Part 5

About midnight the villagers, with torches, drums, and the attendant risomar, assemble in the tikup. The neighbouring villages, if so minded, may come too (aròng ari is the phrase for the contingents as they arrive). Each contingent is welcomed with the drum, and joins in the drumming concert; the lads and girls are dressed in their best, and provided with betel. The chief of the village lads (klèng-sarpo) then calls the other risomar to touch (not taste) the beer, hòr kacheme. [21] Then follows the shield-dance, first by the risomar of the village, then by the outside contingents in order of arrival or merit. Then all together take hands and dance in a circle. The young women join in the line, taking hold of the lads' coats, while the lads take hold of them by the belt (vànkòk); the girls cover their heads and faces with a black scarf (jiso ke-ik): the petticoat is a red-striped Mikir eri cloth. Near the first cock-crow, seven young men go up on the hòng or house-platform from the dancing, with the duhuidi and his assistant; one lad goes in and dances in the inside of kàm, in the space by the partition-wall (nòksèk), while the six others stand at the door (hòngthu, or inghàp àngho = "door's mouth"), and dance there. The six whoop three times together as they dance. After a quarter of an hour they return to the circle of dancers in the tikup. At dawn they go up again, and dance till sunrise. The circle breaks up at daylight, and then follows the shield-dance. Then all the drums go round the circle where they dance ten to twenty times, playing a different tune each time. Then, while they all drum standing, a pig is brought forth, tied up for killing. The risomar in successive parties recount over the tied-up pig the history of the funeral service; this is called phàk aphu kacholàng. Then the pig is killed and cut up for the risomar, and for the men engaged in the funeral service. The latter have to cook and eat their shares of the meat, which is given in leaf-bundles (òk-bòr) or on spits (òk-kròn), beyond the river. The risomar also get their shares in the same way, and cook them in the dancing-ring. A small piece of flesh is cooked by the uchepi for the dead man, and this is put in the plate of the dead and carried by the ingjir-arlo up to the body in the kut, the duhuidi tolling the drum as he goes in; this ceremony is called kasole. Meantime the old experienced men, braving the horrid stench, have been performing certain rites [22] about the body. The remainder of the cooked flesh, with rice, is distributed to the young girls. The risomar then, provided with rice, beer, salt, chillies, and greens from the dead man's house, disperse to houses in the village to eat, and the officiants go off beyond the river to prepare and eat their food. This part of the ceremony is called riso kachiru, "the lads' entertainment."

Then two or three of the risomar take a cock on the road to the burning-place, and kill, cook, and eat it there. A small pig is killed by the other lads where they dance, and the head and one leg are sent to the road-side risomar. The blood is caught in a bamboo-joint, and smeared on the bànjar, which is set up in the road like a maypole; it is a thick bamboo about seven feet long, with sticks projecting on three sides, from which hang tassels of curled bamboo shavings (bànjar abu) These shavings also are smeared with the blood, so as to look like flowers. Six shorter pieces of bamboo, three feet long, also ornamented with tufts of shavings, are called serosos, and these too are smeared with blood: likewise the tèle for carrying the corpse to the pyre. Six young men, each taking a seroso, dance round the bànjar.

The uchepi has now prepared all the food. The obòkpi takes the beer-gourd on her back, and one egg in her hand, and the uchepi a beer-gourd, and they break the egg and the gourd against the tèle as it lies upon the house-ladder (dòndòn). The duhuidi tolls the drum, and dancing as before takes place on the hòng and in the kàm, but not with the serosos. The uchepi and the obòkpi then go on to the burning-place. The tèle is now taken up by the old men into the house, and the corpse tied to it and brought down; all the dead man's clothes are hung over the bamboo. Then a pair of ducks and another of pigeons are killed by the nihu, and a goat by the ingjir-arlo, each previously going thrice round the dancing circle with the sun. The goat is called hòngvàt-abi; the heads are thrown to the risomar, the rest of the meat kept and cooked later on by those who remain. Preceded by the duhuidi and his assistant tolling the drums, they all march in procession, carrying the bànjar and serosos, to the burning-place. The body is untied from the tèle and placed on the pyre, which is lighted. While the pyre is burning, knowing women sing the kacharhe--a chant describing the dead man's life, whither he is going on leaving this earth, how he will see his dead relations, and the messages he has to carry to them. A few of the lads dance while the cremation is proceeding.

The body is thoroughly burnt, and the bones that remain are tied up in a cloth and buried. The tèle is either laid down whole or cut into three pieces, which are split again into six, and placed in the little house which is then erected over the grave. This is built with the bànjar and the serosos, the former being in the middle and the latter used as props for the roof. The food prepared by the uchepi is now placed on a flat stone over the grave, and the ceremony is at an end.

The company, returning, clean and wash the house, and cook and eat and drink on the hòng. On coming back from the cremation, the nihu gets some money, clothes, salt, and a knife. He shares the salt with his own kur, if any are present. The ingjir-arlo next morning has to clean up the dancing ring (ròng-ru kàngru, or tikup karkòk).

The ceremonies of the funeral are performed by the neighbours and cunning men and women of the village, and the old people of the family. The wife, children, parents, brothers and sisters of the dead sit beside him and mourn, in spite of corruption, or even sleep beside the decomposing corpse. "It is genuine grief, a national characteristic. Even after the funeral service, they remember and mourn; and the death of another renews their grief." The mourners continue their lamentation, heedless of the dancing.

If a great man, such as a mauzadar (bikhoya) or leading gaonbura (sarlar, sarthe), dies, in addition to the ceremonial described above, there is another, called Làngtuk ("the well"). A well or pit is dug outside the village, four-square, with sides ten to fifteen feet: it need not be carried down to the water; stairs are made to the bottom. At the corners are planted various trees. A tall upright stone (lòng-chòng) and a broad flat stone (lòng-pàk), supported on short uprights, are brought and set up, as in the Khasi hills. The risomar come and dance there the whole day, with manifold apparatus. The uchepi sings and places food of different kinds on the flat stone for the dead man; his clothes and umbrella are put upon the tall stone, with flowers. A fowl is killed for the well at the bottom of the pit, and a goat, two ducks, and two pigeons are killed at the top, and their heads thrown to the risomar. Then the people of thirty to forty villages assemble. The uchepi sings extemporaneously before the memorial stone, and the people dance and eat there until dark. After dark the company go to the house and perform the usual service already described. The làngtuk is very costly, for people have to be fed at two places, and double the quantity of food for an ordinary funeral has to be provided.

FESTIVITIES.

The Ròngker is the annual compulsory village festival, held at the time of the beginning of cultivation (June), or in some villages during the cold season. Goats and fowls are sacrificed. Arnàm-paro gets a goat, and so do the local gods of hills and rivers. A small village will sacrifice two or three goats, a large village ten or twelve. The flesh of the victims is eaten, with rice and rice-beer, but only men can partake of the sacrifice. They must sleep on the hòng apart from their wives that night. The gods are invoked in the following terms: "We live in your district: save us and help us! send no tigers or sickness, prosper our crops and keep us in good health, and year by year we will sacrifice like this. We depend wholly upon you!" There is no music or dancing at the Ròngker.

At harvest-home there is no sacrifice, but the whole village help mutually in getting the crops in, and feast together on rice and beer, and dried fish and dried flesh saved up against this celebration, or fresh fish if procurable. No animals are killed, except in some houses a fowl, lest the paddy brought home should decrease; this fowl is eaten. On this occasion there is a little dancing on the hòng, but with this exception music and dancing take place only at funerals.

Occasionally there is a Ròngker-pi ("great Ròngker") for the whole mauza, as, for instance, to expel man-eating tigers. Each village, headed by its gaonbura, brings its contribution to the great sacrifice, and repairs to the mauzadar's or bor-gaonbura's house, where the feast is celebrated.

Mr. Stack's notes do not mention the observance by the Mikirs of general tabus, called in Assamese genna, such as are common among the Naga tribes; [23] but personal tabus of various kinds, entailing separate eating of food and abstinence from commerce of the sexes, have already been indicated. Women during menstruation are said to be unclean and unable to touch the cooking-pots.

V.

FOLK-LORE AND FOLK-TALES.

Three Mikir stories--Legend of creation (Mr. Allen).

The Mikirs are fond of telling stories, but the historical material which they contain does not appear to be of very ancient date. Reference has already been made to the deliverance of the Arlengs from slavery to the Khasis, and their contests with the Kacharis under the leadership of Thòng-Nòkbe; also to their early relations with the Ahoms. They have also myths dealing with the creation of the earth and man, one of which has been related by Mr. Allen, of the American Presbyterian Mission, and will be found in the Appendix to this Section; it seems doubtful, however, whether it is a genuine legend, or due to imagination stimulated by questions: the concluding episode strongly resembles the Biblical story of the Tower of Babel. These legends have not been handled by Mr. Stack, and are therefore not reproduced here. The Rev. Mr. Moore notes that "Mikir stories in general do not agree very minutely," and this appears to be particularly the case in respect of tales of the intervention of the gods in human affairs.

Mr. Stack wrote down, chiefly from the dictation of a Mikir named Sardoka, who had become a Christian, a number of excellent stories, which well deserve separate publication. Three specimens of these are given here. They correspond in every respect, as will be seen, with the general characteristics of folk-literature all over the world. Folk-tales containing the same incidents, as is well known, are found from Iceland to Japan, from Alaska to Patagonia. The original source of such a tale is now incapable of identification. The same sequence of events and general form recur everywhere; what is distinctive and characteristic is not the progress of incident, but the local dressing, the narrator's point of view, the colour of his daily life which he lends to the details of the story.

The first of the three specimens is the favourite Indian form of a sequence, well known in Sanskrit literature, but quite as popular in Europe and in general folk-lore. It is given here, because another version of the same narrative has been included by Dr. Grierson in his Linguistic Survey, vol. iii. Part III. p. 223, as found among the Aimol Kukis, a race of Tibeto-Burmans dwelling, far away from the Mikir country, in the hills bordering the valley of Manipur on the east.

The second specimen tells of the adventures of an orphan, the son of a widow, a stock figure in Mikir folk-tales, and abounds in local colour. Here too the incidents in part coincide with those of a folk-tale belonging to a very distant country, the part of Kumaon bordering on Tibet, which will be found in vol. iii, Part I. of the Linguistic Survey, pp. 483, 495, 510, 522.

The third is a remarkably complete and interesting version of the wide-spread folk-tale of the Swan-maidens. It was most probably derived from some Indian source, though, so far as known, no version of the tale in its entirety, as told by Hindus, has yet been published. The name of the hero, Harata-Kunwar, may be the Indian Sarat-Kumar, and is evidently not Mikir. But all the setting--the colloquies of the six brothers and their father, the attempt on Harata-Kunwar's life, his methods in defeating his treacherous kinsmen, his device for winning his fairy wife, and many other features of the story--seems genuinely local. The narrative is an excellent specimen of Mikir diction, and shows no little skill in composition. In vol. iii. Part II. of the Linguistic Survey, there will be found, at pp. 218-220, a short story, entitled, "How Jesu got a goddess for his wife," which is identical in motive with this tale of Harata-Kunwar. It is current among the Angami Nagas, a race much less influenced by Hindu culture than the Mikirs.

The original Mikir text of these tales will be found in the next Section; the English translation here given is as literal as it was possible to make it. In the Linguistic Survey, vol. iii. Part II. pp. 395-403, two other short stories of the same character, both text and translation, have been printed. The second of these, the story of the clever swindler Tèntòn, evidently belongs to the cycle of tales called Tenton-Charit, mentioned, in its Assamese version, as existing in manuscript by Mr. E. A. Gait, at page 68 of his Report on the Progress of Historical Research in Assam, 1897.

1. STORY OF A FROG.

One day a big black ant went to carry a meal of rice to his uncle. A frog sat down in the road and blocked it. The ant said, "Please make way for me, frog; I want to carry this rice to my uncle." The frog answered, "You can get by if you creep under me. Every one has to pass under me who goes this way." The ant said, "My uncle's rice is tied up in a bundle of leaves; how can I possibly creep under you?" But the frog would not give way, so the ant would not go. In this manner things went on till noon. Then the ant said, "Oh, my uncle will be hungry for his rice and angry with me because he does not get it!" And he crept under the frog. Then the frog sat down flat on the top of the ant. Thereupon the ant gave the frog a sharp bite in the loins. Then the frog, becoming angry, jumped on the ladder of a big old squirrel, and broke it. The old squirrel, becoming angry, cut in two the stem of a gourd. [24] The gourd, becoming angry, fell plump on the back of a wild boar. The wild boar, becoming angry, rooted up a plantain-tree. The plantain-tree, becoming angry, fell upon a sparrow's [25] nest and broke it. The sparrow, becoming angry, flew into the ear of a deaf elephant. The deaf elephant, becoming angry, rooted up a rock. The rock, becoming angry, rolled down and killed the Raja's son.

Then the Raja held a court to try the case. "Who is it that killed my son?" "Oh, the rock rolled down and killed him," they said. So they summoned the rock. "O rock, rock! why did you roll down and slay my son?" The rock answered, "Oh, Lord God King! how was I to help rolling down and killing him? The deaf elephant uprooted me on a sudden from my place, and then gave me a push. As for me, I have no hands or legs; how then could I withstand him? Your son being in the way where I was rolling down, I rolled upon him and killed him."

Then the Raja said, "Oh, then that deaf elephant was the cause of all this trouble," and summoned the elephant. "O elephant, elephant! what did you root up the rock for?" The elephant answered, "Oh! how could I help uprooting it, Lord God? The sparrow flew into my ear, and I lost all control of myself, and so I tore up the rock."

Then the Raja said, "Oh, then that sparrow was the cause of it all," and summoned the sparrow. "O sparrow, sparrow! why did you fly into the elephant's ear?" The sparrow answered, "Oh, Lord, how could I help it? The plantain-stalk fell upon my nest and smashed it, and being very disturbed in mind, I flew into the elephant's ear."

Then the Raja said, "Oh! then that plantain-tree was the cause of the trouble," and called the plantain. "O plantain, plantain! what did you tumble on the sparrow's nest and smash it for?" The plantain answered, "Oh, how could I help it, Lord God? The wild boar tore me up out of the ground, and I had no root left at all. How was I to go on standing in my place? I have neither hands nor feet."

"Oh! then that pig was the cause of it all," the Raja said, and summoned the pig. "O pig, pig! what did you tear up the plantain for?" The pig answered, "How could I help it? As I was feeding quietly by myself, the gourd fell plump on my back. I was in great pain, and therefore tore up the plantain tree."

Then the king said, "Oh, the gourd caused all this trouble," and summoned the gourd. "O gourd, gourd! what did you tumble on the wild boar's back for?" "How was I to help it, Lord God? The squirrel cut through my stem. I have neither hands nor feet, nothing but a stalk; if that is cut through, I cannot but fall. So I was obliged to tumble on the wild boar's back."

Then the Raja said, "Oh, that squirrel caused all the mischief," and summoned the squirrel. "O squirrel, squirrel! what did you cut through the stem of the gourd for?" The squirrel answered, "Oh, how could I help it, Lord God? The frog jumped on my ladder and broke it. Then I had no road to get out, and I had to cut the stalk of the gourd."

The Raja said, "Oh, then that frog caused the mischief," and summoned the frog. "O frog, frog! what did you jump on the squirrel's ladder and break it for?" The frog answered, "How was I to help it? A big black ant bit me sharply in the loins, and with the pain of the bite, not knowing what I was doing, I jumped on the squirrel's ladder and broke it."

Again the Raja said, "Oh, it was the ant that caused all the trouble," and summoned the ant. "O ant, ant! what did you bite the frog in the loins for?" The ant said, "How could I help biting him? In the morning I was carrying my uncle's rice along the road. The frog sat down and blocked the way. I said, 'Please make room for me to pass.' 'Creep under me,' said he. I crept under him, and he sat down tight on the top of me. That was why I bit his loins."

Then said the king, "You are both of you guilty." They tied the ant fast with a hair from a man's head; so now his waist is very small. The frog they beat severely with a stinging-nettle, [26] so now he is spotty all over.

2. STORY OF AN ORPHAN AND HIS UNCLES.

Once upon a time a widow woman had an only son. His mother had six brothers. One day at evening his uncles said to the orphan, "Nephew, let us go and set up a fish-trap." [27] So the orphan went with them. Then the six brothers, his uncles, having built a good weir up-stream, set the trap. The orphan, having put together a few stones down-stream, below his uncle's trap-weir, set his own trap carelessly in the middle of them, and returned home. The next morning they all came to look at their traps. The uncles' trap, though very well put together, had not caught so much as a cray-fish; as for the orphan's trap, it was quite full of fish. Then the uncles said, "Nephew, we will set up our trap here; do you go down-stream and set up your trap again." Then, after the uncles had set up their trap in the orphan's trap-weir, the orphan again set up his trap downstream. But again the fish entered it just in the same way; while not one fish had got into the uncles' trap, the orphan's trap was quite full of fish. Every morning the uncles continued to take for themselves the place where the orphan's trap had been. At last the orphan, becoming very tired of continually setting up his trap in a different place, one morning, instead of fixing the trap in the stream, placed it on a clump of grass and left it there. Next morning his uncles came and called to the orphan: "Nephew, let us go and look at the traps." The orphan answered, "For my part, I have not set up my trap at all; nevertheless I will go with you as your companion." So saying, he went with them. Then he went to look at his trap, and found that a wood-pigeon had got inside it. He tied this wood-pigeon with a noose and brought it home.