The Mikirs
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Title: The Mikirs
Author: Edward Stack
Editor: Sir Charles James Lyall
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Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MIKIRS ***
THE MIKIRS
FROM THE PAPERS OF THE LATE
EDWARD STACK
INDIAN CIVIL SERVICE SOMETIME DIRECTOR
OF LAND RECORDS AND AGRICULTURE,
AND SECRETARY TO THE CHIEF COMMISSIONER, ASSAM
EDITED, ARRANGED, AND SUPPLEMENTED
BY
SIR CHARLES LYALL
(Published under the orders of the Government
of Eastern Bengal and Assam)
ILLUSTRATED
LONDON
DAVID NUTT
57, 59, LONG ACRE
1908
PRINTED BY
WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
LONDON AND BECCLES.
To
M. R. L.-J.
In Memoriam
INTRODUCTORY NOTE.
In 1882 Edward Stack, appointed the first Director of the newly-created
Department of Land Records and Agriculture in Assam, entered upon
his duties in that province, and applied himself with ardour to the
study of its people. He had passed just ten years in the Indian Civil
Service, which he joined in 1872 at the head of his year. These
ten years had been fruitful in varied interest and activity:
the strenuous life of a District and Settlement officer in the
North-Western Provinces; secretariat employment in his own province
and the Government of India; and, just before his translation to
Assam, six months spent in travel in Persia. [1] Activity of mind
and body, and keen interest in the people and speech of all the
countries he lived in, were his strongest characteristics. During
the cold season of 1882-83 he spent several months in moving up and
down the Brahmaputra Valley, learning, observing, and noting. He
acquired a working knowledge of Assamese with surprising rapidity;
with this as his foundation and instrument, he attacked the multitude
of tribal languages which he found impinging on the Aryan pale. To
him more than to any one else, is due the honourable distinction of
the Assam Province in the grammars, vocabularies, and phrase-books
of nearly all the most important of its multitudinous varieties of
Indo-Chinese speech, which have been drawn up by officers and others
who have served there. In 1883 the Report on the Census of 1881 in
Assam was published; and in this Report, mainly the work of the Chief
Commissioner, Sir Charles Elliott, the chapter on Castes and Tribes was
written by Edward Stack. Paragraphs 131-136 deal with the Mikirs, and
much in these represents the result of his careful personal inquiries
among them. His interest in this tribe gradually grew. In 1884 he was
called to take up the work of Secretary to the Chief Commissioner,
and while thus employed he occupied his leisure in studying Mikir. He
became acquainted with a bright young Mikir lad, a convert of the
American Baptist Mission at Nowgong, named Sardoka, to which he
was accustomed to add the names of his sponsor at baptism, Perrin
Kay. With the help of Mr. Neighbor's Vocabulary of English and Mikir,
with illustrative sentences, [2] Stack and Sardoka worked together
at the language, correcting and largely supplementing the material
contained in their text-book. From this they went on to folk-tales,
which were written down, with a careful attention to systematic
orthography, by Stack from Sardoka's dictation, each day's work
being provided with a series of notes elucidating every difficulty
in it. Thus material gathered; and in the course of 1886 Stack had
arranged, when relieved at the end of that year of the duties of
Secretary by my return to Assam, to put together a complete account
of the Mikirs and their language, fully illustrated (as his wont was)
by ample variety of phrase and idiom, and a collection of stories in
Mikir with commentary and vocabulary. But during the latter half of
1886 his health failed. Partly the moist climate of Assam, and partly,
perhaps, unsuspected flaws of constitution, told upon his strong and
active frame; and, after some months of gradually increasing weakness,
he died at sea on the 12th January, 1887, aged 37, just before the
vessel reached Adelaide, in South Australia, where he had planned to
spend his furlough.
A few months after his death his papers were sent to me at Shillong,
and for some time I hoped, with Sardoka's help, to be able to carry
out his purpose. But the steadily increasing pressure of other duties
prevented this. I left Shillong on a long tour in November, 1887,
and soon after my return in the spring of 1888 I was transferred to
the post of Commissioner in the Assam Valley, eventually leaving
the province in the autumn of 1889 for engrossing work elsewhere,
never to return, except for a brief space as Chief Commissioner in
1894. It had become evident from an examination of the materials that
to do what Stack had set before him involved much more labour than I
could give. It was necessary to learn the language from the beginning,
to construct grammar and dictionary, and to retrace the steps which
he had trodden in his progress; and this with an aptitude and power
of acquisition far inferior to his. Accordingly, on my departure from
Assam, the papers were made over to others, with whom they remained
until, on the organization under Dr. G. A. Grierson of the Linguistic
Survey of Northern India, they were again inquired for, and utilized,
so far as the scope of that work admitted, in preparing an account
of the Mikir language for insertion in the Survey. [3]
In 1904, when Sir Bampfylde Fuller had obtained the sanction of the
Government of India to his scheme for the preparation of a series
of descriptive monographs on the more important tribes and castes of
Assam, he proposed to me to undertake an account of the Mikirs, based
on Stack's materials. There were several reasons why I hesitated to
accept the task. It was many years since I had left the province,
and official work and other studies claimed time and leisure. The
materials were themselves in the rough--mere notes and jottings,
sufficient for the man who carried the main part of his knowledge in
his head, but by no means easy to interpret or set in order for one who
had no such knowledge. They dated, too, from twenty years back, and in
the interval great changes had occurred in the material development
of the tract where the Mikirs live, which is now traversed by the
Assam-Bengal Railway. I decided, nevertheless, to make the attempt,
and, however imperfectly, to do something to perpetuate the work of a
man to whom I was most intimately bound by affection, and whose great
powers and attractive personality were the admiration and delight of
all who knew him. The present volume is the result.
In addition to Stack's notes, I received from Assam three sets of
replies to ethnographical questions which had been circulated to
persons acquainted with the tribe. These were from Mr. W. C. M. Dundas,
Subdivisional Officer of North Cachar, and the Rev. P. E. Moore
and Mr. Allen of the American Baptist Mission. [4] These replies,
which were not very detailed, while quite independent in origin,
agreed closely with Stack's data, and showed that the lapse of years
had not made the latter inapplicable to the present time. In the
following pages any information drawn from these sources has been
duly acknowledged.
It was explained in the Introduction to Major Gurdon's Monograph on
the Khasis (1907) that the order and arrangement of subjects to be
treated in dealing with each tribe had been prescribed by authority;
and Stack's notes had to be brought within this framework. As will
be seen, under certain heads not much information is forthcoming; and
perhaps the more searching standard of inquiry applied by ethnologists
in the present day might demand more exhaustive treatment of some
points in this presentment of the Mikir people. This, however, must
be left for our successors.
Section I has been expanded by adding numerical data from the last
Census (1901), and measurements from Lieut.-Colonel L. A. Waddell's
Tribes of the Brahmaputra Valley (1900). Section II (Domestic Life)
is entirely due to Stack. The same is the case with Section III (Laws
and Customs), except the Appendix. Section IV (Religion) is wholly
Stack's; reading the careful and minute account which it contains of
the funeral ceremonies, one is strongly impressed by the thoroughness
which he brought to his investigations. Section V (Folk-lore) contains
translations of three of the folk-tales written down in Mikir by Stack,
of which the original text, with an interlinear rendering, is given
in Section VI. These translations, in both Sections, have been made
by me. Stack's manuscript supplied the Mikir text, which has been
faithfully copied, and a number of explanatory notes, but no connected
rendering. I have therefore had to depend upon my study of the language
in the linguistic materials collected by him, and those contained in
Mr. Neighbor's vocabulary and Sardoka's dictionary and phrase-book. I
had hoped to have the assistance of Sardoka himself in revising the
translations. He served for many years in the Assam Secretariat after
Stack's death, and helped in the preparation of the specimens of
Mikir for the Linguistic Survey in 1902; but in September, 1904, he
was transferred as mauzadar, or Revenue collector and administrator,
to the important mauza or territorial division in the Mikir Hills
called Duar Baguri, now divided between the districts of Nowgong
and Sibsagar; and on the 8th March, 1905, he most unhappily died
there of cholera. Other help was not forthcoming. I must, therefore,
ask for the indulgence of those better acquainted than I with Mikir
in regard to these renderings. Probably they contain many errors of
detail; but at least they seem to hang together as a whole, and to
be consistent with what I could ascertain elsewhere of the fashion
of Mikir speech. The notes are chiefly from Stack. The sketch of the
Grammar in Section VI is reproduced (in a somewhat abridged form)
from that which I contributed to the Linguistic Survey. Stack himself
had drawn up no grammar, though he had put together much illustrative
material from which the mechanism of the language could be deduced. The
main facts are clear and comparatively simple, though there are not
a few idiomatic expressions in the texts of which it is difficult to
give a satisfactory account.
For the last Section, that dealing with the probable affinities of
the Mikir race, I must take the full responsibility. It is the result
of the collation and comparison of materials from many sources, and
especially those contained in the three volumes of the Linguistic
Survey treating of the Tibeto-Burman family of speech. The authorities
on which I have relied are indicated in the text.
In the Bibliography I have entered only those works (so far as known
to me) which contribute something to our knowledge of the Mikirs. I
have not thought it necessary to specify mere casual allusions to the
tribe, or to quote imperfect lists of words which have been superseded
by more accurate material.
For the coloured illustrations I have to thank Miss Eirene
Scott-O'Connor (now Mrs. Philip Rogers), and for the photographs
Major Gurdon and Mr. W. C. M. Dundas; the reproductions are
by Messrs. W. Griggs and Sons. The map (by Mr. J. G. Bartholomew)
showing the localities inhabited by the Mikirs is taken from the new
volumes of the Imperial Gazetteer of India. An explanation of the
system adopted for rendering Mikir words will be found on p. 74.
C. J. LYALL.
April, 1908.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
PAGES
Introductory Note vii-xiii
Section I.
GENERAL.
Numbers and Distribution 1-2
Habitat 2-3
Physical characters 4
Traditions as to origin 4-5
Dress 5-6
Tattooing 6
Jewellery 6
Weapons 6
Section II.
DOMESTIC LIFE.
Occupations 7
Houses 7-9
Furniture 9-10
Manufactures 10
Agriculture and crops 10-11
Lads' clubs (riso-mar) 11-12
Hunting and fishing 12
Food 12-13
Drink 13
Luxuries 14
Section III.
LAWS AND CUSTOMS.
Sections or Divisions 15
Exogamous groups 15-17
Personal names 17
Marriage 17-19
Female chastity 19
Polygamy 19-20
Divorce 20
Words for relationship by blood or
marriage 20-21
Inheritance 21
Property in land 21-22
Mikir mauzas 22
Decision of disputes: village councils 22
War 22
Outsiders admitted to tribe 23
Appendix: List of exogamous groups as
given by other authorities 23-27
Section IV.
RELIGION.
General character of popular belief in
ghosts and spirits, and a future life 28-29
Amulets 30
The gods and their worship 30-34
Divination and magic 34-37
Oaths and imprecations 37
Funeral ceremonies 37-42
Festivities 43
Tabu 43
Section V.
FOLK-LORE AND FOLK-TALES.
Character of Mikir Folk-tales 44-46
Three stories translated:--
1. Story of a Frog 46-48
2. The Orphan and his Uncles 48-55
3. Harata Kunwar 55-70
Appendix: The Legend of Creation 70-72
Section VI.
LANGUAGE.
Outline of Mikir grammar 73-87
Mikir text of three stories:--
1. Story of a Frog 88-94
2. The Orphan and his Uncles 95-112
3. Harata Kunwar 113-150
Section VII.
AFFINITIES.
The place of the Mikirs in the
Tibeto-Burman Family 151-172
Bibliography 173-177
Index 179-183
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
A Mikir Man Frontispiece
A Group of Mikirs (North Cachar)--1 To face page 5
A Mikir Girl 6
Plan of Mikir House Page 8
Mikir House: Family Group To face page 10
A Group of Mikirs (North Cachar)--2 23
A Mikir Boy 56
An Old Mikir Woman 59
Women pounding Paddy 132
Map showing Locality of Mikirs at end of volume
THE MIKIRS
I.
GENERAL.
Numbers--Habitat--Physical appearance--Traditions as to
origin--Affinities--Dress--Tattooing--Ornaments--Weapons.
The Mikirs are one of the most numerous and homogeneous of the many
Tibeto-Burman races inhabiting the Province of Assam. In the tables
of the Report on the Census of 1901 the number of Mikirs by race is
given as 87,046, and that of speakers of the Mikir language as 82,283;
but there are curious discrepancies in the details. In no district
are the speakers of Mikir identical in number with those returned as
Mikir by race; and it is remarkable that in several, more persons are
returned as speaking the language than as belonging to the tribe. On
the other hand, in the North Cachar Hills none of the 1446 Mikirs
by race are shown as speaking Mikir, which is manifestly absurd. The
following are the figures:--
District. Mikirs by race. Speaking Mikir.
Cachar Plains 717 728
Sylhet 156 166
Kamrup 10,587 8,026
Darrang 2,646 3,108
Nowgong 35,732 34,273
Sibsagar 22,909 22,803
North Cachar 1,446 nil.
Khasi and Jaintia Hills 12,840 13,142
Elsewhere 13 37
====== ======
Total 87,046 82,283
In Kamrup, Nowgong, and Sibsagar it may reasonably be assumed that the
Mikirs returned as speaking some other language (probably Assamese)
also spoke the speech of their tribe, being bilingual like other
non-Aryan races in Assam; and the 809 persons in Darrang, the Khasi
and Jaintia Hills, and elsewhere, returned as speaking Mikir, though
not as Mikirs by race, must really have belonged to the tribe. Since
1891, when the number of Mikirs was returned as 94,829, there has
been a considerable falling-off, due to the terrible ravages of the
disease called Kala-azar [5] in the Nowgong and Kamrup districts.
The Mikirs inhabit in greatest strength the hills called after them,
the isolated mountainous block which fills the triangle between the
Brahmaputra on the north, the Dhansiri valley on the east, and the
Kopili and Jamuna valleys on the west and south; this tract is now
divided between the Nowgong and Sibsagar districts. They are also
found in considerable numbers on the northern skirts of the Assam
Range, in Nowgong, the Khasi and Jaintia Hills, and Kamrup, and were
once numerous, as testified by the local place- and river-names, in
North Cachar. They have settled in the plains, and taken to plough
cultivation, in Nowgong and Kamrup, and have also established recent
settlements of the same kind north of the Brahmaputra in Darrang. The
great bulk, however, remain a hill tribe, occupying the forest-clad
northern slopes of the central range of Assam, and practising the
primitive method of cultivation by axe, fire, and hoe.
In the Mikir Hills there are summits which attain 4,000 feet, but
the greater part of the block is of much lower elevation. The rock is
chiefly gneiss and granite, with few traces of overlying formations;
and the whole is clothed with forest growth, chiefly of bamboo, figs
of different species, cinnamon, Artocarpus, nahor (Mesua ferrea), and a
few other trees valuable for their timber. The soil is light, and soon
exhausted by cropping; it is naturally most fertile in the valleys,
where the deepest deposits are found. The Mikir Hills, in 1886 when
Mr. Stack wrote, had been very little explored by Europeans, and their
interior was almost unknown. To the north, from Koliabor to Kaziranga,
they abut on the Brahmaputra, only a narrow strip of country, traversed
by the southern Grand Trunk road, intervening between them and the
river. This strip has few inhabitants and little cultivation, and is
covered with high grass and cotton tree (semal) jungle, the haunt of
wild buffalo and rhinoceros. To the east is the great Nambar forest,
a dense area of high trees occupying the Dhansiri valley from Dimapur
to within ten miles of Golaghat. To the south-west is the valley of the
Jamuna, now traversed by the railway from Gauhati to Lumding, a region
of tall grass and sparse tree jungle. The plain which is formed by the
alluvial valley of the Kopili (or Kupli) river and its affluents, the
Jamuna and the Diyaung (the latter coming from the North Cachar Hills),
next intervenes; and to the west the land rises again in the northern
skirts of the Jaintia and Khasi Hills. Here the country is of the same
character as in the Mikir Hills, but better known. It consists of a
series of plateaus or shelves rising from the level of the valley,
composed of gneiss and granite, and covered with a red clay soil,
the result of the decomposition of the metamorphic sandstones which
overlay the igneous rock. The jungle here also is chiefly of bamboo,
with a few patches of valuable forest, chiefly sal (Shorea robusta),
still surviving; but most of the larger timber has been destroyed by
the secular practice of axe and fire cultivation.
It is in this hilly country, and in the plains at its base, that the
Mikir people are found. The region is continuous, and is distributed,
as the figures just given show, between the districts (from east to
west) of Sibsagar, Nowgong, North Cachar, the Jaintia and Khasi Hills,
and Kamrup. It is malarious and unhealthy for unacclimatized persons,
with a very moist climate, and is wanting in the breezy amenities of
the higher plateaus of the Khasi and Jaintia Hills; but (save during
the recent prevalence of Kala-azar) the inhabitants appear to have
acquired some degree of immunity against the noxious influences of
the locality. Side by side with the Mikirs dwell, in the Mikir Hills,
the Rengma Nagas (who are recent immigrants from the eastern side
of the Dhansiri); in the Jamuna and Diyaung valleys, the Dimasa or
Kacharis; in the Jaintia Hills, the Kukis and Syntengs; and in the
Khasi Hills and along the Nowgong and Kamrup borders, the Lalungs
and a few settlements of Khasis.
The name Mikir is that given to the race by the Assamese: its origin is
unknown. They call themselves Arlèng, which means man in general. [6]
In features the men resemble Assamese of the lower classes more than
most of the Tibeto-Burman races. Their colour is light yellowish brown,
and the girls are often fair. The men are as tall as the majority of
the hill races of Assam, Colonel L. A. Waddell's eighteen specimens
averaging 1633 millimetres, or 5·354 feet, in height, the tallest
being 5·583 feet, and the shortest 5·108. The average is noticeably
higher than that of their neighbours the Khasis. The average head
measurements in these specimens were--length, 181 millimetres; breadth,
141; cephalic index, 77·9. The nose is broad at the base, and often
flat, giving a nasal index of 85·1, and an orbito-nasal of 107·7. The
facial hair is scanty, and only a thin moustache is worn. The front of
the head is sometimes, but not generally, shorn. The hair is gathered
into a knot behind, which hangs over the nape of the neck. The body is
muscular, and the men are capable of prolonged exertion. In frontier
expeditions in Assam they have frequently served (like the Khasis)
as porters, and carry heavy loads, the burden being borne upon the
back and secured by a plaited bamboo (or cane) strap passing round
the forehead (Mikir, sinàm).
The traditions of the race point to the Eastern portion of the Khasi
and Jaintia Hills, bordering on the Kopili (or Kupli) river (where
many still remain), as their original abode. They speak of this as
Nihàng, in contradistinction to Nilip, the Duar Baguri or Nowgong
region which they now inhabit. Being harassed by warfare between Khasi
(or Synteng) chiefs, they resolved to move into Ahom territory, and
sent emissaries to claim protection from the Ahom governor of Raha
(Nowgong District). These unfortunate persons, being unable to make
themselves understood, were straightway buried alive in the embankment
of a tank which the governor was excavating. The hostilities which
ensued were concluded by an embassage to the king himself in Sibsagar,
and the Mikirs have ever since been living peacefully in the territory
assigned to them. They have dim traditions of a king of their own
in the good old days, whom they call Sòt Recho, and are said by
Mr. Stack to expect his return to earth. His seat is said to have
been in Ròng-khàng (or Ròng-hàng), perhaps connected with Ni-hàng
(Ròng, village). They had fights with the Dimasa or Hill Kacharis,
and were led by Thòng Nòkbe and other captains, who established a fort
at Diyaung-mukh (the junction of the Diyaung and Kopili rivers), the
ruins of which are still to be seen. Along the northern skirts of the
Mikir Hills there are remains of old brick buildings and sculptures,
which are now ascribed to the Gods. Old men tell historical legends to
the young ones, and there are also legendary songs, sung at festivals;
but there is no class specially set apart for the preservation of such
traditions, and the memory of the race is short. They are a mild and
unwarlike people, and are said to have given up the use of arms when
they placed themselves under the protection of the Ahom kings.
They claim kinship with no other tribe in Assam, and are, in fact,
difficult to group with other branches of the great Tibeto-Burman
stock to which they undoubtedly belong. The conclusions as to their
affinities which it seems legitimate to draw from their institutions,
culture, and language, will be found stated in Section VII. of this
Monograph.
In dress the Mikir man imitates the Khasi, to whom he seems to have
lived in subjection in former times. On his head he now wears a turban
(pohu, poho), but formerly the Khasi cap (phu-tup), of black or red
cloth, was more usually worn. On his loins he wears a dhoti (rikòng)
of cotton cloth, and sometimes, if wealthy, of silk. His coat is a
sleeveless striped jacket (choi), with a long fringe covering the
buttocks and coming round in front (choi-apre). In cold weather he
wears a thick wrapper (called in Assamese bor kapor) of eri silk
(pe-inki). The legs are uncovered, and shoes are not worn.
The women wear a petticoat (pini), secured round the waist by an
ornamental girdle (vànkòk). The petticoat is of white and red striped
eri cloth. The upper part of the body is covered with the ji-so, a
wrapper passing under the arms and drawn tight over the breasts. The
head is uncovered, and the hair is drawn back and tied in a knot
behind. In the funeral dances, however, the head is covered with a
black scarf (ji-so ke-ik).
The men do not tattoo any part of the body. The women, on attaining
puberty, usually tattoo a perpendicular line with indigo down the
middle of the forehead, the nose, upper lip, and chin; no other part
of the body is tattooed.
A characteristic ornament is a large silver tube inserted into the
lobe of the ear, which is much distended thereby; this is called
kadèngchinro, and weighs three or four rupees. The ordinary hanging
earring (suspended from the outer part of the ear) of gold or silver
is called no-rik. Necklaces (lèk) are worn, of gold or silver and
coral beads, as by the Khasis. Rings (arnàn) and bracelets (roi),
of gold and silver, are worn. The feathers of the bhim-raj are worn
in the turban on festal occasions, as among the Khasis.
The national weapons are the long knife (nòk, nòk-jir), by the English
commonly called by the Hindi name dao, the spear (chir), and the bow
(thai, bòp-thaili) made of bamboo, with a string of tough bamboo
fibre. In these there is nothing peculiar.
II.
DOMESTIC LIFE.
Occupations--Houses--Furniture--Implements and
utensils--Manufactures--Agriculture--Riso mar, or lads'
clubs--Crops--Hunting--Fishing--Food and Drink.
The Mikir people have always been agriculturists. Their villages,
in the hills which are their proper habitat, are set up in clearings
in the forest, and are shifted from place to place when the soil has
been exhausted by cropping. Their houses are large and substantial,
and are strongly put together. The Mikirs are not now (if they ever
were [7]), as Colonel Dalton relates in his Ethnology of Bengal, in
the habit of lodging several families, or even the whole village, in
one house. The inhabitants of a house are all of one family, but may
often be numerous, as married sons frequently live with their parents.
The Mikir house is built on posts, and the floor is raised several
feet above the ground. The material of the super-structure is bamboo,
slit and flattened out, and the whole is thatched with san-grass. A
moderate elevation, with a flat top, is preferred for building;
a slope will be taken if no better site can be found.
The house is divided lengthwise by a partition called arpòng, or
nòksèk-arpòng, into kàm, the guests' or servants' chamber, and kut,
the living-room of the family. Kàm is on the right side as you enter,
and the only door into the house leads into it. In kàm a platform or
chang, called tibung, raised above the floor the diameter of a bamboo,
runs along the outside wall; this may be divided off laterally into
rooms for sleeping. In kut, separated off by a partition on the side of
the outer wall, is a long, narrow chamber, one bamboo's diameter lower
than the floor, called vo-roi, in which the fowls and goats are kept at
night; it has a separate door, called vo-roi-amehàn. In kut, towards
the back, is the fireplace (mehip). The space before it is dàm-thàk,
where the family sleep, and the bamboo paddy-receptacle stands. Behind
the fireplace is dàm-buk, a vacant space, where the grown-up daughter
or old woman sleeps. Between the fire and the vo-roi is the rice-pot
(sàng-ràngtik), holding the stock of husked rice. Between the fire and
the partition (arpòng) is the kut-athèngthòr, a space for miscellaneous
articles. Above the vo-roi a shelf is raised under the roof, called
vo-harlip, for pots, etc. Opposite the fireplace is a door leading
into kàm.
In kàm, if the house is large, there are two fireplaces. Before the
fire the space is called kàm-athèngthòt, or nòksèk. In the corner of
the front wall and the partition (arpòng) are put the water-chungas
(làng-bòng); it is called làng-tenun. The front door is called hòngthu,
the back door pàn, or pàn-hòngthu.
The front veranda is called hòng-kup. The tibung runs out into it, and
the part beyond the front wall of the house is called thèng-roi-rai,
"the place for bringing (or storing) firewood" (thèng). Beyond the
hòng-kup the platform extends unroofed (hòng-plàng). If the house be
a large one, a hòng-pharla, roofed over, for strangers to lodge in,
is made on the right side of the hòng-plàng, but disconnected with the
thèng-roi-rai; between it and the latter is the ladder to gain access
to the platform (dòndòn), usually a tree-trunk with notches cut in
it for the feet. The hòng-pharla may extend also across the front of
the house; it is roofed over, but open towards the house. Similarly,
at the back of the house is the pàng-hòngkup, or back veranda, and
the unroofed pàng beyond. No ladder gives access to this.
Under the house are the pigsties, phàk-roi, and in front is a yard
or compound (tikup), usually fenced round.
The furniture of the house is of the simplest description. The floor,
or a raised platform of bamboo, serves as a bed. A block of wood
(inghoi; Ass. pira) is used as a stool to sit on. Baskets of bamboo and
cane are employed as cupboards in which to store the household goods,
the paddy, and the clothes. These baskets are of various shapes and
sizes, and bear many different names. Joints of bamboo (Ass. chunga;
Mikir, làng-bòng) are used for holding water, and also as boxes to
contain valuables of all kinds.
The Mikirs have few manufactures. Weaving is done by the women of
the family on rude wooden looms (pè-theràng), the cotton raised in
their fields being previously spun on a wheel (mi-thòngràng). They
also raise eri silk (inki), the cocoon of the Attacus ricini, fed
on the castor-oil plant, and weave it into coarse fabrics, chiefly
the bor-kapor, or blanket, used in the cold weather. They dye their
thread with indigo (sibu), a small patch of which is grown near every
house. The indigo is not derived from Indigofera, but from a species
of Strobilanthes, generally identified as S. flaccidifolius. Mr. Stack
notes that there are two kinds, bu-thi and bu-jir; the latter, he says,
is trained up poles, and has a longer leaf. The leaves of the plant are
bruised in a wooden mortar and mixed with water, and the blue colour
develops, as in ordinary indigo, in a few days' time by chemical
change. Besides indigo, they use a red dye, the source of which is
probably the same as the Khasi red dye (see Khasi Monograph, p. 60).
Blacksmiths (hemai) have existed among them from remote times, and
they can fashion their own daos and various kinds of knives. They
also make needles (for which old umbrella-ribs are in much request),
and hooks for fishing.
They also make their own gold and silver ornaments (necklaces,
bracelets, rings, ear-ornaments).
Pottery is made without the wheel, as among the Khasis (Monograph,
p. 61). It is thick and durable, and well burnt. There are few potters
among them, and the accomplishment is not common.
In all these branches of manufacture the tendency, with the increase
of intercourse and the cessation of isolation, is to give up domestic
workmanship and rely more upon outside markets.
The main crops are summer rice (maikum), sown with the first rains
and reaped in November-December, and cotton (phelo), also grown in
the rains and gathered in the cold weather. The system of jhuming, by
which land is prepared for cultivation by cutting down and burning
the jungle, is in no respect different from the practice of all
hill-tribes in the province. They do not plant out their rice, nor
use the plough in cultivating it. There is no irrigation.
Besides these main crops, castor-oil is grown for feeding the eri
silkworm; maize (thèngthe), turmeric (tharmit), yams (hèn, Colocasia),
red pepper (birik), aubergines (Hindi, baingan; Mikir, hepi), and
ginger (hànso) are also cultivated in small patches. Another crop is
lac, grown on branches of the arhar plant (see Khasi Monograph, p. 47).
When Mr. Stack wrote, the most important institution from the point of
view of agriculture was the association or club of the dekas (Ass.),
or young men (from twelve to sixteen, eighteen, or twenty years of
age) of the village (Mikir, ri-so-mar); but it is reported that this
useful form of co-operation is now falling into desuetude. In former
days the village youths (as in Naga-land) used to live together in
a house by themselves, called in Mikir maro or teràng (in Assamese,
deka-chang). [8] Now there is no maro, and the risomar live in the
gaonbura's house, in the hòng-pharla, the place in which strangers
are lodged. They send a boy to bring their food from their homes,
and all eat together. Each man's share is brought in a leaf-bundle
(àn-bòr) to keep it warm. The gaonbura calls the people together, and
proposes that, having so many lads in the village, they should start a
lads' club. If agreed to, the union of the risomar is formed, and the
lads take up their quarters in his house. The club is organized under
regular officers appointed by themselves. The gaonbura has general
authority over them, but their own chief is the klèng sarpo. Next comes
the klèng-dun, then the sodar-kethe, then the sodar-so or phàndiri,
then the sàngho-kerai ("he who fetches the company"), then the barlòn
("carrier of the measuring-rod"). Other officers are the chèng-brup-pi
and chèng-brup-so (drummers, chief and lieutenant), the phàn-kri
(the lad who waits on the klèng sarpo), the motàn ar-e and motàn arvi
("the right and left outside strips of the field"), the làngbòng-po
("carrier of the water-chunga"), arphèk-po ("carrier of the broom"),
and the chinhàk-po ("carrier of the basket of tools"). The risomar
all work in the fields together, each having his own strip (a-mo)
to till. The village fields are allotted each to one house, and the
grown men confine their work to their own fields; but the risomar go
the round of all the fields in the village.
Work is enforced by penalties. They used to roast those who shirked
their share; now they beat them for failure to work. If the klèng
sarpo finds a lad refractory, he reports him to the gaonbura.
Villages like having deka clubs. They help greatly in cultivation,
practice dancing and singing, and keep alive the village usages and
tribal customs. They are in great request at funerals, which are the
celebrations in which most spirit is shown.
Hunting, with spears and dogs, is practised. The objects of the chase
are deer and wild pig; also the iguana (Ass. gui) and tortoise. The
dog barks and follows up the track by scent. They also set traps
(arhàng) for tigers, with a spear placed so as to be discharged from
a spring formed by a bent sapling; twice round the tiger's pug gives
the height of his chest, at which the spear is pointed; a rope of
creeper stretched across the path releases the spring when the tiger
passes that way and comes against it.
Fishing is done with rod and line, but chiefly by means of traps and
baskets, as in Assam generally. The trap (ru) is a basket of bamboo,
constructed so that the fish can get in but cannot get out, and is
fixed in an opening in a fence (a-ru-pat) placed in a stone dam built
across a stream.
The staple food is rice, which is husked in the usual way, by being
pounded with a long pestle in a wooden mortar, and cooked by the
women of the family. The flesh of cows is not eaten; there is said
to be a dislike even to keep them, but this prejudice is now dying
out. Milk is not drunk. Fowls, goats, and pigs are kept for food,
but eaten chiefly at sacrifices; eggs are eaten. A delicacy is the
chrysalis of the eri silkworm (Attacus ricini); it is eaten roasted and
curried. Children (but not grown folk) cook and eat crabs and rats. In
cooking meat, spits (òk-akròn) are used; the meat is either cut up
and skewered, or a large lump is placed whole on the embers; it is
thoroughly cooked. Fish is cut into slices and put in the sun to dry,
or smoked. Meat also is cut into strips and dried on frames in the sun.
The vegetables are those commonly used by the Assamese. Sugar-cane
(nòk) is not much grown. A favourite seasoning is mint (lopòng-brik).
Men and women eat together, within the house. The right hand is used
in eating. Leaf-plates are most used, but platters of pot-metal are
also found. No knife is used in eating: the meat is cut up beforehand.
The first meal is cooked and eaten at 7 or 8 a.m., and consists of
rice. The evening meal is cooked after the day's field-work is over,
unless there be a cook in the house. At each meal a pinch of the food
is put aside for the God (arnàm).
The national drink is rice-beer (hòr, hòrpo), which is made by each
household for itself. The rice is cooked, and well broken up on a
mat. It is then mixed with a ferment called thàp (Bengali, bakhar),
made of powdered rice with certain kinds of leaves pounded into it,
and the whole dried for use as required. After this has been thoroughly
mixed with the boiled rice, the latter is heaped up and covered with
plantain leaves, and put aside in the house. In three or four days,
in the hot weather, fermentation sets in; in the cold weather a
longer time is required. It is then put into an earthern jar or kalsi
(Beng.) and water added, after which it is emptied into a conical
basket, whence it is allowed to strain through a bamboo joint into a
pot below. To make hòr (Ass. modh), rice is taken from the basket and
warmed with water, which is strained off, and is the modh or hòrpo; the
rice is thrown to the pigs. The better and stronger beer is that which
was drained off the original conical basket, and is called hòr-alàng.
Aràk (Hind.) is the spirit distilled from the fermented rice mixed
with water. The still is a rude one of earthern pots connected by a
bamboo. A stronger stuff is made by distilling hòr-alàng.
Hòr will keep good for two months if left untouched. It is a common
family drink. Gourds are used for keeping it in and carrying it about
for use.
Drunkenness is not common in the villages, and the ceremonies and
festivities at which beer is drunk are not noisy. The me or general
council, however, when large quantities are consumed, is sometimes
noisy.
Opium is used to a large extent by the Mikirs as by other Assamese
(Mr. Allen states that nearly all male adults indulge in it). Tobacco
is smoked, and also chewed with betel. The bowl of the tobacco-pipe
is made of burnt clay or of bamboo root. Betel-nut (kove; Khasi,
kwai) is largely consumed in the usual way, with lime and pan-leaf
(bithi); and (as among the Khasis) time and distance are computed by
the interval required to chew a nut. (The phrase is ingtàt e-òm-ta er,
"the time it takes to chew the nut and pan-leaf red": ingtàt, roll
for chewing; e-, one; òm, chew; er, red.)
III.
LAWS AND CUSTOMS.
Internal structure--Sections or divisions--Exogamous
groups--Marriage laws--Common names--Marriage ceremony--Female
chastity--Polygamy--Divorce--Words for relationship by
blood and marriage--Inheritance--Property in land--Decision
of disputes--Village council--Relations with neighbouring
races--Appendix: Lists of exogamous groups given by other
authorities compared with those given by Mr. Stack.
The Mikir people proper--that is, those who continue to live in the
hills--are divided into three sections, called Chintòng, Rònghàng,
and Amri. In the days of the migration eastward from the Kopili region,
Amri stayed behind, or loitered, and Chintòng and Rònghàng waited for
him as they moved from stage to stage. At last, on arriving at the
Dhansiri river, Chintòng and Rònghàng resolved to be only two sections
in future. The laggard Amri afterwards arrived, but was not received
back into full fellowship. He has no honour at the general festivals,
and in the distribution of rice-beer at feasts he gets no gourd for
himself, but has to drink from those of the other two. These are the
conditions as they exist in the Mikir Hills and Nowgong (Duar Baguri);
in Ni-hàng, however (the region of the Kopili), Amri is on an equality
with the others. The Mikir Hills are chiefly inhabited by the Chintòng
section, North Cachar and the hilly parts of Nowgong by the Rònghàng,
and the Khasi and Jaintia Hills by Amri; but individuals of all three
are found dwelling among the others.
These names, however, do not indicate true tribal divisions, supposed
to be derived from a common ancestor and united in blood, and are
probably in reality local- or place-names. Amri, in particular, seems
to be a Khasi river-name, and Rònghàng is the legendary site of Sòt
Recho's capital. The real tribal exogamous divisions run through all
three, and are called kur (a Khasi word: Assamese, phoid). Each of
the three sections of the race has within it the same kurs, and the
individuals belonging to these kurs, whether in Chintòng, Rònghàng,
or Amri, observe the same rules of exogamy.
The number and names of the kurs, or exogamous groups, are differently
given by different authorities. The differences appear to be partly
explained by the fact that one authority has taken for a principal
group-name what another has entered as a sub-group under another
larger section. In an appendix will be found the grouping according
to several different authorities. Here the data given by Mr. Stack,
who appears to have relied chiefly on information obtained in Duar
Baguri, are reproduced.
He found that the people recognized four kurs, called respectively
Ingti, Teràng, [9] Lèkthe, and Timung, under which the smaller groups
(also called kur) are ranged thus--
I. Ingti. III. Lèkthe.
(1) Taro. (1) Hànse.
(2) Katar. (2) Tutso.
(3) Hènsèk. (3) Bòngrun.
(4) Inglèng. (4) Kràmsa.
II. Teràng. IV. Timung.
(1) Be. (1) Tòkbi.
(2) Kro. (2) Sèngnar.
(3) Ingjar. (3) Ròngphar.
As already mentioned, these kurs are exogamous: an individual belonging
to kur Ingti must go outside that kur for his wife; and similarly
Teràng, Lèkthe, and Timung cannot marry wives drawn from within the
kur. The sub-groups are, of course, as parts of the larger groups,
also exogamous; and it is easy to perceive how one informant may
count as a principal group-division what another may regard as a
sub-division. All the kurs are now socially on an equality, and have
no scruples as to eating together or intermarriage; their traditional
rank is, however, as given above. Ingti is said to have been in former
times the priestly clan (Ass. gohain); Teràng also claims this dignity,
but is thought to be of lower rank; but in both cases the office
has fallen entirely into desuetude. Lèkthe is said to have been the
military clan, while Timung represented the rest of the people.
The Mikirs who settled in the plains of Nowgong and took to plough
cultivation are called Dumrali by the Mikirs and Tholua by the
Assamese. They are said to have acted as interpreters to the mission
which visited the Ahom king at Sibsagar. They also have the same kurs
as the other three sections of hill Mikirs.
The children are counted to their father's kur, and cannot marry within
it. They may, however, marry their first cousins on the mother's
side, and indeed this appears to have been formerly the most usual
match. This absence of matriarchal institutions strongly marks off
the Mikirs from the Khasis, from whom they have in other respects
borrowed much.
The following are common personal names among the Mikirs:--
MEN. WOMEN.
Sardoka. Karèng.
Mòn. Kache.
Dili. Kabàn.
There. Kamàng.
Kàngther. Ka-èt.
Tamoi. Ka-jir.
Temèn. Katu.
Bura. Kare.
Pator. Kasàng.
Lòng. Kadòm.
Mèn. Dimi.
Bi. Ingle.
Sotera.
It is said that no meaning is attached to these names; that is, they
are not given because of any meaning which they may possess. (It is
evident that many of them have a meaning: e.g. Bi is a goat, Lòng a
stone, Pator is a village official among the Khasis, Bura is Assamese
for "an old man," Tamoi is probably the Assamese for the betel-nut
(tamol.) Sotera may be corrupted from sangtara, orange.) The prefix
Ka- in women's names is manifestly taken from Khasi usage. There
are no surnames, but the name of the kur is used to distinguish one
individual from another, as Mòn Lèkthe, Mòn Timung.
The age for marriage is from fourteen to twenty-five for the man,
ten to fifteen for the girl; eighteen or nineteen and fifteen are the
most usual ages. Child marriage is unknown. If a young man fancies
a girl (from meeting her at dances and the like), he sends one or
both parents to her father's house, and if the girl's parents agree,
the lad's father leaves a betrothal ring or bracelet with the girl
(this is called ke-roi-dun); sometimes a gourd of rice beer is taken
and accepted, and in that case, if she subsequently marries another,
the village council fine her family 25 to 35 rupees; otherwise only the
betrothal ring or bracelet is returned. The length of the engagement
is uncertain, but the actual marriage does not take place till after
puberty. When the marriage day is fixed, both families prepare beer
and spirits; if the bridegroom is rich, he provides drink for the
whole country-side (hòr-hàk hòr-tibuk). The bridegroom's party,
giving a gourd of beer to each village they pass through, arrive at
the bride's house in the evening. There they sit awhile, and then
offer one gourd of beer and one glass bottle of spirits to the bride's
father on the hòng. A colloquy ensues: the bride's father asks the
bridegroom's why they have come, and why these offerings. He answers,
"Your sister (i.e. the wife of the speaker) is becoming old and cannot
work, so we have brought our son to marry your daughter." (The custom
formerly was that a boy must marry his first cousin on the mother's
side, and if he did not, the maternal uncle could beat the lad as much
as he liked; but now they can do as they please.) The reply follows:
"My daughter is unworthy, she does not know weaving and other household
work." "Never mind, we will teach her ourselves." The bride's father
then asks his wife to enquire of the girl if she will take the lad;
without her consent the beer and spirits cannot be accepted. If
the wife reports consent, the beer and spirits are drunk by the
two fathers. Sometimes they sit the whole night before the girl's
consent is obtained. If any knowing old men are there, they sing in two
parties: "We cannot send our daughter to your house!" "We cannot leave
our boy to stay with you!" When the question of consent is settled,
all eat together. Then the bride prepares the bed inside the house
for the bridegroom, in the kàm; in the tibung (see plan [10]) if
there is room: if not, in the thèngthòr; but if the lad is ashamed,
he sends one of his garments to take his place in the bed.
What follows depends upon the wealth and standing of the parties. If
the wedding is akejoi--that is, if no payment is to be made for the
bride--the girl goes with her husband next day to her new home. Her
parents accompany her, and are entertained with food and drink,
returning the following day. If the wedding is akemèn (literally,
ripe, pakka), the lad stays in his father-in-law's house. He rests one
day, and then works for his father-in-law for a year, or two years,
or even it may be for life, according to agreement. There is no money
payment in any case. If the girl is an heiress or only daughter, the
marriage is usually akemèn; but in the great majority of cases it is
akejoi. The neighbours of both villages assemble at the marriage,
and when the bride goes to her husband's house, the neighbours of
the village accompany her and are hospitably entertained.
Before marriage it was reported, when Mr. Stack made his enquiries,
that there was little intercourse between the sexes. Seduction rarely
occurred, but when it did, the parents of the girl had to give her
to the lad in marriage. It was not punished. Old men, however, could
remember (1885) when the teràng or "bachelors' house" used to be the
abode not only of the lads, but also of the maids, and illegitimate
births were common. The girls used even to work in the fields with
the boys; there was not even a matron to look after them!
After marriage adultery is said to be rare. The case is judged by the
me, or village council, who inflict a fine. The guilty pair are tied
up and exposed to the scorn of the neighbours until the fine is paid by
the man. Adultery was never capitally punished. After the fine is paid,
the husband has to take his wife back, unless there are no children,
when he might refuse to do so. The fine is not given to the offended
husband, but distributed among the elders who compose the me.
The authorities differ on the question whether more than one wife is
allowed. When Mr. Stack wrote, in 1883, the chapter on "Castes and
Tribes" in the Report on the Assam Census of 1881, he stated that
"polygamy is permitted if a man can afford it." His subsequent notes
of 1885-86, however, record that monogamy is the rule, and no one
is allowed to marry two wives. Mr. W. C. M. Dundas, Subdivisional
Officer of North Cachar, writing in 1903, says that an Arlèng
may marry only one wife. On the other hand, the Rev. P. E. Moore,
who has a long experience of the Mikirs, writing in 1902, says,
"Polygamy is not common. A man sometimes takes a second wife. In
one instance which came to my notice recently the two wives were
married on the same day. The man is usually fined Rs. 12.8 for this
irregularity. The father of a boy who is now in my service had six
wives, and was not punished at all." [11] Perhaps it may be concluded
that monogamy is the general rule, and that cases of polygamy have
occurred in consequence of the effect of the example of the Assamese,
and the weakening of tribal sanctions.
The young couple live in the bridegroom's father's house. The old
people often get separate rooms allotted to them as they advance in
life, and are supported in idleness.
Widow marriage is allowed. Divorce is rare, but permissible if there
is no offspring, or if the girl goes home after marriage and refuses
to return to her husband. In that case the husband takes a gourd of
beer to her parents and declares himself free. Both parties, after
the divorce, can marry again.
[NOTE BY EDITOR.
The following list of Mikir words for family relationship has some
points of interest:--
Grandfather, phu. Grandmother, phi.
Father, po. Mother, pei, pi.
Husband, pèng-àn. Wife, peso.
(Wedded pair, Pèng-àn-so, Pengnàn-so.)
Wife's father, hupo, ònghai. Wife's mother, nipi, nihai.
Husband's father, lòk-hai.
Father's brother, punu. Father's sister, pinu.
Mother's brother, òng, nihu. Father's brother's wife, ni.
Child, common gender, without reference to parents, so.
Boy, oso. Girl, osopi.
Son, sopo. Daughter, sopi.
Grandson, supo. Granddaughter, supi.
Brother, in general, kòr, kòrte. Sister, in general, kòr, kòrte.
Brother, when speaker is a female,
chèkle.
Elder } { ik { te, when speaker
brother } words used by { Elder { is a female.
Younger } both sexes { mu sister { ingjirpi, when speaker
brother } { { is a male.
Younger sister, mu.
Brother-in-law: wife's brother, Brother's wife, for male
òng-so. speaker, tepi; for female
speaker, nèng.
Sister's husband, me, Wife's sister, kòrpi.
ingjir-arlo; kòrpo.
Son-in-law, osa.
Nephew, generally, philipo. Niece, philipi.
Elder brother's son, ik-aso.
Brother's son, kòr-aso.
Sister's son, osa.
The remarkable point about these names is that most of them are the
same for both sexes, and that the sexes are distinguished only by
words indicating gender where this is required. Po is the index for
the male, pi that for the female.
Again, the same word appears to be used in different senses: e.g. òng
is maternal uncle, but òng-so (so is the syllable indicating a
diminutive) is the wife's brother, the "little uncle;" osa is both
nephew (sister's son) and son-in-law (pointing to the custom of
intermarriage of first cousins on the mother's side). Te is sister,
but tepi (pi indicates greatness) is brother's wife. Similarly, kòr
is sister (or brother), kòrpi is wife's sister, kòrpo sister's husband.
It will be observed that brothers and sisters, and brothers-in-law
and sisters-in-law, use different forms of address when speaking of
their relationship inter se.
The whole subject seems to demand further investigation, in the light
of comparison with the system of family grouping in other allied
tribes, and the history and etymology, so far as it is possible to
ascertain them, of the words indicating relationship.]
The sons inherit; if there are none, the brothers; after them the
deceased's nearest agnate of his own kur. The wife and daughters get
nothing. But if the deceased has no sons or brothers, the widow can
retain the property by marrying into her husband's kur. In any case she
retains her personal property, ornaments, clothes, etc. If the widow
will not surrender the property, the case has to come before the me.
The eldest son gets somewhat more than the others on the father's
death. Generally, however, the property is divided beforehand by
the father, who often prefers one son to another. The family usually
continues to dwell together, the grown-up sons supporting the widowed
mother. Adoption is unknown.
Villages have no fixed or recognized boundaries, but are moved from
place to place according to the needs of cultivation. Only house-tax
is paid, except by Mikirs cultivating land with the plough in the
submontane tracts, who are treated in all respects like other Assamese
raiyats. In the hills the culturable land, at the first settlement
of a village in a new locality, is divided among the householders by
the me, or village council, presided over by the gaonbura, the head of
each household choosing his own land for cultivation, and any dispute
being referred to the me. Should the dispute not be settled in this
manner, the majority prevails, and the dissident households, if they
do not acquiesce, may remove elsewhere and set up for themselves as
a new community with a gaonbura of their own.
The following are the Mikir mauzas, or territorial divisions including
a number of villages, in the Nowgong district:--
Duar Baguri, Duar Bamuni, Duar Salona, Ròngkhàng, Duar Amla Parbat,
Duar Dikhoru, Duar Kothiatali, Jamuna-par, Làngpher, Lumding Mikir. The
last two are new mauzas, the opening-out of which is due to the
Assam-Bengal Railway, which traverses the tract. Each mauza has a
Mikir mauzadar or bikhoya.
The decision of disputes is the business of the village me, or council,
[12] presided over by the gaonbura (Mikir, sar-the). The me is composed
of all the male householders. The gaonbura is chosen for his personal
character by the householders. On election, he repairs, with beer
and spirits, to the head gaonbura or mauzadar, bringing with him two
or three other gaonburas. A pig is killed, the company eat and drink
together, and the gaonbura is declared duly elected. The me is summoned
by the gaonbura. It decides all village disputes, and inflicts small
fines. It also determines whether the village shall be shifted, and
where it shall be removed to. A me-pi ("great council") consists of
gaonburas only, presided over by a mauzadar or head gaonbura. Graver
matters, such as charges of adultery, witchcraft aimed at life (maja
kechònghoi), tigers in the mauza, questions affecting the mauza at
large, the arrangements for the Ròngker or annual village festival,
and such like, are referred to the me-pi.
The Mikirs have never been a warlike race, nor are there any traditions
of inter-village feuds. Head-hunting has not been practised, but the
tribe have often been the victim of raids for this purpose by their
neighbours, the Angami Nagas. There are said to have formerly been
vendettas between families.
During the Burmese wars in the early part of the last century, the
tribe deserted its settlements in the submontane tract, and fled into
the higher hills. Many Assamese are reported to have taken refuge with
them during this time, and to have become Mikirs. [Mr. Dundas also
mentions that in North Cachar outsiders are admitted into the tribe and
are enrolled as members of one of the kurs, after purification by one
of the Be-kuru kur (Mr. Stack's Be and Kro, sub-kurs of Teràng). In
the group opposite, taken from a photograph supplied by Mr. Dundas,
the short man is evidently a Khasi, while the man to his left appears
to be an Assamese.]
The Mikirs call their Kachari neighbours Paròk, the Mikir pronunciation
of Boro (in the allied dialect of Tipperah boròk means "man"); the
Assamese are Ahòm, the Bengalis Bòngnai (Bòngnai-adin, "British
rule"), the Nagas Naka. The Khasis generally are called Chomàng,
the border race of Khasis, adjoining the Kopili or Kupli river,
being Chomàng-Keche. Keche is, no doubt, equivalent to Khasi, the
vowel-change being the same as in Recho for Raja.
APPENDIX.
1. The kurs or exogamous groups of the Mikir race are thus given in
the Assam Census Report for 1891 (vol. iii. pp. cii.-ciii):--
Main Subdivisions.
I. Ingti. II. Terang. III. Teràn. IV. Tumung. V. Inghi or Hengse.
I. Subdivisions of Ingti--
1. Ingle. 4. Kathar.
2. Ingti-Henchek. 5. Tarak or Taro.
3. Ingti-Kiling.
II. Subdivisions of Terang--
1. Be-bonghàng (read 6. Kro-Jingthong.
Be-Ronghàng). 7. Kro-ghoria.
2. Be-Jingthong. 8. Lilipo-kro.
3. Injai. 9. Rongbijiya.
4. Kro. 10. Tarang.
5. Kro-bonghàng (read 11. Teràng.
Kro-Ronghàng).
III. Subdivisions of Teràn--
1. Ai. 4. Milik.
2. Kangkàt. 5. Tarap.
3. Làngle.
IV. Subdivisions of Tumung--
1. Benar-pator. 5. Rongphar.
2. Chenar. 6. Rongtar [13]-Jungthong.
3. Dera. 7. Takki.
4. Keleng. 8. Tumung-pator.
V. Subdivisions of Inghi--
1. Bonrung. 6. Rongpi.
2. Hànche. 7. Rongchehon.
3. Ke-ap. 8. Tuso.
4. Lekethe. 9. Tutab.
5. Ronghang-ghoria.
An attempt is made in the report to translate some of these names,
but it appears very doubtful whether the meanings assigned are
correct. So far as they go, the explanations show that some of the
names (to which an Assamese form has in some cases been given, as
in those ending in ghoria) are designations of offices (e.g. Pator,
Rongchehon = village watchman), while others are local or place-names.
Under I. Ingti, (1) Ingle is evidently Mr. Stack's Inglèng; (4) Kathar
is his Katar, (2) [Ingti]-Henchek is his Hènsèk, and (5) Taro his Taro.
Under II. Terang, (1 and 2) Be is Mr. Stack's Be, (4, 5, 6, 7) Kro
is his Kro, and (3) Injai is probably his Ingjar; the others seem to
be either local names (8, Lilipo-kro = Western Kro, Nilip = west; 9,
Rongbijiya = inhabitants of some particular village), or duplicates
of the group-name Terang (Nos. 10 and 11).
Mr. Stack had no group named Teràn.
Group IV., Tumung, corresponds to Mr. Stack's Timung; of the
subdivisions, 2, Chenar is probably his Sèngnar, 5, Rongphar agrees
with his list, and 7, Takki is probably his Tòkbi. Nos. 1 and 8 are
explained as office-holders, No. 3 is a place-name, No. 4 is a river
(Kiling), and No. 6 seems to be a duplicate of No. 5.
Group V., Inghi, corresponds to Mr. Stack's Lèkthe, which occurs as the
name of subdivision 4 in the census list; 1, Bonrung, is Mr. Stack's
Bòngrun; 2, Hànche, is his Hànse; 8, Tuso, is his Tutso. His Kràmsa
is not found in the census list, but occurs, as will be seen below,
in other lists.
2. Mr. Dundas, Subdivisional Officer of North Cachar, writing in
March 1903, gives the following groups:--
MAIN EXOGAMOUS GROUPS.
1. Inghi. II. Timung. III. Teron. IV. Kathar. V. Be. VI. Injai.
I. Inghi has the following subdivisions:--
1. Rongpi, further subdivided into (a) Rongchaichu, (b)
Rongchehòn, (c) Chinthòng,
(d) Lindòk.
2. Ronghàng, ,, ,, ,, (a) Hèmpi, (b) Hèmso.
3. Inghi, ,, ,, ,, (a) Hèmpi, (b) Hèmso.
4. Hànse, ,, ,, ,, (a) Durong, (b) Nongkirla,
(c) Chinthòng, (d) Kiling.
5. Lèkthe, ,, ,, ,, (a) Keap, (b) Tereng.
6. Bòngrung, ,, ,, ,, (a) Kràmsa, (b) Rongchehòn,
(c) Hèmso.
7. Tutso, ,, ,, ,, (a) Motho, (b) Rongphu, (c)
Ronghing, (d) Rongchitim, (e)
Rongchaichu, (f) Rongchehòn.
(Nos. 4, 6, and 7 agree with Mr. Stack's list under Lèkthe, and
Mr. Stack's Kràmsa appears as a further subdivision of Bòngrung. As
regards the others, the names beginning with Rong may be local village
names; Chinthong and Ronghang are the names of great sections of the
Mikir population, not of exogamous groups; Hèmpi and Hèmso mean merely
"great house" and "little house.")
II. Timung (Mr. Stack has the same spelling) comprises--
1. Timung Lindòk, subdivision (a) Ròngchaichu.
2. Ròngphar, ,, (a) Hèmpi, (b) Hèmso.
3. Chinthong, ,, (a) Seng-ar, (b) Hèmpi, (c) Hèmso.
4. Phàngchu, ,, (a) Juiti, (b) Rongphàng, (c)
Hèmpi, (d) Hèmso.
5. Phura, ,, (a) Dili.
6. Tòkbi, ,, (a) Tòksiki.
7. Kiling
8. Meji
9. Pator
10. Lòngteroi
11. Yachi, ,, (a) Hèmpi, (b) Hèmso.
12. Dera, ,, (a) Hèmpi, (b) Hèmso.
13. Ròngpi
(Here Nos. 2 and 6 correspond with Mr. Stack's subdivisions, and No. 3
(a), Seng-ar, is his Sengnar; several of the remainder appear to be
local names.)
III. Teròn comprises--
1. Làngne, subdivision (a) Ròngchaichu.
2. Kòngkàr, ,, (a) Dengya.
3. Meji
4. Milik, ,, (a) Seràng.
5. Mele
6. Kiling
(Mr. Stack has none of these names; but Làngne evidently corresponds
to Làngle in the census list, and Kòngkar to Kangkat, while Milik is
in both.)
IV. Kathar comprises--
1. Ingti-Kathar
2. Riso
3. Hènsèk
4. Ingti-Kiling
5. Ingling, subdivisions (a) Hèmpi, (b) Hèmso.
6. Ingti-Chinthòng
7. Taro
(These names, except Riso, which means "young man," all occur
in Mr. Stack's group Ingti. Nos. 4 and 6 are evidently local
subdivisions.)
V. Be comprises--
1. Rònghàng
2. Kiling
3. Lindòk
4. Seng-òt
5. Teràng, subdivisions (a) Dili, (b) Rongchaichu.
6. Kuru, ,, (a) Rongchaichu, (b) Nihàng, (c) Nilip.
(This group corresponds to Mr. Stack's Teràng; Kuru is his
Kro. Subdivisions 1, 2, and 3 are apparently local names.)
VI. Injai comprises--
1. Injai
2. Ing-ar.
(Mr. Stack gives Ing-ar as a subdivision of Teràng; the census list
also classes Injai under the same main group. Mr. Dundas notes that
the Injai may not take a wife from the Be (i.e. Teràng) group, from
which it may be concluded that they are really a subdivision of that
name, or Teràng.)
3. So far the three lists are in general agreement; but the
Rev. Mr. Moore, writing in August 1902, gives what at first sight is
an entirely different arrangement. He separates the Mikir people into
the following five groups:--
I. E-jàng. II. Tung-e. III. Kròn-e. IV. Lo-e. V. Ni-e.
I. E-jàng he subdivides into--
1. Ròngpi. 6. Kràmsa.
2. Rònghàng. 7. Keap.
3. Tutso. 8. Lèkthe.
4. Hànse. 9. Ròngchehòn.
5. Bòngrung.
II. Tung-e comprises--
1. Timung. 5. Timung-Senar.
2. Tòkbi. 6. Timung-Phàngchu.
3. Timung-Kiling. 7. Timung-Juiti.
4. Timung-Ròngphar. 8. Tòktiphi.
III. Kròn-e includes--
1. Teròn. 3. Teròn-Làngne.
2. Teròn-Kòngkàt.
IV. Lo-e is divided into--
1. Be. 4. Ingjai.
2. Kro. 5. Ingnar.
3. Teràng.
V. Ni-e comprises--
1. Ingti. 3. Taro.
2. Inglèng.
Comparing the subdivisions with those given by Mr. Stack, we perceive
that five of the nine shown under Mr. Moore's I. E-jàng (Nos. 3, 4, 5,
7, and 8) are identical with Mr. Stack's Lèkthe and its subdivisions;
the remaining four (Ròngpi, Rònghàng, Ròngchehòn, and Keap) are
all found in the census list of 1891 under Inghi, another name for
Lèkthe. Evidently, therefore, E-jàng is the equivalent of Mr. Stack's
Lèkthe and the census Inghi.
Under II. Tung-e all Mr. Stack's names classed under Timung appear;
of the remainder, some are found in Mr. Dundas's list, either of
subdivisions or smaller sections, under Timung; Tòktiphi is probably
Mr. Dundas's Tòksiki; and Timung-Kiling is the census "Keleng"
(a river-name). It is clear, therefore, that Tung-e is the same as
the Timung (Tumung) of the other lists.
III. Kròn-e is evidently the small group Teròn or Teràn of Mr. Dundas
and the census list, not found in Mr. Stack's enumeration.
IV. Lo-e is also clearly the Teràng of the three other lists, which
account for all the names given under it.
V. Ni-e is the equivalent of Mr. Stack's Ingti, called by the same
name in the census list, and Kathar in Mr. Dundas's list (the
omission of the name Kathar, or Katar, from Mr. Moore's list is
somewhat noticeable).
It thus appears that all the four lists in reality agree in a
remarkable manner, quite independent as they are in their origin,
and that all observers concur in stating that the Mikir people are
divided into five (or four) great exogamous groups, whether situated
in the Mikir Hills, in North Cachar, or in the Khasi Hills and the
hilly country to the south of Nowgong.
IV.
RELIGION.
General character of popular belief in ghosts and spirits,
and a future life--No idols, temples or shrines--Amulets--The
Gods and their worship--Divination and magic--Oaths and
imprecations--Funeral ceremonies--Festivities--Taboo.
BELIEFS ABOUT THE DEAD.
The Mikirs have borrowed from the Hindu Assamese the ideas and the
names of Boikuntho (Vaikuntha, Vishnu's Paradise) and Nòròk (Naraka,
Hell); but these conceptions do not play much part in their views of
a life to come. Better known, and more often mentioned, is Jòm Recho
(Jam, Yama Raja), the Lord of Spirits, with whom the dead remain
below ground. His abode--the abode of the dead--is Jòm-aròng, [14]
and the elaborate ceremonies of the funeral are the means by which
the spirit of the dead gains admittance to Jòm's city. Unless they
are duly performed he remains outside.
They speak of having seen the shade (image, arjàn) of a dead man
(ne la arjàn thèklòk, "I saw his shade"); a sickly man catches such
glimpses in the house, on the road, etc. Pharlo, spirit, is used both
of living persons and dead. Tove ne-pharlo ne la-abàng thèk-lòng,
"Last night in my spirit I saw him"; where pharlo is the spirit of
the sleeping man. When such glimpses are experienced, betel and food
are set aside in the house, and after a time thrown away.
On a death occurring, the old women of the village wash and lay out the
body. Then one composes a chant, setting forth the parentage and life
of the dead: "You will now meet your grand-parents, father, deceased
brother, etc., and will stay with them and eat with them." Then a
separate meal of rice and a boiled egg is placed beside the body,
and the dead man is invited to eat. This is done twice a day, the
meal being cooked separately from the food of the family. After being
offered and placed beside the corpse for a time, the food is thrown
away. This goes on day by day until the funeral service is held (see
below). After that there are no regular offerings, but occasionally
a man or woman puts aside from his or her own share of food a portion
for the dead, as, for instance, when another funeral reminds them of
those who have died before.
There does not appear to be any fear of the dead coming back to trouble
the living. Some people, however, it is said, are afraid to pass the
burying-place of the dead after dark.
They say that a man called Thi-rèng Vàng-rèng (literally, "Dead-alive
come-alive") in former times used to travel between this world and
Jòm Recho's abode; he taught them their funeral ceremonies. At last
he did not come back. Everything is different in Jòm-aròng. Thirèng
Vàngrèng saw the people there go out to fish, and gather instead pieces
of stick. They asked him why he did not gather them too; he answered
that they were not fish, but sticks. They waved over them a lighted
brand, and he saw them as fish. So, too, there a crab becomes a tiger,
or seems to be a tiger. Men do not stay in Jòm Recho's city for ever,
but are born again as children, and this goes on indefinitely (here
we seem to have a borrowing from Hinduism). "The Mikirs give the
names of their dead relations to children born afterwards, and say
that the dead have come back; but they believe that the spirit is
with Jòm all the same." [15]
A man with unusually keen and alarming eyes is said to be possessed
by a demon (hi-i). The phrase is ahi-i kedo arlèng, and, of the eyes,
amèk ahi-i kedo. But the superstition of the evil eye, as prevalent
elsewhere, seems to be unknown, and such a man is not avoided; rather,
the hi-i is supposed to give him cleverness. The same phrase is used in
familiar abuse to a child: Ahi-i kedo oso, "You devil-possessed brat!"
RELIGION--DIVINITIES.
The Mikirs have no idols, temples, or shrines. Some people, however,
have fetishes or amulets, called bòr. These are pieces of stone or
metal, by keeping which they become rich. Sometimes, however, a man
unwittingly keeps a bòr that brings him ill-luck and loss. A man is
said to have got a bòr, bòr kelòng; Bòr do-kòkle, plàng-ple-ji ma? "If
you have got a bòr, will you not become rich?" Bòrs are not common;
one gets them by chance in river, field, or jungle. Or a man dreams
that he can get a bòr in such a place, and finds it there. But these
amulets are not objects of worship or propitiation.
The Gods--Arnàm-atum--are innumerable, and are worshipped in different
ways, at different times, and in different places. The names of some
of the most important are given below.
Arnàm Kethe, in spite of his name, which means "The Great God," has
no definite authority over the other Gods. He is a house-god, and is
sacrificed to once in three years, if no occasion (in consequence of
trouble) arises meanwhile. His appropriate offering is a pig. The
family obtain Arnàm Kethe by asking him to stay with them, and by
castrating a young pig, to be sacrificed three years later. All
families have not got Arnàm Kethe to stay with them, nor does he
always come when invited. If a man is sick, and the uche (diviner)
declares that Arnàm Kethe wishes to join the household, the ceremony
is performed, but no offerings are made at the time. After three
years--or earlier, if there is any sickness in the family--the pig
is killed, and a general feast, with rice, beer, and spirits, given
to the village. A booth of leaves is built in the three days before;
the first day is devoted to cutting the posts for the booth, and is
called phòng-ròng ketèng; the second, to garlanding leaves round the
posts, called phòng-ròng ketòm; and on the third day leaves are laid
out for the rice, rice-flour (pithaguri, Ass.) is sprinkled about
the ground, and plantains and other trees are planted around the
booth. All these preparations are done in the early morning before
eating. Then follows the ceremony--Arnàm Kethe karakli. First, there
is the invocation: "To-day has come, and now we will give you your
three-years' offering; accept it kindly!" Fowls are killed, and then
the pig (all animals killed in sacrifice are beheaded with one stroke
of a heavy knife delivered from above). The liver, heart, and lights of
both are cooked for the god. Then the hoof, ear, and tail of the pig
are offered, then pieces of cooked meat. Afterwards the sacrificers
eat tekar kethi or tekar-so, then tekar-pi. Both are pieces of flesh,
the first smaller, the latter larger, eaten with rice-beer. Then all
the company set to and eat rice and flesh together. Sometimes three
or four pigs and forty different kinds of vegetables are consumed at
the sacrificial feast. The women get sixfold or ninefold the shares
of the men, and carry them home bound up in leaves (àn-bòr and òk-bòr).
Pèng is also a household god. His offering is a goat, sacrificed
yearly, in the tikup or space before the house. Some neighbours
are invited to the sacrificial feast. Pèng lives in the house,
Arnàm Kethe in heaven. Pèng is also sacrificed to in sickness. Very
few houses have not Pèng. Maize, rice, and a gourd of rice-beer are
placed for him above the veranda of the house, and the firstfruits of
the harvest are offered to him. "But these two gods only come to eat,
and families avoid taking them if they can."
Hèmphu ("head of the house," "householder") owns all the Mikir
people. Everybody can sacrifice to him at any time, and pray for
deliverance from sickness. Mukràng is similar to Hèmphu but slightly
lower in dignity. These two gods, the preservers of men, are approached
by the sacrifice of a fowl or goat. Hèmphu must be invoked first in
every sacrifice, being the peculiar owner of men.
Rèk-ànglòng ("the mountain of the community") or Inglòng-pi ("great
mountain") is a house-god, but is worshipped in the field, and only
men eat the sacrifice, which is a fowl or a goat once a year. He is
the god of the hill they live on, the Deus loci, with whom they have
to be at peace; but not every family in the village need have him.
Arnàm paro ("the hundred god") is the name of a god who takes a
hundred shares of rice, pithaguri, betel-nut, and the red spathe of
the plantain tree cut up. He is worshipped with a white goat or a
white fowl as the sacrifice. He and Rèk-ànglòng figure particularly
in the Ròngker, or great annual village festival, celebrated in June
at the beginning of the year's cultivation. (Arnàm-paro seems to be a
collective name, to include all gods whom it may concern. Kamakhya,
the Hindu goddess of Nilachal above Gauhati, is mentioned as one of
the deities included in Arnàm-paro.)
The gods named above are all invoked and propitiated to grant
prosperity and avert misfortune, both generally and specially. There
are, besides, numerous gods who take their names from the special
diseases over which they preside or which they are asked to avert;
such are--
Chomàng-ase ("Khasi fever"), a Khasi god, who lives in the house and
is propitiated with a goat; he is comparatively rare. This god appears
to be identical with Keche-ase, which is the rheumatism. (Chomàng
is the name for the interior Khasis, Keche for those immediately in
contact with the Mikirs.)
Ajo-ase ("the night fever") is the deity of cholera (ma-vur or
pòk-avur). The sacrifice to him is two fowls and many eggs, and is
offered at night, on the path outside the village. The whole village
subscribes to furnish the offering, and with the eatables are combined
a load of cotton, a basket of chillies, an offering of yams, and the
image of a gun (because cholera is thought to be a British disease);
also sesamum (nèmpo), many bundles consisting of six sticks of a soft
wood called chèknàm (perhaps the cotton tree, bombax) tied together,
many bundles of the false cane (ingsu), and double wedges of chèknàm
wood. The god is invoked: "Don't come this way, go that way!" The
eatables are eaten, and the other articles thrown away. The houses
are then beaten with rods of chèknàm and ingsu.
So-meme ("evil pain") is the god to whom barren women have recourse.
Recurring sicknesses and troubles are ascribed to Thèng-thòn or
Òk-làngno, a devil (hi-i); he is propitiated with a goat and a pig,
or two or three fowls. A man gasping in sickness is being strangled
by Thèng-thòn. If, notwithstanding invocations of the gods, sickness
grows worse, a sacrifice is offered to Thèng-thòn without summoning
the diviner or sàng-kelàng-abàng.
Mr. Stack gives the following as the names of the chief diseases
(besides those already mentioned), the averting of which forms the
main object of worship: goitre, phun-kàng ("swollen throat"); phthisis,
si-i (also cough); stone, ingthàk; diarrhoea, pòk-kàngsi; rheumatism,
keche-ase ("Khasi fever"); neuralgia, bàb ase; small-pox, pi-amir
("the Mother's flowers"); black leprosy, si-i; white leprosy, aròk;
elephantiasis, kèng-tòng (kèng, leg; ingtòng, funnel-shaped basket);
dysentery, pòk kapavi ("bleeding of belly").
The house-gods come down in the family; no others would be sacrificed
to if the family were uniformly prosperous.
All natural objects of a striking or imposing character have their
divinity. The sun (arni) and moon (chiklo) are regarded as divine,
but are not specially propitiated. But localities of an impressive
kind, such as mountains, [16] waterfalls, deep pools in rivers, great
boulders, have each their arnàm, who is concerned in the affairs of
men and has to be placated by sacrifice. The expression arnàm do,
used of a place, means, generally, to be haunted by something felt
as mighty or terrible. All waterfalls (làngsun), in particular, have
their arnàms. In Baguri mauza there are two great waterfalls in the
Diyaung river which are specially venerated as divine; one of these,
the Làng-kàngtòng ("Rolling-down water"), can be heard half a day's
journey off. Similarly, there are places where a river goes underground
(làng-lut); these also have their arnàm. [17] Such local divinities
of the jungle are propitiated chiefly to avert mischief from tigers,
which are a terrible plague in many parts of the Mikir hills.
There is no worship of trees or animals.
Làm-aphu, "the head or master of words," is a deity probably of recent
origin. He is the god sacrificed to by a man who has a case in court;
the sacrifice is one young cock, which should be offered at night,
secretly, by the sacrificer alone, in a secret place.
It should be mentioned that, following an ill-sounding idiom of
the Assamese, the Mikirs use "Arnàm" as a common (propitiatory)
form of address to human beings (Assamese, deuta). Po-arnàm-po
("god-father") to a man, and pe-arnàm-pi ("god-mother") to a woman,
are the phrases. In one of the stories given in the next Section,
the king is addressed as Hèmphu Arnàm, "Lord God."
DIVINATION AND MAGIC.
Sickness, if long continued or severe, is frequently attributed to
witchcraft (maja). A man suffering from long sickness is said to be
maja kelòng--"witchcraft has got hold of him." To discover the author
of the spell, or the god or demon who has brought the trouble and
must be propitiated, the services of a diviner are necessary. Uche,
feminine uche-pi (Hindi, ojhà), is the general name for the cunning
in such things. Of these there are two grades--the humbler, whose
craft is acquired merely by instruction and practice, and the higher,
who works under the inspiration or afflatus of divine powers. The
former is the sàng-kelàng abàng, "the man who looks at rice," in
Assamese, mangalsua; the latter, invariably a woman, is the lodèt or
lodèt-pi. In serious sickness or distress the latter is called in;
on ordinary and less important occasions, the former.
The sàng-kelàng abàng picks out of the pot the unbroken grains of
rice (sàng), and places them, by fives and tens, in pentacle or other
fashion. He then counts by couples. If in the groups the odd numbers
predominate, the omen is good. If there are no odd grains over, it is
very bad. Then all are swept together again, and arranged in three or
four heaps. Each heap is counted out, a god being named, and if after
the counting, again by couples, three single grains remain, the god
named is the one to be propitiated. If three grains do not remain,
the process is tried over again. Cowries (chobai) are sometimes used
instead of rice in the same way. Also, with cowries a handful is
taken and spread out, and the number with the slits upwards counted;
if they are the majority, the omen is good. [18]
Another mode of divination used by the mangalsua is to arrange in
a circle, equidistant from a point marked on a board (inghoi), as
many little heaps of clay as there are gods suspected in the case,
each heap being called by the name of its god. An egg is then sharply
thrown into the middle of the board at the marked point. When it breaks
and the yolk is scattered, that clay heap which receives the largest
splash of yolk, or towards which the largest and longest splash points,
indicates the god responsible for the affliction. [19]
Another mode is to use the nòk-jir, which is a long-handled iron dao
with a cross-piece at the handle and two inclined projecting pieces
higher up, before the blade, thus:--
This is held upright in the hand. It shakes of itself when the
charm is recited and the nòk-jir invoked to become inspired: Nàng
uché vàng-phlòt! "Let your spirit (uché) come!" The holder asks
whether the sick person will recover, and goes over the names of the
possibly responsible gods, and the nòkjir shakes at the right answer
and name. The charm (the Assamese word montro is used) recites the
making of the nòkjir, and ends--"if you tell lies, you will be broken
up and made into needles" (--the lowest use to which iron can be put,
to sew women's petticoats!). [20]
The Lodèt is an ordinary woman (not belonging to any particular
family or kur), who feels the divine afflatus, and, when it is upon
her, yawns continually and calls out the names and the will of the
gods. Another lodètpi is summoned in to question her, and ascertain
if her possession is really divine; a sàng-kelàng abàng may also be
consulted. If the report is favourable, a purificatory offering of
a fowl is made to Hèmphu and Mukràng, the preservers of men, and the
woman is accepted as a lodètpi.
She sits by the bewitched person (maja-kelòng), and the neighbours
come in after supper. The lodètpi bathes her hands and feet and face
in water in which the tulsi plant (Ocymum sanctum, holy basil) has been
steeped, and begins to shake and yawn. A gourd of rice-beer is brought,
of which she drinks some, and begins to call out the names of gods,
and they descend upon her. She is now inspired, and when questioned
indicates, by indirect and riddling answers, the enemy who has
bewitched the sufferer, or the gods who must be sacrificed to. When
this is ascertained she goes away. The accusation of practising
witchcraft is carried before the me or village assembly. The sacrifice
to placate the gods proceeds next day, and is usually costly.
To bewitch a person, it is necessary to have some of his hair, or
a piece of his clothes; these are buried with one egg, some bones,
and some charcoal. A good lodètpi can produce these things by the
power of her inspiration. A white cloth is tied up into the shape of
a bag. She conjures the things into it, and on opening the bag next
morning they are found inside. When they are thus recovered, the spirit
(karjòng) of the sufferer returns with them, and he gets well.
Charms (pherèm) are much used for medicinal purposes, either alone
or in combination with other remedies. For an ordinary stomach-ache
(pòk-keso), a little mud rubbed on the abdomen, with a muttered charm,
is the specific. For rheumatism (keche-ase), a castor-oil leaf is
struck on the place, and a charm muttered; if this fails, a sacrifice
must be offered to the god Keche-ase. The worker of these remedial
measures is called kàngtòk abàng, and the verb is ingtòk. Charms are
not, as a rule, carried on the person.
The expression vur kachethat, "to kill for oneself (a fowl) for
disease," means to prevent evil by sacrifice after a dream which had
previously been followed by mischance.
If a child does not thrive, it is imputed to the sin, or devil
(ahi-i) of the maternal uncle (òng), or, if there is no maternal
uncle, of one of the child's mother's kur. The family apply to the
person held to be responsible, and he gives a brass ring to be hung
round the child's neck, and a rice-ball (àn adum).
There is no entertaining of friends on recovery from sickness. The
sick person is tended by his wife and relations.
Tekere, Thekere, means a man who knows a spell or montro, especially
one which protects him against tigers (tèke).
OATHS AND ORDEALS.
Oaths and imprecations take the place of ordeals. Earth is put on
the head, and the man says--"May I be like this dust!" A tiger's
tooth is scraped, and the scrapings drunk in water: "May the tiger eat
me!" Similarly, an elephant's tusk is scraped, and the scrapings drunk:
"May the elephant trample me to death!" (Ingnar ne pedòng-nàng!) The
copper ring worn by the uche is dipped in water, and the water drunk,
the man saying, "May the tiger catch me!" Another form of oath is
Tàmhitni kàngjir asòntòt ne pàngjir-nàng, "May I be melted like molten
copper (or pot-metal)!" Such oaths are used to confirm promises,
and also to attest evidence and proclaim innocence of a charge.
FUNERAL CEREMONIES.
The funeral is the most elaborate, costly, and important of all the
ceremonies performed by the Mikirs. Such ceremonies are considered
obligatory in all cases except that of a child who has been born
dead, or who has died before the after-birth has left the mother;
such a child is buried without any ceremony. Victims of small-pox or
cholera are buried shortly after death, but the funeral service is
performed for them later on, the bones being sometimes dug up and
duly cremated. When a person is killed by a tiger, if the body or
clothes are found, they are buried at a distance from the village,
because the tiger is supposed to visit the burial-place. Such persons
cannot gain admittance to Jòm-aròng unless there are elaborate funeral
ceremonies performed for them. Being killed by a tiger is generally
imputed to the victim's sin. His spirit is believed to dwell in the
most dreary of the places where dead men's spirits go; there is no
notion (such as is found among some races in India) that it animates
the tiger who killed him. Except in these cases the dead are disposed
of by cremation, the burnt bones being afterwards buried.
The elaborateness of the funeral depends on the means of the
family. The description which follows applies to a case where the
household is well-to-do. In any case the body is kept in the house
for one day after death; if a regular service is held, it may lie as
long as from a week to twelve days.
The body lies in the kut. The persons occupied with the funeral
ceremonies live in the hòng-pharla; the rest of the family cook
and eat in the kàm, but the officiants, male and female, must go
across a stream or creek to cook and eat. As already mentioned, the
old women of the family wash and lay out the corpse. Then beer is
prepared, rice husked and got ready, and a convenient day fixed for
the service. If the house has not a big enough hòng (front platform),
the neighbours join and build one on to it. From the date of the death,
each household in the village gives a man to sleep in the house (in
the hòng-pharla). When it is settled that the beer and rice required
can be provided in four or five days, the village lads are summoned
about 8 o'clock in the evening. They bring their drum (chèng),
and drum up to the tikup (front yard); they drum there awhile, and
then, while one keeps time with the drum, dance by pairs, holding
in their left hands shields (chòng-kechèngnàn), and in their right
hands sticks. They go round twice in a circle; then they all dance
round, holding each the other's hands (this is called chomàng-kàn,
"Khasi dance"). After an hour spent in this way they go back to
the gaonbura's house to sleep. Early next morning they come without
beat of drum, and dance the chomàng-kàn to the drum; they then dance
the shield-dance as before (chòng-kechèngnàn) to the drum, and go
home. Next night they come as before, but a little later, and go
through the same ceremonies. Next morning they proceed as before,
and in the usual course they kill a fowl and roast it in pieces on
spits in the tikup, and eat it there. The third and last night is
that of the kàn-pi ("great dance").
Meantime, during the day, the risomar have to work at getting ready
the tèle--the stout bamboo to which the corpse is to be slung: the
bànjar--a bamboo ornamented with curled shavings (bu) hung in tufts
to projecting arms; and the seroso--shorter bamboo sticks similarly
ornamented and tipped with leaves. The men have to go to the theri
(village burning-place) and prepare there a chang or platform, with
logs for burning the body arranged under it; this chang is built in a
peculiar manner, known only to adepts. The uchepi (a skilled old woman)
is summoned to prepare the viaticum for the dead, and the duhuidi,
with an assistant, who beat the two drums which have now been hung
up in the kàm-athèngthòt: the duhuidi is one skilled in tolling on
these drums. Then comes the girl called obòkpi (not necessarily a
maid), that is, the "carrier" of the dead man; but in place of the
dead she carries on her back a gourd for holding beer; she must
belong to his mother's kur. Also the nihu, the maternal uncle or
other male representative of the mother's kur, and the ingjir-arlo,
sister's husband, or father's sister's husband, of the deceased;
it is his office to kill the goat for the dead, if they can afford one.
About midnight the villagers, with torches, drums, and the attendant
risomar, assemble in the tikup. The neighbouring villages, if so
minded, may come too (aròng ari is the phrase for the contingents as
they arrive). Each contingent is welcomed with the drum, and joins in
the drumming concert; the lads and girls are dressed in their best,
and provided with betel. The chief of the village lads (klèng-sarpo)
then calls the other risomar to touch (not taste) the beer, hòr
kacheme. [21] Then follows the shield-dance, first by the risomar of
the village, then by the outside contingents in order of arrival or
merit. Then all together take hands and dance in a circle. The young
women join in the line, taking hold of the lads' coats, while the lads
take hold of them by the belt (vànkòk); the girls cover their heads and
faces with a black scarf (jiso ke-ik): the petticoat is a red-striped
Mikir eri cloth. Near the first cock-crow, seven young men go up on
the hòng or house-platform from the dancing, with the duhuidi and his
assistant; one lad goes in and dances in the inside of kàm, in the
space by the partition-wall (nòksèk), while the six others stand at the
door (hòngthu, or inghàp àngho = "door's mouth"), and dance there. The
six whoop three times together as they dance. After a quarter of an
hour they return to the circle of dancers in the tikup. At dawn they
go up again, and dance till sunrise. The circle breaks up at daylight,
and then follows the shield-dance. Then all the drums go round the
circle where they dance ten to twenty times, playing a different tune
each time. Then, while they all drum standing, a pig is brought forth,
tied up for killing. The risomar in successive parties recount over the
tied-up pig the history of the funeral service; this is called phàk
aphu kacholàng. Then the pig is killed and cut up for the risomar,
and for the men engaged in the funeral service. The latter have to
cook and eat their shares of the meat, which is given in leaf-bundles
(òk-bòr) or on spits (òk-kròn), beyond the river. The risomar also get
their shares in the same way, and cook them in the dancing-ring. A
small piece of flesh is cooked by the uchepi for the dead man, and
this is put in the plate of the dead and carried by the ingjir-arlo
up to the body in the kut, the duhuidi tolling the drum as he goes
in; this ceremony is called kasole. Meantime the old experienced
men, braving the horrid stench, have been performing certain rites
[22] about the body. The remainder of the cooked flesh, with rice,
is distributed to the young girls. The risomar then, provided with
rice, beer, salt, chillies, and greens from the dead man's house,
disperse to houses in the village to eat, and the officiants go off
beyond the river to prepare and eat their food. This part of the
ceremony is called riso kachiru, "the lads' entertainment."
Then two or three of the risomar take a cock on the road to the
burning-place, and kill, cook, and eat it there. A small pig is killed
by the other lads where they dance, and the head and one leg are sent
to the road-side risomar. The blood is caught in a bamboo-joint, and
smeared on the bànjar, which is set up in the road like a maypole;
it is a thick bamboo about seven feet long, with sticks projecting
on three sides, from which hang tassels of curled bamboo shavings
(bànjar abu) These shavings also are smeared with the blood, so as to
look like flowers. Six shorter pieces of bamboo, three feet long, also
ornamented with tufts of shavings, are called serosos, and these too
are smeared with blood: likewise the tèle for carrying the corpse to
the pyre. Six young men, each taking a seroso, dance round the bànjar.
The uchepi has now prepared all the food. The obòkpi takes the
beer-gourd on her back, and one egg in her hand, and the uchepi a
beer-gourd, and they break the egg and the gourd against the tèle
as it lies upon the house-ladder (dòndòn). The duhuidi tolls the
drum, and dancing as before takes place on the hòng and in the kàm,
but not with the serosos. The uchepi and the obòkpi then go on to
the burning-place. The tèle is now taken up by the old men into the
house, and the corpse tied to it and brought down; all the dead man's
clothes are hung over the bamboo. Then a pair of ducks and another
of pigeons are killed by the nihu, and a goat by the ingjir-arlo,
each previously going thrice round the dancing circle with the
sun. The goat is called hòngvàt-abi; the heads are thrown to the
risomar, the rest of the meat kept and cooked later on by those who
remain. Preceded by the duhuidi and his assistant tolling the drums,
they all march in procession, carrying the bànjar and serosos, to
the burning-place. The body is untied from the tèle and placed on
the pyre, which is lighted. While the pyre is burning, knowing women
sing the kacharhe--a chant describing the dead man's life, whither he
is going on leaving this earth, how he will see his dead relations,
and the messages he has to carry to them. A few of the lads dance
while the cremation is proceeding.
The body is thoroughly burnt, and the bones that remain are tied up
in a cloth and buried. The tèle is either laid down whole or cut into
three pieces, which are split again into six, and placed in the little
house which is then erected over the grave. This is built with the
bànjar and the serosos, the former being in the middle and the latter
used as props for the roof. The food prepared by the uchepi is now
placed on a flat stone over the grave, and the ceremony is at an end.
The company, returning, clean and wash the house, and cook and eat
and drink on the hòng. On coming back from the cremation, the nihu
gets some money, clothes, salt, and a knife. He shares the salt with
his own kur, if any are present. The ingjir-arlo next morning has to
clean up the dancing ring (ròng-ru kàngru, or tikup karkòk).
The ceremonies of the funeral are performed by the neighbours and
cunning men and women of the village, and the old people of the
family. The wife, children, parents, brothers and sisters of the
dead sit beside him and mourn, in spite of corruption, or even sleep
beside the decomposing corpse. "It is genuine grief, a national
characteristic. Even after the funeral service, they remember and
mourn; and the death of another renews their grief." The mourners
continue their lamentation, heedless of the dancing.
If a great man, such as a mauzadar (bikhoya) or leading gaonbura
(sarlar, sarthe), dies, in addition to the ceremonial described above,
there is another, called Làngtuk ("the well"). A well or pit is dug
outside the village, four-square, with sides ten to fifteen feet:
it need not be carried down to the water; stairs are made to the
bottom. At the corners are planted various trees. A tall upright stone
(lòng-chòng) and a broad flat stone (lòng-pàk), supported on short
uprights, are brought and set up, as in the Khasi hills. The risomar
come and dance there the whole day, with manifold apparatus. The uchepi
sings and places food of different kinds on the flat stone for the
dead man; his clothes and umbrella are put upon the tall stone, with
flowers. A fowl is killed for the well at the bottom of the pit, and a
goat, two ducks, and two pigeons are killed at the top, and their heads
thrown to the risomar. Then the people of thirty to forty villages
assemble. The uchepi sings extemporaneously before the memorial stone,
and the people dance and eat there until dark. After dark the company
go to the house and perform the usual service already described. The
làngtuk is very costly, for people have to be fed at two places, and
double the quantity of food for an ordinary funeral has to be provided.
FESTIVITIES.
The Ròngker is the annual compulsory village festival, held at the
time of the beginning of cultivation (June), or in some villages
during the cold season. Goats and fowls are sacrificed. Arnàm-paro
gets a goat, and so do the local gods of hills and rivers. A small
village will sacrifice two or three goats, a large village ten or
twelve. The flesh of the victims is eaten, with rice and rice-beer,
but only men can partake of the sacrifice. They must sleep on the
hòng apart from their wives that night. The gods are invoked in the
following terms: "We live in your district: save us and help us! send
no tigers or sickness, prosper our crops and keep us in good health,
and year by year we will sacrifice like this. We depend wholly upon
you!" There is no music or dancing at the Ròngker.
At harvest-home there is no sacrifice, but the whole village help
mutually in getting the crops in, and feast together on rice and beer,
and dried fish and dried flesh saved up against this celebration,
or fresh fish if procurable. No animals are killed, except in some
houses a fowl, lest the paddy brought home should decrease; this fowl
is eaten. On this occasion there is a little dancing on the hòng,
but with this exception music and dancing take place only at funerals.
Occasionally there is a Ròngker-pi ("great Ròngker") for the whole
mauza, as, for instance, to expel man-eating tigers. Each village,
headed by its gaonbura, brings its contribution to the great sacrifice,
and repairs to the mauzadar's or bor-gaonbura's house, where the
feast is celebrated.
Mr. Stack's notes do not mention the observance by the Mikirs of
general tabus, called in Assamese genna, such as are common among
the Naga tribes; [23] but personal tabus of various kinds, entailing
separate eating of food and abstinence from commerce of the sexes,
have already been indicated. Women during menstruation are said to
be unclean and unable to touch the cooking-pots.
V.
FOLK-LORE AND FOLK-TALES.
Three Mikir stories--Legend of creation (Mr. Allen).
The Mikirs are fond of telling stories, but the historical
material which they contain does not appear to be of very ancient
date. Reference has already been made to the deliverance of the
Arlengs from slavery to the Khasis, and their contests with the
Kacharis under the leadership of Thòng-Nòkbe; also to their early
relations with the Ahoms. They have also myths dealing with the
creation of the earth and man, one of which has been related by
Mr. Allen, of the American Presbyterian Mission, and will be found in
the Appendix to this Section; it seems doubtful, however, whether it
is a genuine legend, or due to imagination stimulated by questions:
the concluding episode strongly resembles the Biblical story of the
Tower of Babel. These legends have not been handled by Mr. Stack,
and are therefore not reproduced here. The Rev. Mr. Moore notes that
"Mikir stories in general do not agree very minutely," and this appears
to be particularly the case in respect of tales of the intervention
of the gods in human affairs.
Mr. Stack wrote down, chiefly from the dictation of a Mikir named
Sardoka, who had become a Christian, a number of excellent stories,
which well deserve separate publication. Three specimens of these
are given here. They correspond in every respect, as will be seen,
with the general characteristics of folk-literature all over the
world. Folk-tales containing the same incidents, as is well known,
are found from Iceland to Japan, from Alaska to Patagonia. The
original source of such a tale is now incapable of identification. The
same sequence of events and general form recur everywhere; what is
distinctive and characteristic is not the progress of incident, but
the local dressing, the narrator's point of view, the colour of his
daily life which he lends to the details of the story.
The first of the three specimens is the favourite Indian form of a
sequence, well known in Sanskrit literature, but quite as popular in
Europe and in general folk-lore. It is given here, because another
version of the same narrative has been included by Dr. Grierson in
his Linguistic Survey, vol. iii. Part III. p. 223, as found among the
Aimol Kukis, a race of Tibeto-Burmans dwelling, far away from the Mikir
country, in the hills bordering the valley of Manipur on the east.
The second specimen tells of the adventures of an orphan, the son of
a widow, a stock figure in Mikir folk-tales, and abounds in local
colour. Here too the incidents in part coincide with those of a
folk-tale belonging to a very distant country, the part of Kumaon
bordering on Tibet, which will be found in vol. iii, Part I. of the
Linguistic Survey, pp. 483, 495, 510, 522.
The third is a remarkably complete and interesting version of the
wide-spread folk-tale of the Swan-maidens. It was most probably derived
from some Indian source, though, so far as known, no version of the
tale in its entirety, as told by Hindus, has yet been published. The
name of the hero, Harata-Kunwar, may be the Indian Sarat-Kumar, and is
evidently not Mikir. But all the setting--the colloquies of the six
brothers and their father, the attempt on Harata-Kunwar's life, his
methods in defeating his treacherous kinsmen, his device for winning
his fairy wife, and many other features of the story--seems genuinely
local. The narrative is an excellent specimen of Mikir diction, and
shows no little skill in composition. In vol. iii. Part II. of the
Linguistic Survey, there will be found, at pp. 218-220, a short story,
entitled, "How Jesu got a goddess for his wife," which is identical in
motive with this tale of Harata-Kunwar. It is current among the Angami
Nagas, a race much less influenced by Hindu culture than the Mikirs.
The original Mikir text of these tales will be found in the next
Section; the English translation here given is as literal as it
was possible to make it. In the Linguistic Survey, vol. iii. Part
II. pp. 395-403, two other short stories of the same character, both
text and translation, have been printed. The second of these, the
story of the clever swindler Tèntòn, evidently belongs to the cycle
of tales called Tenton-Charit, mentioned, in its Assamese version,
as existing in manuscript by Mr. E. A. Gait, at page 68 of his Report
on the Progress of Historical Research in Assam, 1897.
1. STORY OF A FROG.
One day a big black ant went to carry a meal of rice to his uncle. A
frog sat down in the road and blocked it. The ant said, "Please make
way for me, frog; I want to carry this rice to my uncle." The frog
answered, "You can get by if you creep under me. Every one has to
pass under me who goes this way." The ant said, "My uncle's rice
is tied up in a bundle of leaves; how can I possibly creep under
you?" But the frog would not give way, so the ant would not go. In
this manner things went on till noon. Then the ant said, "Oh, my uncle
will be hungry for his rice and angry with me because he does not get
it!" And he crept under the frog. Then the frog sat down flat on the
top of the ant. Thereupon the ant gave the frog a sharp bite in the
loins. Then the frog, becoming angry, jumped on the ladder of a big
old squirrel, and broke it. The old squirrel, becoming angry, cut in
two the stem of a gourd. [24] The gourd, becoming angry, fell plump
on the back of a wild boar. The wild boar, becoming angry, rooted up a
plantain-tree. The plantain-tree, becoming angry, fell upon a sparrow's
[25] nest and broke it. The sparrow, becoming angry, flew into the
ear of a deaf elephant. The deaf elephant, becoming angry, rooted up a
rock. The rock, becoming angry, rolled down and killed the Raja's son.
Then the Raja held a court to try the case. "Who is it that killed
my son?" "Oh, the rock rolled down and killed him," they said. So
they summoned the rock. "O rock, rock! why did you roll down and
slay my son?" The rock answered, "Oh, Lord God King! how was I to
help rolling down and killing him? The deaf elephant uprooted me on
a sudden from my place, and then gave me a push. As for me, I have
no hands or legs; how then could I withstand him? Your son being in
the way where I was rolling down, I rolled upon him and killed him."
Then the Raja said, "Oh, then that deaf elephant was the cause of all
this trouble," and summoned the elephant. "O elephant, elephant! what
did you root up the rock for?" The elephant answered, "Oh! how could
I help uprooting it, Lord God? The sparrow flew into my ear, and I
lost all control of myself, and so I tore up the rock."
Then the Raja said, "Oh, then that sparrow was the cause of it all,"
and summoned the sparrow. "O sparrow, sparrow! why did you fly into
the elephant's ear?" The sparrow answered, "Oh, Lord, how could I
help it? The plantain-stalk fell upon my nest and smashed it, and
being very disturbed in mind, I flew into the elephant's ear."
Then the Raja said, "Oh! then that plantain-tree was the cause of the
trouble," and called the plantain. "O plantain, plantain! what did you
tumble on the sparrow's nest and smash it for?" The plantain answered,
"Oh, how could I help it, Lord God? The wild boar tore me up out of
the ground, and I had no root left at all. How was I to go on standing
in my place? I have neither hands nor feet."
"Oh! then that pig was the cause of it all," the Raja said, and
summoned the pig. "O pig, pig! what did you tear up the plantain
for?" The pig answered, "How could I help it? As I was feeding quietly
by myself, the gourd fell plump on my back. I was in great pain,
and therefore tore up the plantain tree."
Then the king said, "Oh, the gourd caused all this trouble," and
summoned the gourd. "O gourd, gourd! what did you tumble on the wild
boar's back for?" "How was I to help it, Lord God? The squirrel cut
through my stem. I have neither hands nor feet, nothing but a stalk;
if that is cut through, I cannot but fall. So I was obliged to tumble
on the wild boar's back."
Then the Raja said, "Oh, that squirrel caused all the mischief," and
summoned the squirrel. "O squirrel, squirrel! what did you cut through
the stem of the gourd for?" The squirrel answered, "Oh, how could I
help it, Lord God? The frog jumped on my ladder and broke it. Then
I had no road to get out, and I had to cut the stalk of the gourd."
The Raja said, "Oh, then that frog caused the mischief," and summoned
the frog. "O frog, frog! what did you jump on the squirrel's ladder
and break it for?" The frog answered, "How was I to help it? A big
black ant bit me sharply in the loins, and with the pain of the bite,
not knowing what I was doing, I jumped on the squirrel's ladder and
broke it."
Again the Raja said, "Oh, it was the ant that caused all the trouble,"
and summoned the ant. "O ant, ant! what did you bite the frog in the
loins for?" The ant said, "How could I help biting him? In the morning
I was carrying my uncle's rice along the road. The frog sat down and
blocked the way. I said, 'Please make room for me to pass.' 'Creep
under me,' said he. I crept under him, and he sat down tight on the
top of me. That was why I bit his loins."
Then said the king, "You are both of you guilty." They tied the
ant fast with a hair from a man's head; so now his waist is very
small. The frog they beat severely with a stinging-nettle, [26]
so now he is spotty all over.
2. STORY OF AN ORPHAN AND HIS UNCLES.
Once upon a time a widow woman had an only son. His mother had six
brothers. One day at evening his uncles said to the orphan, "Nephew,
let us go and set up a fish-trap." [27] So the orphan went with
them. Then the six brothers, his uncles, having built a good weir
up-stream, set the trap. The orphan, having put together a few stones
down-stream, below his uncle's trap-weir, set his own trap carelessly
in the middle of them, and returned home. The next morning they all
came to look at their traps. The uncles' trap, though very well put
together, had not caught so much as a cray-fish; as for the orphan's
trap, it was quite full of fish. Then the uncles said, "Nephew, we
will set up our trap here; do you go down-stream and set up your trap
again." Then, after the uncles had set up their trap in the orphan's
trap-weir, the orphan again set up his trap downstream. But again the
fish entered it just in the same way; while not one fish had got into
the uncles' trap, the orphan's trap was quite full of fish. Every
morning the uncles continued to take for themselves the place where
the orphan's trap had been. At last the orphan, becoming very tired
of continually setting up his trap in a different place, one morning,
instead of fixing the trap in the stream, placed it on a clump of
grass and left it there. Next morning his uncles came and called to the
orphan: "Nephew, let us go and look at the traps." The orphan answered,
"For my part, I have not set up my trap at all; nevertheless I will
go with you as your companion." So saying, he went with them. Then
he went to look at his trap, and found that a wood-pigeon had got
inside it. He tied this wood-pigeon with a noose and brought it home.
That orphan had one calf; you could not imagine how fat and sleek
it was. His uncles, being unable through envy to look at that calf,
killed it. Then the orphan, having taken off the calf's skin, took
one leg and secretly hid it in the house of a rich brahman who
lived at a distance. Then the orphan said, "Oh! how strongly the
house smells of cow's flesh!" The brahman, becoming angry, said,
"May a tiger eat you, you wicked boy! [28] How should there be
any cow's flesh here? I am a brahman--produce it, if you can: if
you cannot, I will take your life." The orphan said, "Very well,
I will make a search." He began to search in a careless, lounging
way; but coming to the place where he had hidden the calf's leg,
he suddenly pulled it out. "See, this is cow's flesh," said he; "I
told you so." Then the brahman, fearing lest, if other people came
in and saw this, his caste would be destroyed, said to the orphan,
"Orphan, my good sir! don't tell any one. I will give you a cloth-full
of money." [29] So saying, he gave him a cloth-full of silver,
which the orphan took with him to his home. When he arrived there,
he said to his mother: "Go and ask my uncles for their basket." His
mother went and called out: "Brothers! your nephew says he wants a
basket." Then the widow's brothers, having given her a basket, said
among themselves, "What does he want to do with the basket? Go and
watch." So they sent the youngest of them, and he went and watched,
and saw the orphan measuring the money with the basket. Then the
one who had watched returned home and told his brothers: "Where did
that nephew of ours get all this money? He is actually measuring the
rupees with a basket!" After they had finished measuring the money,
the orphan's mother went and returned the basket. Her brothers said
to her, "Send our nephew here." When the widow reached her house
she said to her son, "Your uncles bid me ask you to go and see them;
they want to speak to you." So the orphan went, and his uncles asked
him, "Where did you get all that money?" He answered, "It is the
price of cow's flesh; I went a-selling the flesh of my cow which you
killed. The people said, 'There is not enough of it for us,' and they
all bade me to bring more." His uncles asked him again, "Then if we go
selling cow's flesh, they will take more of it?" The orphan replied,
"Certainly they will take more; you have many cows, and if you kill
them all and go and sell their flesh, how much money will you bring
back!" Then each one of his six uncles killed a cow, and having made
the flesh into loads went to sell it. The orphan explained to them,
"When you arrive at the village of that rich brahman, offer your
meat for sale. Call out in the village as soon as you reach it,
'Who will take more cow's flesh?'" So these six brothers, taking up
their beef, went on their way, and, arriving at the brahman's village,
they cried, "Who will take more cow's flesh?" The people answered,
"We will take more; bring it here," and called them in. So when they
arrived at the brahman's house, all the inhabitants of the village,
having gathered together, seized those six brothers who had come to
sell cow's flesh, and having tied their hands, beat them soundly,
and said, "We are brahmans; do you dare to come here and traffic,
offering cow's flesh for sale?" So saying, they let them go. Then
those men who had brought the beef returned homewards, and on the
way took counsel together: "Oh, how that orphan has cheated us! Not
only has he caused us to kill our cattle; over and above that, he has
got us skins that smart all over. As soon as we get home, let us set
fire to his house!" So when they reached home, they set fire to the
orphan's house. Then the orphan, having woven two baskets, collected
the ashes of his burnt house, and made them into a load, and went to
a distant village where the people suffered from sore eyes. In that
village there was not a man who had not a pain in his eyes. When they
saw the orphan coming with his load of ashes, they asked him "Why
have you come hither?" The orphan answered, "Oh! when I heard that
your whole village was suffering severely from sore eyes, I came to
sell medicine to cure the complaint." "Oh, that is very good indeed,
dear sir," said they, and all the people of the village collected a
load of money, and gave it to the orphan. Then the orphan said, "Do
not apply this medicine to your eyes just yet; after I have gone a bit
of the way I will call out to you, 'Apply it'; then rub it in." So the
orphan, having got a load of money in exchange for his ashes, started
for home; and when he had got a little bit of the way, the people with
sore eyes called out to him, "Shall we not apply the medicine yet?" He
answered "Wait a bit!"; and he continued telling them to wait so long
as he was near the village. But when he arrived at a distance where
he thought they could not catch him, he called out, "Now apply the
medicine!" Then the sore-eyed people applied to their eyes the ashes
they had bought from the orphan. As soon as the medicine touched them,
their eyes began to smart as you cannot imagine! The pain in their
eyes became much worse than ever before. They said among themselves,
"Oh! how that fellow has cheated us, and gone away! if he comes again,
let us bind his hands fast and beat him!"
When the orphan reached home, he sent his mother again to fetch his
uncles' basket. The widow went to her brothers' house, and, having
lent her the basket, those six brothers said among themselves, "Go,
young one, watch again; what is he going to do with the basket?" So
the youngest went again secretly to watch. Again he saw the orphan
measuring money; and again he went back and carried the news to
his brothers: "Our nephew has returned, bringing with him much more
money than the last time." Then the six brothers went to the orphan,
and asked him, "Where did you get so much more money?" The orphan
answered, "It is the price of the ashes of my house that you set
fire to. The people in the place where I sold the ashes were crying,
'It is not enough, bring us as much more again!' Now, my house was
but a little one, and so the ashes were not much. But your houses
are big, and if you set fire to them and sell the ashes, how much
money will you get for them! It will be more than you can possibly
carry." Then the six brothers, his uncles, said one to another, "Let
us too set fire to our houses." So, having burned down their houses,
they gathered together the ashes, and each brother took as heavy a
load as he could carry. Then the orphan explained to them: "Take the
loads to the village of sore-eyed people, and, when you arrive near
it, say, 'Will any one take ashes?'" So these six brothers went their
way, and, when they came near the village of sore eyes, they called
out, "Will anyone take ashes?" Then the sore-eyed folk called out,
"Bring them here." So they went into the village. As soon as they got
inside, all the people bound them fast with ropes, and rubbed into
their eyes the ashes which they themselves had brought, and thrashed
them soundly. When the thrashing was over, the six brothers started
to return home. On the way they took counsel again together: "Oh, how
that villain has deceived us! Not only has he got us smarting skins;
he has, over and above that, caused us to burn down our houses and
our harvests. Now, immediately we get home, let us make him fast in
an iron cage, [30] and throw him into the river."
So when they got home they seized the orphan, and having shut him up
in an iron cage they took him to the bank of a great pool in a river
in the jungle. Then they said, "In a little while we will drown him;
now there is no chance for him to escape us, so let us go and eat our
rice." So saying, they went to eat their food. When they had gone away,
a certain king's son, who was hunting deer, came by. When he arrived
where the orphan was, he asked him, "What is the reason why you are
tied up in that iron cage?" The orphan answered, "My uncles have a
daughter, so lovely! You cannot imagine how fair she is. They tell
me to marry her, but I always answer that I will not. So my uncles,
becoming angry, have shut me up in this cage." Then the king's son
said, "Oh! then can I get her to wife?" "If you get into this cage
and stay there, you will be able to get her," the orphan answered;
"after a while my uncles will come, and will say, 'Have you nothing
more to say?' If they ask you this, then answer them, 'All I have
to say is that I will take her, uncles.'" "Very good then," said
the prince. Then the orphan said to the king's son, "If you go into
the cage wearing your own fine clothes, they will recognize you at
once. So let me out. I will give you my clothes, and then you can
enter the cage." So the king's son opened the cage and let out the
orphan, and the orphan gave his clothes to the prince, while the
prince gave his coat, dhoti, necklace, and bracelets in exchange to
the orphan, and entered into the cage. Then the orphan made fast the
door of the cage, and having dressed himself in the prince's clothes,
necklace, and bracelets, went away to his home. Then the orphan's
uncles returned from eating their rice, and coming up to the cage
asked, "Have you anything more to say, nephew?" "All right, uncles,
I agree to take her," answered the king's son, as the orphan had
told him to say. Then they threw him in the iron cage into the deep
pool. Thereupon the six brothers, the orphan's uncles, said one to
another, "How much trouble that fellow caused us all! Now, however,
he is dead and done with!" Then they returned home.
When they got there, lo! they saw the orphan again, not dead at
all, wearing the king's son's clothes, necklace, and bracelets,
splendidly adorned and decked out as you could not imagine! They
said one to another, "The orphan is not dead after all! There he
is, decked out and strutting in his finery!" They went up to him
and asked, "Nephew, how is it that you arrived here so soon?" The
orphan answered, "Oh, uncles, my grandmothers and grandfathers sent
me back here in a palki very quickly. Immediately I arrived there,
my grandparents gave me these fine clothes, this necklace, and these
bracelets. Only look at them! They sent word, too, that they wanted
you also to be told to come to them; as a token, they sent this gold
knife--see!" So saying, he showed it to them. Then his uncles said,
"How shall we manage to get there?" "Let each one of you take an iron
cage with him to the river bank, and get into it there," answered the
orphan. So each man took a cage to the river bank and got inside. Then
the orphan tied each tightly up in his iron cage, and threw the eldest
brother in his cage into the deep pool. As he fell, quantities of
bubbles came up on the surface of the water. The orphan cried, "Look,
uncles! My eldest uncle has drunk so much of the rice-beer which my
grandparents have given him, that he is vomiting." Then he brought
the next brother and threw him into the water; and so having cast
all his six uncles, one after another, into the stream, the orphan
returned to his home. Then his aunts, his uncles' wives, asked him,
"When will your uncles come back again?" "They will not come very
soon; have they not just met their parents, after being separated
from them for so long a time?" replied the orphan. So after waiting
three or four nights his aunts asked the orphan again, "Why have your
uncles not come back by this time?" He answered, "They will come very
soon." Then after waiting two or three nights more they asked again,
"Why have not your uncles come yet?" Then the orphan spoke clearly,
"Put each man's share of rice in the nòksèk." [31] So his aunts cried,
"Ah! they are dead and gone!" And understanding this at last, they
wept and made lamentation.
So the orphan became rich, and there was no one left to envy him. And
having become a great king, he lived a happy life.
Note.--Two incidents in this story, viz. the profit made by
the orphan by disposing of the flesh of his slaughtered calf,
and his gain by selling the ashes of his burnt house, and the
disappointment of his uncles when they endeavoured to imitate
him, much resemble the incidents of a folk-tale given as an
illustration of the Tibeto-Burman dialects of Rangkas, Darma,
Chaudangs, and Byangs in vol. iii. Part I., of the Linguistic
Survey. These dialects are spoken in the northern portion of
Kumaon, on the borders of Tibet. In this version the animals
slaughtered are goats and sheep, and the profit is made out of
their skins, while the ashes of the burnt house are by an accident
exchanged for a load of flour. Still, the motif is the same, and
the great distance of the country where this tale is current from
that of the Mikirs, and the impossibility of inter-communication,
make the coincidences interesting.
3. STORY OF HARATA KUNWAR
Harata Kunwar was one of six brothers, the youngest of them. From
his very birth he spent his time in shooting deer and wild pig, and
never laboured in the fields. His elder brothers, the five, did the
field work. Then they, the five brothers, took counsel together with
their father, saying, "This Harata Kunwar does no field work, but
spends his time in hunting. Let us talk the matter over at night." So
that night they talked it over. The father said to his eldest son,
"How will you supply me with rice?" He answered, "As for me, I will
become a head man of a village, and sit in assembly night and day;
from the rice-beer which people will bring me as the head man's
perquisites, I will supply you with good white rice and beer." "And
you, the second son, how will you supply me with rice?" "As for me,
I will become a blacksmith; night and day will I spend in forging
knives and daos; with the money produced by these I will furnish you
with beer, betel, pan, good white rice, and all kinds of spirit." "And
you, the third son, how will you supply me with rice?" "As for me,
I will labour in the fields, and having filled granaries and barns
with produce I will give you good beer and good white rice." "And you,
the fourth, how will you provide for me?" "As for me, I will go as
a companion to some one, and what that person gives me of rice and
beer I will give you." "And you, the fifth, how will you provide for
me?" "As for me, I will become some one's slave, and will support
you with the rice and beer he gives me." "And you, Harata Kunwar,
in what way will you furnish me with rice?" "As for me, I will marry
a daughter of the Sun-god, and having become a great king, I will
seat you on a throne, on a fine couch, I will cause slaves, male and
female, to bathe your arms and legs, and I will give you beer, rice,
and spirits." So they finished their talk. Next day, in the place
where they worked at their field, Harata Kunwar not being with them,
those five brothers consulted again together with their father. "This
Harata Kunwar says he will take to wife the daughter of the Sun-god
and become a king, forsooth! Where will he get his kingship? Let
us kill him, and let us talk about it again to-night." That night,
after they had eaten and drunk, they consulted together about the way
in which the killing was to be done. "Let us build a field-watcher's
hut [32] for Harata Kunwar, on the border of the jungle let us build
it, and make him watch there; then at night let us go and thrust him
through with a spear." Harata Kunwar's sister-in-law overheard them
as they were conspiring together. Next morning, after they had eaten
and drunk and gone away to their work in the fields, Harata Kunwar
came home from his hunting. His sister-in-law gave him his rice,
and after he had eaten and drunk she said, "Let me kill that insect
on you, Harata Kunwar." Then she killed a louse, and as she killed it
a tear fell upon Harata Kunwar's leg. He asked her, "Sister-in-law,
are you crying?" And his sister-in-law said, "I am not crying, a
raindrop fell upon you." Again, as she killed a louse, a tear fell the
second time. Harata Kunwar asked her again, "You really are crying,
sister-in-law; tell me why you are weeping." So she told him: "My
father-in-law and your elder brothers have plotted together to make you
watch by night in a jungle hut, and then they will thrust you through
there with a spear, they say; that is why I am weeping." Harata Kunwar
said, "You need not be afraid; you have told me: it is well. To-morrow
morning you will see what happens. If I am not dead, I will come home
to you after they have gone, and I will throw six clods, taken from
the worm-castings, on the roof of this house. If you don't hear the
noise of them on the roof, you will know that I am dead." So in the
evening his brothers came home from the field, and his father said,
"This night Harata Kunwar must go and watch for us in the jungle
hut. Wild pigs are eating up our paddy. There, by the side of the
jungle-clearing, we have built for you a watcher's hut." So, having
eaten and drunk, Harata Kunwar took with him his bow and went. Then
having gathered the fruit of the puroi-sak, [33] he put the juice of
it into the sheath of a plantain-stalk, and having made it like the
form of a sleeping man he put some clothes on it and laid it as though
sleeping in the hut. He himself hid quietly under the shelter of the
rice plants. Then, after their first sleep, his father and brothers
awoke one another: "Come! let us go and kill Harata Kunwar." Then,
each one taking with him a spear, they went to Harata Kunwar's jungle
hut. Then the father said, "Go thou, eldest, climb up and thrust him
through." The eldest said, "How should I dare to put my spear through
him? he is our brother, our youngest brother, we have one mother and
father, and besides, we have sucked both of us at the same breast,
the same nipple. Since we are brothers, how should I dare to kill
him? I dare not." "Go, then, you, the second." The second answered,
"Oh! he is not the son of a second wife, own brother he is, our younger
brother; how then should I dare to kill him? I dare not." "Go, then,
you, the third." He answered, "Our thigh is one, our foot is one,
our arm is one, our hand is one; we have grown up together, he is our
brother. How could I possibly kill him? I cannot." "Go, then, thou,
the fourth." He said, "We sucked together at one nipple, own brothers
are we, no sister has he, how could I venture to kill him? I dare
not." "Go, then, you, the youngest." "Oh! why do you send me on such an
errand? I am the next to him. From childhood it was I who grew up with
him together. We ate our rice together from one platter; we drank our
beer from the same mug. How should I dare to kill such a one? I dare
not!" Then their father became angry. "Then why did you dare to say,
'We must kill Harata Kunwar'? If you cannot bring yourselves to do
it, you will never become men." So saying, he climbed up the posts
of the hut, and thrust his spear through that plantain-sheath, and
the juice of the puroi sak came dropping out from it. Then he called
out, "Harata Kunwar, strong though he be, has got his deserts now at
last! Let him marry the Sun-god's daughter and make himself a king
now!" Harata Kunwar overheard all this. "What, what are you saying,
my brothers?" he called out. Then, saying "Harata Kunwar has his
bow with him!" they ran away in fear, stumbling and falling as they
ran. When they got to their own jungle hut, they vomited, and on
the night clearing away, with great difficulty in the morning they
reached home. Then Harata Kunwar, after they had come, himself came
up, and took six clods from the worm-casts and threw them on the
roof. So after they had eaten and drunk, his brothers went away to
their field. Then Harata Kunwar came in, and his sister-in-law gave
him his rice. After eating and drinking, he said, "Sister! I cannot
remain here with you; my own brothers, nay, even my own father,
aim at my life, and are plotting to kill me. I must therefore go
a-wandering. Get ready and give me a store of rice to take with me,
bread, and parched grain." So his sister-in-law prepared food for him,
bread and parched rice. And he said to her when he parted: "If I do
not come by my death, then when I come here again I will throw six
clods from the worm-castings on the roof; then, when you hear them,
wash and make ready the stools and benches!" So they wept together,
and parted. Then Harata Kunwar, taking his bow with him, went on his
way. At last he arrived at his grandmother's house. "Oh, granny! are
you there?" The old woman answered, "Who is there? as for this place,
I have neither kin nor helper. Who is come?" Harata Kunwar answered,
"It is I, granny." Then the old woman said, "Why are you come,
my dear? I am a poor widow. I have neither house nor field. I live
only by begging my food. Why have you come?" Harata Kunwar answered,
"I will stay here with you and be your companion." The old woman said,
"You, who are fit to be a king; a great man, how will you be able to
live with me here?" Harata Kunwar answered, "Very good, granny; here
I will stay." So he became her companion there. Then his granny the
widow said, "Harata Kunwar, spread the paddy out in the sun to dry. I
will go and beg paddy in the king's village. After you have spread
out the paddy, if you want to bathe in the river, don't go up-stream;
bathe on the shore close by this house of ours." So having spread out
the paddy, his granny the widow went to the king's village. Harata
Kunwar took charge of the paddy; frequently turning it over, in a very
short time he dried it. Then he collected the paddy together and went
to bathe in the river. He thought in his own mind, "for what reason
did my granny, when she went away, tell me not to go up-stream to
bathe? I will go up-stream and see for myself." So saying, he went
up-stream. There he saw shards of broken water-vessels of gold and
silver lying. "Oh! that is why granny told me when she went away not
to go up-stream. At night I will ask her whose ghat (watering-place)
this is." So he returned home. Then his granny the widow in the evening
also came home again from the king's village. So at night, after they
had eaten and drunk, Harata Kunwar asked her, "Whose ghat is that
up-stream? There are broken pieces of gold and silver water-vessels
strewn all about it." Then the widow said, "I told you when I went
away not to go up-stream. You have been disobeying me and have gone
up there, I know?" Harata Kunwar answered, "Yes, I did go, granny;
now tell me whose ghat it is." So his granny the widow told him:
"It is the ghat of the King of the Great Palace. His daughters, six
sisters, come to that place to bathe; don't go there any more." Then
Harata Kunwar considered again by himself: "My granny tells me not
to go again, but go I will and see for myself." So up-stream he went
again, and hid himself quietly under the river bank. At midday the
six daughters of the King of the Great Palace came to bathe there in
the river. Descending beautifully, each one laid aside her clothes
and jumped into the water. This did one after the other, and fair
it was to see--like the brightness of the moon and sun; there they
bathed and frolicked in the water. Then when the day became cool,
the eldest sister admonished the rest: [34] "O my dears, it is cooking
time! time to serve up the food: time to house for the night our fowls
and our pigs. Our mother will scold us, our father will scold us,
if we stay any longer. Let us go." So they ended their bathing and
playing in the water. One after another they shook out their clothes
in the breeze and put them on, and beautifully flew away; but the
youngest of them flew away last of all, lovely like the brightness of
the moon or the sun. Until they were lost to sight in the heaven Harata
Kunwar continued gazing after them till his neck got a crook in it. So
they entered heaven, and he saw them no more. And he returned to his
house, thinking to himself, "How fair, how lovely! (I will not rest)
until I get one of them to be my wife! To-night I will ask granny
about it." So home he came, and after supper Harata Kunwar asked
his granny: "Oh, granny! such beautiful, such lovely ones I never
saw; how shall I get one to wife? Tell me a plan." His granny said,
"Oh, Harata Kunwar, these are children of the Sun-god, children of a
great king; how should you, who are a man's son, succeed in getting
one to wife?" Harata Kunwar said, "Not so, granny: get one to wife I
must and will. Show me a plan!" Since he continued to press her with
questions, at last she said to him, "If you must and will get one for
your wife, then clear a field on the river bank." "Very good, granny,"
said Harata Kunwar, "to-morrow, this very next day, I will go and
clear it." So he remained watching for the dawn to break, until the
sun fully rose. Then, taking with him a dao, he went. From the moment
he reached the place he rested not, but cut and hacked down the jungle
there, till in a single day he had finished the clearing. Then, having
heaped the fallen trees together, he set fire to them, and the fire
devoured them there, till there was not a single piece or stock left
that was not burnt. Then he dibbled in maize, small millet, sugar cane,
plantains; besides these he planted flowers--marvel of Peru, white
lilies, marigolds, [35] many kinds of flowers. Then the daughters
of the King of the Great Palace came down to bathe in the river;
beautifully they descended, fair as never was seen; like the moon,
like the sun in splendour, they came right down there. So, having
finished bathing and splashing about in the water, they spied Harata
Kunwar's garden plot. They said, "Oh, whose field is this? It is very
pretty indeed!" The eldest answered, "It must be our brother-in-law
Harata Kunwar's field." So they flew away beautifully again to heaven
together. Harata Kunwar there pondered in his mind: "Shall I ever
succeed in getting her to wife?" And again he asked his grandmother,
"Granny, when shall I succeed in getting one to wife?" His granny
answered, "Not in that way, grandson. Build for yourself a jungle
hut." So next morning a jungle hut he went to build. In a single day
he finished building one, great and big, and came home again. "The
jungle-hut is finished, granny," he said. "Then cut for yourself a
flute," advised his granny. So he cut several flutes for himself,
and bored holes in them. Then the time for maize and millet to ripen
came. And his granny advised him: "Go and watch in your jungle hut,
and play the flute." As for his field, in a very short time flowers
blossomed there as you never saw! Then the daughters of the King of the
Great Palace arrived to bathe in the river; flying down beautifully
one after another they laid aside their clothes and jumped into the
water, and bathed and frolicked. Then the eldest admonished them:
"Come, my dears, let us go." Thereupon Harata Kunwar began to play
on his flute so beautifully that you never heard the like. "Oh! this
flute-playing is very pretty to hear! Surely it is the man (called)
Harata Kunwar. Come, dears, let us go and ask for a few flowers." So
they went. "Harata Kunwar, we would like to pluck for ourselves a few
flowers. May we pluck and take some, sir?" "Yes," said Harata Kunwar,
"you can pluck as many as you like." Then each one plucked some flowers
and went away. Gracefully they flew away with the flowers. Until they
disappeared in the sky, Harata Kunwar gazed after them, until his eyes
became quite sore with gazing. So they returned into heaven. When he
could see them no more, Harata Kunwar also returned home. And his
granny the widow asked him, "Did you have any talk to-day with the
daughters of the King of the Great Palace?" "Yes, we had some talk;
they even asked to be allowed to gather some of my flowers." Then his
granny explained a plan: "To-morrow is a lucky day. Go, you, before
the Great King's daughters come down to bathe, and hide yourself as I
tell you, and watch by the river. The elder sisters, all five, have
got husbands already. As for the youngest, the King of the Winds is
asking for her to marry her to his son; already the gourds and chungas
of beer (for the wedding-feast) have arrived. Nevertheless, having
singled out her petticoat from among the others, while they are all
bathing, bring it here to me. I will weave a petticoat just like it
in exchange for it; take that one back there and put it down again in
the same place where her real petticoat was; her own petticoat let us
hide away. Then she will not be able to fly away. If she asks for her
petticoat back again, say 'One or other of you must marry me.'" "Yes,
very good indeed, granny," said Harata Kunwar. From the time that his
granny imparted to him that plan, Harata Kunwar's mind was so cheerful
as you could not imagine. All night long he could not close his eyes,
but went on thinking continually. So morning dawned. Then, having
breakfasted, he went to his field. "Oh, when will it be midday?" he
said, as he went on waiting. Then he hid himself quietly under the
sand. Then at midday the daughters of the King of the Great Palace
came. Gracefully they flew down there, and one after another removed
her garments and plunged into the stream. So when they were all in
the water, Harata Kunwar rose stealthily and seized the petticoat and
striped cloth of that youngest one, and carried them off straightway
to his granny the widow. And his granny wove in place of them another
petticoat and striped cloth just like them. In a very short time she
had done them, and Harata Kunwar ran back again there, and having put
the new petticoat and striped cloth in the same place, himself went
into his jungle hut and played the flute. Wonderfully he played it
there; never was heard such playing.
So when they had had enough of bathing and sporting in the water,
the eldest admonished her sisters: [36] "O my sisters, let us go! it
is time to pound the rice, time to clean it after pounding: time to
cook, time to serve up: time to heat the beer, time to squeeze it
from the rice-grains." So having put on her clothes she said again,
"Come, let us go and ask for a few flowers." Then, having plucked some
flowers, first the eldest flew up, then the younger sisters also flew
up to her gracefully, and last of all the youngest also tried to fly,
but found she could not. If she flew she fell back again there; if
she got up and tried to fly again, she fell back a second time. Then
the eldest said, "Oh! what in the world is the matter?" So the elder
sisters also came down again there, and went and said to Harata
Kunwar, "O Harata Kunwar, without doubt it is you who have changed
our youngest sister's petticoat; therefore, bring it back!" So they
called out, and Harata Kunwar answered, "One or other of you must
be my wife." The daughters of the King of the Great Palace said,
"How is it possible that any of us should stay here and be your
wife? We have each of us got husbands already." Harata Kunwar said,
"Then I cannot give you the petticoat; one of you must positively
marry me." Then the daughters of the King of the Great Palace said
to one another, "Sister! do you marry him." The eldest answered,
"How should I marry him? I have a number of children already." "Then
you, the next, you marry him." "How can I marry him? I also have four
children already." "You, the third, you marry him, then." "How can
I, when I also have three children already?" "Then you, the fourth,
you marry him." "I also have two children already; how should I marry
him?" "You, the fifth, you marry him." "I cannot marry him; don't you
know that I also have one child already?" "Then you, the youngest, you
marry him." The youngest answered, "As for me, the King of the Winds
is asking for me to marry me to his son, the gourds and chungas of
beer (for the wedding feast) have arrived already. How can I possibly
marry him?" Her eldest sisters said, "Well, but you are not married
yet. You must marry him, dear. It is getting dark; we must go. There
at home our fowls and our pigs will be calling out for us; besides,
our mother and father will be looking out for us. And We will come
and visit you from time to time." Then the youngest one said, "What
is to be done, sisters? Well, I will marry him; you go. Our mother
and father will be angry." Then the eldest one said: "Harata Kunwar,
you would not listen to our instructions, therefore we are leaving our
youngest sister here with you; but be careful not to grieve or trouble
her. Do not make her cook or serve up; moreover, touch not her hand
or her foot." So, after giving parting instructions to their youngest
sister, they flew away gracefully to heaven again together. The pair
who were left behind continued gazing after them till they were lost in
the heaven and they could see them no more. Then Harata Kunwar said:
"It is getting dark, let us two also go home." So Harata Kunwar was
happy and joyful. Night and day he shot deer and wild pig, and his
platform and drying stand [37] (for drying flesh on) were never dry
(i.e. without flesh exposed on them to dry).
So one year came to an end. "O Granny, I say to myself, 'I will go
home'; what am I to do?" said Harata Kunwar. "Sure, you have your own
house, you have your own field; you can go if you like; nevertheless
your wife is not yet entirely at one with you here." "Nay, but,"
said Harata Kunwar, "is it not a whole year (since we were married),
granny?" "Nevertheless, you have not come to perfect agreement
yet." "Oh, then," said Harata Kunwar, "I cannot go yet." So Harata
Kunwar stayed there, working in the field and labouring, and getting
barns and granaries stored with the produce to such an extent that
the widow's house was filled up with baskets and barrels full of
grain. And God gave Harata Kunwar a child, one son only. Then he asked
his grandmother again: "Granny! I keep saying to myself, 'we will go
home to my mother and father.'" The widow answered, "Your wife has
not yet thoroughly accommodated herself to you, grandson." "Not so,
granny; she has indeed. Has she not already borne me a son?" "Go,
then. You would not listen to the warnings I gave you from time to
time. Go together. But your wife has not yet made up her mind to
stay with you, I assure you." So Harata Kunwar said to his wife,
"My dear! let us two go together to our home." His wife answered,
"Go. Wherever you take me (I will go too)." Then the morning dawned,
and they took their breakfast and started. They went a bit of the
way. Now, his child and his wife Harata Kunwar bound firmly to his
waist with his turban, and so carried them. And so as they went on they
saw a jungle-cock [38] scratching the ground in a wonderful way on the
mountain side. Harata Kunwar said, "Oh, jungle-cock, what are you doing
there? I am in a hurry to get home; leave the road open to me." The
jungle-cock answered, "I will not leave the road open to you. I say to
myself, 'Harata Kunwar to-day will bring along his wife and child,'
and I am watching the way he is coming." Harata Kunwar rejoined,
"What jest is this? Be careful, lest in a little you have to say,
'when Harata Kunwar brought his wife and child to his home and field,
my life was lost.'" The jungle-cock said, "I don't say so; to-day
(we will see whether) you or I will prevail." Harata Kunwar said,
"Is that true?" "True." "Do you swear it?" "I swear it." Then Harata
Kunwar, setting an arrow to his bow, shot him.
Then as he went on a little further (he came upon) a cock-pheasant
[39] blocking the road, and scratching in a wonderful way on the
mountain side. And Harata Kunwar said again, "Oh, cock-pheasant,
what are you doing there? I am in a hurry to get home; leave the road
free to me." The cock-pheasant answered, "I won't leave the road free
to you. I say to myself, 'To-day Harata Kunwar will bring along his
wife and child,' and I am watching here the way he is coming." Harata
Kunwar said, "Oh, don't be silly, lest you have to say in a little
while, 'when Harata Kunwar brought along his wife and child, I lost
my life.'" The cock-pheasant said, "I don't say so." Harata Kunwar
said again, "Are you in earnest?" "In earnest." "Do you swear it?" "I
swear it." Then Harata Kunwar set his bow and shot him.
Then, as they went on still further, a wild boar, so big as you never
saw or imagined, with his tusks overlapping his mouth, was straddling
across the road, and rooting up the earth there on the mountain side
in an extraordinary way. And Harata Kunwar said, "Oh, wild boar,
what are you doing there? leave me the road open, I want to get home
quickly." The wild boar answered, "I will by no means leave you the
road; saying to myself, 'To-day Harata Kunwar will bring along his wife
and child,' I am watching the road he is coming." Harata Kunwar said,
"Oh, don't joke! is it true or not?" The wild boar answered, "It is
true." Harata Kunwar said, "Be careful, lest in a little while you
have to say, 'when Harata Kunwar brought along his wife and child,
my life was lost.'" The wild boar said, "I don't say so." "Are you
in earnest?" "Yes." "Do you swear it?" "I swear it." "Oh, then----"
So saying, Harata Kunwar set his bow and shot him.
Then, when he had nearly arrived at his house, he collected six
clods from the worm-casts, and threw them on the roof. Then his
sister-in-law said, "Harata Kunwar has come home! Wash the stools and
the benches!" Then they washed all the stools and seats and planks and
benches. And Harata Kunwar, bringing along with him that wild boar,
put it down beside the hedge, and entered the house. And as soon as
he arrived, his sister-in-law gave him there beer, bread, and parched
rice. His wife was so very beautiful that no one could look her in the
face, as one cannot look straight at the brightness of the sun. Then
his brothers were perplexed, saying, "What in the world has happened
to us this night?" And Harata Kunwar said, "A short time ago I shot a
little pig on the road. I just put it down there beside the hedge. Go
and get it and scorch it (for cooking)." So his five brothers went,
but the boar was so very big that they could not even move it; they
could do nothing with it at all. So Harata Kunwar went with them. With
one hand he easily lifted it and brought it away; and they scorched
it and cut it up. So home they brought it and cooked it and served
it up, and joyful, noisy, laughing and jesting, they ate and drank.
Then next morning dawned. Hearing that Harata Kunwar had brought
his wife home, all the people of the whole country-side kept coming
and going to gaze upon her, in such crowds as you never saw. And
Harata Kunwar put away carefully in a bamboo chunga his wife's own
petticoat and striped cloth, with her gold ornaments, her necklace,
and her gold drum (Ass. madoli) worn on the breast, and tied them
up in the pitch of the roof. So Harata Kunwar went to pay visits to
the people of the village, and the ryots of the country-side came
to visit him; and then they went on to gaze upon his wife. And all
the women--aunts on mother's and father's side, sisters-in-law, elder
brothers' wives--each one said, "Oh! is she not lovely, sister!" Thus
they wondered at her. Then Harata Kunwar's wife answered, "Not so
lovely yet as I might be. If I were to put on again my own petticoat,
my striped cloth, my necklace and my bracelets, then, indeed, there
would be something to see!" Then some old woman said, "Oh, then, give
them to her." And Harata Kunwar's old father said, "Where in the world
did that idiot of a boy put them away? Why did he not give her her own
petticoat and striped cloth?" Then Harata Kunwar's wife explained:
"They are there in the roof-pitch where he has tied them up." So
his father untied the bundle and gave it to her. Then she put the
things on and arrayed herself. Thereupon she became inconceivably
beautiful. "Oh!" they cried, "lovely! beautiful indeed! It is not
for nothing that she is called child of the Sun-god!" Thereupon
Harata Kunwar's wife rose up to her full height, and flapped her
clothes, and gracefully flew away back to her own place. Then Harata
Kunwar, happening to see her from where he was on a distant road,
kept continually bending his bow. And his wife said, as she left him:
"Wait, wait! hereafter we shall meet again." So Harata Kunwar, weeping
bitterly, sick and sorry at heart, came to his house. Immediately he
got there, without eating or drinking, he took his child on his back,
and straightway set out for the house of his grandmother the widow
woman. Thus he went on till he arrived, and at once on arrival began
to weep and wail as you could not imagine. Then his grandmother said:
"I told you from the first that your wife was not yet reconciled to
her lot with you. How will you get to see her now? How will you be
able to reach her in heaven?" This only aggravated his weeping;
refusing meat and drink, he followed his grandmother wherever
she went, continually dogging her steps, and was like to die of
grief. At last his grandmother said, "Harata Kunwar, take a little
food, and then I will tell you of a plan." So he took something to
eat, bread and parched rice, and then his grandmother told him her
scheme. "To-morrow," she said, "the son of the King of the Winds
will come there to marry your wife. Before that, your father-in-law's
elephant will come here to bathe. Do you go and hide yourself there
under the sand. When the elephant (after its bath) is just about to
go, hold on tight to its tail, and bind your child firmly to your
waist with your turban. If the elephant asks you anything, say that
you also are going to the place where your wife is. Then to-morrow,
in the evening, you will arrive there. Remain concealed on the river
bank. Then male and female slaves will come to draw water there in
order to bathe your wife. Call out to them, 'Give me one draught of
water for the child.' Then, if they give you the water, drop into
the water-pot a gold ring. Then she (i.e. your wife) will call for
you. Go to her, and when you arrive, put down your child on the ground;
then the child will go of itself towards its mother."
The morning dawned, and Harata Kunwar, after eating and drinking, went
to the river bank and hid himself quietly under the sand. Then the
elephant came down to bathe in the river, and having bathed, was just
about to go away, when Harata Kunwar grasped firmly hold of its tail,
and with his turban tied his child securely to his waist. Then the
elephant flew up with him to heaven, and put him down on the river
bank there. And all the people of the King of the Winds had come to
the house of the King of the Great Palace in order to celebrate the
marriage of the son of the King of the Winds with Harata Kunwar's
wife. And the King's slaves, male and female, came to draw water in
order to bathe Harata Kunwar's wife. And Harata Kunwar called out
to them for water for his child: "Give me just one draught of water
for my son, good mothers!" One after another paid no attention to
his request, till at last an old woman came up. So Harata Kunwar
called out again: "Give me water, one draught only, good madam, for
my child." So the old woman gave him some water. Making as though
he would take hold of the water-jar, Harata Kunwar dropped into it
a gold ring. Then they brought the water for Harata Kunwar's wife's
bath. After washing delicately her arms and her legs, they poured
the old woman's water-jar over her head, and the gold ring fell
out. Then Harata Kunwar's wife asked, "Oh! who is the person whose
water-jar has just reached me?" Then one after another they said,
"It's not my water-jar." Then all called out together, "It is the
old woman's jar." Then she said to the old woman: "Where did you get
hold of this ring? Seize that man and bring him here at once. If you
cannot bring him, it will be a matter of your life." So the old woman,
weeping and lamenting, came to Harata Kunwar and called out to him,
"Be pleased to come with me! What was the reason why your Honour,
under pretence of asking me to give you water, had it in your mind to
make me lose my life?" So Harata Kunwar, taking the child on his back,
went with her. Immediately on arriving he put the boy down on the
ground, and the child ran straight into its mother's lap and began to
suck her breast. Then the King of the Great Palace said: "Why! such a
thing as this was never seen! They have got a child big between them
already!" So the King of the Winds' folk were ashamed and disgusted,
and returned home sad and sorry. So they celebrated the wedding of
Harata Kunwar and the daughter of the King of the Great Palace.
So Harata Kunwar remained there one year, two years, and laboured at
tilling the fields, so that he got twelve barns, twelve granaries full
of grain. Then said Harata Kunwar to his wife: "My dear! we two, like
the sparrow or the dove, should have a nest at least, a roosting-place
of our own. Therefore let us go away together. Do you ask father-in-law
and mother-in-law." So at night Harata Kunwar's wife asked her parents:
"O father and mother, your son-in-law says, 'we two, like a sparrow or
a dove, should at least have a nest, a roosting-place of our own. Let
us go away together,' and he bade me ask you about it. What are your
commands in the matter?" So the King of the Great Palace said: "My
daughter! I have once for all given you away to this man like a bundle
of greens, and have nothing more to do with you. Go away together,
to-morrow if you like, or to-day if you prefer it." Then he went on
to say, "What do you two desire of me? slaves, male or female? ryots,
husbandmen? gold? silver?" So she went and told Harata Kunwar: "My
dear! my mother and father say, 'You may go away together to-day or
to-morrow as you please: moreover, slaves, male and female, ryots,
husbandmen, gold, silver,--mention whatever you desire'--so they
say." And Harata Kunwar said, "I want nothing at all." And morning
dawned. Then Harata Kunwar went and did obeisance to his father
and mother-in-law. And his father-in-law said to him, "What do you
desire? slaves--handmaids--ryots--husbandmen--gold--silver?" Harata
Kunwar said, "I need nothing." Then Harata Kunwar and his wife,
the wedded pair, and their son started for home, and in due course
arrived there. A king he became, a great man, and night and day he
lived in happiness and greatness, and his kingdom was great and stable.
APPENDIX.
THE LEGEND OF CREATION.
Condensed from Mr. Allen's (of the American Presbyterian Mission)
replies to ethnographical questions, dated October, 1900.
Long ago the gods Hèmphu and Mukràng took counsel together for the
creation of the world. They marked the limits of their work, setting
up four great posts to fix the boundaries of things, and fastened them
immovably with six of their mother's hairs. Then they looked for seed
to produce the earth, but found none. Then they consulted a hundred
other gods, with their wives, making, with themselves and their wives,
two hundred and four in all. It was decided to send one of the wives to
beg for some earth from the god Hajòng, and Bamon's wife was sent on
this errand. But Hajòng refused to give any earth from his world from
which a rival world might be fashioned, and sent the goddess Bamonpi
away empty-handed. But as she returned she noticed the worm-casts on
the road, and carried off one and hid it in her bosom. But even with
this piece of warm earth nothing could be done, until the gods sent
for Helòng Recho, the king of the earth-worms, who came and worked
up the piece of earth, till in one day it became a heap many feet
in diameter; so he continued, till eventually it became this earth
of ours. But it was still soft moist earth, on which no one could
travel. So they called Kapràng the blacksmith, who with his bellows
produced a wind which dried the mud to solid earth. Then the gods said,
"We must cause plants to grow on it." They searched everywhere for
seed, and at last sent to Rèkbepi in the west, by the great post that
marked the place of the setting sun, to ask her for seed. Rèkbepi came,
and herself brought seed and sowed it. (Another version states that
Rèkbepi and Rèk-kropi, wives of two gods, went to Kana, beyond the
boundaries of this world, and obtained from him the various seeds of
trees and plants. As they were returning, the sinàm, or head-strap,
which held the baskets on their heads broke, and the winds scattered
the seeds on the surface of the earth. This occurred on the bank of
the river Kallang, in the south-eastern part of Nowgong. But all the
bamboos that grew from these seeds were jointless, and therefore weak:
strong winds would break down the entire crop in a single storm. So
the goddesses who brought the seed tied round the stems pieces of
thread to strengthen them; the threads made scars, until at last all
the bamboos we have now are marked with scars at the joints.)
Next came the creation of animals. Hèmphu and Mukràng were the leaders,
but they were helped by Pithe and Pothe ("great mother" and "great
father"). The elephant was first created to be a servant to man. Then
the tiger was made, and bidden to eat the wicked; any one killed by
a tiger is still thought to have committed some great crime.
Then a great council was held, and it was decided to create a
being called arlèng (man). The first man's name was Bamon-po,
and he had created for him two wives, one a Mikir and the other an
Assamese. But no offspring was born to the man for a long time. At
last the Assamese wife sent her husband to her elder brother, who
understood the secrets of nature. He sent Bamonpo into his garden,
and bade him pick an orange for each of his wives, and give it to her
to eat, when all would be well. Bamonpo did so, and went homewards
with his two oranges. On the way, becoming hot, he stopped at a river
to bathe. While he was in the water, a crow came and carried away
one of the oranges. Bamonpo sadly returned to his home, and gave
the one orange left to his Assamese wife, who ate it. But the Mikir
wife picked up a piece of the peel and ate it, and in process of time
she had a son, whom she named Ram. The Assamese wife also had a son,
whom she called Chaputi. He, however, was weak and puny, while Ram
was strong and valiant. Ram could pull up trees by the roots, and
break them down as he pleased. He could fight and conquer any demon
who attacked him, and any man whom he met. But he had no wife. One
day while out hunting he became thirsty, and climbed a tree to look
for water. He saw a pool, at which he quenched his thirst. As he did
so, he noticed in the grass a white thing, which he put in his basket
and carried home. It was a large egg. For some days he forgot to look
at it, and later on, when he went to see it, he found that the egg
was broken, and a beautiful woman had come forth from it. The demons
tried to seize her and carry her off, but Ram vanquished them all, and
made her his wife. She was very fruitful, and her children multiplied
until they were numbered by thousands. Ram's fame spread throughout
the world, till at last he disappeared, and was deified by a race
of his descendants, called Hindus. They were a mighty race of men,
and in the course of time, becoming dissatisfied with the mastery of
the earth, they determined to conquer heaven, and began to build a
tower to reach up to the skies. Higher and higher rose the building,
till at last the gods and demons feared lest these giants should
become the masters of heaven, as they already were of earth. So they
confounded their speech, and scattered them to the four corners of
the earth. Hence arose all the various tongues of men.
Additional note to p. 45.--A very exact parallel to the story of
Harata Kunwar will be found in Mr. S. J. Hickson's book entitled A
Naturalist in North Celebes (London, 1889), pp. 264-6. It is a story
current among the Minahassa people of that region, of heavenly nymphs
in whose clothes resided their power to fly, and one of whom was
captured by a man who made her his wife; other details agree closely
with those of the Mikir story.
VI.
LANGUAGE.
Outline of Mikir grammar--The original text of the three stories
translated in Section V., analysed and elucidated.
The language spoken by the Mikirs belongs to the great family of
Indo-Chinese speech called Tibeto-Burman, the general characteristics
of which have been fully set forth in The Linguistic Survey of India,
vol. iii. Mikir itself is treated on pp. 380 ff. of Part II. of that
volume, and is described by Dr. Grierson as a member of the Naga-Bodo
sub-group, in which it is classed together with Empeo or Kachcha Naga,
Kabui, and Khoirao. It is unnecessary here to occupy space with any
demonstration of the fact that Mikir is a Tibeto-Burman language, or
to cite lists of words in it agreeing with those of other languages of
the same great class. In the next section an attempt will be made to
examine its affinities with other varieties of Tibeto-Burman speech,
and to define more clearly its place in the family; in this the
language will be dealt with in its internal structure only, and,
as specimens, the original text of the three stories translated
in Section V. will be given, with an interlinear rendering and a
running commentary.
A grammatical sketch of Mikir was printed at pp. 381-391 of Part
II. vol. iii. of the Linguistic Survey. What follows is mainly borrowed
from that source, which was the first published attempt to explain
systematically the facts and mechanism of the language.
SOUNDS.
Mikir has no written character of its own. The first publication
printed in it, a short catechism issued by a missionary press at
Sibsagar in 1875, used the Assamese character; since then, so far as
is known, the Roman alphabet has always been employed to express the
sounds of the language. Mr. Stack, from whose materials this monograph
has been compiled, distinguished the following vowel sounds:--
a, long a as in father (chiefly in open syllables);
à, the same shortened and pronounced abruptly, as in the German
Mann, always in closed syllables;
(N.B. The language does not possess the short Hindi a,
representing the u in but.)
e, the long e in the French scène;
e, the same sound shortened, as in belief;
è, the sharp e in the English men (always in closed syllables);
i, the long i in machine;
i, the short i in it;
o, the long o in bone;
o, the same shortened, as in obey;
ò, the sharp abrupt sound in pot (always in closed syllables);
u, the long u in June;
u, the short u in full.
The diphthongs are--
ai, as in aisle;
ei, almost as in feign, with the i audible;
oi, as in boil;
ui, long u with i added: no English equivalent.
The consonants used in Mikir are b, ch, d, h, j, k, l, m, n, ng, p,
r, s, t, v (all with their value as in English), and the aspirates
kh, ph, th (pronounced as in cookhouse, haphazard, anthill). Bh,
dh, and g occur only in a few borrowed words, and bh and dh are
commonly resolved, as bahar (for Hindi bhar), "a load," and dohòn
(for Ass. dhon), "money." F, sh, w, y, and z are not used. Ng is
never initial, and the g is not separately heard (always as in singer,
never as in younger).
MONOSYLLABIC ROOTS.
The root words of the language, whether nouns, adjectives, pronouns,
verbs, or adverbs, are generally monosyllabic; where simple roots
have more than one syllable, the additions are formative prefixes,
once probably separate words, which have become incorporated. Such
are the prefix ke-, ki-, ka-, used to form adjectives, present
participles, and verbal nouns; and the prefixes ar- (in arni, "sun,"
arlòng, "stone," arlèng, "man," etc.), ing- (in inglòng, "mountain";
inghòn, "pity," etc.), and te-, ti-, to- (in teràm, "call," tekàng,
"abandon," tikup, "house-yard," tovar, "road," etc.), of which the
precise significance is not now traceable. In compound roots, formed
by combining monosyllabic elements, the force of each individual
syllable is still fully felt; such compounds are exceedingly common.
Words are not inflected, but are located in sense by their position
in the sentence or by the addition of particles. These particles may
often be omitted where ambiguity is not likely to occur; such omission
is particularly frequent as regards the postpositions indicating case,
and the tense-affixes of the verb.
GENDER.
Gender is not distinguished except for animated beings, and in them
either (1) by added words indicating sex (as so-po, "boy," so-pi,
"girl"; aso-pinso, "male child"; aso-pi, "daughter"; chainòng-alo,
"bull"; chainòng-api, "cow"), or (2) by the use of different terms (po,
"father," pe or pei, "mother," phu, "grandfather," phi, "grandmother,"
etc.).
NUMBER.
The ordinary suffix for the plural is -tum (which is originally a
separate word meaning "company," "followers"); but other words are
occasionally employed, as mar, a "mass, quantity, or company"; òng,
"many"; and li, a respectful form used in addressing a number of
persons. When -tum is suffixed to a noun, it takes the prefixed a-
of relation, as arlèng-atum, "men"; when added to a personal pronoun
it does not require this adjunct, as will be explained below (ne,
"I," ne-tum, "we"; nàng, "thou," nàng-tum, "ye"; la, "he, she, it,"
la-tum, "they").
CASE.
Case is indicated by position, or by postpositions. The nominative,
and, generally speaking, the accusative, have no postpositions, but
are ascertained by their position in the sentence, the nominative
at the beginning, the accusative following it before the verb. Both,
when necessary, can be emphasised by the addition of the particles -ke
and -si, which in some sort play the part of the definite article; but
these are not case-postpositions. There is no device (as in Tibetan)
for distinguishing the case of the agent with transitive verbs.
The genitive always precedes the noun on which it is dependent. When
the word in the genitive is a pronoun of the first or second person,
nothing intervenes between them: ne-mèn, "my name"; nàng-pe,
"thy clothes." But when, the pronoun is in the third person, or a
noun is in the genitive case, the following noun has a- prefixed:
e.g. la a-po, "his father"; Arnàm a-hèm, "God's house"; hijai-atum
a-kàm, "the jackals' work"; arni-kàngsàm a-pòr, "day-becoming-cool
time." This prefixed a- is really the pronoun of the third person,
and means his, her, its, their; the full meaning of the combinations
given above is therefore "he, his father": "God, his house": "the
jackals, their work": "day becoming cool, its time." As in many
other languages of the Tibeto-Burman family, nouns (especially
those denoting personal relations, parts of the body, etc.) are
seldom conceived as abstract and self-contained; they most often
occur in relation to some other noun, and thus the syllable a-
is more often prefixed to them than not. Especially is this the
case with adjectives; these ordinarily follow the noun which they
qualify, and almost always have a- prefixed; e.g. Arnàm a-kethe,
"God Almighty": la a-kibi a-bàng, "that younger one." Sometimes this
prefixed a- is thinned down to e-, as in hèm-e-pi, hèm-e-po, "widow,
widower," literally "female or male owner of the house": hijai e-hur,
"a pack of jackals." Most postpositions (originally nouns joined
to the genitive of the qualified word) similarly require a- before
them; and the suffix -tum of the plural, since it means "a company,"
also in this manner assumes the form a-tum. Before ing- the prefix a-
is absorbed, and the result is àng.
The other cases are formed by postpositions. The instrumental is
generally indicated by pèn (sometimes with prefixed a- or e-,
as apèn, epèn, but more often without), or pèn-si. The dative
takes a-phàn, "to or for," which is also occasionally used for the
accusative. The sign of the dative of purpose is apòt: pi-apòt,
"what for, why?" kopi-apòtsi, id. The ablative is formed with pèn or
pènsi: nòn-pèn, "from now"; dàk-pèn, "from here"; apara (Ass. para)
is also used, generally with pèn as well. The locative has a number
of postpositions, according to the position required: -si is used for
"in," as hèm-si, "in the house," adèt-si, "in his country"; arlo is
also used for "in, inside." Le (properly the conjunctive participle
of a verb meaning "arrive, reach to a place") is often used as a
postposition for "at, in." Other common locative postpositions are
a-thàk, "upon, on," àngsòng, "above, upon," arum, "below," aber,
"below," alòng "together with" (lòng means "place"), adun, adung,
"beside, next to" (dun is a verb meaning "to be with, accompany"),
adàk, "between," àngbòng, "in the middle of," aphi, "after."
ADJECTIVES.
Adjectives are regularly formed by prefixing ke-, ki-, or ka- to the
root, and do not change for gender, number, or case. Thus, from the
root me, "to be good," we have keme, "good"; helo, "distance," kahelo,
"far off"; dòk, "to have savour," kedòk, "savoury"; ho, "to be bitter,"
keho, "bitter"; lòk, "to be white," kelòk, "white"; ri, "to be rich,"
kiri, "rich." Ke- and ki- are generally used with monosyllables, ka-
with longer words; ka- with ing- forms kàng.
The form of the adjective is precisely the, same as that of the present
participle of the verbal root, used to form the present tense, and also
as that of the infinitive or abstract of that root, and the collocation
of the sentence alone determines the meaning of the word used. When
particles of comparison or other modifying elements are added to the
adjective, the prefix ke- etc. is often dropped as unnecessary; thus--
kelòk, "white"; lòk-hik, "whitish."
keme, "good"; me-mu, "better"; me-ne, "best."
keding, "tall"; ding-mu, "taller."
But kàngtui, "high"; kàngtui-mu, "higher"; kàngtui-ne, "highest."
Comparison is effected by means of the postpositions apar and aphàn;
"his brother is taller than his sister," a-te apar (or aphàn)
a-kòr ding-mu.
Adjectives commonly follow the noun qualified; when they precede,
the construction corresponds to what in Aryan languages would be
indicated by the relative pronoun (see below, p. 80).
NUMERALS.
The cardinal numerals are isi, one; hini, two; kethòm, three; phili,
four; phòngo, five; theròk, six; theròk-si, seven; nerkèp, eight;
sirkèp, nine; kèp, ten. It will be seen that seven is six plus one,
eight ten minus two, nine ten minus one. From eleven to nineteen
kre takes the place of kèp: kre-isi, eleven; kre-hini, twelve;
kre-kethòm, thirteen, etc. A score is ingkoi, and from this point
onwards the syllable ra is inserted between the multiple of ten
and the added units: ingkoi-ra-isi, twenty-one; ingkoi-ra-hini,
twenty-two, etc. Thirty, forty, etc. are formed by adding kèp to the
multiplier unit: thòm-kèp, phili-kèp, etc. Eighty is theròk-nerkèp,
ninety theròk-serkèp. A hundred is pharo or paro, a thousand suri.
The numeral follows the noun. In composition hini (except with bàng,
"person") is reduced to ni, and kethòm to thòm, as jo-ni jo-thòm,
"two or three nights." Phili and theròk are often contracted to phli
and thròk.
Generic determinatives, as in many other Tibeto-Burman languages,
are commonly used with numbers:--
with persons, bàng, as a-òng-mar kòrte bàng-theròk, "his uncles,
the six brothers";
with animals, jòn (perhaps an Assamese loan-word), as chelòng
jòn-phili, "four buffaloes";
with trees and things standing up, ròng: thèngpi ròng-theròk "six
trees";
with houses, hum, as hèm hum-theròk-kèp, "sixty houses";
with flat things, as a mat, a leaf, a knife, pàk: as tar pàk-phòngo,
"five mats"; lo pàk-phili, "four leaves"; noke pàk-thòm, "three
knives";
with globular things, as an egg, a gourd, a vessel, pum: as vo-ti
pum-ni, "two eggs"; bòng pum-theròksi, "seven gourds";
with parts of the body, and also with rings, bracelets, and
other ornaments, hòng: as kèng e-hòng, "one leg"; roi hòng-ni,
"two bracelets."
One of anything is not formed with isi, but, if a person is spoken of,
inut (a Khasi loan-word) is used: if anything else, e- is prefixed
to the generic determinative; "one cow," chainòng e-jòn; "one tree,"
thèngpi e-ròng; "one book," puthi e-pàk; "one egg," vo-ti e-pum. This
e- appears to be borrowed from Assamese, where it is shortened from èk.
Ordinals are formed by prefixing batai to the cardinal, as
batai-kethòm, "third," batai phili, "fourth." They seem to be little
used: in the story of Harata Kunwar it will be seen that clumsy
periphrases are employed to designate the second, third, fourth, and
fifth brother of the family to which the hero belonged. Distributive
numeral adverbs are formed by prefixing pur or phòng to the cardinal:
pur-thòm or phòng-thòm, "thrice."
PRONOUNS.
The following are the personal pronouns:--
1st Person: ne, I; ne-tum, ne-li, ne-li-tum, we, excluding the
person addressed: i-tum, i-li, we, including the person
addressed;
2nd Person: nàng, thou; nàng-tum, nàng-li, nàng-li-tum, ye;
3rd Person: la, he, she, it; la-tum, they; alàng, he, she; alàng-li,
alàng-atum, alàng-li-tum, they.
(The pronoun la is really a demonstrative, = this, that: it is probable
that the original pronoun of the third person was a.)
These pronouns take the postpositions like nouns. The possessive or
genitive prefixes are ne, my, our, excluding the person addressed;
e- or i-, our, including the person addressed; nàng-, thy, your; a-,
his, her, its, their.
The demonstrative pronouns are--la, labàngso, bàngso, this;
pl. labàngso-atum, these: hala, halabàngso, that; pl. hala-tum,
halabàngso-atum, those. The syllable ha- connotes distance, as dàksi,
ladàk, here; ha-dàk, there; ha ahèm che-voi-lo, "he returned home
from a distance."
(There appears once to have been another demonstrative pronoun, pi,
pe, pa, still preserved in the compound words pi-ni, "to-day," penàp,
"to-morrow," pedàp, "this morning," paningve, "to-night." Instead
of pi and pe we also find mi, me, as mi-ni, me-nàp. This survival
is important for the purpose of comparison with other Tibeto-Burman
languages.)
As in other Tibeto-Burman languages, there is no relative pronoun;
its place is taken by descriptive adjectival phrases. Thus "those
six brothers who had gone to sell cow's flesh" is--
la chainòng a-òk kejòr-dàm-a-tum kòrte bàng-theròk.
Those cow 's flesh to sell going (plural) brothers persons-six;
"The man whom Tenton had tied with an iron chain" is--
Tèntòn ingchin a-ni-pèn ke-kòk arlèng.
Tenton iron chain-with tied-up man.
In these constructions, it will be seen, the adjective or qualifying
participle precedes the noun.
The interrogative syllable, used to form interrogative pronouns,
is ko-: komàt, komàt-si, who? kopi, pi, what? ko-pu, ko-pu-si,
kolopu, kolopu-sòn, how? ko-àn, ko-ànsi, how many? konàt, konàthu,
where? konàm-tu, nàm-tu, nàm-tu-si, when? Always when the sentence
does not contain an interrogative pronoun, and sometimes when it
does, the syllable ma at the end marks a question: "Are you afraid,"
nàng phere-dèt ma? Ne (probably an Assamese loan-word) is also used
instead of ma: "Will you marry him or not?" do-ji-ne do-de-ne?
The reflexive pronoun is amethàng, self; binòng, own; but the most
usual way of indicating that the action affects oneself is to prefix
the particle che- (chi-, ching-, cheng-, and rarely cho-) to the
verbal root: la hèm che-voi-lo, "he returned home," i.e. to his own
house; a-òng-mar-atum che-pu-lo, "his uncles said to one another";
che-hàng-jo, "they asked for themselves." With initial ing-, che-
coalesces to ching: with ar- it unites to form cher.
VERBS.
The Mikir verb indicates time, past, present, or future, by means
of particles prefixed or suffixed to the root. It does not vary for
number, [40] gender, or person. There is no separate verb-substantive,
though there are several ways of expressing existence, as do,
"stay, abide," used also for "have, possess"; plàng, "become"; làng,
"exist, continue (with a sense of incompleteness)"; le, "arrive,
happen," etc. Great use is made of adjectival or participial forms,
and, in narrative, of the conjunctive participle. Compound roots are
very extensively used, the principal verb being put first, then the
modifying supplements, and last the time-index.
The simple, or indeterminate present is expressed by the participle
with ke-, ka-, without any suffix: konàtsi nàng kedo, "where do you
live?"; vo kàngjar, "the bird flies"; sarbura thi-lòt-si ne ka-chiru,
"the old man having died, I am weeping"; ne-phu ke-so-kòn, "my head
is aching badly." This tense, as in other languages, is often used
historically for the past.
The definite or determinate present is expressed by the same participle
with -lo added: la kopi kànghoi-lo? "What is he doing (now)?"
The habitual present is expressed by the verbal root with -lo: as
vo-atum-ke ne-phu-athàk ingjar-lo, "the birds fly above our heads."
The simple or narrative past is formed by the verbal root with -lo or
-dèt added: la pu-lo or pu-dèt, "he said"; ne-phu so-dèt, "my head
was aching"; la keri-aphi-si lòng-lo, "he, after searching, found
it." Sometimes dèt and lo are used together: la ne ingtòn-dèt-lo,
"he abused me." Dèt may also be used for the present when the
state indicated by the verb is one that began in the past and still
continues: e.g. "Why are you afraid?" may be rendered kopi apòtsi
nang phere-dèt, or kopi apòtsi nàng kaphere?
The complete past is indicated by the root with tànglo added: la-apòtsi
ne dam-tànglo, "I went, or had gone, on his account"; telòng lòngle
pho-tànglo, "the boat has touched ground." Tang is a verb meaning
"to finish." There are besides a great number of other particles
indicating past time used with particular verbs. Thus, with verbs
meaning "to fall," bup and buk are common: hala che-koi-bup, "he
fell down"; hèm ru-bup, "the house collapsed"; lòng-chòng kli-bup,
"the upright memorial stone fell down"; lòng-pàk klo-buk, "the
flat memorial stone fell down"; thèng-pi àngsòng-pèn nàng-klo-buk,
"he fell down from the top of the tree." Such particles generally
indicate not only past time but abruptness.
A periphrastic past, with the root followed by inghoi-lo, "did,"
frequently occurs; this is probably an imitation of Assamese idiom.
Here may be noticed the prefix nàng, used, as the specimens show,
with great frequency in narrative. It has the effect of fixing the
occurrence to a known place, and may generally be rendered "there." It
is probable that this particle is originally the pronoun of the second
person, and that it refers to the knowledge of the person addressed:
"as you know," "as you see."
The future is represented in two ways: (1) by -po added to the root,
to indicate an action beginning now and continuing in the future; as
itum nònke labàngso akàm apòtsi pu-po, "we will talk about this affair
now;" and (2) by -ji added, for an action which commences later on;
as badu arlèng-ta thi-ji, "all men will die" (i.e. at some future
time). As -po includes the present in the case of continuing action,
it may be, and often is, used in a present sense; -ji is restricted
to future time.
A compound future may be formed by adding to the root with -ji the
words dòkdòk-lo: la thi-ji dòkdòk-lo, "he is just about to die";
àn cho-ji dòkdòk-lo, "it is near breakfast-time" (rice-eating); àn
ik-ji dòkdòk-lo, "the rice is nearly all done." A doubtful future may
be expressed by -ji added to the present participle: konàt chainòng
a-òk-si dàk-si kedo-ji, "where should cow's flesh be here?"
From the above it will be seen that there is much indefiniteness
in the indications of time afforded by the Mikir verb: except tàng
for the past complete, and -ji for the future, the other suffixes
may, according to circumstances, be rendered by the past, present,
or future; they may also on occasion be omitted altogether. But the
context generally removes all ambiguity.
Conditional phrases are formed by putting -te or -le, "if," at the
end of the first member, and the second generally in the future with
-ji or -po. Of the conditional future an example is nàng dàm-te, nàng
la thèk-dàm-ji, "if you go, you will see him." The conditional past
inserts asòn ("like, supposing that,") before -te: dohòn do-asòn-te, ne
la nàm-ji, "if I had money, I would buy it." The conditional pluperfect
modifies the second member thus: nàng dàm asòn-te, nàng la lòng-lòk
apòtlo, "if you had gone, you would have got it"; nàng ne thàn asòn-te,
ne la klèm tàng-lo, "if you had explained to me, I would have done it."
The imperative is, for the second person, the bare root, or more
usually the root strengthened by the addition of nòn or tha, and
dialectically of noi; nòn (= "now") is the strongest form. The other
persons are formed by the addition of nàng (a verb meaning "to be
necessary") to the future in -po or present in -lo: "let us go" is
i-tum dàm-po-nàng; "let us go to the field and plough," rit hai-bai
dàm-lo-nàng. We may, for the third person, use the causative form of
the verb: la-ke pedàm-nòn, "let him go."
Participles. The present participle has the form of the adjective,
with the prefixed ke- (ki-) or ka-; as kedàm, "going," ka-chiru,
"weeping." The past participle is the root or the present participle
with tàng added: dàm-tàng, "gone," thèk-tàng, "having seen,"
ka-pàngtu-tàng, "fattened."
Perhaps the most used form of the verb, especially in narrative,
is the conjunctive participle, which is either the bare root, or
the root with -si; hèm che-voi-si thèk-lo, "having returned home, he
saw." When the past is indicated, dèt is used, either with or without
-si, as cho-dèt jun-dèt, sarbura, tòn-arlo kaibòng patu-joi-si, i-lo,
"having finished eating and drinking, the old man, having quietly
hidden his club in a basket, lay down"; Tèntòn, dohòn-alàngbòng
lòng-si, rit dàm-de-dèt-si, kàt-jui-lo, "Tenton, having got the
bamboo-joint with the money, without returning to the field, ran away."
When the phrase in which the conjunctive participle occurs is
terminated by an imperative, the suffix is not -si but -ra: "having
eaten your rice, go," is àn cho-ra dàm-nòn; but "having eaten his rice,
he went," is an chodèt-si dàm-lo. While -si links together parts of
a narrative, -ra links together a string of imperatives.
The infinitive or verbal noun is identical in form with the present
participle; kum-kiròt tàngte kekàn arki nàng arju-lònglo, "he heard
(got to hear) there (nàng) the sound (arki) of fiddle (kum) scraping
(ki-ròt) and dancing (ke-kàn)." All words beginning with ke-, ki-,
and ka- may therefore be regarded as (1) adjectives, (2) participles
forming tenses of the verb, or (3) verbal nouns; and it will be seen
from the analysis of the specimens how clearly this at first sight
strange allocation of forms can be made to express the required sense.
In all Tibeto-Burman languages the passive voice is either non-existent
or little used; a sentence which in English would be stated passively
is turned the other way, and appears in an active form. Thus--"Four
trees were uprooted by the wind" would be rendered tomòn thèngpi
ròng-phili pi-pur-koi-lo, "the wind uprooted four trees"; "this house
has been thrown down by an earthquake" is chikli-si labàngso ahèm
pi-ru-hup-lo, "an earthquake has thrown down this house." Sometimes
a passive may be expressed by a periphrasis, as "I was beaten," ne
kechòk èn-tàng, lit. "I received a beating." The only unquestionable
example of a passive is in the case of past participles, and here the
passive is expressed by the simple expedient of putting the participle
before instead of after the noun: bàng kevàn ahòr, "the drink brought
by people"; maja kelòng arlèng, "a man bewitched"; ne ke-pi a-àn ahòr,
"the to-me-given rice and beer." This construction is exactly parallel
to the method (explained above) of expressing the relative phrase
by putting the adjective first, instead of after the noun, and is in
fact another case of the same idiom. The participle, which may also
(as just explained) be regarded as a verbal noun, comes before the
subject of the sentence, because the action passes on to the subject,
instead of emanating from it, as in an active construction. We are
tempted to think that languages which lack what seems to European
modes of thought such essential elements as a relative pronoun and
a passive voice cannot be capable of any subtlety of expression; yet
this phenomenon is common to forms of speech like Tibetan, Burmese,
and Chinese, which possess vast literatures dealing with all kinds of
subjects, and in which it is possible to render ideas of the greatest
complexity and variety. Even in Europe, the clearest and most logical
of languages, French, prefers to use the active form of phrase (with
on) rather than the passive.
The negative verb is a very interesting and remarkable feature
of the language. A separate negative root, formed by prefixing or
suffixing a negative particle, and conjugated in the same way as
the positive, is indeed a common property of Tibeto-Burman speech;
but in Mikir this secondary root is formed in a peculiar manner. The
negating syllable -e is added to the primitive, as un, "can," un-e,
"cannot"; òng, "be much," òng-e, "be not much"; i, "lie down," i-e,
"not lie down." But when the root begins with a consonant or a nexus
of consonants, and is monosyllabic, the consonant or nexus is repeated
before the added vowel: thèk, "see, be able"; thèk-the, "not see, be
unable"; dàm, "go," dàm-de, "not go"; kroi, "believe, obey," kroi-kre,
"disbelieve, disobey"; mèk-pràng, "eye-open, awake," mèk-pràng-pre,
"not awake." When the verb is of two or more syllables, the last is
chosen for reduplication: inghoi, "do," inghoi-he, "not do"; ingjinso,
"show mercy," ingjinso-se, "not show mercy"; chini (Ass. loan-word),
"recognise," chini-ne, "not recognise."
The secondary root thus obtained is treated in construction just
like the positive root, and takes the tense-suffixes: pàk-ta
pi-vàng-ve-dèt-lo, "anybody to give him (anything) came not." The
time-index is, however, with negative verbs more often dropped as
unnecessary, owing to the context showing what the time-relation is.
In the imperative the reduplication is not used; the particle -ri is
added to the positive root, with or without nòn as well: thèk-nòn,
"see!"; thèk-ri, or thèk-ri-nòn, "see not!"
It may be added that this method of forming the negative by
reduplication is also applied to verbal adjectives in ke-, ki-,
ka-, which thereupon usually drop the prefix: keso, "in pain, sick";
so-se, "not sick, well"; but kàngjinso, "merciful"; kàng-jinso-se,
"merciless."
Besides this organic negative, there is a periphrastic negative
formed by adding the word ave, "is not": Arnàm abàng ave, kechèng ave,
kapetàng ave, "God has no body, no beginning, no end" (lit. "God his
body is not, beginning is not, end is not"). The a in ave is the usual
a of relation, and may be dropped: alàm-ave "without a word"; làm-ve,
"word-less, dumb." Ka- may be prefixed, forming kave, used as an
adjectival negative: kopai (Ass. kopal), "fortune," kopai-kave,
"unfortunate." Another negative used separately, in emphatic
assertions, is kali: tovar nàng kepèk-ji kali, "the way I will by no
means yield to you"; ne-thibuk kali, "it is not my water-jar."
The causal verb is formed by prefixing the syllable pe-, pi-,
pa- [41] to the root: this is probably the verb pi, meaning "to give";
e.g. cho, "eat," pecho, "feed"; tàng, "finish," petàng, "cause to
finish, end"; ingrum, "be gathered together," pàngrum, "collect";
virdèt, "be lost," pi-virdèt, "destroy." This syllable takes precedure
of che- in reflexive verbs: e-chainòng e-pa-chi-thu-koi-làng, "he
has caused us to slaughter all our cows": here e- is the pronoun of
the first person plural inclusive of the addressee; pa-, the causal
prefix; chi-, the reflexive particle, indicating that the cattle
slaughtered were their own; thu, a verb, "to kill by cutting"; koi,
a particle indicating completeness; làng, the tense-suffix.
Compound verbs meet us at every step in Mikir. Roots are heaped
together, and the compound is closed by the tense-suffix. Ordinarily
the first root determines the general meaning of the compound, the
rest being adverbial supplements of modifying force:--chiru-pi-lèm-lo,
"he pretended to weep" (chiru, "weep," lèm, "seem, appear," pi-lèm,
"cause to seem, pretend"); ke-phlòng-dàm abàng, "somebody who will
go and set fire (to the funeral pile)" (phlòng, "kindle," dàm, "go");
kroi-dun-lo, "she consented" (kroi, "agree, obey," dun, "go or be with
another"); ne do-dun-ji-ma, "will you stay with me?" (do, "stay," dun,
as above). The texts which follow supply a multitude of other examples.
These adverbial supplements to verbs, inserted between the principal
verb and the tense-suffixes, are a very characteristic feature of the
language, and their proper use is one of the most difficult things for
a learner to master. Certain roots take constant supplements of this
kind, and are scarcely ever found without them; thus the verbs thi,
"die," i, "lie down to sleep," and jàng, "close the eyes," are almost
invariably followed by lòt; rèng, "to live," takes èt before verbal
suffixes; lòng, "to get," takes lòk; chingbar, "to be equal (in size,
weight, height)," and chingdòn, "to be equal in length," take chit;
inghòn, "to love," and ingjinso, "to pity," both take duk; jòk and
thèt, both meaning "to escape, get loose," take phlòt. The complements
for verbs meaning "to fall" have been mentioned above (p. 82). These
supplements frequently cause the tense-endings to be dispensed with,
in which case the action is understood to be in the narrative past
or historic present. No doubt most of them were originally separate
verbal roots, but are not now capable of being used separately.
The brief outline given above will, it is hoped, enable the reader to
apprehend the general construction of the narratives which follow,
and display the language in action; for further analysis reference
should be made to the notes appended to the texts.
I.
CHÒNGHOLOSO ATOMO.
FROG STORY.
Arni-si miso-ròngpo a-òng àn che-thòn-dàmlo. Chòngholoso
Day-one a big black ant (to) his uncle rice to carry went. a frog
tovar ingni-thip. Ànsi miso pulo: "Tovar ne
the way sat down and blocked. Then the ant said: "The way for me
pèk-tha, chòngholoso; ne ne-òng àn chethòn-dàm-ji." Chòngholoso
leave free, frog; I my-uncle rice carry-go-will." The frog
pudèt: "Ne-rum ne-lut-thòt-ra dàm-te: pàkta
answered: "Under me entering (creeping)| go your way: every one
ne-rum-si dàm-hòr-le." Miso pudèt: "Ne-òng a-àn bòr
under me passes." The ant said: "My uncle's rice leaf-bundle
do-kòk-le, pusi nàng-rum-le nàng-kelut-thèk-ji?" Ànsi
being tied up, how you-underneath enter, creep, shall I be able?" So
chòngho-ta pèk-pe, miso-ta dàm-de. Ànsi nerlo
the frog would not give way, the ant could no go. So day
chitim-lo. Ànsi miso--"Ai, ne-òng àn-ingchir-si
became middle. So the ant-- "Oh, my uncle rice-hunger-in
aning-ne-thi-po" pulo; chòngholoso-arum lut-thòt-lo. Àn-lo
angry with me will be" said; the frog-under he entered, crept. Then
chòngholoso miso-athàk ingni-dun-chèt-lo. Lasi miso-ròngpo
the frog the ant-upon sat-down-flat. Thereupon the big black ant
chòngholoso a-mi kòr-ràk. Ànsi chòngho aning-thi-ning-thi
the frog's loins bit-severely. Then the frog becoming very angry
karle-sarpo-a-dòn chòn-rai. Karle-sarpo
squirrel-big-old's ladder (on) jumped and broke. The big old squirrel
aningthi-ningthi hànthar-a-kòk ròt-pèt. Hànthar
becoming very angry gourd's stem cut in two. The gourd
aningthi-ningthi phàk-belèngpi a-moi klo-dup. Phàk-belèngpi
becoming very angry a wild boar's back (on) fell plump. The wild boar
aningthi-ningthi lo-bòng thimur-phàk. Lobòng
becoming very angry a plantain-tree rooted up. The plantain-tree
aningthi-ningthi vo-arbipi a-tar sàp-rai. Vo-arbipi
becoming very angry a sparrow 's nest struck and broke. The sparrow
aningthi-ningthi ingnar no-thòng-po a-no lut-thòt.
becoming very angry an elephant deaf-big 's ear entered.
Ingnar no-thòng-po aningthi-ningthi arlòng helàng-phlut.
The elephant deaf-big becoming very angry a rock tore up suddenly.
Arlòng aningthi-ningthi Recho- a-so kònglòng-pi-bup. Ànsi
The rock becoming very angry the King 's son rolling-down killed. Then
Recho nàng-bisar-lo: "Màt-si ne-po pithi-lòtlo?" "Ai, arlòng-si
the King made an enquiry: "Who my son has killed?" "Oh,
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