By H.H. Mohrmen
Unlike some general misconceptions, keeping cows is not new among the Khasi-Pnar people. Contrary to popular assumption it was not the Nepalis who taught them how to rear cattle. It has always been a tradition among the Khasi-Pnar people to rear cattle. It is true that the Nepalis introduced milking cows to this region. However, unlike the Nepalis, who keep cows for milk or other dairy products, the indigenous people of the state keep cattle for meat. In the past, the Khasi-Pnar also used oxen for plowing rice fields using ‘ka lyngkor/ ka ïuwar,’ a wooden plow. However, there is no tradition of making food items from milk; feeding milk to babies is a new practice among the tribes. Among the indigenous people of the Jaintia Hills, the second most important food for babies, after their mother’s milk, is banana, not milk.
The people of these hills have lived with Desi cows for ages and have evolved a tradition of harmonious coexistence with the noble animal. Keeping cows and hiring a boy, or ‘nongap/sharai masi,’ was once a popular economic activity. In fact, in the past, the wealth of an individual or a family was gauged by the number of animals they owned, such as goats, pigs, and, more importantly, cattle. Unfortunately, the tradition of keeping cattle is gradually declining. The main reason is that families are sending their sons to school, leading to a shortage of boys available for hire as cowherds.
The arrangement was that cattle owners would hire the boy for one season, and while he was working with the cattle-owning family, they had to provide him with everything from food and clothing to tobacco for smoking. But once winter set in, the contract between the family and the boy’s parents ended, and the boy was free to return home. This tradition is connected to cowboys because once the cow herder was let go, the season of ‘dat rai’ also began.
The Tradition of Dat Rai
During winters, when the school year is over, kids like to spend their time flying kites, playing with tops, or going to the forest for the entire day. Sometimes, children are so busy playing that they even forget to eat. They literally lose track of time entirely. We have a saying for this—when kids roam all day, oblivious to time and even forgetting their lunch, it is called ‘dat rai.’ This refers to the freedom children enjoy when they don’t have to attend school or do homework; instead, they have all the time in the world to play and do nothing else. In one word, it basically means ‘freedom’ for the kids. One can still see this time of merriment among children in many villages across the state.
We are currently in the middle of that time of the year when the Khasi and Jaiñtia Hills people call ‘ka por dat rai’ in Pnar and ‘ka por ai or pynlaitlan mrad’ in Khasi. The term ‘dat rai,’ used for kids who lose track of time, is borrowed from this tradition. It is a practice still followed in many villages, where, after the rice grains are harvested, cattle are set free to fend for themselves. During the farming season from spring to autumn, it is the responsibility of the owners to ensure their animals do not damage their neighbors’ or fellow farmers’ crops or vegetables in the gardens. However, after the rice harvest, owners can set their animals free, give the cow herder a holiday, and it becomes the farmer’s responsibility to protect their farms. This tradition reflects the understanding and respect for each other’s livelihoods, a practice still observed in the majority of villages in the Khasi and Jaiñtia regions.
A Strange Phenomenon
It is also the time of year when farmers experience strange phenomena, such as the one that happened in a certain village. At Puriang, in the late 1990s or perhaps the early 2000s, an elderly man, Lyndep Kharmalki, bought a bull from a village in Ri Bhoi District to improve his cattle stock. The bull enjoyed its new home and the new company throughout the summer. However, when the ‘aiom or por ai lan’—the period when animals are let loose—ended, the cattle owner began collecting his cows. To his surprise, the new bull he had bought last spring was nowhere to be found.
He searched the nearby areas, including the Sung Valley and the villages around Puriang, but the bull was still missing. Someone suggested he visit the place from where he had bought the bull, as it might have returned there. To his astonishment, he found the bull standing shoulder to shoulder with its old relatives and friends. How did the bull find its way back from Puriang to a village in Ri Bhoi, crossing the vast, maze-like paddy fields of the Sung Valley? Do cows have a global positioning system to track their route and return to their birthplace? How an animal’s instinct works is a million-dollar question.
Following the Grassland
In the Jaiñtia Hills, another tradition followed during winter was the practice of taking the animals to the grassland. When the land dries and grass begins to wither, it signals that time of year when animal feed becomes scarce in the Jaintia plateau. Cattle owners from Raid Jowai and Tuber, in particular, follow a tradition of taking their animals to a place called Myngksar. This grassland, where the grass remains green even during winter, is believed to be in the Amlarem region. Although I have not located the precise area, it is likely near Amlarem, the source of the river Amkshar, and hence the Pnar call the place Myngksar.
The journey of the cattle owners to Myngksar begins immediately after the rice harvest in the two regions. Cattle owners move their animals at different times and stay there until spring arrives. While feeding their animals, herders also leisurely engage in catching snake-head fish in a bamboo trap called ‘khnam’ from nearby streams and rivulets. Come spring, it is time for the folks and their animals to return home to their villages.
As the weather grows warmer, men and animals start moving back to their respective villages. Those who witness it describe it as the most picturesque sight. At dawn, as the spring sun rises from beyond the eastern hills, men and animals, carrying fishing rods and ‘khnam,’ move in a line like a train stretching across the horizon. From a distance, it is a scene of unparalleled beauty to watch this procession of animals and their herders moving slowly, with the setting sun as a backdrop. The image is surreal—a true treat for the eyes. The story of Myngksar now lives only in the memories of those fortunate enough to have seen and experienced it.
A Crash Course
One frosty winter morning, when animals were let loose, I had a lifetime experience with cows, and I call it a crash course in cow behaviour. It was early 2012, and I was visiting church members at a place called Kremlabit in Ksehrynchang village, which is also part of my circuit rider ministry. I stayed overnight in villages from Saturday to Sunday evening. I always enjoyed staying in the village, and back then, to relieve oneself, one had to go to the backwoods early in the morning when most people were still asleep.
While walking to the forest, I noticed a herd of cows sheltering from the cold under a Khasi pine tree plantation. The herd had been there the entire night, and I initially hesitated and stopped on my way for some time. Eventually, I passed through the herd uneventfully. However, on my return, a young bull suddenly attacked me, knocking me to the ground. I did not even have time to think about how to defend myself when I found myself pinned against the trunk of a pine tree as the bull continued to hit me on my stomach. I used my hands to protect my face and I was in the sticky situation for few minutes.
Fortunately, Khlanhiwot Lamare, a young man from the church who accompanied me on my visit, happened to pass by. He was also perhaps looking for a place to relieve himself, and hearing the commotion, he quickly came to my rescue. He grabbed a stick and scared the bull away. After helping me stand, Khlan, who was born in Mukhap village and must have been a cow herder at some point, offered three pieces of advice: He said I was lucky it was a young bull with undeveloped horns; otherwise, I would have been wounded. Secondly, he advised me to never ever go near a mother cow nursing its calf. Lastly, he recommended that I should always carry a stick when walking near cows for protection. These lessons remain with me to this day.