Shillong in my Soul
By Deepa Majumdar
(Source: The Shillong Times. Dated 25th November 2011)
Many years ago, when I once visited the holy city of Varanasi, I noticed in one of the famed cremation ghats, a family from the Dom caste. Many pious Hindus seek to pass away in Varanasi, for a certain degree of salvation is guaranteed if one dies in this holy city of the great God Shiva. In one of his vivid visions, Sri Ramakrishna Paramahamsa saw Shiva liberating souls in Varanasi. But I was too young to understand any of this profundity. All I noticed was the Dom family busy cremating the body that had just arrived. And like many who share their place in society, there was, in this “lower caste” family, no apparent resentment, no seething anger at the social injustices they have suffered for centuries … and yet, no meekness either. If I recall correctly, all they seemed to have had was this simple acceptance of their lot. Indeed, it was I who seethed at their lot … not they.
Today I understand their attitude a little better. For theirs was neither the false consciousness of the oppressed, nor the result of religion being an opium of the masses, as Karl Marx opined rather cynically. Theirs was rather, the kind of detachment that comes from wisdom … perhaps the kind of wisdom that makes people see the world as a stage, wherein we play different roles. As the Stoic philosopher Epictetus said long ago, our job is to play the role well … not to choose the role. Nevertheless, I could not help but seethe on behalf of this Dom family. For the little Dom children, I realized, this ghat was their home, their playground, their school, their all. This is where they had grown up, accustomed to seeing body after body arrive to be cremated. They were accustomed to being shunned by the very society where they performed so essential a task as cremating the dead. In the context of this article, my basic question is this … for the little Dom children, was the cremation ghat their root on earth? Was this the root they would remember ever after, in times of trouble and tribulations, when they grew into adults? Would memories of the cremation ghat arrive in their minds, like illumined candles, to comfort them, purify them, and bring them peace … as do the good memories from childhood? Or does this purported power of memory-as-healer depend on the objective quality of the place where one spends one’s childhood? Would the holiness of Varanasi impress itself through memory in the minds of these Dom children, once they grew up? Or would it be merely their personal experiences in the cremation ghat?
I do not know the answers to these questions. But my guess is that only some places qualify as being objectively powerful enough to influence visitors long after they have left. The fact that memory heals depends not on the power of memory as such, nor on the individual in question, but on the power of the place remembered. For when we recall a holy place from childhood, what we recall is not the place as such, but our karmic responses to the place, which remain tucked away in consciousness like healing treasures.
For many years my memories of a happy childhood spent in Shillong remained tucked away in the deep recesses of my consciousness. Despite the alarming communalism aimed particularly at Bengalis, and despite the constant feeling that we were foreigners in our own post-independent nation, we felt in Shillong an unusual air of auspiciousness, usually associated with places of mystical significance. Many were our miseries in school, where the darker skinned among us and those with well oiled hair and Indian features, were treated as pariah. At least some of us were deeply aware of the racism and trenchant injustices. Many conformed passively to the pecking order that children will inevitably construct among themselves in an unholy imitation of adults. If anything, we were perhaps more fettered than were our parents. For ours was a world divided, despite the fact that the independence of India from British rule had finally arrived, like manna from heaven. If school was the world of Europe, with piano lessons, western music, and history books where the British looked elegant and handsome and the Indians shifty eyed and cartoon like … then home was India, where we studied Indian classical music, the mystical world of Tagore, and the lofty traditions of enlightened Hinduism. If school was materialistic and ornate, then home was where we practiced the staple creed of “simple living, high thinking.” If school was where we genuflected, then home was where we folded our hands in a “namaste.”
Yet none of this was as much tucked away in my consciousness as was this feeling … a most impractical feeling of poetry … a data-free feeling that consisted of snatches of memory … a scene here and a scene there, a smell here and a scent there. I had, in short, commemorated in my consciousness, a poetic memory of Shillong, and yet, I believe firmly that none of this had much to do with me. It had to do rather with the deep and ancient quality of Shillong itself that impressed itself so wonderfully upon my young mind. This great poetic memory, I believe is the total antipode of a communal clutching of a land, or an attachment to a land carved by centuries of ancestors, or even by blood shed for the sake of a land. For the poet’s link with a land is profoundly mystical. It is detached, for it has to do with the subtle air of auspiciousness hidden in the land … a quality that no man can own.
How well I recall the Shillong sky and indeed, who could possibly own that special flawless blue, or those vivid clouds? How well I remember the scent of the soil when the first gigantic rain drops struck a waiting earth, at the onset of the rainy season. How well I remember the sound of rain hammering the corrugated red roof of our cottage. How well I remember the feeling of absolute security in the poetic cocoon bequeathed to us by the Bengali culture … that cocoon from within which we watched nature in a state of moist tumult … with neither anxiety nor dismay, but rather with song, poetry and cuisine. How well I remember those large vats of khichuri my mother would make for the occasion of the rainy weather. And how well I remember those magical winter afternoons, when the sun shone with a memorable light, setting early, as we trudged home from the State Central Library, after a euphoric afternoon spent in the Children’s Corner. How well I remember the coal stoves that kept us warm, as we sat all afternoon snugly curled by a window, eagerly rotating the revolving bookshelves to find that book by Enid Blyton or Richmal Crompton. And who could forget the orange flames that leapt in the fireplace to keep us warm in winter, as we sat by the fireside with the adults feeding us dinner. Truly, our was a most privileged and happy childhood. How I wish children today could know the same security and easy poetic contentment that we took for granted. How well I remember the single electronic gadget that graced our home … a small Murphy radio, which my father would tune. What did we depend on for music and entertainment in those pre-television days? We played with one another and with neighbors. We sang songs. We invented games and toys. We grew small gardens, living close to nature. We ate gooseberries right off the plant in the garden. We lived in a western and westernized world that clashed with our Indian world … and yet somehow did not clash. For India had her usual perennial capacity to swallow all differences, harmonizing them, sublimating all friction in her timeless aura of auspiciousness.
I put it all down to the innate magic of Shillong … a magic that arises, not from human hands, but from an auspicious quality bequeathed upon this blessed land of the gods from time immemorial. And even though everyone warns me that Shillong has truly changed for the worse, I expect this abstract and ethereal quality to remain … I expect to find in myself again that special feeling of security that one finds only in the poet’s paradise, which is what Shillong was to those of us who grew up there. (The author is Associate Professor, Purdue University, USA)
The legend of the tiger man
By HH Mohrmen
(Source: The Shillong Times. Dated 31st October 2011)
There are many tiger stories in the culture and milieu of the Pnar of Jaintia hills and though there are quite a few varieties of tigers in the area like leopard, royal Bengal tiger and clouded leopard but the stories mostly refers to the majestic royal Bengal Tiger known in local parlance as ‘khla-thoh-larein.’ Pnars who belong to Rymbai clan are nicknamed as ‘Rymbai-bah-khla’ referring to the legend in which the Tiger saved the progenitor of the clan. This is one such story which has tiger as a main character. But this is a story about a different type of Tiger; rather it is a story about a man who can transform himself into a tiger.
Since my childhood days I was fascinated by the stories of human or man in particular who could transform himself to a tiger. The folklore of the Pnars of Jaintia Hills in particular abound with stories of men who can change themselves to tiger (ki bru kylla khla). It is a common belief that such people are are shaman or traditional healers, also believed to processed certain kind of supernatural powers. In the olden days shamans are looked upon as people who not only heal people from all kinds of ailments but also possesses mysterious powers including the ability to transform themselves to any form, shape and figure or even the power to transcend beyond the ordinary worldly realm. In the past people are believed to suffer from being possessed by evil spirits or by being cursed by fellow human beings or living under a curse because of sins or transgressions of the previous generation. We believe that a person who misbehaves is attacked by spirits which dwell in the forest, the hills and the rivers.
My late father was not a traditional healer per se but by virtue of being someone who lived in the Bhoi Karbi Anglong a good part of his life, he is believed to possess healing powers for certain ailments. The Pnars generally believed that the Shaman from Bhoi known in local parlance as “ki stad Bhoi” possessed great supernatural powers which enable them to wrestle with any evil spirit including ghosts. I have close affinity with the place where my father spent his adolescence and I enjoy visiting Karbi area partly because my work too requires that I make frequent visits to the area. In search of the Tiger man in Karbi Anglong, I met an elderly man whose name is Elisar Bongrung from Longduk Anglong (previously known as Umkhyrmi/Lummoojem) who went to school in Shangpung. I asked ma Elizar if he knows or has heard about men who can change themselves to tigers because the Pnars believe that it was the Bhoi shaman (stad Bhoi) who could do so. The old man replied saying ‘ka Pnar sea wa juh kylla Khla’ (no it is the Pnar who can change themselves to tiger). The statement proves one thing, that both the Karbi and the Pnar share the legends of a tiger man albeit understandably with little variation.
In the Karbi tradition, they too have a legend of man who can transform himself into a tiger and he is known as, “Killing Chongkret”. My source informed that the word Killing could possibly has some connection with Killing a village in the Ri Bhoi District. And the tiger man they know has his origin in the Killing village of Ri Bhoi district. Killing Chongkret according to the Karbi is a weird looking animal with the body of a tiger, the face of bear, the foot of a pig or an elephant so on and so forth. In other words it is a beast with some feature of every animal in it. The Karbi’s tiger man is different from that of the Pnars because the Tiger man that the Pnars believe in is that of a man who can transform himself to a tiger and nothing but a tiger no more; no less.
My father used to narrate stories of the past when people would kill a tiger and on a closer inspection realize that it was a tiger-man or a man who had changed himself to a tiger that was killed. How did they arrive at the conclusion? The reason is because sometimes the dead tiger had ear rings on both ears and sometimes rings on its toe; and sometimes its foot still appears to be partly human not completely transformed to that of a tiger’s foot. This they believe proved that it was a tiger man that was killed.
In one of my visits to Musiaw village in search of the tiger man, I met a grand old man S. Dhar who told me the story of u Kat Ymbon of Shangpung village who can change himself to a tiger. U Kat Ymbon was the brother of u Joh Ymbon, Shangpung’s own Nostradamus who foretold many thing that really happened. Ma Shining Star Laloo had written a book about Joh Ymbon and his prophecy. Like Socrates Joh Ymbon was branded a lunatic by his contemporaries because they thought he was out of his mind and spoke nonsense.
It is part of the Pnar culture that during the sowing and harvesting season, farmers in the village usually help each other in a tradition call “chu-nong.” The tradition requires that the entire community join hands together in helping each other complete the sowing or harvesting of rice. The tradition is basically a process where each family helps another without having to pay anyone any wage except to provide food to the volunteers. It was said that in one such chu-nong that the community came to help Kat Ymbon. After they had completed with the day’s work on returning home, on the way Kat saw a fat pig which belong to a certain old woman. He asked her if she would sell the pig to enable him to feed his guest. The Old woman was not willing to sell her pig and Kat cursed that the tiger would come and eat the pig. As soon as eh said that a tiger came and killed the pig. The legends say that it was Kat Ymbon who transformed himself to a tiger and killed the pig and carried it to his hut in the village to feed his guests. Heibormi Sungoh who like me is a lay folklorist told me that the legend is still part of the traditional Niamtre home consecration ceremony of the Ymbon clan. Every time families from Ymbon clan sanctify a new home, the legend of u Kat Ymbon who can transform himself to a tiger is always part of the chanting that is being recited.
People in Mukhap village also share the legend of a medicine man from Karbi who was called to treat a person who was in a serious condition. The legend goes that after he had checked on the sick person, he looked inside his bag and realized that the particular item he needed to treat the person was missing. He told the family of the sick person what had happened and said that he had to go back to his village and collect the required medicine. But the problem is his native village is very far in the Bhoi area (now known as Karbi Anglong) and the way to the village is through a dense forest infested with all kinds of wild animals and which is therefore not safe to walk especially during the night. He told them not to worry and he would be back in no time. The legend has it that throughout the journey he alternately changed himself to a tiger and also to an eagle and returned to treat the sick person in time.
Legend also has it that men who can change themselves to a tiger did so with the help of a certain kind of a mysterious stone. The walking-tiger-man or rather the walking-man-tiger always has the unique stone close to him and whenever the situation warrants he would go find a secluded place where nobody can see him and lick the stone and he is immediately transformed to a ferocious tiger. The power is only used for good and noble purposes and a person’s exceptional power to turn to a tiger is a closely guarded secret, which one is not supposed to be reveal to anyone and that leads us to the last known story of tiger man, the story I call ‘the last of the tiger man.’
(The writer is a researcher and social thinker and can be contacted at hh_mohrmen@yahoo.com)
The Last Of The Tiger Man
By HH Mohrmen
The
legend of the Tiger Man is one of the articles published by the
Shillong Times which has given me maximum numbers of feedbacks, and the
responses to the write-up have poured in from all over the world. Apart
from the local readers whose response also contributed to the work that I
have done so far, there are two emails from abroad which also goes to
show how widely read the Shillong Times is. I never knew there was so
much interest in the subject until the article was published and I was
not prepared for the kind of queries that were lobbed at me. The emails
are from researchers, one of whom is an Indigo scholar from Italy and
the other a folklorist and student of PhD from a University in Estonia.
Both researchers wanted to get more information about the legends of the
were-tiger ( as in were-wolves) in Jaintia Hills. So in this article I
decided to include some information contributed by the local readers of
the Shillong Times themselves and some more of my own collections.
Few
days after the article appeared in the editorial pages of the Shillong
Times, L. Nampui an officer in the DC’s office Jowai shared a legend
that abounds among the Biate tribe in the Saipung area of Jaintia Hills.
The Biates believe that the Thianglai Nampui clan of the tribe have a
special relationship with the tiger since time immemorial. It is
believed that whenever any man from the clan ventures into the forest
there will always be a tiger around to escort the person from the
Thianglai Nampui clan to protect him from any precarious eventuality.
The Biates who live in the Saipung reserved forest close to the Narpuh
reserved forest also believe that whenever anyone from the Ngamlai clan
dies there will be a tiger who will guard the hut where the body of the
dead Ngamlai is kept and the people of the area claimed that this still
happens.
Cassian A Suchiang a
secondary school teacher in Jowai who was born and brought up in
Moochrot a small hamlet on the banks of the river Myntang shared another
information. He said that in his village there is a locality called
Moo-liang-khla. Moo in Pnar dialect is rock or stone, liang means ‘to
lick’ and khla is tiger, hence the name of the locality literarily
translated means ‘a rock that is licked and turns into a tiger’. There
is a rock in the village and legend has it that in the days of yore
people who could transform themselves to tigers licked the stone and
instantly changed themselves to tigers.
There
are quite a few families in Amlari village in the elaka Satpator of
Amlarem sub division of Jaintia hills near Muktapur who are originally
from Sutnga village. The story has it that out of fear for a tiger which
has caused panic in the entire village these families fled from Sutnga
in search of a safe haven a long; long time ago. The Tiger caused such a
hue and cry that the people have no other option but to run away from
the village and it was from this incident that the people of Sutnga are
often called ‘ki Sutnga dait-khla’ or the Sutnga bitten by a tiger. This
particular tiger has caused havoc in the entire elaka and legends have
it that people of Sutnga who in panic fled from the place in hordes
finally found refuge in many places; some settled in Jowai while others
found shelter somewhere else in the District and even outside the
district. And a section of the community that had escaped the wrath of
the killer tigers of Sutnga reached Amlari village and settled there on
the India-Bangladesh border. The people of Sutnga-origin who live in the
village are believed to be the descendants of a section of the Sutnga
population which escaped the fury of the were-tiger who went berserk.
The
were-tiger of Sutnga was the last known tiger man in the Pnar folklore,
precisely because the people of the area still have many things to
associate the legend with such as the label that the people of Sutnga
earned as Sutnga-daitkhla and the story about the people of
Sutnga-origin who live in Amlari village are elements of the lore that
still linger in the legend told from a long time ago.
Legend
has it that a man (some believe belonged to the Phyrngap clan) from the
Nongkhlieh elaka married a woman who lived in Sutnga village. The
couple was loved and respected by their neighbours because the husband
was a shaman and they lived a happy married live. The primary occupation
of the husband is that of a farmer but he practiced traditional
medicine just to help friends and neighbours who were in need of his
help from the divine powers he possessed. By tradition traditional
medicine practitioners are not expected to charge any money from their
patients; in fact it is a taboo for a true spiritual healer to name a
price (in any form) for the service provided. But people who came to
seek their help more often than not offer a token of gratitude to the
healer and the offering could either be in cash or in kind. The power to
practice shamanism is believed to be divinely instilled in the person
to enable one to help others; hence the Khasi Pnar shamans have other
primary occupations to support themselves. I still remember a healer
known to my late father who would not even touch the money given to him
for providing medicine till he reached home.
Coming
back to the story, the legend also has it that the wife of the shaman
on knowing that her husband possessed the power to transform himself to a
tiger, asked him to prove it to her and transform himself to a tiger
before her eyes. The husband had categorically said that he could not do
that for it is forbidden. He tried to convince her and make her see the
reason that it is a taboo to even tell anyone about the special power
bestowed on the person; but his wife kept on pestering him every night
and day to compel him to do what she wanted him to do; finally he
succumbed to her pressure. But before starting the process of
transforming himself to a tiger, he gave her strict instructions to stay
on top of the wooden beam of their house till he was re-transformed to
human and never to come down; come what may. He put her on the beam and
then started to lick the magic stone which would transmogrify him to a
tiger. No sooner was he transformed to a tiger when he began sniffing
around and saw a human on the beam of the house. The tiger jumped
several times to get hold of the woman and the woman out of shocked of
what she saw fell down from the beam to the floor of the house. The
tiger man mauled the defenceless woman till she died. When the tiger man
re-transformed himself to a human he realized what had happened and out
of anger licked the stone again and transformed himself to a tiger
again only this time it was out of rage for what had happened. The tiger
man went haywire and ransacked every hut in the village. People
panicked and fled the village empty handed in the dead of night.
No
one knows what happened to the man who transformed himself to a tiger
but the legend of the were- tiger of Sutnga is still alive among the
Pnars of Jaintia hills and the people of Sutnga till date are called “ki
Sutnga daitkhla” or the people of Sutnga who were bitten by the tiger.
(The writer is a researcher and an environmental activist)
Scapegoat for human sacrifice at Nartiang
By HH Mohrmen
(Source: The Shillong Times. Dated 10th October 2011)
I was blessed to grow up in surroundings rife with fascinating folktales and legends that elders tells and retell their kids from one generation to another. I also owe it to my liberal upbringing to be able to appreciate and be objective in my studies on the subject without which, considering my position in the church, I would not even been permitted to do the kind of work I am doing. One of the stories in our folklore which fascinates me most is that of human sacrifices that were performed in the village of Nartiang in Jaintia Hills. The religious practice of the people of Nartiang village is unique in a way that people were able to synthesize the two different religious traditions – Hinduism and the Indigenous faith and blend the two harmoniously. Stories of human sacrifices also flourished since time immemorial in the two systems of religious practices that the people of the village adopted as their faith.
One such story about human sacrifice performed by the legendary Mar Phalangki of Nartiang, but before we continue with the story of this particular incident relating to human sacrifice it is important for the readers to understand who are the Mars in the Pnar of Jaintia folklore? Mars were men with extraordinary caliber patronized by the Royal Court of the then Jaintia Kingdom. It is believed that Mars were giant sized people and the Kings used them in the battlefields to defeat the enemies and also to perform extraordinary feats for him. Another opinion is that Mars is a rank or status in the Royal army. Mar is perhaps the equivalent of a general.
In the famous Nartiang monolith park, the big and small monoliths and megaliths have one common story – that they were put up to commemorate the reign of certain Jaintia kings. But it is the largest and the tallest monolith of them all which has a unique story. This monolith in the park and perhaps in the entire Khasi Pnar state is believed to be the handiwork of u Mar Phalangki. The giant tried to erect the monolith several times but failed to do so; finally they decided to seek god’s intervention by performing egg divination. The divination was interpreted to be a sign that the gods required a human head, meaning that a human has to be sacrificed for the stone to stand tall. It was market day and people gathered around to watch the show of strength and finally Mar Phalangki came up with an idea to appease the gods. He pretended to accidentally drop a lime and tobacco container made of gold (known locally as dabi/dabia). Without any suspicion of the deadly trick, one of the spectators immediately went down to collect the golden container from the pit dug for the monolith. Mar Phalangki immediately lifted the huge monolith and put it into the pit over the man’s body. Thus began the first human sacrifice. The monolith stands tall to this day.
Legends have it that the person sacrificed was a “Bhoi” the name local used for the people we now call Karbis. Legends and folktales provide evidence that the Pnars of Jaintia Hills and the Karbis shared a very strong bond and to an extent even a common culture since time immemorial. For instance the Karbis also have a legend that there was a Mar from the Karbi tribe who served the erstwhile Jaintia king and his name was Thong Nok Be from the Teron Clan. Ma Dontha Dkhar also said that elders in Nartiang told him that once the time to sacrifice approaches, by divine intervention, a man mostly a Bhoi or somebody from the elaka Nongkhlieh would in a way voluntarily come to offer himself for sacrifice.
The other human sacrifice is a tradition that continues to this day and is performed by the Priest of the Durga temple in Nartiang of behalf of his King (the last of the Jaintia Kings adopted Hinduism) in the ancient times. If one visits the Durga temple in Nartiang, and is lucky to be greeted by Uttam Deshmukhya, (the young priest of the temple who claims to be the 27th descendant of the first Priest instituted by the Jaintia King) he would take the very old traditional warrior’s double-edged-sword (wait thma) of the Pnar from the wooden rack over the head of the goddess’ image and proudly show visitors what is believed to be the sword used to perform human sacrifice to appease goddess Durga or her many incarnations in the days gone by.
In front of the sanctum sanctorum there is a square hole believed to be an opening of a tunnel from where the severed head of the person offered for sacrificed rolled down to the Myntang river hundreds of meters away from the temple. He would also tell visitors that in the days gone by his ancestors performed human sacrifice on behalf of the King and also inform that human sacrifice was banned by the British, but that is not the end of the story. Taking visitors around the sanctum sanctorum the priest will take a white mask of a human face hanging on one of the wooden posts near the goddess’ image and tell them that though the British had banned human sacrifice it was not for good. Symbolically human sacrifice continues but instead of humans a goat in the garb of a human is sacrificed in the Durga Temple every year during Durga Puja.
According to tradition a goat representing a human, is offered till date by the Daloi on behalf of the King. Though the Kingship and the Kingdom are passé the tradition continues. The black goat that the Daloi offers must be healthy and spotless and is not sacrificed along with other animals on the day scheduled for animal sacrifice. The symbolic human sacrifice known in local parlance as “Blang synniaw” or mid-night goat is performed in the dead of night before the common sacrificial day. Before the goat symbolizing a human is sacrificed, a Pnar turban is put on its head and a pair of earrings known as ‘kyndiam’ are hung on both ears of the goat and a dhoti (yu-slein) is tied around its waist. To complete the formal transformation of the goat to a symbolic human, a white mask of a human face is placed on the goat’s face and the goat is ready for a special sacrifice. The symbolic human sacrifice is not only very strangely performed in the middle of the night, but the Priest also informs that while performing the sacrifice, the temple is completely closed to anyone except the Priest and the sacrificial goat. Even the Daloi is privy to only a part of the sacrifice that is performed on the same night in front of the temple. He is barred from being part of the symbolic human sacrifice. In other words the tradition of human sacrifice still continues albeit only the offering (thank goodness) is not a human anymore but a real scapegoat.
So, if you think that the English invented the word “scapegoat,” think again because the Durga temple in Nartiang has literally killed a he-goat every year instead of a human. A he-goat which symbolically represents a human is sacrificed every year to appease the deity for the sins of human beings. The sacrificial goat is literally a scapegoat because it has taken the place of a human in the altar.
(The author is a research scholar and social thinker)
