Folklore.
1. Legends.—A large number of tales have been collected by Babu Nithor Nath Banerji, of the Manipur State Office, from which I select the following. They have all to a certain extent suffered by being told to the Babu in Manipuri instead of in the vernacular of the relaters. This accounts for Manipuri names being used in some cases.
The following is a tale told by the Anals:—“Once upon a time the whole world was flooded. All were drowned except one man and one woman, who ran to the highest peak of the Leng hill [this is interesting, as Leng is the name of one of the highest hills in the present Lushai Hills], where they climbed up a high tree and hid themselves among its branches. The tree grew near a large pond, which was as clear as the eye of a crow. They made themselves as comfortable as they could, being determined to spend the night there. They passed the night, sometimes exchanging whispers, and in the morning they were astonished to find that they had become a tiger and a tigress. [This changing of human beings into animals reminds one of the Lushai Thimzing legend.] Pathian, seeing the sad state of the world, sent a man and a woman from a cave, which was on the hill, to re-people it. The man and the woman emerging from the cave were terrified at seeing the two huge animals, and addressed Pathian thus: ‘O Father, you have sent us to re-people the world, but we do not think that we shall be able to carry out your intention, as the whole world is under water, and the only spot on which we could make a resting place is occupied by two ferocious beasts which are waiting to devour us; give us strength to slay these animals.’ After which they killed the tigers and lived happily and begat many sons and daughters, and from them the world was re-populated.”
The following tale told by the Kolhen resembles in many particulars the story of Kungori told by Colonel Lewin, which is given below:—
The Story of Fachirang and Rangchar.
“Once upon a time there lived a widow; she had a daughter whose beauty attracted many young men of the village. One day a tiger came in the shape of a man and asked to marry the girl. She was much frightened and kept silence. The tiger-man was angry at her behaviour, and recited a charm which made her ugly. Her mother said, ‘Look! my daughter who was the most beautiful girl in the village has become ugly; if a man can restore her beauty he may marry her, and if a woman can do it she shall be my friend.’ On hearing this, the tiger-man came to the old woman and said, ‘Oh! Granny, I am a stranger, and have come from a distant village; let me put up in your house.’ The old lady agreed, and after a few days he said, ‘Oh! Granny, why are you so sad? Tell me the cause of your sorrow. Perhaps I can remove it.’ ‘Alas, my boy, it is beyond your power to do so,’ she replied. The tiger-man, however, pressed her to tell him, and at last she did so, whereupon he replied, ‘All right, if I cure her you will give her to me,’ and in a few days he had restored her beauty, and they were married and lived together in her mother’s house for many years. At length he asked permission to take his wife to his own home, and they started, but no sooner had they passed the village gate than he was changed into the shape of a tiger, and his wife wept much at seeing him thus. An old woman of the village saw them and came and told the people that a tiger was carrying off the girl, so the villagers assembled to consult, but no one would volunteer for the task of rescuing the girl. At last Fachirang and Rangchar, two brothers, set off with a dao and a spear to kill the animal, but after going a very little way Fachirang, the elder brother, said, ‘Oh! Rangchar, I don’t know what is the matter, but my heart beats so fast that I must remain here; you go and see if you can kill the beast alone.’ So the younger brother went on alone till he came to the place where the tiger and the girl were living happily. Rangchar thrust his spear into the breast of the tiger, and it died at once, and Rangchar carried off the girl and returned to where his brother was waiting, and they all three set out for home together. The elder brother married the girl, and they all lived happily together.”
The Story of Kúngóri.
(From “Progressive Colloquial Exercises in the Lushai Dialect” by Captain H. Lewin, 1874.)
Her father, who was unmarried, was splitting cane to make a winnowing basket when he ran a splinter into his hand: the splinter grew into a little child; (after a time) the child was brought forth motherless and they called her Kúngóri. They fed her with single grains of millet and rice, and so little by little she grew big. Two or three years passed by and she attained puberty; she was very pretty, and all the young-men of the village wanted to marry her, but her father refused them all. Then the young tiger-man, Keimi, took up the impression of her foot and wrapped it up and placed it on the bamboo grating over the house fire to dry. Then Kúngóri became ill.
Kúngóri’s father said, “If there be anyone that can cure her, he shall have my daughter.” All the villagers tried, but not one of them could do any good. Then the young tiger-man came. “I will cure her, and I will marry her afterwards,” said he. Her father said, “Cure the girl first and you may then have her.”
So he cured her; the footprint which he had placed to dry on the fire-shelf he opened out and threw away. Kúngóri became well and Keimi married her. “Come, Kúngóri,” said he, “will you go to my house?” So they went; on the road Keimi turned himself into a tiger, Kúngóri caught hold of his tail, and they ran like the wind. Some women of the village were gathering wood and they saw this, so they went back home and said to Kúngóri’s father, “Your daughter has got a tiger for a husband.” Kúngóri’s father said, “Whoever can go and take Kúngóri may have her,” but no one dared to take her. However, Hpohtir and Hrangchal, two friends, said, “We will take her.” Kúngóri’s father said, “If you are able to take her you may have her,” so Hpohtir and Hrangchal set off. Going on they came to Keimi’s village. The young tiger-man, Keimi, had gone out hunting; before he reached his house Hpohtir and Hrangchal went to Kúngóri. “Kúngóri,” said they, “where is your husband?” “He is gone out hunting,” she said, “but will be home directly.” On this they became afraid, and Hpohtir and Hrangchal climbed up on to the top of the high fire-shelf. Kúngóri’s husband arrived. “There is the smell of a human being,” said he. “It must be my smell,” said Kúngóri. Night fell; everyone ate their dinners and lay down to rest. In the morning Kúngóri’s husband again went out to hunt. A widow said (to the two friends), “If you are going to run away with Kúngóri take fire-seed, thorn-seed, and water-seed (with you).” So they took fire-seed, thorn-seed, and water-seed, and they took Kúngóri also and carried her off.
Kúngóri’s husband returned home. He looked and found Kúngóri was gone, so he followed after them in hot haste. A little bird called to Hrangchal. “Run! run! Kúngóri’s husband will catch you,” said the bird. So (the friends) scattered the fire-seed, and the jungle and undergrowth burnt furiously, so that Kúngóri’s husband could not come any further. When the fire subsided he again resumed the pursuit.
The little bird cried to Hrangchal, “He is catching you up.” So they scattered the water-seed, and a great river rose. However, Kúngóri’s husband waited for the water to go down, and when the water went down he followed after them as before.
The bird said to Hrangchal, “He is after you again—he is fast gaining on you; sprinkle the thorn-seed,” and thorns sprouted in thickets, so that Kúngóri’s husband could not get on. By biting and tearing the thorns he at length made a way. and again he followed after them. Hrangchal’s[2] party became bewildered and hid in a clump of reeds. Hpohtir cut the tiger down dead with a blow of his dao. “I am Hpohtir,”[2] said he. So the tiger died.
Hrangchal and the others went on again until they came to the three cross-roads of Khuavang, and there they stopped. Hpohtir and Hrangchal were to keep guard turn about. Hrangchala went to sleep first while Hpohtir kept watch.
At night Khuavang came. “Who is staying at my cross-roads?” he said. Hpohtira (spoke out boldly). “Hpohtira and Hrangchala (are here),” said he, “crouching under the reeds. We cut off the tiger’s head without much ado.” Khuavang, hearing and becoming afraid, ran off. So Hpohtira (woke up Hrangchal, saying), “Hrangchal, get up; you stay awake now. I am very sleepy; I will lie down. If Khuavang comes you must not be afraid.” Having said this he slept. Hrangchala watched; presently Khuavang returned. “Who is this staying at my cross-roads?” he said. Hrangchala was frightened; (however), he replied, “Hpohtira and Hrangchala (are here); they killed the tiger that followed them among the reed-roots.” But Khuavang was not to be frightened by this, so he took Kúngóri. Kúngóri marked the road, trailing behind her a line of cotton thread. They entered into a hole in the earth, and so arrived at Khuavang’s village. The hole in the earth was stopped up by a great stone. In the morning Hpohtir and Hrangchala began to abuse each other. Said Hpohtira to Hrangchal, “Fool man!” said he, “where has Kúngóri gone to? On account of your faintheartedness Khuavang has carried her off. Away! you will have to go to Khuavang’s village.” So they followed Kúngóri’s line of white thread and found that the thread entered (the earth) under a big rock. They moved away the rock and saw Khuavang’s village below them. Hpohtira called out, “Hoy! give me back my Kúngóri!” Khuavang replied, “We know nothing about your Kúngóri, whom you were taking away.” “If you do not (immediately) give me Kúngóri I will use my dao,” said Hpohtir. “Hit away,” answered Khuavang. With one cut of the dao a quarter of the village died right off. Again Hpohtir cried, “Give me my Kúngóri,” Khuavang said, “Your Kúngóri is not here.” On this Hpohtir and Hrangchal said, “We will come in.” “Come along,” said Khuavang, so they went in and came to Khuavang’s house. Khuavang’s daughter was a very pretty girl. “Here is Kúngóri,” said they. “This is not she,” said Hpohtir; “give me Kúngóri herself.” So (at last) they gave her to him.
They took her away. Kúngóri said, “I have forgotten my comb.” “Go, Hrangchal, and fetch it,” said Hpohtir; but Hrangchala—“I dare not. I am afraid,” said he. So Hpohtir went (himself) to fetch (the comb). While he was gone Hrangchal took Kúngóri out and closed the hole with the great stone. After this they arrived at the house of Kúngóri’s father. “You have been able to release my daughter,” said he, “so take her.” Kúngóri, however, did not agree. Said Kúngóri’s father, “Hrangchal is here, but where is Hpohtira?” “We do not know Hpohtira’s dwelling-place,” he said. So Hrangchala and Kúngóri were united. Though Kúngóri did not wish it, he just married her.
Hpohtira was married to Khuavang’s daughter. Beside the house he sowed a koi-seed. It sprouted and a creeper sprang (upwards like a ladder). Hpohtira, when he was at Khuavang’s, had a child (born to him), and he cooked some small stones, and when his wife was absent he gave the stones which he had cooked to the child, saying, “Eat.” While it was eating Hpohtir climbed up the stalks of the koi creeper and got out. He went on and arrived at the house of Kúngóri’s father. They had killed a mithan, and were celebrating the Khuangchoi and dancing. With one blow Hpohtira cut off the head of Hrangchal!
Kúngóri’s father cried, “Why, Hpohtira, do you cut off Hrangchala’s head?” “I was obliged to decapitate him,” said Hpohtir. “It was I who released Kúngóri from Keimi’s village—Hrangchala dared not do it. When Khuavang carried off Kúngóri also Hrangchala dared not say him nay—he was afraid. Afterwards we followed Kúngóri’s line of cotton thread, which led us to Khuavang’s village. Kúngóri (after we had released her from there) forgot her comb; we told Hrangchal to go and fetch it, but he dared not. ‘I am afraid,’ said he, so I went to get it. He then took Kúngóri and left me behind, shutting the hole in the earth with a great stone. They went away. I married Khuavang’s daughter, and while she was absent I climbed up the stalks of the creeper and came here.” On this, “Is it so?” said they. “Then you shall be united.” So Hrangchala died, and Hpohtira and Kúngóri were married. They were very comfortable together, and killed many mithan; they possessed many villages, and lived happy ever after. Thus the story is concluded.
I condense the following tale told by the Kolhen from the obviously embellished version supplied to the Babu:—
A widow had seven sons and one daughter, called Ringchanghoi, who was very beautiful, and much beloved by her brothers. To prove the truth of their professions of love she sent them off to catch the sun and the moon, that she might wear them as her necklace. Before their departure they built her a fortified house, and told her to remain within it until their return. They also left with her some unhusked rice, which had magical properties, turning red whenever the brothers were in danger. Ringchanghoi one day was sitting in the verandah cleaning her hair when she was seen by the king, who quickly added her to the number of his wives. The youngest brother, returning alone, found the house empty, and at once rejoining the others in the sky, where they were still hunting the sun and moon, told them of the disappearance of their sister. They all returned home, and on entering the house the youngest brother was changed into a parrot, while the others fell down dead. The youngest brother finds his sister and is captured and presented to her, and tells her what has happened, whereupon she sends off her husband, who by a powerful charm restores the dead to life and the youngest brother to his original form, and all ends happily.
In this tale there is some slight resemblance to the Lushai tale of Rimenhoi, as also there is to the tales told by many clans to account for eclipses of the sun and moon. The Kom, for instance, say that the god Awk-pa was drying his rice when the sun and the moon came riding by and scattered it; this vexed Awk-pa, who lay in ambush in a cave, and the next time they came he swallowed them. The resemblance between this tale and the Lushai explanation of an eclipse is very marked. The name “Awk” is the same, and the idea of swallowing is preserved. The Purum, while using the same word for an eclipse, have quite a different story:—“Once upon a time there were seven brothers who went into the forest to cut wood, and shot a deer, and ordered the youngest brother to cook it while they went on with their work. The youngest brother, having cooked the meat, put it on some leaves till his brothers should return. Some leaves from a tree fell on the meat, whereupon the deer came to life again and ran away. The brothers returning got angry and, not believing the tale told by the youngest, killed him and put his body under the tree. Some leaves falling on the corpse, it came to life, and the brothers were much astonished and went home, taking some of the leaves, roots, and bark of the tree with them.” On their way they saw the body of a dog floating in a river which they had to cross, and put some bark on it and the animal revived. When they reached home they put the bark, leaves, and pieces of root to dry in the sunshine, leaving their dog to watch them. The sun and the moon, perceiving the usefulness of the things, stole them all and were chased by the dog. When the dog gets too near, the sun and the moon hide, thus causing eclipses. The Kolhen have the same name for an eclipse, and their explanation of the phenomenon is much the same. The god Rikumpu left his dog to watch his garden, and the sun and the moon came to steal, and are still being chased by the faithful hound. The Lamgang say that eclipses are caused by their god catching the sun and the moon, who once stole his tobacco as it was drying. The Anal have much the same idea. The story is worthy of being given at length:—“Once upon a time a very pious man who devoted much time to worshipping God had a pet bitch. The sun and the moon, being envious, tried to take his virtue from the man. To accomplish their wicked purpose they promised to give him their virtue if only he would first entrust them with his. The saint fell into the trap and the celestial rascals ran off with his virtue. The holy man, finding himself defrauded, ordered his dog to catch the thieves. The dog brought a long pole and climbed up it to reach the fugitives, being followed by her master. She reached the sky and still chases the sun and moon, and sometimes catches them. Therefore, when an eclipse occurs the Anal call out, ‘Release! Release!’ The poor pious man took so long ascending the pole that before he accomplished the journey the white ants had eaten up the lower end and the saint fell to the earth and was killed.” Thunder and lightning are accounted for by some clans thus:—Wulai the lizard climbs a tall tree and shouts defiance, whereupon God from the sky hurls his axe at him and he runs down, but the tree is burnt up. The Anal and Kom have also a more poetic explanation of lightning—viz., that it is the glitter of God’s sword as he plays with it in heaven, while the Purum also say that it is the glitter of his robes.
Earthquakes are accounted for by assuming the existence of another world below the surface of the earth. The Purum and Kom say that Yangmal the earth worm took a present of a piece of earth to the king of these lower regions. On the way the earth was changed into gold and silver, much to the delight of the monarch, who sent Yangmal back to fetch more, but the worm made excuse that the upper world had been destroyed. To test the truth of this statement the king shakes the world. The Anal and Lamgang say that the people of the lower world shake the upper one to find out if anyone is still alive up there, and so on, an earthquake occurring the Anal and Lamgang villages resound with shouts of “Alive! Alive!” Rainbows are accounted for as the lips of God spread in the act of drinking, or simply his glory.
Note.—I must acknowledge the assistance I have received in preparing the account of these Old Kuki tribes from Babu Nithor Nath Banerji, head clerk of the Manipur State Hill Office. My information regarding the Anal, Kom, Purum, and Lamgang was chiefly from his notes, and in a lesser degree I am indebted to him for details regarding the Kolhen and Chiru.
Heads of Kuki Clans.
Purum. Purum. Khawtlang.
Lamgang Man and Woman. Aimol.
Heads of Kuki Clans.
Chiru. Nautch Helmet of Hide. Chiru. Chiru.
Rangte. Anal. Anal.