FOLK-TALES AND SONGS
[Folk-tales.] Like all Nagas [189] the Lhotas possess a great store of
traditional tales. The old men tell them and teach them to the younger
generation, having themselves learnt them from their forefathers. Every
tale is supposed to be told word for word as it has been handed down,
but versions naturally vary from village to village. To a tale which
most of them must know by heart the audience listens as if none of them
had ever heard it before, greeting every joke with laughter and
appreciating every point. A very popular class of story is that which
explains the peculiarities of various animals. Some of these stories
closely resemble those current among the Semas and other tribes. The
following are typical examples.
The Sambhur and the Hanuman Monkey. [190]
This is a tale of the old days before deer and other animals became so
different one from the other. The sambhur and the hanuman monkey became
sworn friends. In those days the sambhur had a long tail, while the
hanuman monkey had no tail at all. One day the hanuman monkey asked the
sambhur for his tail and said, “Friend, I want to put on your tail and
see how it becomes me. Please lend it to me.” Then the sambhur said,
“Put on my tail, friend, and see how it becomes you,” and gave him his
tail. But the hanuman monkey, as soon as he had put on the sambhur’s
tail, climbed away up into a tree. Then the sambhur said, “Come down,
friend, and give me back my tail,” but the hanuman monkey would not.
Then the sambhur, wondering how he should make himself a tail, pulled
out his own liver and made a tail of it and put it on. Men say that
that is why even nowadays sambhur tail is so good and tastes like liver
to eat.
The Wild Boar and the Tiger.
The wild boar and the tiger were sworn friends. One day when they met
in the jungle the wild boar said to the tiger, “My friend, let us two
fight and see which will get the better of the other and which will
fear the other. What will you take to protect yourself?” Then the tiger
said to the boar, “I will take cane and wind it round my body,” but the
boar said, “I shall smear clay all over myself.” They arranged that the
fight should take place six days later. Then the boar for six days did
nothing but smear clay over himself, letting it dry after each coating,
and the tiger did nothing but cut lengths of cane and wind them round
his body. Then when the six days were up they fell to and fought. Now
whenever the tiger flew at the wild boar and bit him, all he got was a
mouthful of clay, but the boar, whenever he attacked and bit the tiger,
bit through a piece of cane, till he had bitten them all through one by
one and killed the tiger. But when the boar was going away after his
victory a thin piece of bamboo ran into him. Then he said, “I have
killed the tiger. What is this doing running into me?” and seized it in
his mouth. But the thin bamboo cut his tongue off so that he died on
the spot. [191] Then another tiger came along and saw the body and ate
it. That is why nowadays tigers eat wild boars. Yet it is said that
because the tiger could not beat the wild boar at first, a tiger cannot
catch one now unless he bides his time and stalks it for two or three
months.
Rivalling in popularity the stories of animals is a large group of
stories about a mythical individual whom the Northern Lhotas call
Apfuho and the Southern Lhotas Yampfuho. He is spoken of as having
lived in the old, old days when men and animals spoke the same
language. [192] In his day, it is believed, there was a terrible
earthquake and the whole world became dark. [193] Apfuho clung to a
rock, and when light came and the world as we know it had come into
being he had been turned into stone. Some Lhotas say that the rock,
with Apfuho’s petrified dao-holder, can still be seen near Lakhuti, but
most people hold that it is not known where he met his end. He
corresponds exactly to the Sema character Iki, [194] and many of the
stories told of the two are identical. He is always represented as
getting in and out of scrapes, and as tricking his fellow-villagers or
his friend the tiger, usually in the meanest possible way. The name of
his village is never mentioned and there is no tradition as to where he
lived. The following are typical stories of his exploits.
Apfuho and the Old Woman.
One day an old woman set her rice on the fire to boil and went into her
outer room to pound oil seed. Apfuho came along carrying another man’s
dog which he had killed, and called out to the old woman, “Your rice is
boiling over.” When the old woman went back into the inner room to look
at her rice, Apfuho put the dog which he was carrying on her pounding
table and called out, “A dog is eating your oil seed, old woman.” Then
the old woman came running out to see, and hit the dead dog which
Apfuho had put on the pounding table. At this Apfuho cried out, “Oh
dear, oh dear, you have killed another man’s dog. If you do not give me
your pig I will tell the owner.” So the old woman said, “I will give
you my pig. Do not tell the owner.” At dusk when Apfuho came to fetch
the pig he fixed lighted torches all along the path, and said to the
old woman, “Give me your pig. Look how many men are coming with the
owner of the dog, carrying lighted torches in their hands.” To this the
old woman replied, “I will give you my pig. Go and tell them not to
come.” So he went and put out the torches and threw them away, and came
back and took the pig. But as he was taking the pig away he murmured,
“What a fool of an old woman.” Her daughter heard this and said, “He
called you an old fool, mother.” But Apfuho heard her say this and
replied. “I only said ‘oo,’ girl,” [195] and the mother said, “Yes,
yes, Apfuho only said ‘oo’.” So Apfuho went off with the pig. [196]
Apfuho and the Tiger.
This is a tale of the olden days when men could understand the talk of
animals. Apfuho and the tiger went across a river to hollow out vats
from a log on the other side. When they had finished their vats and the
time came to return, the tiger asked Apfuho the best way to carry his
vat across the river. Apfuho told him to carry it rim upwards, [197]
and the tiger did as Apfuho told him. But Apfuho carried his own vat
upside down and was able to cross the river, while the tiger, try as he
would, could not cross the river with his vat rim upwards. Apfuho
called out, “I will pull you out,” but instead of doing so he threw
stones into the tiger’s vat and pushed him away from land with a forked
stick so that he was washed right downstream. Then Apfuho went along to
see if the tiger was drowned or not, and found him lower down by the
water’s edge. When the tiger saw Apfuho he cried, “Here is my enemy,”
and tried to devour him. But Apfuho espied a hornets’ nest by the water
and said, “The men of the ‘morung’ have set me to watch the ‘morung’
drum, father tiger, and see that no stranger beats it.” Then the tiger
said, “May I beat it and see what it is like?” and Apfuho replied, “I
will ask the men of the ‘morung.’ You stay here, and if they say you
may beat it, I will shout and tell you.” So he went a long way off and
shouted back, “They say you may beat it.” Then when the tiger hit the
hornets’ nest all the hornets attacked and stung him, [198] and he ran
and ran until he fell down a cliff and was killed.
How the Villagers tried in vain to put an end to Apfuho.
The villagers, meaning to put an end to Apfuho, took him with them down
to a big pond. Then when they got to the water they all began swinging
out over the pool on a creeper swing. They made Apfuho use the swing
last and went away and left him, thinking he would fall off into the
middle of the pond and be drowned. Apfuho kept swinging and swinging
and could hardly hold on any longer, when he espied a man and a woman
wearing fine ornaments and leading a mithan by a rope. He saw that they
were an eloping couple and called out to them, “Who are you? There is a
beautiful breeze here which makes swinging very pleasant. Take off your
ornaments and put them on the ground and tie up the mithan. Then pull
me in with a hooked stick and come and have a swing yourselves.” So
they did as Apfuho told them, and took their ornaments off and put them
down and pulled Apfuho in with a forked stick, and both began to swing.
But when they asked Apfuho to pull them in, instead of doing so he let
them fall into the water and drown. Then Apfuho put on their ornaments
and took their mithan and went up to the village. And the villagers
were astonished and said, “Where have you come from with those
ornaments and that mithan, Apfuho?” And he said to them, “In the middle
of the pond there are many ornaments and many mithan too. I only
brought away these. If you too want to get some you should go and dive
into the pond.” Then all the villagers said to him in chorus, “Take me,
Apfuho; take me, Apfuho.” So a few days later Apfuho led the villagers
in a body down to the water. There he picked them up one by one and
threw them in. Of the men who sank quietly he said, “The ornaments and
mithan he gets won’t be very good.” But when people struggled hard,
with the water pouring from their mouth and nose, he said, “The
ornaments and mithan he gets will be splendid.” So he let all the
people of the village whom he had thrown into the water drown. [199]
Now a blind old woman was stumbling along, feeling her way by the
water’s edge. Apfuho put an old worn dao in front of her, and when she
found it as she groped she said, “Well, if a person like me can find
this, people with no infirmities will get a lot.” Then Apfuho went up
to her and said, “Now, old woman, you go in too. What are you doing on
the edge?” and with these words he caught her and threw her into the
middle of the pond so that she was drowned.
The audience always appreciates a play upon words such as occurs in the
story of Apfuho and the Old Woman. All Nagas love a pun. A good one is
immortal. Ao women—a most pugnacious section of the human race—pun on
the names of their adversaries most elaborately. In some Lhota stories
practically the whole point depends on a pun. The following is an
example.
The Old Man and His Dogs.
Long, long ago, before the Great Darkness came, there lived a man who
kept wild dogs, as men now call them. With his dogs he killed and ate
many deer. But at last he got so old that he could no longer go into
the jungle with his dogs. So he called them all to him and brought them
to his house. There he cooked enough rice for each to have a share, but
when he divided it up it did not go round properly and the youngest dog
got none. Then the old man said, “My dogs, I am very old and can no
longer go out hunting with you. But do not forget how I looked after
you and cared for you. When you kill a deer, always leave a leg (ocho)
for me at the cross-roads.” When the dogs had gone away they quite
forgot what the old man had said to them. Now the youngest dog was
angry with the old man because he had given him no rice. So when the
other dogs asked him what the old man had said he replied, “The old man
said, ‘Whenever you kill a deer, leave dung (ochü) for me at the
cross-roads.’” That is why to this day wild dogs leave their droppings
at the cross-roads. [200]
The types of story described so far have all been more or
less humorous. Some tales, however, teach a definite
moral lesson; for example, the following.
The Story of the Two Brothers.
There were once two brothers. The elder was poor, but the younger was
very rich. The younger brother ignored the elder and kept all his care
and affection for his friend. One day the younger brother said to his
friend, “My friend, to-day we will go and pick and eat red berries.” So
saying they went. The younger brother climbed the tree, and while he
was picking and eating the berries smeared himself all over with the
red juice. Then he called out, “Friend, friend, I am falling,” and
tumbled out of the tree. His friend climbed down and looked at him as
he lay on the ground and said, “You are no relation of mine. I shall
not look after you. I will go and tell your brother and get him to
come.” With these words he went away without attending to him at all.
But his brother came and saw him, and looking at him said, “My brother,
forgetful one, when you were alive you scorned and neglected me and
kept all your love and affection for your friends.” With these words he
picked him up to carry him, but the younger brother said, “Brother,
there is nothing the matter with me,” and got up and himself carried
his elder brother home. Thereafter the friends were friends no more,
but the two brothers loved one another. That is why men say that there
is nothing in life equal to the love of one’s own relations.
The Widow and the Boys of the Morung.
Old men say that when the Lhotas settled at Nungkamchung [201] a widow
had a big pig. One day the boys of the “morung” took the pig, promising
to pay for it with rice. But they did not pay, though every day the
widow came and said, “Give me back my pig which you bought for rice.”
At last she took her iron staff and poured magic powder [202] into it
and walked round the “morung,” saying, “Give me back my pig which you
bought with rice. Give it back. Give it back,” tapping the ground with
her staff as she went. Suddenly the ground opened wherever she had
tapped it with her staff containing magic powder, and all the inmates
of the “morung” were swallowed up, only those in the front room having
time to jump to their feet and escape. The village all set to work to
dig them out, but could not dig out a single man, only a wisp of
thatch.
Stories of the Water Spirit (Tchhüpfu) are common, and usually describe
a visit paid by someone to his lair in a deep pool, as in the
following.
The Boy and the Water Spirit.
One day a boy went down to the Doyang to fish. When he did not return
home in the evening his parents became very anxious, and in the morning
his father took some men down to search for him; but he was nowhere to
be found. Then his father was sad at heart and went wandering alone
along the Doyang, determined to find at least the dead body of his son.
As he went he saw a hair on the ground, and picked it up, thinking it
belonged to his son. But it was so long that he only picked up one end
of it, and walked on winding it round and round his finger. He went on
and on until he had passed eight bends of the river, so long was the
hair. At last he came to a Water Spirit, for the hair was one of the
Water Spirit’s which he had forgotten to wind round his head. Then the
Water Spirit cried out, “Let me go,” but the man replied, “You have
seized my son and taken him to your home in the water. I will not let
you go till you bring him out and give him back to me.” Then the Water
Spirit said, “Let me go and I will bring your son and leave him here.
If you do not believe me you may make me swear the most solemn oath
known to men.” At this the man let him go, and the Spirit gave him a
gift of friendship, dried fish and fresh fish and fish paste, and said,
“In the morning I will bring your son out of the water and leave him
here. Come at the time when men go to their fields and you will find
him.”
Obedient to the words of the Spirit the man came in the morning at the
time when men go to their fields, and there sure enough was his son on
the bank. The tale he told his father was this: “I saw a big fish in
the water, and dived in and caught hold of it. It dragged me into a
hole under the rocks in the pool, where there was no water. There on
the dry sand was a hearth made of three human skulls. It was the lair
of the Water Spirit.” The Water Spirit had not hurt the boy, but had
brought him out and left him on the bank, as he had promised to his
father. So the father found his son safe by the side of the water and
they both went back home. The tale is remembered to this day.
Otherwise tales of supernatural beings are comparatively rare. The
story of Sityingo and Ngazo, two jungle godlings, will serve as a
sample.
The Story of Sityingo and Ngazo.
Sityingo and Ngazo went to dig for bamboo rats. [203] Sityingo caught
many, but Ngazo, though he dug all day, only got one. Then Ngazo said
to Sityingo, “I have only caught this and you have caught so many,” and
showed him the rat. Then Sityingo replied, “Even that you only got
because I gave it to you.” To which Ngazo replied, “What, I have dug
out this rat after digging all day and you say you gave it me!” “Then
let it go,” said Sityingo, “and see whether I gave it you or not.” So
Ngazo let it go as Sityingo said, but the rat burrowed into the ground,
and Ngazo, though he dug and dug after it, could not catch it again.
Then said Sityingo, “You say I did not give it you and yet you cannot
dig it out!” At these words Ngazo became angry and they fell to
wrestling, and Ngazo twisted Sityingo’s neck. That is why Sityingo can
only look one way. Men say to this day that a hunter towards whom
Sityingo looks is sure to get something, but that he from whom
Sityingo’s face is turned away will get nothing at all.
Stories of human beings being turned into birds or beasts are not
uncommon. The following are examples.
How Men became Catfish.
A man took a company of children down to his fields to work. When they
had worked all morning and it was time for the midday meal they asked
him to give them their rice. But the owner of the field and his family
said it was not yet time and would not give them any rice. Then the
children said they were going to bathe and all went off, and said,
“They would not give us our rice in time, so we will become catfish.”
With these words they turned into catfish, calling out, “We are
catfish, we are catfish.” The owner of the field called out, “Come
along, I will give you your rice,” but the children replied, “You would
not give it us before. Now we have forgotten about men’s food. We will
not come,” and swam away in the form of catfish. It is because these
children were wearing dao-holders when they were turned into fish that
catfish always have a mark on them like a dao-holder—so men say.
How Men were turned into Gibbons.
Once upon a time a man called Kimongthang called his sisters’ husbands’
relations together and gave them rice beer to drink and said to them,
“I have cut a chentung tree ready for a sacrificial post. [204] Go and
drag it in for me, but do not let a single leaf fall to the ground.” So
they went and began to drag the tree, but the leaves were half withered
and they kept letting them fall. Then, determined not to let the leaves
fall, they tied them onto the twigs and set to work to drag the tree
again. In spite of this all the leaves fell off. Then they were ashamed
to go back to the village and meet Kimongthang. So they fled away into
the jungle, and the men became mynas and called “Kyon, kyon.” [205] But
the women ground up rice flour to make rice beer and smeared it on
their foreheads and called out, “Woka, woka,” and became gibbons. That
is why the gibbon now has a white forehead. [206]
Another type of story is that which purports to give an account of some
historical episode. Many of them tell of the origin of some particular
clan. That relating to the Kithang clan will serve as an illustration.
The episode of the hair being swallowed by the fish occurs in Assamese
folk-lore, [207] and curiously enough this is the only Lhota story
known to the writer in which the Assamese are mentioned, though the
Lhotas must have been in contact with them for a long period.
The Story of the Kithang Clan.
One day a man of the Kikung clan named Yanzo took his nine dogs with
him and went to hunt deer. But they would do nothing but jump and give
tongue round a tree with a hole in it. Then Yanzo, knowing that his
dogs would not give tongue for nothing, cut down the tree to see what
was inside it, and found in it a jungle man. This man he took home and
brought up and called Kithamo. Kithamo had a son called Mering, for
whom Yanzo arranged a wife called Khamdrio. Now Khamdrio had wonderful
long hair—once and a half as long as a man could span with outstretched
arms. One day when she was washing her head at the river one of her
hairs fell in and was swallowed by a little fish, which went down the
stream and was caught by an Assamese. The fisherman was amazed when he
split open the fish and saw the hair, and took and showed it to the
king. Then the king gave orders that the woman to whom the hair
belonged was to be brought to him, [208] and sent one of his
councillors with his soldiers to Mering’s village. But Mering had
fenced his village with a hedge of stinging leaves, [209] which the
king’s soldiers could not penetrate. Then the councillor ordered his
soldiers to pick one of the leaves and take it back with them. And he
came to the king and said, “The village is fenced with a hedge of this,
so that we could by no means force it.” And the king took and put the
leaf on his stomach under his clothes to see how it would sting, and he
understood how terrible the pain was. Then he sent the councillor to
inquire of Mering whether there was anything of which he was afraid.
And Mering made answer, “There is nothing in the whole world of which I
am afraid. You can only make me afraid by sending up to my village nine
elephants with cotton piled on their backs. That will make me afraid.”
So the king sent up nine elephants to break down the nine hedges of
stinging leaves. Then Mering heated his spear red hot, and waiting till
the elephants had reached the fence, threw it at the first one. The
cotton on its back caught alight, and when the flames reached its body
it ran in among the other elephants and set them alight one after the
other. Then the elephants fled and trampled many of the men to death.
Then the king announced that he would cease to fight with Mering and
would trade with him instead. And he called an Assamese and said to
him, “Take a pot of cornelian beads with you and go up to Mering’s
village. If anyone wishes to buy from you, do not sell, but go on
hawking your wares right through the village, and as you go scatter
beads in the hedge of stinging leaves. Having done this come down to me
again.” And he went and did as he was bade, and the men of Mering’s
village cut down and destroyed all their hedge in their search for the
beads which had been scattered there. Then the king sent men into the
hills with dogs to hunt down Mering, and Mering fled to Yanzo’s village
to take refuge with him. It so happened that Yanzo was building his
house. He therefore made Mering hide under a heap of thatching grass
which was lying ready to hand, and then went and eased himself on the
top of the pile. When the Assamese came up with their dogs they began
to toss the thatching grass to this side and that in their search for
Mering. Then Yanzo said to them, “Your dogs are very clever. Perhaps
they are looking for this filth here.” At these words all the Assamese
were filled with shame and whipped off their dogs and departed. [210]
Because of this Mering and Yanzo broke an iron staff and swore [211] on
it that they would become one clan and would never intermarry.
Afterwards a son was born to Mering whose name was Rapvu. He lived at
Nungkamchung, where a bastard son was born to him of a woman of the
Kikung clan. This son’s name was Lobemo and his descendants still live
at Tsingaki. But the legitimate children of Rapvu are the ancestors of
the Kithang clan.
Tales valued for their intrinsic merit as good stories of adventure are
very numerous, some of them being of considerable length. Examples are
the following.
The Story of Lichao and His Daughter.
Once upon a time wild pigs damaged a man’s crops very badly, so he went
down to hunt them, and wounded one with his spear. This he tracked and
tracked till he came to the house of Lichao, the old man guardian of
wild pigs. There he found two maidens feeding the pig he had wounded.
They asked him what he had come for, but he was afraid to tell the
truth and say that he was tracking a wild pig that he had wounded, so
he replied, “Hearing that there were two beautiful maidens at your
house I came to see, hoping that I might take one as my wife.” Then
they told him to come another day, so he departed.
When the man came a little later Lichao made his slave-girl put on
beautiful ornaments and fine clothes, but his real daughter he made to
sit all in rags and dirty in the outside room. But the man was not to
be deceived. He loved Lichao’s daughter and would only take her. [212]
Now Lichao used to turn into a tiger and eat human flesh. Therefore he
set his son-in-law hard tasks, meaning to devour him if he did not
fulfil them. But when she knew this the maiden said to him, “Whatever
task my father gives you to perform, tell me and I will reveal to you
his purpose.” So one day Lichao said to the man, “Go and pick the
leaves of kotyoh thorns and koremyoi thorns, and bring them without a
single leaf being torn and without a single scratch on your body. If
you do this I will let you depart with my daughter.” Then the girl said
to her husband, [213] “If you come home with the slightest scratch on
your body, or with a single leaf torn, my father will devour you.” So
her husband went and picked the leaves without a single one being torn
and without scratching his body in the least, and rolled them into a
very tight bundle and brought and gave them to Lichao. Then Lichao
said, “Only that amount will not be enough for us,” but when he opened
the bundle to look, the leaves covered all the ground in front of his
house.
A few days later Lichao said, “If you can catch and tie up one of my
pigs alone I will let you take my daughter and go,” and with these
words gave him a length of unsplit cane. Then the man fell to thinking
how he could catch one of the pigs, for they were wild pigs; and his
wife said to him, “If you cannot catch a pig my father will devour
you.” At last he caught a pig, and his wife beat the cane on the ground
to fray it and gave it to him. Thus holding the pig with one hand he
pulled off strips of cane with the other and bound the pig fast. Then
Lichao let him take his daughter and go.
So the girl came to her husband’s house. But there she could get no
human flesh to eat, and soon became so weak and thin that she could not
work. One day her husband said to her, “Why are you so weak and thin?”
To which his wife replied, “I am thin and weak because I cannot get the
food which my parents used to give me.” Then when her husband asked
what her parents used to give her to eat she replied, “I will send you
to fetch a parcel of meat wrapped in leaves from my parents’ house. But
bring it straight here. Do not open it and look to see what is inside.”
So he went, and his wife’s parents gave him some pieces of human flesh
wrapped up in leaves. This he brought straight home to his wife without
opening the leaves to look to see what was inside, and when she ate it
it made her as plump and strong as ever. But in a day or two, because
she could get no more human flesh to eat, she again became so thin and
weak that she could not work. Then she spoke to her husband again and
told him to go and fetch some more meat from her parents’ house. Now
her husband was determined to open the bundle and see what kind of meat
it was that made his wife get well again when she was so thin and weak
that she could not work. But Lichao sent a little bird to go back with
him so that he should not open the parcel of human flesh on the way.
When the man fingered the parcel which Lichao had given him, having it
in his heart to open it, the little bird said to him, “If you open it I
shall tell my father; if you open it I shall tell my father.” So he did
not open it and look inside. But when he had given the parcel of meat
to his wife he went and hid and watched quietly to see what kind of
meat her father had given him to bring. Now it was nothing but human
fingers tied up in leaves that her father had given him to bring. And
his wife undid the leaves and roasted the fingers lightly in the fire
and ate them one after another. Now when he saw this her husband was
much troubled and said, “What meat have your parents sent you? What
meat is that you are eating?” But she said, “Nay, I will not tell you.
You will only be troubled at heart and filled with fear.” But he said,
“I shall not be afraid. Tell me.” Then his wife said, “I shall turn
into a tiger. When I go about the house showing my fangs and roaring
you must slip a basket over me. If you cannot slip a basket over me I
shall devour even you.” With these words she turned into a tiger, and
her husband tried to cover her with a basket but could not, so she
caught and ate him. That is the end of the story.
The Girl who Married a Tiger.
A woman one day went down to her field to fetch some vegetables. She
saw a fine gourd there and was just going to pick it, when a tiger saw
her and said, “That is my gourd. Why were you going to pick it? I shall
kill you.” With these words he caught her, but the woman, who was about
to become a mother, said, “Do not kill me, and I will give you my baby
when it is born,” so the tiger let her go. In due time a daughter was
born to the woman. When the tiger heard of this he kept asking the
woman if her child was born yet, till at last she told the tiger that
it had been born. Soon the tiger asked her if her daughter was strong
enough to fetch firewood and water yet, and whether she was old enough
to be married. But the woman kept putting him off by saying that her
daughter was not yet old enough to carry wood and water and was too
young to marry; till at last she saw that she must keep the bargain she
had made, and told the tiger that the girl was old enough to work as
his wife. But as she sat weaving a cloth for her daughter to wear on
her wedding-day she was overcome with grief when she thought how her
child would surely be killed and eaten by the tiger, and her tears fell
fast on the cloth she was making. Her husband, too, was sad as he
worked at a basket he was making for his daughter to carry when she
went to her husband’s house, and his tears fell fast on the basket.
When the girl saw this she said, “Why are you crying, mother?” and her
mother answered, “I poked myself in the eye with my bobbin.” To her
father, too, the girl said, “Why are you crying, father?” And her
father replied, “I poked myself in the eye with a slip of bamboo.” Then
when the day came her parents gave her in marriage to the tiger.
About a year later a little daughter was born to the tiger and his
wife. When her mother carried her she never cried, but when her father
carried her she cried all the time. So the woman said to the tiger,
“Why do you make our daughter cry so much?” The tiger replied, “It is
because my beard pricks her.” But one day the woman hid herself and
watched, and saw the tiger knock his little daughter’s head “tap, tap”
against a hearthstone and lick up the blood which dripped down. When
she saw this the woman resolved to run away from the tiger, and said to
him, “I am going to fetch some wood. Hold the baby till I come back.”
But the tiger said, “I am coming too.” And whenever she asked him to
look after the baby while she went to get water, or went to the fields
or into the jungle, the tiger always replied, “I am coming too,” and
never let her out of his sight. At last one day she asked him to look
after the child while she went down to the spring to wash its carrying
cloth. [214] So he took the child and she went down to the spring and
set a louse and a flea to wash the cloth, “chuck-chuck, chuck-chuck,”
while she ran off and made for her parents’ house. The tiger, thinking
the noise made by the louse and the flea was his wife washing the
cloth, kept calling out, “The baby is crying. Come up and nurse it.”
But when she did not come up he went down to look for himself, and
found his wife gone and the louse and the flea there instead. Then he
said, “You would play tricks on me, would you?” and crushed the louse
with his thumb-nail, but the flea jumped and got away.
Then the tiger set out to search for his wife and asked everyone he met
whether they had seen her pass. All replied that they had not seen her,
till at last he came to the sangalia creeper, who said she had just
gone by that way. Then he chased and chased her till he came up with
her at dusk at the door of her parents’ house. The woman cried out,
“Mother, come out of the inner room and open the door for me.” But her
mother replied, “Who is that? I have no daughter. My daughter
disappeared long ago,” and would not come out and open the door. Then
the woman said again, “I am your own daughter, mother, whom years ago,
when I was little, you hit on the head with the pigs’ food ladle. Do
you not know me now?” With these words she began to squeeze through the
little opening by the door left for the dogs, but the tiger seized her
legs while her mother seized her head and shoulders. And they pulled
and pulled till she was torn in two and the tiger was left with her
lower half and her mother with the upper half. Then the tiger took his
half to his house and kept watch over it with a whisk so that not a
single fly should settle on it, and buried it. And he wept, saying, “O
my wife, when you were alive I loved you so much that I was careful
always to give you good meat to eat as relish with your rice. You never
had to eat leaves and such-like poor fare.” But her mother said, “Why
do you weep so? We have torn her in half. Now we will cook and eat
her.” And she cooked a little of the flesh from the upper half of the
girl and offered it to the tiger, who refused it, saying, “How can I
eat the flesh of the mother of my daughter?” But at last he ate it.
Then he said, “Human flesh is good,” and went and dug up the portion he
had buried and ate that too. That is how the tiger came to eat human
flesh, and that is why to this day tigers sometimes kill and devour
men.
The ordinary Lhota believes the founders of the tribe came out of the
earth, and does not worry his head as to how they originated in the
world below. The following story, however, is an example of the widely
spread myth that the world was populated by the offspring of a brother
and sister. [215]
Lankongrhoni and the Villagers.
In the days of our ancestors there lived a woman called Lankongrhoni.
She had a son who was very handsome. His name was Arilao. All the girls
admired him only and wished to marry him. They cared nothing for the
other men. So all the men of the village planned to kill him
treacherously. They agreed that on any day when they should all go down
to the river to poison fish, whoever failed to come was to be fined a
big pig. Two or three days later they went down. Then Arilao’s mother
said to him, “Son, do not go.” But he said, “Do you want us to lose our
big pig, mother?” and went. And the men felled a tree on the river bank
and hewed a trough out of it and said, “Let every man lie in the trough
in turn and see if he looks a fine man.” So they each lay down in turn,
but as each man lay in the trough the others kept repeating, “You don’t
look nice, you don’t look nice.” At last they said, “Let Arilao lie
down,” and made him get into the trough, and calling out, “Arilao looks
nice; we are pounding up Arilao, we are pounding up Arilao,” they
pounded him up with the fish poison. Now Arilao had a friend, and he
was very sad because Arilao had been killed that day, and waited
weeping further down stream. Soon the finger-nail of his friend Arilao
came floating down and lodged against him. Then he said, “Is this all
there is left of my friend?” and with these words lifted the nail off
the water, and wrapping it in a leaf slipped it into his belt. The
villagers made a fine haul of fish, but Arilao’s friend was so sad that
he did not trouble to catch a single one. When the villagers trooped
off up towards the village he hung back to the last.
Now Lankongrhoni came to meet her son on the way and asked each of her
fellow-villagers, “Where is your companion?” or “Where is your friend?”
or “Where is your younger brother?” or “Where is your elder brother?”
And each man replied, “He is coming behind, laughing and talking with
the girls. He is just coming.” At last came Arilao’s friend, weeping
and very sad. When Lankongrhoni asked him where his friend was he said,
“The news would make you sad, mother. I will not tell you.” But she
replied, “Do not give way to grief, my son. Tell me.” Then he said,
“Mother, this is all that is left of my friend,” and gave her his
friend’s nail which he had carried up in his belt. Then Lankongrhoni
was very sad, but she hid her grief, and a few days later gave notice
to the village saying, “To-morrow bring all the children to my house. I
am going to kill my big pig and give them a feast there.” So the next
day the villagers brought all their children to Lankongrhoni’s house
and left them there and went down to their fields. Then Lankongrhoni
killed her big pig and feasted the village children on it. Afterwards
she made the children remain shut up in her house while she went
outside and said, “Children, tell me where there are holes in my
house,” and they replied, “There is a hole here, granny,” or “There is
a hole there, granny,” and she stopped up the holes as the children
told her of them. At last she called from outside and said, “Are there
any more holes, children?” And they replied, “There are no more holes,
granny.” Then she said, “I want to light my pipe now. Give me a brand.”
So they gave her a brand and she set fire to the house and burnt all
the children to ashes. But she herself climbed away up a thread thrown
down from the sky and disappeared. [216]
Now the villagers knew nothing of what had happened. But a crow went
from field to field and hopped about in front of the workers dressed in
a skirt like a little girl, and said, “Arilao’s mother has utterly
destroyed the children of the village.” Then the villagers said, “What
does it mean to-day, a crow behaving like that? Surely something has
happened,” and so saying they all went off home. And when they saw that
all their children had been burnt up, each said to his neighbour, “This
is your fault, this is your fault,” and they fell upon each other and
killed each other so that they all died. But two orphans, a brother and
sister, were frightened when they saw this and climbed up into a
fowl-house and hid. Afterwards, all the villagers being dead, there
were none for them to marry, so they became husband and wife, and from
these two, even from their fingers and toes, were born all the men
there are in the world. This is one of the stories which men tell.
A few stories like the following are found which purport to give the
origin of some common saying.
The Woman with a Caterpillar for a Husband.
A man and his wife lived together. Now at night the husband was a man,
but in the day he turned into a hairy caterpillar. His wife did not
know this. One night before she went to sleep she said, “To-morrow I am
going to gather some leaves to eat.” Early in the morning her husband
left the house first and turned into a caterpillar and nipped off the
leaves and waited at the place. Then the woman came and at the sight of
the leaves exclaimed, “Strange, a caterpillar has nipped off the
leaves. I will take them and go.” So saying she took the leaves and
went. But that night when they were in bed she said to her husband,
“To-day I found that a caterpillar had nipped off the leaves I went to
gather.” Then her husband said, “It was I.” At these words she was
greatly troubled, and when he was asleep she gently pushed and pushed
her husband till he fell off the bed into the fire and was burnt. After
that the woman swallowed caterpillar hairs with her food, whenever she
ate, and coughed and coughed till she died. Therefore nowadays if
anyone coughs much people say, “You should not burn a caterpillar.”
The forces of Nature form the subjects of several folk-tales, as the
two following stories show.
The Sun and the Moon.
At the beginning of time what is now the sun was the moon, and what is
now the moon was the sun. In those days when what is now the moon was
the sun it was very hot, so that all the leaves and the trees in the
jungle shrivelled up and died, and men suffered torments from the heat.
Then what is now the sun said to the moon (which was the sun in those
days), “Why do you shine so fiercely that you make all the leaves and
trees in the jungle shrivel up and die, and cause men to suffer
torments from the heat? You by being the sun are making men and leaves
to die from heat and the world will be destroyed. Therefore from to-day
I will not let you be the sun.” With these words he smeared the face of
what is now the moon with cow-dung, and what is now the sun become the
sun. Therefore men say that the dark marks on the moon are where the
sun smeared cow-dung on its face. [217]
The Wagtail and the Owlet.
Long, long ago, about the time that the Great Darkness came upon the
earth, all the birds—for in those days the kinds were not as different
as they are now—met in council to decide how night should follow day.
With one voice they called on the owlet to give his opinion. Then the
owlet said, “Let there be nine days’ darkness and nine days’ light.”
“No, no,” said all the birds, and smacked him on this side of his head
and on that. That is why nowadays the owlet has a flat head. Then all
the birds said, “Who will speak now?” And the wagtail said, “Listen to
me, then; I will speak. Let us make darkness and light alternately, day
by day.” “Yes, yes,” said all the birds, and stroked the wagtail [218]
all over. He used to be as big as a village cock, but because all the
birds stroked him so much he is now very small.
Finally, there is the story of the hero Ramphan and his dao. According
to one tradition Ramphan is supposed to have lived when the Lhotas and
Rengmas were still one tribe, and some Rengmas from Themokedima once
even came to Akuk and claimed the dao, which is still preserved there
as an heirloom. It is a long, thin piece of iron about two feet long
and three inches broad. The spike of the haft is long and evidently
protruded through the wooden haft, which probably existed once. It is
rarely shown to strangers, and never to Southern Lhotas, on the ground
that they approach Akuk from the direction of the Land of the Dead. The
story given below is that told by the present possessors of the dao,
and places the scene of the exploit at Longcham, an abandoned site on
Wokha Hill, whence the Lhotas are supposed to have spread into the
country now occupied by them.
The Story of Ramphan.
When the Lhotas were living at Longcham a tiger caused them grievous
loss. One day it killed all of a party of nine women. Among them was
Ramphan’s wife, who was about to become a mother. At this disaster all
clamoured to abandon the village, but Ramphan said he would go and face
the tiger. First he put on each of his fingers a section of thin
bamboo. Then he took his long dao and lay down among the corpses of the
nine women and waited for the tiger. Soon the tiger came and went to
each corpse and ate a little of the flesh and laid it on one side,
saying as he did so, “This one I killed on her way to the fields,” or
“This one I killed when she went to cut wood,” or “This one I killed on
her way to fetch water,” or “This one I killed when she went to pick
jungle leaves,” or “This one I killed when she went to get vegetables,”
or “This one I killed when she was going down to fish.” At last he came
to Ramphan and said, “This one I do not remember,” and picked him up
and laid him aside, and then settled himself down to sleep. Then one by
one Ramphan began to snap the pieces of bamboo on his fingers to see if
the tiger was asleep or not. But at each snap the tiger pricked up his
ears. At last when he had snapped nine of the pieces of bamboo and
there was only one left, Ramphan thought to himself, “If the tiger is
not asleep when I snap this I am done for.” But when he snapped the
last remaining piece of bamboo the tiger did not prick up its ears, for
it was fast asleep. Then Ramphan rose up and cut off the tiger’s head
with his long dao, and climbed with it up to the top of a high spur and
shouted the shout of a warrior who has taken a head. But he was sad
when he thought of his wife lying dead in the valley below. And he
called to his village men and said, “I have slain our enemy. Do not
desert your village. Wait for me.” But when he reached home he found
that the villagers had already abandoned the place. From far away they
shouted back to him, “We have sprinkled the back of one of our sows
with rice husks, which fall as she walks. Follow the track of that and
come.” Now as Ramphan followed the trail of rice husks he caught up on
the path a woman who was a leper. And the woman, whose name was
Mangtsilo, said to Ramphan, “What does this mean, father? A poisonous
snake here said, ‘Snake-plant, snake-plant, Mangtsilo,’ and glided over
my leg. What does it mean?” Then Ramphan told her to crush up some
leaves of the snake-plant and lay them on her leg. And she did as he
told her and her leprosy was cured. [219] Then Ramphan took her as his
wife.
One day when Mangtsilo was weaving outside her house, Ramphan’s slaves
began to spin their tops near by. They made Mangtsilo’s brothers join
in, and drew them on and on till they came close to her house. Then one
of the brothers recognized his sister Mangtsilo, and went and told his
parents that he had seen a woman exactly like his sister. But his
parents said, “Your sister was lost long ago. Her very bones have
rotted away by now. How could you have seen her?” But he said again and
again that he had seen a woman exactly like his sister, so that at last
his parents went to see and found that it was indeed Mangtsilo. Then
they demanded her marriage price from Ramphan, but Ramphan said, “First
give me the marriage feast and then I will give you the marriage
price.” So her father said, “What can I do? Make and give me only a
bamboo spoon and a bamboo rice-stirrer.” So Ramphan made and gave him
only a bamboo spoon and a rice-stirrer. That is why Ramphan and
Mangtsilo only had one son and one daughter born to them.
SONGS
Not only have the Lhotas a number of traditional songs, but they are
also experts at making up topical songs about any events of local
interest. The singing is unaccompanied either by instrumental music or
dancing. The following is given as an example of a traditional song. It
is sung by men lopping the branches off trees when clearing jungle for
new jhums. The Lhota version with a free prose translation is given, as
no verse translation would give any idea of the swing of the song. It
runs as follows:—
Ana echangcho locho
Sena hambong eshonile.
Ana echangcho locho
Reching hambong eshonile.
Ana echangcho locho
Yizem hambong eshonile.
Ana echangcho locho
Süng chomani yingkale.
Zükitacho yakpowo echilato,
Zükitacho yakwoina elhyu.
The interpretation of this song is as follows:—
On the tree that I am cutting
May a cock minivet perch.
On the tree that I am cutting
May a cock hornbill perch.
On the tree that I am cutting
May a cock king-crow perch.
On the tree that I am cutting
May taro and vegetables grow.
The “madhu” is his who climbs to the top,
The “madhu” grows at the top of the tree.
The music of this song will serve as a specimen of Lhota harmony. I am
indebted to Mrs. Hutton for the notation.
The introductory and final chants precede and follow each verse and are
sung on the syllable a.
Another traditional song is the following lullaby sung by a widow to
her child:—
Ole iyi le he-e,
O iyi e he-e,
O kakao ntitscona chitata chonchiato?
O iyi e he-e,
O zükitacho niyuhungcho chonchiato?
O iyi e he-e,
O zükitacho khencheng soko niyutokoka.
Chitata tichonchia,
O kakao.
Ole iyi le he-e,
O iyi e he-e,
O ango o-o,
O ntitscona chitata chonchiato o?
O iyi e he-e,
O ntena chitata chonchiaka a.
O iyi e he-e,
O kiyonipo etchhi tyengro ekamochina.
O iyi e he-e,
O elaniki shiato nichamkao maka.
O chitata tichonchia a,
O iyi e he-e.
This may be translated as follows, omitting the meaningless chant of
Ole iyi le he-e, etc.:—
“My little one, why are you crying so much?
Is it because you want a drink of ‘madhu’ that you are crying?
I will give you well-kept ‘madhu’ to drink.
Do not cry so much.
O my little one,
O my child,
Why are you crying so much?
Even if you cry like this
Your father, who has become a young brave among the dead,
Cannot come back and call you and take you in his arms.
O do not cry so much.”
Songs composed to celebrate some particular event are meaningless to
anyone who does not know the full details of the circumstances to which
they relate. An interlined and much expanded translation will help to
explain the following specimen. It tells of the various people who were
concerned in the founding of the new village of Japfu from Mekula, a
migration which greatly annoyed those who remained in the old village.
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho yanthan yanra Pithango.
(Ho for Pithango plotting to found the new village of Japfu.)
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho yangen yanra Renowo.
(Ho for Renowo of the old village plotting to stop them going.)
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho chapha Tsirenthang.
(Ho for Tsirenthang as fat as a carrying basket.)
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho oyam phanka Zaremo.
(Ho for Zaremo, who went because he could never say No.)
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho maorale Konchiyo ho esonlanicho.
(Ho for Konchiyo, the old man, burrowing into the scheme like a
beetle in straw.)
Ho hati lishomo kamiki.
(He has become as fond of heavy jungle as a giant tortoise. [220])
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho Japfu lantyulo ho epyu kalamo?
(Will you creep on all-fours up to Japfu on the height?)
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho nthang tera Rishamo.
(Ho for Rishamo as handsome in the eyes of Rensali as a red flower
for the ear.)
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho panka tera ’Nseno.
(Ho for ’Nseno, no longer young, like a withered flower for the ear
that looks best at a distance.)
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho okap echü Rensali.
(Ho for Rensali who keeps her love for Rishamo so carefully
hidden.)
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho woro kurri Yanchano.
(Ho for Yanchano as bald as a chicken.)
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho juzü kurri ’Nrio, penching chenpen ’Nrio.
(Ho for ’Nrio with ugly curled hair like a buffalo’s forehead,
’Nrio as black as pounded oil-seed.)
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho Kikung loroe Tsensolo.
(Ho for Tsensolo, fair woman of the Kikung clan.)
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho Kithang tyengro Mangsamo.
(Ho for Mangsamo, buck of the Kithang clan, who stole Tsensolo from
her husband.)
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho yantsowotsenle ho woro nungratoksi.
(What did it matter if you paid a fine? The money, not Tsensolo,
had the pain of parting from you.)
Ho senka tehrru nikhioalo, sithesiyu nikhioato?
(You are barren and useless as a wife. Did he take you to make of
you a post for his house or rafters perhaps?)
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho ntithana nirhanchoato ho yanaloio?
(Why did he marry you, woman?)
Ho holo iye hele,
Ho holo iye hele.
The recruiting of the Lhotas for the Naga Labour Corps, and their
service in France and return have been celebrated in song at Pangti. A
free translation of the song runs as follows.
O Hutton Sahib, young man of a foreign race,
What is that letter which has come for you from abroad?
O Hutton Sahib, young man of a foreign race,
The letter you got so quickly
Is it to call us to go to the German War?
Look how in every village
The bucks plan each with his friend to go.
Oh, we will go to the German War.
Let not a word of the letter fall fruitless.
We men of the Mountains, we the bucks
Have routed the enemies of the Sahib.
Let us return quickly, us the braves of the Mountains.
Let our women-folk at home hear the news,
Let them hear that we have routed the enemies of the Sahib.
We braves of the Mountains are coming back.
Let our women-folk at home hear the news.
Let them meet us with drinks of “madhu.”
Bid them come and meet us on the road.
Tell our two [221] Sahibs to send word to them.
They have given us money as countless as the grains of ash on the
[hearth
But he who gives thought to it,
Only he will keep his money.