, 32, the 42nd titular king of the Ettayapuram samasthanam (princely state)—opens the palace doors with solemn grace. Beyond the towering wooden doors lie pillared verandas and spacious courtyards. Peacocks and pigeons flutter beneath terracotta roofs as we walk into the coronation hall. This is where Chaitanya was crowned in 2022. “My ancestors celebrated art, literature and music equally. They were the kind of poligars (chiefs of a principality) who ruled with dignity and respect for people,” he said. As per the coronation structure of the principality, the crown prince holds the title ‘Ettan’, and only on ascending the throne he assumes the mantle of ‘Ettappan’. A lawyer, Chaitanya is busy campaigning against the portrayal of ‘Ettappan’ as the archetypal traitor.

“The legitimacy and enduring sovereignty of the Ettayapuram samasthanam traces its origins to 83 CE,” said C. Mariappan, 73, a retired Tamil teacher and scholar. “The lineage has maintained a documented succession of 42 generations. Vamsamani Deepikai—the chronicle written in 1878 by Swami Dikshitar (who worked in the royal court) in Manipravalam, a linguistic blend of Tamil and Sanskrit—tells us about the Ettayapuram royal family.”

The lineage of the Ettayapuram rulers goes back to the Nayak warrior clan of Chandragiri (now in modern-day Andhra Pradesh). Fearing reprisal from the Bahmani kings, the clan migrated south in 1423 CE, marking one of the first major waves of Telugu migration into Tamil hinterland. On their arrival in the Madurai region, the clan served as loyal vassals to the Pandya kings, who conferred upon them the title ‘Jagaveera Rama’ in recognition of their military service.

The present-day town, originally known as ‘Ilasanadu’, was formally established in 1565 and renamed by Raja Jagaveera Ramakumara Ettappa Nayaka. Under the Vijayanagara empire, the rulers functioned as palayakkarar (poligars), maintaining quasi-independence as royalty paying chieftains. But during the British consolidation in 1775, the principality was annexed and transitioned into a zamindari estate. The rajas were compelled to become tax payers under the British crown.

The samasthanam’s many achievements are anchored not merely in oral tradition but in physical evidence as well—the stone inscriptions in Devikapuram, dated 1479 CE, record Ettappa Nayaka making provisions for temple devadasis, while further inscriptions from 1690 CE document the ruler’s administrative acts.

At one point in time, the Ettayapuram court acted as a “munificent benefactor”, said Thangavelsamy Naicker, 62, who hails from one of the seven pattis (villages) around the samasthanam. He added that preservation of Carnatic music and Tamil literature was a state project. This patronage reached its zenith during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, ensuring that musical traditions of south India were not lost to the vagaries of oral transmission. “The most monumental achievement of those early days was the publication of the Sangita Sampradaya Pradarshini by Subbarama Dikshitar,” said Mariappan.

The samasthanam’s dedication towards the preservation of arts and culture can be best demonstrated in its relationship with Muthuswami Dikshitar—more than transactional, it was seen as spiritual. It is said that on a Diwali morning, the royal elephant—a symbol of the state’s power—refused to budge from a cremation ground. Seeing it as an omen, the raja sought Muthuswami’s counsel. The composer told the raja not to fear. Shortly after, Muthuswami died in the midst of a session with his students. People of Ettayapuram believed that Muthuswami had sacrificed his life to shield the lineage. In gratitude, the raja named his next son Muthuswami. Since then, every raja, including Raja Chaitanya, has ‘Muthu’ in their name.

Raja Rama Venkatesvara Ettappa sanctioned Rs10,000 to import specialised typesets and machinery for the Vidya Vilasini Press. This provided the first comprehensive system of musical notation. The rajas were often accomplished composers themselves. A notable example is Kumara Ettendra (reign 1840–1850), whose Todi raga composition ‘Gajavadana Sammodita’ remains a masterpiece of the era. Archival records specify that the intricate Chittasvara section of this composition was a creative addition by court musician Baluswami Dikshitar, highlighting the collaborative intellectual environment of the court.

The administrative reach of Ettayapuram was equally visionary. It was within this samasthanam that the office of the tehsildar (then known as tavitharu) was first introduced to manage the 64 palayams. The rajas were also instrumental in bringing the railway line from Maniyachi to then Tuticorin. They established model farms and conducted agricultural research exhibitions long before ‘agri-tech’ was a buzzword, viewing the farmer’s prosperity as the crown’s.

“The name Ettapppan originated from an extraordinary confluence of valour and humanitarianism during the samasthanam’s formative years,” said Chellachami Naicker, 86, who has seen three generation of rajas of the Ettayapuram samasthanam. The name was bestowed on the 11th ruler, Nallama Nayaka, during a visit to Sambuva Raja’s fort. It is said that the fort’s northern gate was guarded by a formidable wrestler named Soman. In a display of dominance, Soman had tied a golden chain between his left leg and the gate wall, forcing all visitors to either bow and go under the chain or defeat him in a duel to pass. Choosing honour over submission, Nallama Nayaka engaged Soman in a fierce battle and emerged victorious. Soman was killed in the fight, but on learning that he had left behind eight younger brothers, the raja adopted all of them. Moved by this act, the Sambuva Raja decreed that the ruler be called ‘Ettappan’—the father of eight. And it then became a hereditary title meant to symbolise protection. People of Ettayapuram so revered the title that they avoided using the number eight (ettu) in common parlance, instead referring to it as ‘the Raja’s number’ or ‘after seven’.

“The modern transformation of this title into a derogatory slur is a profound historical injustice,” said Raja Chaitanya. “We are fighting to restore the context of the father of eight.”

The contemporary stigma is largely rooted in the 1959 film Veerapandiya Kattabomman, which had Sivaji Ganesan in the lead. Produced and directed by B.R. Panthulu, with dialogues by Sakthi T. Krishnasamy, the story was originally adapted from a play that had contributions by celebrated Tamil writer M.P. Sivagnanam. The movie transformed a complex geopolitical rivalry into a binary narrative of heroism and betrayal, casting the raja of Ettayapuram as a treacherous spy.

According to archival records, there was a longstanding border dispute between Ettayapuram and Kattabomman’s Panchalankurichi. It is said that Kattabomman’s forces frequently raided and plundered villages under Ettayapuram’s jurisdiction. During this time, Ettappan aligned with the British to plan a decisive move against Panchalankurichi during a festival. It is, however, documented that Kattabomman was not captured by Ettappan. He reportedly fled to Pudukottai, where he was found in a hideout in a forest. While it is believed that he was handed over to the British by Raja Thondaiman of the Pudukottai samasthanam, there is no archival evidence to support this theory even.

But the powerful, cinematic dialogues—specifically “Vari, Vatti, Kisthi (tax, interest and duty)” —cemented the myth in public memory. Mariappan, who is planning a book on the Ettayapuram principality and its poligars, said the film got its history wrong.

From film, the error seeped into school textbooks in 2019. In September 2025, more than 600 residents and traders joined the royal family in Ettayapuram to demand the removal of historical inaccuracies from class 10 history textbooks. Chaitanya has initiated a campaign with a plea to look at the documented truth. “When a single film can erase centuries of social progress, we are forced to confront a disturbing reality about our own cultural memory,” he said. “The name ‘Ettappan’ remains a slur, because we have allowed fiction to replace history.”