During
the War, I had only a glimpse of Assam. Being then more concerned with
operations, I had little opportunity of close contact with the people. Besides the
Japs, our other foe was the mosquito, which had taken quite a toll of lives.
Due to regular doses of mepacrine, the whites of my
eyes had turned yellow, thus giving me a jaundiced look. This
unpalatable experience had created a lasting impression on me. And thus, on the
eve of my last visit to Assam, I dreaded the idea of going there.
Two
days later, I passed through Katihar en route to Shillong via the
unusually slow Assam link, which is devoid of many ordinary amenities of
everyday life. Scarcity of good drinking water and hygienic food still exists
on this route. The water that I had kept in a glass jug turned reddish, the
rust showing up clearly. Had it not been for a timely offer of hot tea from a
co-passenger; I might have gone thirsty.
At
some of the so-called important stops, one could get only gram and ‘singaras’*,
and since these were then the only link between me and existence, I had no
other alternative. It was a relief to arrive at pandu, where a hearty meal was
available on board the ferry, which later took me across the Brahmaputra. The
scenery on either side of the snake-like road from Gauhati to Shillong was more
enchanting than the distasteful landscapes between Katihar and Pandu. As the
car winds its way up the rising highway, the tall slender bamboos dressed in
their greenish finery keep bowing in the breeze, as if welcoming you to Assam.
Further up, the giant firs are like sentinels guarding over the hilly
countryside.
Half
way up at Nonghpoh, the car halted over half an hour. Walking up to a roadside
inn for lunch, I saw a number of fruit and vegetable vendors, mostly teen-age
village belles, conducting brisk business. Their attractively coloured costumes
revealed their naturally supple figures to advantage. The winsome smiles of
their peach-red complexions were enough to melt the hearts of their numerous
prospective customers. This was my first introduction to the Khasis.
In front of the Nonghpoh police post was a notice board covered with posters in Roman script, which on closer inspection were found to be not in the English language, but in Khasi. I learnt from an erstwhile Khasi acquaintance that his people had no written script of their own. A Khasi legend relates that the Khasi lost his book in a vast flood, and with it the art of writing.
Due
to absence of native script, it is a pity that no tentative record is available
to tell us how or whence the Khasis came. In the past, it appears, even the
neighbouring peoples had taken little interest in the tribals. Perhaps, this
was due to lack of easy communication and diversity of tongues spoken, which
made contact a difficult matter. Prior to the advent of the British, Assam
seems to have been virtually cut off from the rest of India. Thus, up to the
dawn of the 19th century, the history of this region is rather vague, a good
deal being either based on scientific theories or legends that exist to this
day. The Khasis believe that though they have been here for centuries, they
actually came from elsewhere.
I
arrived at Shillong in the evening, and keen as I was to have a good look round
this “Queen of Hill Stations”, I could not do so, due to the short time at my
disposal. Shillong was full of activity, parties of men and women having their
evening strolls, groups on their way to places of entertainment, some young
folk shopping and others roaming at leisure. What struck me was their cheerful
nature, lightheartedness, happy-go-lucky outlook on life and their robust
health. Before proceeding further, I would like to tell you something about
their background.
About
1778 a former Resident and Collector of Sylhet, Robert Lindsay, in his “Lives
of the Lindsays”, described the Khasis as a tribe of independent Tartars having
direct relations with China. In the early 19th century, Dr. Buchanan-Hamilton,
although spending many years studying the races in Eastern India, in his
descriptions confused the Khasis with the Garos, an error also committed by the
Rev. W. Lish, a Baptist Missionary, in 1838. In 1840 Captain Fisher of the
Survey Department, in an authoritative account of the Khasis, stated the
prevalence of matriarchy, absence of polyandry, “their religion as a worship of
gods of valleys and hills, system or augury used to ascertain the will of the
gods and dwelling at length on the megalithic monuments situated on the higher
plateaus.” Fisher says that the Khasis are a race totally different from the
neighbouring tribes.
The
isolation of the Khasi race amidst a vast multitude of Tibeto-Burman stock, and
the remarkable features of their language soon attracted the attention of
philologists. With the arrival of the Welsh Calvinistic Mission in 1842, the
Khasi language was studied. Bengali script, after a trial, was found unsuitable
for Khasi. The missionaries therefore decided to use the Roman script instead,
a system which proved convenient for expressing the sounds in Khasi, and still
in vogue today.
H.
R. Logan, editor of the “Journal of the Indian Archipelago” from 1850 to 1857,
pointed out the affinity between the Khasis and the Mons or Talaings of Pegu
and Tenesserim, the Khmers of Cambodia, and the Annamese. Through a study of
Oriental languages, he found that the nearest kinsmen of the Khasis are the
Palaungs in the Shan States. Later researches revealed that the Khasis belong
to the Mon-Khmer group of Indo-China, which was somewhat connected with the
large linguistic family (mainly comprising the Santals, Mundas and Korkus),
inhabiting Chota Nagpur and parts of the Satpura Range.
In
1906, Prof. Schmidt of Vienna established the kinship of Khasi
not only with the Mon-Khmer languages but also with Nicobarese and several
dialects spoken by wild tribes in Malaya. The roots of the words
are seen to be similar, as also the order of words in a sentence, indicating
that these peoples think alike.
Khasi-Palaung
affinity is strengthened by a Palaung folk-tale stating that the Palaung Sawbwa
was descended from Thusandi, a Naga princess who lived in Nat Tank, where she
laid three eggs. From one was born the ancestor of the Palaung Sawbwa. The Khasis
lay great stress on the potency of the egg in divination for religious
sacrifices. At death, an egg is placed on the stomach of the deceased, and
later broken on the funeral pyre. Among some Malayan tribes, the Gaji-Guru or
medicine-man “can see from the yolk of the egg, broken while sacramentally
counting from one to seven, from what illness a man is suffering and what
caused it.”
The
Palaung tale is interesting, and might suggest of the matriarchate still in
vogue amongst the Menangkabau Malays of Sumatra and adjacent lands. The
matriarchate was prevalent amongst the primitive races of Cambodia. Ancient
Chinese writers have spoken of the Queens of Founan (Cambodia).
Since Khmers were the ancient peoples of Cambodia,
there is an important landmark between them and the Khasis.
Ancestor
worship has since long existed in the Malay Archipelago, even amongst tribes
who later embraced Islam. The same may be said of some Khasis who became
Christians. The custom universally observed by the Khasis at births, as regards
the placenta being mixed with ashes, placed in a pot and hung on a tree, has
parallel cases among the South Moluccans and west coast Sumatrans. All this
seems to point that the Khasis are Malay in appearance, and it is clear that
they have affinity with both the Mon-Khmers and the Malays.
From
Shillong, Some days later, I proceeded to Elephant Falls. When one talks of
waterfalls, one immediately recalls the Niagara or the Victoria, whose majesty
there are few to dispute. Elephant Falls is actually puny in comparison. A
little rivulet descends from a neighbouring hill, winds its way down under a
culvert, and finally ends its career in a deep pond about 50 feet in diameter,
600 yards from the main highway. The fall is hardly 80 feet, and during the dry
season the water silently flows down the edge.
It
was disappointing to discover that the water flowing here was not aqua pura,
but one coming through an adjacent camp! The scenery, however, is charming:
greenery all round with a moderate undergrowth, the tall fire soaring high into
the sky. Carvings of hearts with arrows, and names of those who made them,
decorate the tree trunks, legacies of many a romance. A few stone slabs serve
as benches for those who care to use them. In close proximity of the falls are
a couple of lovers’ walks with peaceful retreats, and further away are groves
on the slopes.
On
the main road were a few Khasis, some with conical baskets on their backs and
supported with cloth bands on their foreheads, others with neat bundles of
firewood, all on their way from Mawphlang to Shillong to sell their wares,
later to return home with their domestic needs. Short in stature but with
muscular physique, these stalwarts can carry heavy loads for long distances. It
was not surprising to learn that they make some of the best porters in North
Eastern India.
The
Khasis, numbering over three lakhs, are a carefree race who prize liberty above
everything else. It is quite easy to recognise a Khasi by his dress, comprising
a modified form of western trousers and coat. For headgear, he wears a small
turban. The female attire is more picturesque: a large scarf or kerchief
covering the head, a colourful lungi and a blouse, and finally a loose cloak
over the latter, resting over the shoulders and secured by a neat knot under
the chin. The girls choose their colours with care. Though at first these may
appear gaudy to a stranger, it is a treat to watch the gatherings at fairs and
festivals, when a multitude of hues greets the eye.
As
is generally evident in this region, agriculture on the hillslopes and jungle
clearings is the main occupation. Due to difficulties involving water and
drainage control, the people have to labour hard. The more enterprising,
residing near the main highways, also manage to cultivate crops
for sale. Burning the undergrowth and scattering the ashes, known as
‘jhooming’, is a common way of fertilising. Though the western
half of the Khasi Hills is not so fertile, the Khasis by sheer effort manage to
grow crops not only for home consumption but also for sale in the neighbouring
villages. Besides the staple crop rice, they raise maize
on the slopes, pulses, pine-apples, oranges, peaches, plums, pears, arecanuts
and even a small amount of cotton in the clearings. The Khasis
also devote large areas to potatoes, first introduced here about 125 years ago.
Adept
at making domestic articles out of bamboo and cane, both found in fair
abundance in this region, the Khasis excel in producing mats,
chairs and tables, cradles, bird-cages and fishing-rods. Miniature replicas of
some of these items are used both as toys and means of adornment. Khasis also
weave cotton and silk cloth on locally-made handlooms. Like other tribals, they
lay emphasis on attractive colours.
Next
day, at the first glow of light, I left with a party for Jowai, 35 miles away.
The chilly morning breeze was bracing, a good omen when one has a long march
ahead. A few minutes later, we were trudging along a path on the slope of
Shillong Peak, about which there are many folk tales. One relates that long ago
when the world was young, on the top of Dingiei, a hill close to Shillong Peak;
there was a big tree which overshadowed the whole world.
The
Khasis unanimously decided that felling the tree would bring good and light to
the world, which was then dark and unfruitful. They used to cut it during the
day, and on returning the next morning, they found the cuts obliterated! This
strange occurrence baffled them. On investigation, they learnt from ka phreid,
a small bird, that “all this happened because a tiger comes every night to the
tree and licks the part of the tree which has been cut.” From then onwards,
after cutting the tree, they tied their axes and knives to the incisions with
their sharp blades pointing outwards. When at night, as usual, the tiger came
to lick the cuts, the sharp blades cut his tongue. The tiger hence-forth
ceased to come to the tree, and so the cuts were not obliterated
any more. The tree was thus felled and the world received the light of the sun
and moon. No one knows what became of the tree, for since then its species died
out.
Two miles away, we made our way to the top of a hill about 3000 feet high. Since the gradient was almost one in two, we got tired out. The up-hill path, probably over 100 years old, consisted of giant stone slabs in steps all the way up. What a relief I felt when I reached the top and viewed the beauty around me! The Shillong Peak presented a majestic appearance, with its little cottages on the grassy slopes dotted with tall firs rising high, as if vying with one another to reach the deep blue sky. Standing on a projecting boulder, I could see for miles around. To the right, the gravel road to Jowai spread like a narrow red carpet winding through the beautiful landscape, its course sometimes obscured by the blue hills. This ridge, about 10 miles away from Shillong, is an artist’s paradise.
Continuing
our way, we found ourselves approaching a village. Some distance to the left
were a group of Khasis, descending with easy strides, and chanting a melody as
they jogged along. Besides their loads, they also had haversacks, in which, we
later learnt, they carry food, money and their ‘pan-supari**’. We enquired from
one of them the distance to Jowai, and were taken aback when he replied that it
was about twenty ‘pans’ away! It was interesting to know that rural people here
usually define distance by the number of ‘pans’ chewed on the way.
Khasi
villages are generally sited below the summits, and this one was no exception. This
is because the people want protection from the Nor’westers, and more so because
it is taboo for Khasis to live on the peaks. Being a settled community who soon
become attached to their surroundings, they seldom change village sites, in the
vicinity of which they have their family and clan-grave-yards. One may judge
the age of a village by its stone monoliths, the custom of erecting them being
as old as the hills.
Just
outside the village was a solemn group of Khasis. One of their kinsmen had
died. Coming closer, we found the corpse laid on a pyre, head to the west.
Shortly afterwards, the egg-breaking ritual was observed. Fire was then applied
to the pyre by the children of the deceased. Three arrows were shot into the
air, one each to the north, east and south. We learnt that after the corpse has
been burnt, the calcined bones are collected by the relatives
and taken to the tribal cemetery for being interred. There, a large flat stone
is stuck upright into the ground in memory of the dead.
In
the days gone by, different types of stone were erected, each having its own
significance. The stones were of granite or sandstone, rough-hewn, gradually
tapering towards the top. The ‘mawlynti’ or ‘mawjkat’ were meant to serve as
seats for departed clansfolk. The ‘mawbynna’ were in memory of parents and near
relations. The ‘maw-umkoi’ marked the sites of tanks, where the ashes and bones
of those who died unnatural deaths were
washed. All these were
not to be confused with the ‘maw-shongihait’, flat stones placed horizontally
in market-places and the roadside for the convenience of travellers.
Adjacent
to their villages, the Khasis have their groves of pine and oak, where none are
supposed to fell. Herein, they gather to worship their village deity,
U-Ryngkew-u-Basa. The village dwellings are generally raised on plinths about
two feet above the ground. One or two windows serve for the purpose of
ventilation. Since the hearth is generally kept in the centre, the atmosphere
inside is rather dark and smoky. Usually oval in shape, a Khasi house has three
rooms, one for sleeping, the centre for the hearth, and the other as a sort of
porch. Though most of the houses are of wood, some have stone walls. The Khasis
pile their firewood and odds and ends in the porch, while outside their cows
and pigs roam ad lib. During the night these animals are kept in little
huts nearby. Despite their general poverty, the Khasis are contented, taking
life as it comes.
As
we plodded onward, the outskirts of Jowai greeted us with a smile. The village
urchins with their chubby cheeks and pretty costumes lined up the wayside,
their grins conveying to us that we were in friendly country. Nearby, some
Khasis puffed bidis and cheap cigarettes, others chatting over cups of
tea at the roadside cafe, run by a young pretty female. Her
attractive, features were enhanced by her rosy health. Although she was the only
woman present, there was a sense of orderliness amongst the, customers. There
are many such cafes in the villages along the main highway. Therein, the Khasis
like to collect together to spend their spare time, gossiping or even talking
over small transactions in daily life.
Some
time later, we passed through the Shellatang Military Farm, which stretches a
few miles on the road to Jowai. The farm raised a variety of vegetables, all
grown by volunteer effort of jawans from the units in Shillong. When the jawans
initially came here some years ago, they had to build their own quarters. Their
present barracks were neat and tidy. The farm presented a fine picture. This
was mainly due to the spadework of an energetic Sikh brigadier commanding the
Shillong brigade, who took a very keen interest in its success.
We
halted at Jowai for a couple of days. The environments here were beautiful.
Scattered at several spots were groves of pine and oak, on the outskirts of
which are beautiful lawns of grass dotted with small bushes bearing wild
flowers in bloom. About two furlongs from my temporary abode was a hillock, on
which stood a cluster of cottages with beautiful red-tiled roofs. The charm of
the surroundings was enhanced by the well-maintained grassy meadows. This
little colony comprises a co-educational institution run by a Christian
Mission. In the evening, I paid a visit to the school, where on arrival the
Principal very kindly showed me round the classes, dormitories, library,
dining-hall, workshop and playgrounds. All these were well equipped and an
example of tidiness. The students displayed a high sense of discipline
everywhere.
It
was a credit to those who ran the institution, that they provided modern
facilities in many ways, especially their own water and electricity, something
which the adjacent army farm could not boast of. More pleasant was the surprise
that there are a number of such schools dotted all over Khasi-land, some being
right in the interior. Here, let me, in all justice, pay a tribute to the
sincere and hardworking missionaries, who have done a lot in the cause of
uplift and welfare of the local tribals. To the criticisms that one hears about
the missionaries, it can be said that they entered the field when none others
had even thought of doing anything for the tribals. Despite the atmosphere that
they have been through, the local inhabitants consider themselves Indians first
and Khasis only second.
During
my tour of the classes in this institution, I found the students both keen and
intelligent. Khasi names, however, baffled me. My erstwhile escort explained
that Khasi parents are fond of naming children after great personalities of the
West. For instance, here were Khasi boys named Washington, Lincoln, Mckinley,
Scott, Churchill, Stephenson, Roosevelt and Lyngdoh. More interesting was the
case with girls’ names. In a class, the teacher pointed out to me three
Khasi sisters, and much to my amusement, he told me
that their names were Million, Billion and Trillion!
While returning from the school, some one on the road greeted me with a ‘Good evening to you, Sir.’ On turning round, I saw a Khasi villager, young and sturdy, with a pole slung across his shoulder, on which dangled a basket and his native jacket. He smiled at me and requested; “Excuse me, Sir, I would like to play basket-ball at your camp.” I guided him to where the game was in progress, and when he joined in, I was surprised to find that he played it so well. After the game was over, I asked him where he was educated. He modestly revealed that he had never been to school, and whatever English he had picked up was during the war, when British troops were stationed near his village. As he was a Hindu, I was rather astonished, as up to that time I had been under the impression that out here only the Christian Khasis bothered to learn English.
Next
day, I paid a short visit to Jaintiapur. As it happened to be a weekly
fair day, the market place was very crowded, and most of the
time I had to squeeze through from one place to another. The
whole atmosphere was one of festivity. There were separate sections for
vegetables, fruit, meat, fresh and dry fish, rice and other
cereals, domestic articles, groceries and general merchandise. The smell of
fish and vegetable refuse on the ground pervaded the air,
but this did in the least bother the Khasis from going about their business,
which went on in full swing.
One
aspect that strikes a casual visitor here is the predominance of female
vendors. This is because, on account of the matriarchy, the women occupy a high
pedestal in the community and family life of the Khasis. The women run the
house and business, while the men work in the fields, tend the cows and pigs,
and bring firewood home. Close to the fair, the men were having archery
contests, and indulging in other sports.
Two
days later, I reached Shillong. It happened to be a Sunday. While waiting for my
down-hill journey to commence, I noticed cheerful groups of Khasi boys and
girls dressed in their Sunday best on their way to the church. The peals of the
church bells mingled with their youthful laughter, which spoke of their
contented and happy life.
As
the car left the outskirts of Shillong, I began to recollect all that I had
seen during my short sojourn in the land of the Khasis. It had been a pleasant
experience. One point stood out in the forefront, that humans can be happy with
even the frugal means at their disposal, if only they appreciate the blessings
of Nature. For indeed, the Khasis are Nature’s own offspring.
* Native patties
** Betal leaf and nut.