Patricia Mukhim
It is amusing how myths harden into beliefs because they are internalised by every generation. A society that rests on these repeated myths faces the danger of living in denial of the emerging realities that challenge us on a daily basis. For instance one of the most peddled myths is that the Khasi society is egalitarian. I am not sure if it was the British who called the Khasis egalitarian since I have not come across that term being used by the colonist. But this term has been bandied around for a while. An egalitarian society is one that actively promotes equality. This implies a shared community ethos of community ownership of resources. If that were so, how does one person own an entire catchment that can feed water to hundreds of people in a locality? If we were egalitarian then how do some people own hundreds of acres of land while others are landless? No apologies for raking up the research findings on landlessness in Meghalaya which is a stark 76% of the rural population. Unfortunately the research does not take the urban population in its ambit. This would have showed up the austere poverty that marks Khasi society today.
Every which way we look at it, Khasi society defies the notion of egalitarianism because it is hierarchical with the Syiem at the top of the pyramid and the lyngdohs/myntris occupying a lower structure followed by the Sordar at the Raid level and the Rangbah Shnong at the Dorbar level. But even the Dorbar Raid and Dorbar Shnong don’t seem to have been part of tradition if one does a critical reading of history.
Each hierarchy extracts compliance to a set of edicts flowing from it. These edicts have evolved with time but the hierarchy persists. Hence Khasi society is an oligarchy where power rests with a small tribal elite. Unlike Greek oligarchies where control of the society vests in those that are distinguished by nobility, wealth, education etc., Khasi society does not stress on quality for those they are compelled to call their leaders. Even today the qualification of a legislator does not decide his electoral prospects.
The second myth that needs busting is what the British said about the Khasis – that they follow a democratic mode of decision-making. The British cited just a solitary instance when a decision relating to whether the British could be allowed to build a road in a particular direction took two days of consultation. But that singular instance is hardly adequate to demonstrate the existence of the elements of democracy. If Khasis were democratic can far reaching decisions be taken by a few pressure groups without consulting the “people” (the Khasis are roughly about a million people). Yet Khasis believe they are a democracy even when the decision-making whether at the Dorbar Syiem, Dorbar Raid or Dorbar Shnong is by a select few who have been elected by voice vote – an election that is hardly democratic. And why do people continue to adhere to this practice? Because tradition says so. Really? Isn’t tradition also invented?
Noted historian Romila Thapar in her book ‘Sakuntala: Texts, Readings, Histories..writes that the present selects items from the past that are used to invent or refashion what comes to be called ‘tradition’. These are generally items which the present finds attractive and which legitimise its various codes of behaviour and belief. The making of tradition becomes another dialogue with the past. It is often a perceived past which contributes to the construction of history, although in effect it may well derive from the perspectives of the present.” Historian Eric Hobsbawm also argues that traditions can actually be invented and constructed, and that what sometimes have been passed off as very ancient traditions are in fact of quite recent origin. Hobsbawm rues that historians across centuries have not studied very seriously the process of the creation of rituals, customs and traditions. Hobsbawm is of the view that in many instances societies appear to have invented or created traditions at different points of time. This can happen more frequently when a rapid transformation of society weakens or destroys the social patterns for which the ‘old’ traditions had been designed producing new ones to which they were not applicable. Hence old practices were adapted to new conditions by using old models for new purposes
British ethnographer Hunter says of the Khasi states, “The Khasi dependent states consist of petty democracies, presided over by chiefs called Siems, who, though taken from one family, are appointed by election; or by head-men, such as Wahadadars, Sardars, and Lyngdohs, whose office are absolutely elective. The appointment of all these chiefs and head-men is subject to the confirmation of the British Government, which also reserves to itself the right to remove them in case of misconduct.
Hunter however glosses over important aspects of the structure of the Khasi states. He uses the British prism to define the Khasi system of governance. In her paper, ‘Critically Assessing Traditions: The Case of Meghalaya,’ historian Manorama Sharma raises some critical questions. She asks, “If the Khasis were indeed democratic, what kind of democracy was it? Were they democracies in the participatory sense only, or were they egalitarian and liberal also? If there was an election, who was elected, and how?”
In 1833 British ethnographer, Robertson had called the Khasi chieftainships – oligarchies, and had also mentioned that the Chiefs were quite despotic. AJM Mills in his 1853 report did not refer to Khasi states as democracies. So how did British perceptions change so radically in thirty years or so when David Scott mentioned Khasi democracy? One argument could be that as the British consolidated their rule they also began to have better understanding of the ground realities. However, the larger possibility is that British themselves influenced the local system and judged them by their yardstick perhaps because they wanted to sow the seeds of representative government in India. It would not be surprising if the educated Khasis were also influenced by those ideas and sought to invent a tradition that would have some similarity to these new ideas.
Hunter in his intensive survey of the Khasi states makes no mention of the Dorbar or its composition. His only observations were that in the independent Khasi states the chiefs had full jurisdiction in all matters that concerned their own subjects.
Manorama Sharma draws a lot of her reasoning from the interface between the missionaries and the Khasi people. Thomas Jones the missionary who gave the Khasi people their script opened the first missionary school at Mawsmai. There is no mention of him having to obtain permission from any Chief, Raja or Rangbah Shnong whereas in Manipur a Catholic Missionary confessed that friendship with the Rajah of Manipur was important for the opening of the Catholic Mission there. This may have been an aberration since the first mission buildings in the Khasi-Jaintia Hills were set up in the military stations of the British. Later however, missionary accounts say, “for convenience of the work, permission was sought from the Rajah to build new premises on the Nongsawlia Hill lying mid-way between the military station and the Cherra village.” Sharma correctly raises the point that it is necessary to examine why words like Syiem or Sordar were not used by the missionaries at this time. Being conversant with local language and customs, the missionaries would have known such terms if they were locally used. Even while there were detailed accounts of resistance to missionary activities by those who wanted to protect their indigenous beliefs and customs there is no mention of a village dorbar or other such influential organisations, taking an organised stand against them. If indeed the Khasis had an official hierarchy as later mentioned towards the end of the nineteenth and early twentieth century which were organised traditional bodies why were their presence never felt by the missionaries in their close associations with the people?
Sharma avers that the missionaries would have tried to influence these institutions for easy outreach to the general population. But the missionaries made no mention of any such organised hierarchical system, or popular resistance exercised through such a system. The family of Ka Nabon a Christian convert resisted her conversion but they did so as a family. No evidence exists to show that the villagers went to any organised authority to try and stop missionary activities.
In the British chronicles mention is made of the Rajah of Cherra, who intervened when a missionary and his wife were threatened by Ka Nabon’s relatives. The Rajah pacified the crowd and promised to bring a rapprochement between the family and the missionaries but he failed to pacify the relatives of Ka Nabon. A proper reading of history would inform that the Rajah was not approached by the people to lead their resistance. He instead interceded on behalf of the missionaries, but the villagers refused to accept his decision.
The question therefore arises as to what was the ‘tradition’ in 1848? If there were Dorbars, why were these not mentioned by the missionaries who were otherwise closely associated to the people they evangelised?
Clearly, we need more historians to go into our hoary past with its claims to exclusivity and an invented tradition.