By Janet Hujon
Moonlight filtering through moving mist and clouds deepens the brooding mystery of the land. It is still night but soon from a boulder-strewn riverbed you see the sky blush a gentle peach as the sun rises. The forest greets you with a rising clamour of voices, only one of which I think I recognise − the joyous whoop of the hoolock gibbon − familiar from far-off holidays near thick bamboo forests in Umling. The forest is never quiet, for in their many languages, those who live there declare to all who enter: “We live here!” But suddenly the timeless mood and magic of the dawn is rudely replaced by discordant, crashing sounds coming from a huge limestone quarry baking in the harsh light of day. No life here, just machines steadily inscribing death on the land. These are the two sides of the Jaiñtia Hills experience and both are captured in the Green Hub Film ‘Narpuh Wildlife Sanctuary – Saving the Last Refuge’ (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=19qX_GUhPS0)
“To the outside world Jaiñtia Hills is known mainly for its rich mineral wealth…[but]… Jaiñtia Hills is also home to a rich diversity of wild flora and fauna”. (H. Lato, ‘Treasure To Be Cherished’, Shillong Times, June 14, 2020). Who is better placed to draw our attention to these two opposing truths than the Divisional Forest Officer Kong H Lato? “…The rich floral and faunal wealth of the Narpuh Wildlife Sanctuary and the surrounding area is nature’s unique gift to humanity”… (italics mine). The film endorses her statement. Ranged against her however are the corporate interests of a concrete mindset that sees land only as monetary profit.
There was a time when I would have been able to concur with Robin Wall Kimmerer who says: “…Native Peoples…despite myriad cultural differences, have this in common−we are rooted in cultures of gratitude”… (Braiding Sweetgrass) As an indigenous person I see this gentle credo in the description of our hills, our rivers, our knowledge of plant life and the respect we once had for the symbiotic relationship between all forms of life. But sadly the old stories and beliefs have been replaced by a new narrative − how to alchemise coal and stone into quick and easy money with the help of persuasive spells called bribes. Land has been downgraded/degraded into a commodity and is no longer a gift − a gift to be valued because unlike any other it has been aeons in the making. A gift freely given, yet a few uncaring, unthinking human beings at their destructive best, have commandeered and monopolised a communal blessing.
The statistics in the film provide grim reading e.g. 60% of community forests have been lost to industries and mining and yet as Bah P S Nongbri the Chief Conservator of Forests informs us, Narpuh is the only Protected Area in the whole of Jaiñtia Hills. When is everyone going to wake up to the fact that life on earth is a mutually supporting network? Have we not learnt any lessons from the Lukha or Ka Lukha as she is known to the Pnars and the Khasis? If we only reflect upon the way our native language expresses the way we look at the living world around us, we would think twice about poisoning her waters.
Ka Lukha is a Being, a generous Ïawbei, an ancestral mother deserving our profound respect. It is because she supports life that Ka Lukha has been variously described as ‘a reservoir of fish’ and the ‘Serene River’. The word ‘Serene’ obviously harks back to a time when uncontaminated she was free to flow, nurturing river communities who in gratitude crowned her ‘Serene River’. But as Kimmerer points out, a gift can only keep giving if there is that essential ingredient of reciprocity. For serenity to prevail, both the giver and the receiver must enter into a relationship of mutual caring. Tragically cement plants have blasted that traditional pact out of the water.
Now think of the Khasi word for wind: lyer, often shortened to ‘er. The accompanying sensation is light, caressing, almost ethereal − yes, light as air, as unnoticeable as the breath of life. But the winds blowing from the direction of limestone quarries are dust-laden, lung-choking systems. Cement dust also blankets surrounding vegetation affecting photosynthesis and with soil becoming more alkaline, acid-loving plants stand little chance of survival. As a consequence the effectiveness of forests as carbon sinks is drastically reduced. By altering the topography and ambience of our hills cement plants continue to prove toxic to human life. *
Yet the million-dollar question remains: why is limestone mining in the Jaiñtia Hills still allowed? The question is of course rhetorical. Everyone knows it is because those who literally sign off the life of our hills just don’t care. A handful of scattered villages depending on primal forests and ancient rivers are not worth thinking about − they are but troublesome flies to be swatted away. But that is a dangerous attitude to maintain because it fails to value the traditional wisdom held by those who keep our forests and waters alive. Thankfully the Forest Department has more sense for they recognise this valuable resource: “…residents of the surrounding areas have been turned into proactive partners in conservation”… (Lato) and “…the immense knowledge that the hunters have of the landscape and the animals has been utilised to conserve the forests and monitor the animals” (see film). That, ladies and gentlemen, is empowerment.
By destroying the barrier between the written and the unwritten, the researchers have displayed Wisdom. Consequently Knowledge has been made whole again. Theirs is a strategy that should be more widely deployed, for empowerment encourages co-operation, egalitarianism and mutual respect thereby extending the frontiers of learning for all. No one is left behind. Speaking of the incidental trials of forest trekking and patrolling the Beat Forest Officer Shanber(sic) Paul Lamare sums it up when he defines their dedication: “…duty is a worship. Their’s is not to reason why, we are here to do and die for the glory of God, for the glory of our state.” Note the lack of any self-glorification − all that matters is the greater good. This is teamwork at its best expediting a visionary programme that makes you hope.
And hope we must. The very fact that Kong Lato has drawn more attention to this threatened wilderness is a vital step in the right direction. She will have engaged the interest of quite a few people. To them I say watch the film as well and you will get a glimpse of the wonder contained in the forests of the Jaiñtia Hills. When you do, I hope you will not then experience the shame of knowing so little about the natural wealth of one’s homeland. Sadly with the exception of the irrepressible huleng and that bird-with-attitude the kohkarang, I only knew the western names of the birds and animals I recognised: these being peacock pheasant, kingfisher and the clouded leopard. Any emotional connection with the place we call home is lost if we identify all around us in a learnt tongue, because only local names can tell us about our world.
Similarly if we discard stories explaining the habits of our birds, animals and flowers, and the moods of our rivers and hills, we will lose that link to the primal wonder with which our ancestors first looked upon the world. It is through naming and storytelling that they sang praises and declared respect for what they were given. The reason for that wonder has to be kept alive. We need to remind ourselves that language, like storytelling, is kinship that runs thicker than water. The imagination is nourished, awe reinstated and lessons are drawn from natural harmony.
Now more than ever we have to rescue that sense of being part of something greater than ourselves and not crave merely to own, possess and make money through indiscriminate destruction. There is so much more to sustain us all in Meghalaya’s forests than coal and limestone. What lives and grows in the wild is part of our culture. See Bah So Khongsit’s Ki Dieng bad Ka Culture Jong Ngi- (Trees and Our Culture) − a slim booklet that would make Fabindia salivate. Likewise Kiba Ngi Khot Ja (Those Which We Recognise as ‘Ja’), is a treasure trove listing resources and wild foods for birds, animals, bees and humans. Ja means rice in Khasi and also refers generally to food.
We have to stop thinking of Nature as an Other out there, for she is not. She is part of us, central to our culture and anchoring our world-view. Without her we will lose our unique identity and no amount of money can ever buy that back. Bring the wilderness back into our midst and let the cause so dear to Kong Lato’s heart also become ours.
* For more information see: Limestone Mining and Its Environmental Implications in Meghalaya; Lamare, R.E. & Singh, O.P., ENVIS Bulletin Himalayan Ecology, Vol 24, 2016