A tribute to a storyteller and keeper of the faith
Late last year, towards the last few days of summer, I met a giant. Under the shadow of the mountain called Lum Sohpetbneng, the heaven’s navel, he lived in a house built on three menhirs — Ki Mawbyrsiew.
Each morning, with the first crow of the sun’s herald, a rooster of splendid colours, he shuffled silently through his house, to speak with these three hearthstones. They were the spirits of our ancestors, he said – Ka Ïawbei, the first mother, U Thawlang, the first father and U Suidñia, the first maternal uncle. The way he spoke of them, I wondered if he knew them personally or met them in a time past, when Ka Likai was still a child and Ka Umiam had not learned to cry.
He was my kin. From a line, long, long past of storytellers and speakers of the old tongue. The kind that spoke with stone, and wind and water and grasshoppers, when the world was still young and earnest. He spoke to us in parables, in a room laden with tokens from his centuries on this earth… for didn’t you know that giants were blessed with long life too?
I found him through his words, decades ago, in the telling of a story, of us and our people. How our matriarch was held captive with a young Sow, bound for ritual sacrifice, in a village by a great river.
How her compassion forged a friendship that led the Sow to sacrifice herself, so the girl could escape.
How two tigers kept her safe from her hunters, through the forests in the south. And how in the last leg of her journey a giant catfish ferried her across the river Umiam, on its back, till she found her way to the hills of home and a huntsman with whom she fell in love.
The last I met him, he placed a thick woven cloth on my shoulder, smiled, and, as he was leaving, asked if I had ar kyntien u kwai (two portions of betel nut and leaf), for him. For the Khasis, it is customary to gift a departing traveller, shi kyntien u kwai (one portion) for their journey. He left into his long sleep and I’d like to think he left in abundance, with not just one but Ar Kyntien Kwai, sha iing u Blei.
I knew a giant and his name was Sumar (Sing Sawian) — The keeper of stories.
(Contributed by Samuel Sawian, Nongthymmai, Shillong)
Sprawling menace of stray dogs
Dogs are one of the loveliest animals to walk this Earth, and they’re arguably the most compatible with humans. But when you’re chased by one in a random place, your whole perception about this creature changes, doesn’t it?
Our city is filled with stray dogs which cause all kinds of nuisance — they litter, they steal, but what’s more alarming is they get aggressive and sometimes become uncontrollable too.
Many streets of the city are crawling with stray dogs. They are harmless most of the time, definitely. But at times, they throw all calm out of the window. More and more incidents of stray dog attacks are doing rounds among the townsfolk.
Earlier this week, a resident from West Shillong constituency complained about attacks on schoolchildren and passersby by aggressive stray dogs.
Sometimes, these dogs attempt to chase down motorists and even cars. While in the first case, they danger the lives of the motorists, but in the second, they danger their own lives. Cars can accidentally run them over.
The increasing number of stray dogs has become a cause of concern.
This has been flagged time and again but little to no attention is paid by the Shillong Municipal Board. This situation undoubtedly calls for a tactful measure. At the moment however, Shillongites must remain vigilant.