By H H Mohrmen
A study of ancient tribal history is always a challenge. Historians will always ask for evidence, and by that, they mean written sources. The common question is: do we have secondary data? Can we expect written records of the history of people whose language was put into writing only in the nineteenth century when the British set foot on these hills? Or, the most important question is, if we continue to rely only on written evidence to study tribal history, will we not limit ourselves only to the records and accounts about us made by outsiders?
The most important and critical question is: if the study of ancient tribal history is based only on written records, are we saying that the people have no history because there are no records? Or, because the outsiders have no records of their existence, does that mean they did not exist?
Our History is in Stories, Stones & Traditions:
This is the subject of my thesis. If we do not consider these elements as sources, then one might as well consider us non-existent prior to the arrival of the British. We may have some records about the people in the chronicles of the Ahoms, but these are mostly about the relationship they have with the Jayantias, the rest are records by the British. The stories in the tribal context are not just myths and traditions; they have elements of history in them. Monoliths are not just standing stones; they, too, have stories to tell and there is information even in some natural phenomena.
Our History in Stories
Recently, I suggested to a postgraduate student of history from a certain university, who is from the War Jaiñtia region, to study for her master’s dissertation the ‘Thmi Thadkhiar’, which we literally translate from the War Jaiñtia dialect as, “the battle that tore or broke the fence.” The young scholar abandoned the idea due to a lack of secondary data. If we are not in favor of studying the topic just because nobody has written about it, the question is: who will write our stories? Who will document our traditions if we do not do it ourselves?
For the uninitiated, it is just a story, a fable at that. But scratch a little below and you will find that it is more than a mere bedtime story. The elekas in Jaiñtia hills are divided as per region, and generally, the villages under the same eleka are contiguous to one another. The regional divide is also based on the dialect they speak and the festivals they celebrate. For example, the raids under Jowai eleka celebrate Behdieiñkhlam, eleka under Raliang and Shangpung celebrate Pastieh Kopati, and the raids under eleka Nongtalang celebrate Ka Rong Khusi.
The only exception to this is the Jowai eleka, the area of which extends to Padu, Pamchadong, Amlarem, Twahusdiah, and Jonguchen villages under the Amlarem block. How can one explain why the Daloi Jowai’s control extends to these villages, which are dominated by War people who speak a different dialect that the people under Jowai eleka will not understand? They also celebrate different festivals and follow traditions distinct from those practiced by people under Jowai eleka. The villages are also not contiguous because, between Jowai eleka and these villages in War Jaiñtia, there is Amwi-Sohmynting eleka which is another eleka.
If one were to study this unusual historical phenomenon by looking for written history, it would be like looking for the key to your house near the lamp post on the street because that is where the light is, even though you lost your keys inside the house. The answer to these questions lies in the story of ka Thmi Thadkhiar, which tells us about the rivalry between Padu and Pamchadong on one side and Nongtalang on the other. These villages were originally part of eleka Nongtalang, but because of the battle, they seceded from the Daloi Nongtalang and joined the Jowai eleka. That is also the reason the battle is called Thmi Thadkhiar—the battle that tore or broke the fence of the Daloi Nongtalang. These are facts that exist to this day. Do we still think this is a cock-and-bull story?
Our History in Traditions
To understand the raid formation, one should also know the stories of the first settlers of each respective raid. One would not understand the raid formation in Jowai if one does not know the story of the four sisters known as ka Bon, ka Teiñ, ka Wet, and ka Doh, who were the first settlers of Jowai.
How do we know that the Challam were originally Mukhim and related to the Shabong? It is from the story of the origin of raid Jowai. A man from the Mukhim clan married one of four sisters and became Challam, and another man from the Thangkhiew clan, who had five sisters, married another sister.
The second part of the story tells us why the Thangkhiew are related to the Pariat, Shylla, Pde, and Blah, and how the five sisters were the progenitors of the San Syngkhong clan. Only when one understands these stories can one relate to why certain clans can occupy certain traditional offices in the raid Jowai and others cannot. This is true not only of the raid Jowai. In fact, to understand the traditions in all raids, one has to understand the stories of the first clans who settled in the area. Similarly, one will understand the different traditions under the raid only when one understands the stories behind the traditions.
Our History in Stones
On the way from Amlarem to Padu, near Pamchadong village, there is a collection of monoliths called ‘Lymbrem’. The literal translation of Lymbrem is “a crowd/collection of stones,” but these stones have a story to tell, and like most stories in the Khasi-Jaiñtia tradition, this is also a tragic one.
It is the story of an old lady known as ka Talang Basiah, who married a man from the Dhar clan. One day, the entire family went to the field, except the youngest daughter who was due to deliver her baby, and the father stayed at home. The daughter delivered the baby and was too weak to do anything. As usual, on their way back home, the family bathed in the stream near the village. Upon reaching home, the family members were extremely happy because they were blessed with a new baby.
After they rested, they began their meal. It was a pleasant surprise to see a pot of meat near the fireplace. Without asking, they partook of the food, only to later discover the meat was, in fact, the placenta from the birth of the baby. They cried and wailed in despair because eating human flesh is not only taboo but also the gravest tragedy—to consume part of one’s own family.
The incident was ‘ka Apot Sepsngi’—a tragedy that had never happened before – an incident so shocking it could not be accepted. They felt they could no longer look each other in the eye and decided to part ways. One daughter trekked down to Nongtalang, and her descendants became the Lyngdoh Talang of Nongtalang. Another moved upward to the plateau, halted at Skhentalang, then moved forward and later became the Lyngdoh Talang of raid Chyrmang. A sister who moved eastward, crossing the Myntdu River, became Nongtdu, while another who went to the Satpator area became Buam. The youngest decided to stay and, despite the tragedy, chose to look after her father. She was called Ñialang, which, in the War Jaiñtia dialect, means “those who cried together.” They cried together before they parted ways and moved in different directions. Are we saying these are all made-up stories? This account is translated from a booklet by Rev. Carlywell Lyngdoh.
The Importance of Non-Written Sources
I am not saying there are no problems in using traditional sources. There are plenty of them, like the parallel stories about ka Lukha and Ka Lunar with ka Umiam and ka Umngot, and the stories of u Marphalangki, u Bir Nongpoh, and u Rang Niangti. At times the stories may be considered as fairy tales and even sound absurd, but they also contain so much information that are historically important and factually correct.
The nearest cases in point are the stories of our heroes. The truth is, if we rely only on written sources, then u Tirot Singh, u Kiang Nangbah, u Pa Togan Sangma, u Kiri Daloi, and u Mon Bhut would all have been labeled troublemakers, if not criminals and murderers. But it is through oral narratives that we know they were, in fact, heroes who fought for our freedoms.
Our history is not just written in books and journals; it is etched in stones, woven into traditions, and narrated in stories. The need of the hour for the scholar is to sift through the stories and traditions, separating fact from fiction.