Assam’s Folk-Songs: A General Survey
By
Prof. P. GOSWAMI, M.A.
Folk-songs
are interesting for various reasons. They are poetic in an artless way; they
reveal aspects of social life; they furnish data for the psychological
analyst–they claim the attention equally of the professor of literature and the
professor of anthropology.
The
modern study of folk-songs seems to have had its stimulus in Germany in the
eighteenth century. Johann Gottfried Herder collected some songs and wrote
essays on them pointing out their importance in the literary tradition of the
people. Herder even coined a term Volkslied to cover the various types
of songs current among the lower classes, and the term was later adopted in
English as folk-song. Heider had to raise his voice against a
conservative attitude to folk-songs in general. This was the case in Assam too,
for when Assam’s most popular folk-songs came to be collected in about 1921 by
Mr. Nakul Chandra Bhuyan, his action was looked upon with contempt by the
educated class. There were a few enlightened gentlemen who encouraged him to go
on with his work, but that did not prevent him from fighting shy of certain
songs which were obviously erotic and too expressive.
The
times had their revenge on the orthodox, and Mr. Bhuyan’s collection of Bihu
songs came to be selected as a text-book for University students, and a
quatrain like the following had the fortune to be considered as symbolizing the
patriotic sentiments of the Assamese people:
So
dear is the Muga bobbin
so
dear the shuttle,
dearer
still is the Bohag Bihu
how
else but to celebrate it?
The
Spring festival Bihu sends a thrill into the heart of every Assamese, and even
in the face of an advancing industrial civilisation and in spite of the thick
layer of Aryanisation, the Bihu has remained an institution which stirs most
easily the strongest national sentiments. And it is to be wondered why most of
the folk-songs of the land are of this light and short Bihu-song type. Is it
because such songs lend themselves easily to be sung to a dance-rhythm, or is
there something in the racial temper of the Assamese–the tribals
inclusive–which prefers something which is not sustained and which does not
demand physical strain?
Folk-songs
of a more sustained core–ballads–have a more dignified status in the
folk-literature of the world. The British ballads have been studied by persons
like Child and Gummere, and some of them have wondered whether a ballad is
composed by the throng or the individual. The question will never be settled, just
as it is difficult to decide which comes first–the egg or the chicken. Ballads
all the world over possess certain common characteristics. They tell stories
dealing with love, heroism, the supernatural, or some tragic happening, but in
general they are often of a tragic character. The narration of the story is
forthright and vibrant with action. There are plenty of repetitions, and
sometimes refrains reminding one of the choral throng which echoes them when
the balladist recites a ballad.
Two important Assamese ballads have,
as their staple, supernatural incidents. The ballad of Prince Phul is made up
of a ride on a magic horse and the hero’s securing of a princess. At the touch
of the prince a withered garden revives and he enters the princess’s chamber
disguised as a bumble-bee. The ballad of Maid Jana similarly describes such
incidents as the hero’s throwing his adversary into the sky and the latter’s
body changing into trees and swamps. Such Magical incidents are frequently met
with in fairy tales.
Love does not seem to be a major
motif in Assamese ballads. There are historical ballads, especially the ballad
of the Barphukan, which describes the Burmese invasions of the early nineteenth
century. The narration is vivid, though not as rapid and dramatic as in the
Border ballad ‘Chevy Chace’. This ballad tells us how the minstrel ekes out his
living:
Let my lord give me five
quarter-rupees
I sing of the Barphukan
It is my fortune–
My lord I’ve met here.
A British balladist
sings thus:
Then give me leave,
nobles and gentles, each one,
One more song to sing
and I have done;
And if that itt may winn
good report
Then doe noe give me a
groat for my sport.
A groat was more than
a shilling in Elizabeth’s time. Popular patronage as well as the favour of the
feudal lords was the sustenance on which the ballads used to thrive in Assam as
in Britain.
In
spite of the resemblances in the incidents of many ballads in different parts
of the world, it has been observed that ballads do not migrate as well as tales
do: songs do not usually cross linguistic barriers. The peculiar turns of
expression and the tunes which characterize a ballad or a song are not easily
adopted by an alien people. But because a ballad is a folk composition it may
have peculiarties which are possessed in common by peoples dwelling far apart
on the globe. The Assamese ballad of Pagala-Parvati has certain, interesting
resemblances to the British ballad ‘The Twa Magicians’. The Assamese ballad may
be summarised thus: A wife is saying to herself: “I am stretching the warp of
my loom, but I’ve forgotten to bring the brush (with which to smooth the warp).
Only for this would Pagala thrash me. Let me go to my mother’s.” Pagala
apparently hears her and declares, “You are going to your mother’s, Parvati; I
would lie in ambush on the way and catch you.” “You would lie in ambush on the
way and catch me, Pagala; I would run off into the forest.” “You, would run off
into the forest, Parvati; I shall set fire to the forest and catch you.” “You
would set fire to the forest and catch me, Pagala; I would go up with the
smoke.” “You would go up with the smoke, Parvati; I would catch you with a
hooked pole.”...
Thus
they go on. If she falls into the lake he catches he with a fishing
contrivance; if he catches her with a fishing contrivance she becomes a shell;
if she becomes a shell he burns her and eats her up as lime; if he eats her as
lime she stings both his cheeks; if she stings he cures the pain by rubbing his
cheeks with oil; if he rubs oil she takes birth as mustard seeds; if she is
born mustard seeds he presses them; if he presses them she takes birth as
oil-cake; if she takes birth as oil-cake he throws it away into a corner of the
garden; if she is thrown away she turns into a large tree; if she turns into a
large tree he fells it and makes a boat; if he makes a boat she drowns him in
the middle of the water.
So
ultimately the victory lies with the woman. This kin fancied transformation in
order to escape and to pursue has a parallel–where the transformation is taken
as an accomplished fact–in ‘The Twa Magicians’ mentioned earlier. In this
ballad an unwilling lady is pursued by a “coal-black smith” and:
Then
she became a turtle dove,
To
fly up in the air,
And
he became another dove,
And
they flew pair and pair,
She
turned herself into an eel,
To
swim into yon burn,
Thus they go on. The ballad is incomplete, but, in a better version preserved in France, finding him adamant, the lady succumbs to the lover at last. * It is a sort of “magical conflict” also seen in the Bengali metrical romance of Manikchandrer Gan, where the queen Maynavati struggles against Yama, King of Death, who has taken away her husband. To avoid her he turns himself into a carp: she becomes a waterfowl. He eludes her as a shrimp: she searches for him as a gander. He flies into the air as a dove: she chases him as a hawk...
Songs
connected with marriage are c.haracterized by a tenderness which is all their
own. Such songs sometimes throw light on the rituals performed at a marriage
ceremony. For example, in the district of Kamrup, the day before the marriage,
a present of oil and other things known as telar-bhar is taken to the
bride’s place. The present is in charge of some close relation of the
bridegroom and a number of women always accompany it. A telar-bhar song
goes thus: one of the Songstresses is addressing her companions:
O
my dear lady, carry this curd, milk, ghee and honey
(For)
at Choudhury’s house is a maid as lovely as the pomegranate,
We
wanted a ripe pomegranate but you give a bel,
This
ari fish is wriggling so, it might hurt our fingers,
Let
it go into the telar-bhar along with the ornaments,
Our
maid splits betel in the form of sangeri blossoms,
She
is born of respectable parents.
Hearing
of her our young man has sent these ornaments.
It
is the telar-bhar day, tomorrow is his marriage,
His
father is sitting amidst a number of persons,
Going
there you will find the gate of Rukmini.
There
put down the telar-bhar present,
Rukmini
would ask: Whose it is: say from Dwaraka has it been sent.
This
song tells us a lot about the marriage. Things that go in the present,
including the fish which is a symbol of fertility, the bride’s capacity for
splitting betel-nuts, a virtue in Assamese society, the ornaments which have
been sent by the bridegroom and the putting on of which would indicate that the
betrothal is complete, characterization of the bride as Rukmini, Sri Krishna’s
wife–all these and more are found in the song.
The
fancy and poetic quality of a marriage song are evidenced in the following:
After
her bath the maid asked her mother
What
clothes am I to put on?
Such
that dry in the shade and hide in the clasp
You
are to put on;
After
her bath the maid asked her brother
What
flowers am I to put on?
Not
the seuti, not the malati either,
She
does not take the kharikajai,
In
the midst of the seas is the parijat
That
you are to put on;
The
loving brother put out in his boat
He
went in search of the parijat;
The
plantain sprout reaches the sky
To
the waist reaches her hair;...
Popular
imagination is in its best form here: it is refined, tender, and creative. It
can endow the commonest subject with attributes of the rarest things that have
been created by a poet’s talent. The girl is the loveliest possible, her hair
reaches down to her waist; she must have the best of clothes–such that dry in
the shade and so fine that they can be hidden in the clasp–perhaps a memory of
the silk which was once a home-made product; the flower she will take must be
divine and rare–the parijat. She has a loving brother who would go to any
length in order to satisfy her.
This
quality of tenderness is evidenced further in the nursery rhymes, which are,
like the marriage songs, probably composed by womenfolk. The most popular
nursery rhyme has the form of a formula tale. A formula tale has a simple
situation, but the various stages in it develop according to a certain pattern
and there is much repetition. The rhyme goes thus:
O
Flower, O Flower,
Why
don’t you bloom?
The
Cow eats my shoots,
Why
should I bloom?
O
Cow, O Cow,
Why
do you eat the shoots?
The
Cowboy does not tend me,
Why
should I not eat?
O
Cowboy, O Cowboy,
Why
don’t you tend the Cow?
The
Cook does not make rice,
Why
should I tend?..
In
this way questions are put to the Cook, the Fueller, the Smith, the
Charcoalman, the Cloud, and finally the Frog:
O
Frog, O Frog,
Why
do you croak?
The
custom of my forefathers–
Why
give up?
The
matter cannot be pursued beyond this point. Plants and animals frequently
figure in the nursery rhymes, thus forming a kinship between the child-mind and
the world around.
Tenderness
for the baby has been fruitful in creating nursery rhymes even among the tribal
population in the land. The Dimasa Kacharis of North Cachar have such a rhyme:
My
pet, you are crying,
Is
there too much smoke?
O
you are crying,
The
chillies are stinging, isn’t it?
You
are crying, let the other people sleep,
There
are visitors,
When
they depart I shall bring you galou (?).
The song gives a
glimpse into the life led by the Kachari. Smoke in the cottage, burnt chilies
on the fire, the busy housewife looking after her guests–all these are there.
The Lhota Nagas also have such a rhyme:
“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 much...”**
Scholars
have tried to find traces of ancient myths and rituals in children’s rhymes and
game songs. The frequent mention of the moon in Assamese lullabies
might point to some primitive belief in the moon; the frog’s association with
the clouds is a living belief even now, frog marriage being celebrated when
there is dearth of rain. From Kent to Pekin, a rhyme is current in which
children threaten or request a snail to put out its horn. An English version
runs thus:
Snail,
snail, put out your horn,
Or
I’ll kill your father and mother the morn.
The
rhyme is found in slightly altered versions among peoples like the French, the
Italian, the Roumanian, the Russian and the Chinese. The snail has been
regarded as typifying the dawn stealing from its cavern or as symbolical of
birth. *** It is not known if a parallel is found in Assam, but the following
about a kind of ant has been heard from children:
Ant,
come out, come out,
I’ll
give you rice, I’ll give you fish,
Come
out.
It
is possible the Assamese rhyme also has the same symbolism as the other one.
A
study-of the types of folk-songs described above, as well as certain other less
important types not included in this essay, would reward one with various kinds
of information, literary, psychological, sociological and anthropological.
Songs are a spontaneous growth: they are being composed eve now, but they
thrive best in an agricultural and pastoral setting. Industrial inroads play
havoc upon the folk mentality, by making it more sophisticated and less joyous.
As the tiller of the soil comes away from his natural setting and tends to lose
his older festivals, the seasonal changes do not work upon his mind as before
and the festival songs also are supplanted by other modes of music. The Bihu
songs were born close to the soil at the Spring festival. Insufficient crops,
dearth of cultivable land, want of yarn and cloth, influence of western
education, the speed characterizing modern life–all these have tended to do
away with the dances and songs of the Bihu festival. The sadness that is
associated with such a turn of events is well expressed in the following song:
The
birds peck at the paddy, O my fellow,
the
crumbs get scattered,
our
very dear Bihu ground
the
dubari grass has covered.
* Child, English and
Scottish Popular Ballads, Pp. 77-78.
** J. H. Hutton, The Lhota Nagas, p.
202.
*** Lewis Spence, Myth
and Ritual in Dance, Game and Rhyme, p. 165