Folk-Tales of the Khasis Part 6

This was received with much displeasure by the animals, who felt that their dignity had been flouted, for the snail was an insect in their estimation, not fit to be admitted to their august company. The stag began to canter gracefully round the grove to prove his superiority, his fellow animals applauding admiringly; but the little snail was not to be silenced, and to show her contempt she challenged the stag to run a long race with her, declaring that she would beat him.

Many of the animals urged the stag not to heed the challenge of the snail, as it was only given to affront him, but he said that unless he would run she would always insult him and call him a coward who had shown fear of a snail. So it was settled that the stag and the snail should run a long race, from the Rubber grove to the top of Mount Shillong, on the animals' return from Luri Lura.

The name of this little grey snail was Ka Mattah. As soon as the animals left the grove she summoned together all her tribe to consider how to proceed so as to beat the stag in the long race. Many of the snail family found fault with her for her foolish challenge, but they were all prepared to help her out of her difficulty, and to save her from the disgrace of defeat. It was decided in the family council that the snails should form themselves into a long line edging the path all the way from the Rubber grove to Mount Shillong, and hide themselves in the gra.s.s, so as not to be discovered by the stag. So the snails dispersed and formed themselves into a long line on the edge of the path.

As soon as they had sold their wares, the animals hastened to the grove, laughing among themselves as they walked at the foolishness of Ka Mattah in setting herself up against the swiftest of the animals, and they planned how to make her the general laughing-stock of the jungle for her audacity. When they reached the Rubber grove they found Ka Mattah ready for the race, having discarded her c.u.mbersome sh.e.l.l and put herself into a racing att.i.tude on the path, which caused them no little amus.e.m.e.nt. As soon as the signal was given she dived into the gra.s.s and was lost to sight, while the stag cantered towards the mountains. After going some distance, he stopped, thinking that there would be no need to run further, as he imagined that the snail was far behind and likely to have given up the race; so he called out, "Heigh, Mattah, art thou coming?"

To his surprise, the voice of the snail answered close beside him saying, "I am here, I am here." Thereupon he ran on more swiftly, but after running several miles he stopped again and called out as before, "Heigh, Mattah, art thou coming?" And again the voice answered close to his heels, "I am here, I am here"; upon which the stag tore off at a terrific pace through the forest, only stopping at intervals to call out to the snail. As often as he called, the voice answered close to his feet, "I am here, I am here," which set him racing with ever-increasing speed. When he reached the Iei Tree Mountain, he was panting and quivering from his great exertions and longed to lie down to rest, but he saw before him the goal to which he was bound, and spurred himself to a last effort. He was so exhausted as he climbed up the slopes of Shillong that he was giddy and faint, and could scarcely move his wearied limbs, and, to his dismay, before he reached the summit, he heard the tormenting voice of the snail calling out from the goal, "I have won, I have won."

Exhausted and defeated, the stag threw himself full length on the ground, and his disappointment and the sickness due to the terrible strain he had put on himself caused him to spit out his gall-bladder. To this day no gall-bladder is to be found in the anatomy of the stag; so he carries in his body the token of the great defeat he sustained through the wiles of Ka Mattah, the little grey snail, and the pathetic look has never gone out of his eyes.

XVI

THE LEAP OF KA LIKAI

"The Leap of Ka Likai" is the name given to a beautiful waterfall on the Khasi Hills, a few miles to the west of Cherrapoonjee, which, at certain points, is visible from great distances, while the roar and the echoes of its waters are to be heard for miles. The view is one of exceptional beauty, and many visitors are attracted to see it. The clear chattering stream is seen emerging from its wild mountain home, dashing over the high precipice into the shadows of a deep gorge, flinging upwards, as it falls, clouds of tremulous spray, which wreathe and coil around majestic rocks, creating countless small rainbows which dance and quiver in a maze of palms and ferns and blossoming shrubs.

The place is so remote and so still, as if every sound had been awed into a hush, except the thunderous boom of the torrent with its distant echoes moaning and shrieking like a spirit in anguish, that the whole locality seems weird and uncanny, suggestive of terrible possibilities. This, probably, accounts for the gruesome tradition amongst the Khasis which has been a.s.sociated with this waterfall from time immemorial. It runs as follows:

Once upon a time there lived a young married woman called Ka Likai, in the village of Rangjirteh, on the hill above the Falls. She and her husband lived very happily together and rejoiced in the possession of a baby girl of great beauty. The young husband died when the child was still a babe, and from that time Ka Likai's whole heart became wrapped up in the child.

She found it very hard to earn enough money to maintain them both, so she was persuaded to marry again, thinking to have her own burden lightened, and to obtain more comforts for her child.

The new husband was a selfish and a somewhat brutal man; he was exceedingly jealous of his little step-daughter, because his wife paid her so much attention, and when he found that he had been accepted as a husband by Ka Likai merely for the benefit of the child, he was so mortified that he grew to hate her and determined to do her some mischief.

He became sulky in the home and refused to go out to work, but he forced his wife to go every day, and during her absence he bullied and ill-treated the child. One day Ka Likai had to go on a long journey to carry iron ore, and this gave the cruel stepfather the opportunity he sought to carry out his evil purpose, and he killed the child. So depraved had he become and so demoniacal was his hatred, that he determined to inflict even a worse horror upon his wife; he took portions of the body and cooked them against the mother's return, and waited in silence for her coming.

When Ka Likai reached her home in the evening, she was surprised to find her husband in a seemingly kinder mood than he had shown for a long time, having cooked her supper and set it ready for her, with unusual consideration. She noticed the absence of the child, and immediately asked where she was, but the man's plausible answer that she had just gone out to play dispelled every misgiving, and she sat down to eat without a suspicion of evil.

After finishing her supper, she drew forward the betel-nut basket to prepare betel and pan to chew, according to custom after a meal. It happened that one of the hands of the murdered girl had been left by the stepfather in this basket, and the mother at once saw and recognised it. She wildly demanded the meaning of the awful discovery, whereupon the man confessed his crime, and also told her how she herself had eaten of the flesh of her own child.

The terrible and overwhelming revelation took away the mother's reason. She rose distractedly, and, running to the edge of the precipice, threw herself into the abyss. Ever since then the Falls have been called "The Leap of Ka Likai," and the doleful moans of their echoes are said to be the echoes of Ka Likai's anguished cries.

To this day, when widows with children are contemplating second marriages, they are cautioned to be careful and to use judgement, with the warning, "Remember Ka Likai."

XVII

WHAT CAUSED THE SHADOWS ON THE MOON

In the early ages there lived a family of deities, consisting of a mother and four children--three daughters and one son. They lived very happily for many long years, the children showing great respect to their mother and to one another. Their names were Ka Um (Water), Ka Ding (Fire), and Ka Sngi (the Sun), and the boy was called U Bnai (the Moon). They were all very n.o.ble and beautiful to look upon, as became their high destiny, but it was universally agreed that Ka Sngi and U Bnai, the two youngest, possessed greater beauty and loveliness than the two elder sisters. In those days the moon was equal to the sun in brightness and splendour.

When U Bnai grew up he began to show somewhat wayward tendencies; he came and went at his own will, without consulting his mother or his sisters, and consorted with companions far beneath him in rank. Sometimes he would absent himself from home for many days, and none of his family knew whither he wandered. His mother often remonstrated with him, as is right for every mother to do, and she and his sisters endeavoured to guide him into more decorous habits, but he was wilful and self-indulgent, thinking that he had a right to more liberty than his women-folk allowed him. By degrees he abandoned himself to a life of pleasure and wild pursuits, paying no heed to the advice and warnings of his elders.

Once he followed some of his low a.s.sociates into the nether regions and spent a long time in that land of goblins and vice. After a while his thoughts came back to his family and his erstwhile radiant home, and a longing to see them came over him, so he quitted the nether regions, and left his evil companions, and returned to his home and his kindred.

He had gazed so long on the hideous faces of the inhabitants of the dark world, that he was dazzled by the beauty of his sister Ka Sngi, who came to meet him with smiles and joy for his return. He had also lost the right perception of duty and honour, and, instead of greeting her as his sister, he went to his mother and with unbrotherly wantonness demanded the hand of Ka Sngi in marriage, saying that he had travelled throughout many worlds, and had seen the sons of all nations, but there was no suitor to be found in the whole universe whose beauty could match that of Ka Sngi, except himself. Consequently he said that it behoved his mother to give countenance to his suit and to arrange the marriage.

This caused the mother much grief, and she dismissed her son from her presence in dishonour. Ka Sngi, when she heard of his design, was enraged because of his unchaste proposal, and in anger she went forth to seek her brother. When she found him she forgot her usual dignity and decorum, and, lifting a handful of hot ashes, she threw it into U Bnai's face. The ashes scorched his flesh so deeply that the marks have remained on his face to this day. Ever since then the light of the moon has been pale, marred by dark shadows, and that is the reason he does not show his face in the day-time.

XVIII

U KSUID TYNJANG

The Ancient Khasis were wont to people all their beautiful hills and forests with innumerable supernatural beings, who were supposed to be working in the world either for good or for evil, and dominating all the events of men's lives. There were Bleis (G.o.ds) of all grades, and Ksuids (demons or goblins) without number, and Puris (sprites or fairies), visible and invisible, to be encountered everywhere. The religious observances of the Khasis are mainly intended to fulfil obligations supposed to be imposed upon them by these imaginary beings, who are described as quick to take offence and difficult to appease; hence the many and complicated ceremonies which the Khasi religion demands.

One of the most familiar names in ancient lore is that of U Ksuid Tynjang, a deformed and lame demon who haunted the forests and tormented mankind, and for his misdeeds had been doomed to suffer from an incurable and loathsome itching disease, which could only be allayed by the touch of a human hand. All the stories related of this repulsive demon are concerned with his forbidding personality and the tortures he inflicted on the victims he captured purposely to force them to rub his body and relieve the terrible itching to which he had been doomed. He used to tickle them to death with his deformed and claw-like hands if they tried to desist from their sickening task.

To lure people into his grasp, he used to imitate the human voice and to shout "Kaw-hoit, Kaw-hoit!" the common signal-cry of people who lose their companions or their way--a cry to which all humane travellers quickly respond, for it is considered equivalent to murder to ignore the signal-cry without going to the rescue. In this way U Ksuid Tynjang was able to locate the whereabouts of lonely wanderers, and thither he would direct his unsteady steps, skipping and hobbling through the jungle, until he came up to them and made them his captives.

In those days a great fair was periodically held at the foot of the Hills, and to this the Khasis from all over the country were wont to resort, especially the younger folk, who were fond of pleasure and liked to see the show of fine cloths brought there for sale. It happened that two young sisters from the Hills, Ka Thei and Ka Duh, with their brother, attended one of these fairs in the company of some of their neighbours. It was their first visit to a fair, and they were so taken up with the wonders of it that they forgot all about the time, and walked to and fro, gazing at the strange people and wares, until unconsciously they drifted away from their friends. It was now growing late, and Ka Thei, the eldest sister, anxiously bade the others cling to her that they might retrace their steps and if possible find their companions; but although they walked from one end of the fair to the other, they met n.o.body they knew. By this they were in great dismay, and they determined to start for home as fast as they could, hoping to overtake their friends on the way. Evidently every one was far ahead, for though they walked very fast and called out at intervals, they saw no signs of a friend and heard no response, and by the time they reached the Shillong forests, when they were yet some miles from home, night closed upon them, and they lost their way in the dense dark jungle. It was hopeless to try and proceed further, for the path could not be traced in the darkness, so the three timid young travellers sat down, footsore and forlorn, crushed down with foreboding and fear.

Just then they heard a loud cry in the distance, Kaw-hoit! and they all thought it was the cry of one of their friends signalling to them, and the three shouted back in chorus Kaw-hoit! and waited expectantly for some one to appear. To their horror they saw approaching, not a friend as they had expected, but the deformed and diseased figure of a hideous Ksuid, upon which they realised that they had responded to the mimic-cry of U Ksuid Tynjang, whom they had often heard described, and against answering whose call they had often been warned.

In a few moments he was with them, and peremptorily he ordered them to rub his itching body with their hands. Although they sickened at the contact, they knew better than to disobey, for U Ksuid Tynjang was known to be very cruel, tickling to death those who dared to disobey him.

It happened that the young brother escaped being seen by the demon, a fact which Ka Thei hoped might turn to their advantage, for she had an alert and a resourceful mind. She motioned to him to squat down on the ground, and she hastily took off the knup (leaf umbrella) hanging from her shoulders, and covered him with it.

Soothed by the touch of the young maidens' hands, the Ksuid began to dose. With a little contrivance, Ka Thei succeeded in approaching her brother, quickly stuck some shrubs in the knup, to make it look like the surrounding jungle, and whispered to him to crawl away as soon as the dawn broke, and seek the path to their village to carry the news of their fate to their parents, and bid them offer sacrifices to the G.o.d of Shillong, in whose territory they had been captured, for their deliverance. With the help of the shrub-covered knup the boy got away at dawn un.o.bserved, and reached his home, whereupon his parents offered sacrifices to U 'Lei Shillong for the deliverance of their daughters.

Whenever the Ksuid fell asleep the sisters were able to take turns at their unpleasant task. In order to lighten their lot somewhat, they planned to kindle a fire for the following night, and they collected dry sticks and made ready; when night fell they kindled the fire and felt less afraid. During the night, Ka Duh, in putting some fresh wood on the fire, found a large, heavy dao--an axe-knife--of iron which she showed to her sister, who at once took it as an augury that deliverance was forthcoming, and that the G.o.d of Shillong was working for them. She at once began to think of a plan whereby the dao might be useful to break the spell of the demon and to free her sister and herself from his power. She heated the thick blade red-hot while the Ksuid slumbered, and, taking it by the handle, she seared his body with the hot iron, so that he died.

Such, however, is the tenacity of all Ksuids that, even when they are killed and die, they do not go out of existence. U Ksuid Tynjang could no longer resume the form of a demon as he had formerly done, but he could a.s.sume some other form and remain in his old haunts. The form he chose was that of a jirmi--a creeper of a tough and tenacious nature which entangles the feet of hunters when they run in the chase, and saps the life out of the forest trees, and destroys the plants cultivated by mankind. This plant is known to this day as the Tynjang creeper.

XIX