Coral craze that guided business interests

Exploring the historical significance of coral in Madras, particularly in the 17th and 18th centuries, through trade and commerce.

Working on the history of Coral Merchant Street recently, I mused on how this marine invertebrate has had an importance far exceeding gems. Though the Sephardic Jewish merchants in Madras of the 17th and 18th Centuries traded in many precious stones, it is as coral merchants that they are remembered. And interestingly, it is one of two marine animal products used in jewellery that are commemorated in area names in George Town. After all, the eastern end is still known as Muthialpet (the pearl district), while just to the rear of it, where Coral Merchant Street is, was Pagadalupet (the coral district), though that name is largely forgotten. Of course, pearl and coral make for a good combination in Indian jewellery, but the importance of coral, over and above diamonds and emeralds, is intriguing to say the least.

It was corals from the Mediterranean that Indians hankered after, and they were in demand from Roman times. The red variety was much sought after, and Indians were willing to pay high prices. Centuries later, when the colonials came along, the demand was undiminished. In fact, it had multiplied. And the Europeans saw an opportunity. A proper network was established and Portuguese Jewish dealers in London began sending out coral in large quantities to Madras. The proceeds from the sale were invested in diamonds, which were exported from here. Eventually, they sent representatives to settle here and carry on the Indian end of the business.

Company records are full of references to coral. As I have written in The Hindu dated October 23, 2015 (A Temple and Its Builder), it was by secretly selling a consignment of coral worth 1,200 pounds that Samudra Mudali, dubash to Governor Francis Hastings, made his fortune. In Ananda Ranga Pillai’s diary, Governor Dupleix keeps asking him about the quantity of coral in stock and what prices it would fetch. And, in the 1760s, the enormously corrupt and wily George, Lord Pigot, managed to convince the Company that the Governor of Madras ought to get a 2 ½ percent cut on proceeds of all coral sales in the region. The money he made on this was one of the bones of contention with his council, which led to a coup against him and his mysterious death. The commission on coral would last till 1801, when Edward, the Second Lord Clive, as Governor, relinquished it. Having written all the above, I am yet to fathom what was the reason for such a high demand for coral. That it was in use for jewellery is certain, and it was also probably used as a constituent in aphrodisiacs, but what else could have contributed to the craze? By the 19th Century, it was on the wane and had become yet another item on ornaments. But while it lasted, it had a good run, and many in Madras did well out of it.

Last week’s article on New Street had M.S.R. Ravichandran writing to me. He has been living there for five decades, he says, and his ancestors have been residents there for four generations. Though they always referred to it as Pudu Theru (New Street), he says land records from 1880 carry the name Sengazhuneer Pillaiyar Koil Street and there is a temple to Ganesha at the end of the thoroughfare. That had me checking my street directory of 1932 and sure enough, that is the correct name. Why did it become New Street and when remains a mystery.

(V. Sriram is a writer and historian.)