# Folk-Lore/Volume 20/Folk-tales of the Lushais and Their Neighbours

FOLK-TALES OF THE LUSHAIS AND THEIR NEIGHBOURS.
BY LIEUTENANT-COLONEL J. SHAKESPEAR, C.I.E., D.S.O., POLITICAL AGENT IN MANIPUR.
(Read at Meeting, June 16th, 1909.)
These tales have been collected from the people inhabiting the great mass of hills which separates the plains of Bengal from those of Burmah. This area, till a few years ago, was but little known, but now most of it has been brought under our administration, and is settling down into a state of uninteresting peacefulness. My wife and I spent many years among the people, and found them most kindly folk; their ideas of "les convenances" are not ours, but after all who shall say which are right? Such things are much the result of environment and education, and what would be a sign of low tastes and depraved mind among us means nothing of the sort among them. When we first went up there the free and easy manners of the people were sometimes embarrassing; for instance, to be besieged by a crowd of women as one emerged from one's morning tub draped in a towel, and to be expected there and then to decide a case, was trying; and their curiosity as to how far our skins were white led them to attempt most disconcerting explorations. But we soon got accustomed to them, and they to us, and we found among them many true friends, much kindness, and many true gentlemen.
Plate XXI.
TYPICAL LUSHAI VILLAGE.
To face p. 388.
"Once upon a time there was a man called Chemchong-saipa. He was sharpening his dao by the river when a prawn bit him on the leg; he became angry, and cut a tree; the tree became angry, and dropped a fruit as big as a melon on the back of a cock; the cock became angry, and scratched up an ants' nest; the ants became angry, and bit a snake in the tail; the snake became angry, and bit a boar on the leg; the boar became angry, and rooted up a plantain tree, in which a bat lived; the bat became angry, and flew into the ear of an elephant; the elephant became angry, and knocked a mortar for pounding rice down the hill; and the mortar rolled on an old woman's house, and knocked it down. "Mortar, pay a fine," said she. " Shan't," said the mortar, "the elephant set me rolling"; and so on, till they came to the prawn, who had no answer to give; so they said,—"Will you die in hot or cold water?" "In cold," said he, and he dived to the bottom, saying,—"Ha! ha! I am too clever for you!" But the animals made the elephant suck the pool dry, and caught the prawn, and gave him to the toad to cook. When he called them, saying,—"It is ready," there was nothing but hot water, and the toad explained that, in tasting to see if the flavour was good, he had by accident ​swallowed the prawn. So they pinched him all over the back, and that is why toads have warts on their backs."
Here is another tale recorded by Colonel Lewin, the pioneer of exploration and administration in what is now the Southern Lushai Hills, who, though he penetrated but a short way into the hills, made such an impression on the people that to this day, 40 years after he left them, a Lushai who wishes to pay you a great compliment will tell you that you are just like Thangliana, which is their way of saying Tom Lewin. Colonel Lewin took the tale down from a Bunjogi (a clan allied to the Lushais), but the tale is practically the same as is told to this day wherever Lushai is spoken. It must have been recorded in the neighbourhood of Demagri:—
"Formerly our ancestors came out of a cave in the earth, and we had one great Chief, named Tlandrok-pah. He it was who first domesticated the guyal (tame bison); he was so powerful that he married God's daughter. There were great festivities at the marriage, and Tlan-drok-pah made God a present of a famous gun that he had. You can still hear the gun; the thunder is the sound of it. At the marriage, our Chief called all the animals to help to cut a road through the jungle, to God's house, and they all gladly gave assistance to bring home the bride,—all save the sloth (the húlúq monkey is his grandson) and the earth-worm; and on this account they were cursed, and cannot look on the sun without dying. The cave whence man first came out is in the Lhoosai country close to Vanhuilen's village, of the Burdaiya tribe; it can be seen to this day, but no one can enter. If one listens outside, the deep notes of the gong and the sound of men's voices can still be heard."
Plate XXII.
ZAL-BUK OR BACHELORS' SLEEPING-HOUSE.
To face p. 390.
There is another story told to account for the loris not being able to look at the sun. Tlandrokpa gave a great feast, and all the animals came. They wanted the loris to be their leader in the dance, and asked the sun not to shine lest they should get too hot; but the sun, hearing the sounds of merriment, could not restrain his curiosity, and shone out; the loris got angry, and to this day will not look at the sun.
The great darkness was due to a mythical animal, (apparently a kind of flying dragon), called an awk, swallowing the sun. According to a version common through the northern hills, the population of the world died off, and the world was repeopled from the hole I have described.
This idea that mankind emerged from the earth is very widely spread. In Manipur we find many clans which are closely allied to the Lushais and have evidently migrated from a more southern abode, and these all bring their ancestors from holes in the ground. The Anal tell the following tale:—
"Once the whole earth was flooded, and the entire human race, except one man and one woman, were ​drowned. This couple took refuge in a high tree which stood near a large pond, the water of which was as clear as the eye of a crow. They spent an anxious night among the branches, and at daybreak they were surprised to find that they had been changed into a tiger and tigress. Pathian, the creator, seeing the sorrowful state of the world, sent a man and a woman from a cave to repopulate the earth; but this couple was afraid of the two tigers, and besought Pathian to grant them power to slay the beasts, which he granted, and they lived happily ever afterwards."
The Thados (a very numerous clan subdivided into many families, and now scattered over a very wide area) have the following legend, which I extract from Colonel M'Culloch's book on Manipur, written in 1859:—
Plate XXIII.
DARBILLI FANAI CHIEFTAINESS.
To face p. 392.
The Lushais account for eclipses by ascribing them to the efforts of the mythical monster, the awk, to swallow the sun and moon, and they beat gongs and make noises to ​frighten this monster away. Among the clans settled in Manipur, the name awk has been retained, but the story is different, while that told by the Koms bears some resemblance. According to them, Awkpa, a god, was drying his unhusked rice in the sunshine and the Sun and Moon were in the habit of riding by and scattering it. This vexed Awkpa, who, lying in wait for them, caught them in the act, and, as a punishment, swallowed them. The Lamgang say that their god's tobacco was stolen by the Sun and Moon, and that eclipses are caused by his arresting the culprits. The Purum use the word Awkpa, but the story is this:—
"Once upon a time there were seven brothers, and they all went out to cut timber in the forest. In the course of their journey they shot a deer, and told the youngest brother to cook it while they went on with their work. The flesh having been cooked, the youngest brother placed it on leaves to await the return of the others, but some leaves fell from a tree on to the flesh, whereupon the deer came to life again, and ran away. The brothers, returning, refused to believe the story, killed the poor cook, and left the body under the tree. Some leaves falling on it revived it, much to the surprise of the others. Then, taking some of the leaves, root, and bark of this wonderful tree, they all returned home. On the way they saw the body of a dog floating in the river and put some bark on it, whereupon it also came to life. Arrived at their home they put the leaves, bark, and root to dry in the sunshine, and told their dog to watch them, but the Sun and Moon stole the precious things, and the dog is still chasing them, and, when he gets near them, they hide, and cause the eclipses."
Plate XXIV.
FESTIVAL OF THE BONES OF THE ANCESTORS.
To face p. 394.
Some tribes say that lightning is the glitter of God's raiment, and that the rainbow is the lip of God as he drinks, being parched with thirst. Such poetic ideas from a people apparently so devoid of any higher feelings come as a surprise, and teach us not to judge hastily. Other clans say that a large lizard climbs a high tree and shouts defiance at the god of the sky, who hurls his axe at the impudent animal. Earthquakes are explained in several ways. There is another world beneath the earth, and the people of this nether world shake the upper earth to know if the people of it are alive, and therefore, on an earthquake occurring, every one cries out,—"Alive! alive!" Another version says that worms from human excrement go down and tell the god of this lower world that men have died off the upper world, so he shakes it to find out if they have told the truth. Still another version is that a worm called Yangmal went to visit the king of this lower region, and took a piece of earth as a present. The earth became changed into gold and silver, and the chief was much pleased and sent the worm back for more. But Yangmal, for some reason of his own, returned, saying the world had been destroyed, and the chief of the lower world now shakes the upper one to test the truth of Yangmal's statement. A Lushai legend attributes the Flood to the king of the water demons falling ​in love with a beautiful maiden, called Ngai-ti, that is "Loved one," and, as she would not listen to him, he pursued her, and surrounded the whole human race on the top of the Phun-lu-Buk hill. In self-defence her parents had to give the girl over to her insistent lover. The waters of this great flood, running off, (where to is not stated), are held to have cut the deep valleys which form a distinctive feature of these hills. Previous to this, Chhura, a powerful but somewhat dense giant, had beaten down the surface of the earth nice and smooth; in doing this, the head of his mallet flew off, and after travelling several miles fell on the Lingvum hill, where it still lies to witness to the truth of the legend. Near by lies a huge round stone some 18 inches in diameter, one of Chhura's pellets, shot from his pellet bow. Does not Chhura hammering out the earth remind us of Thor? There are many tales about this hero. The following is a literal translation of one which gives some idea of the Lushai style:—
A Story of Chhura.—"Then Chhura went to visit another village. In the house in which he stayed they gave him a crab stew to eat. And Chhura,—"Ah! How tasty, what can it be? I'll make it myself, just tell me how," said he. Then they,—"Why, Chhura, it is only crab stew," they said. But Chhura was very afraid of forgetting the name, and so all the way home he kept on saying,—"Crab stew, crab stew." Then, on a slippery piece of clay from a white ants' nest, he fell down bump, and forgot it. Then he dug away like anything into the earth at the place where he fell down. Presently a Poi trader came along,—"Chhura, what are you looking for,"—said he, he asked. And he,—"Oh Poi, come here! I have lost something, help me to find it!",—he said. Then the Poi,—"What is it? If I don't know what has been lost, how can I find it?",—he said. But Chhura,—"If I knew, would I be looking for it? How foolish you are,"—he said. Then the Poi,—"You simply stink of crab stew,"—said he. Then ​
| Plate XXV. | Plate XXVI. |
| FANAI CHIEF. | STONE AT CHAMPHAI. |
| To face p. 396. ||
On another occasion Chhura, who was a great traveller, went to a village where the people suffered from a peculiar physical defect which Chhura offered to remove from the children, all except one of whom died under his drastic treatment. When this last one was found to be still a little alive, every one cried,—"It is my child! It is my child!", "and they fought for it and pulled all its arms and legs off. Then the people became angry. "Chhura, we will kill you,"—they said. But Chhura said,—"If you kill me, I shall entice away all your gyal." Then they were afraid. An old woman who was chewing rice to feed a baby, said,—"If you kill him first, how will he be able to entice them away?" But the people said, — "You know nothing," and they snatched out of her mouth the rice she was chewing. Then they said,—"Let us catch him, and hang him up over the deep pool." So they caught him, and, having plaited a huge basket, they hung him up over a deep pool. Then presently a Poi trader came, leading a tame bison and carrying a gong over his shoulder. Then Chhura,—"Oh, Poi, come up here, it is not hot, it is not cold, it is just real comfortable, fresh air is blowing freely. If you won't come, I'll stab you dead with my knife here,"—said he, and kept on pushing his knife through the holes in the basket. Then the Poi, being afraid, took him out, and he put the Poi in, and tied him in, and cut the string he was hung by, and the Poi fell into the deep pool. Then Chhura took the Poi's tame bison and his gong, and went back to the village. The people said,—"Why, Chhura, we hung you up over the deep pool, how on earth are you coming along with a bison and a gong." Then Chhura,—"E! The string you hung me by broke, and I fell into the deep pool. It was only a matter of gathering the things. If you tie pots to your waists we shall be able to get much good property from the ​bottom of the deep pool. Take the pots from the village and go in," —said he. Then all the men of the village, tying pots at their waists, away they went; but when they came to the spot, they did not dare jump down, for, indeed, it was very deep. But that fellow Chhura threw one of them down, and the pot he had tied at his waist said,— "Bir! bir!", (the noise of the air escaping). And Chhura cried,—"Chei! He has found something good? He has found something good!",—said he to them. Then they all jumped in one on top of another, and so they all died. Then Chhura went back to the village, and said to their wives,—"Your husbands cannot carry all the things, they are nearly dead with fatigue, hurry to relieve them." Then the women all went off to relieve them. On the way the Quail called,—"Hmim! Hmim!" "That will be them calling,"—they said, and they ran, and they ran. Presently they reached the place, and behold there was no one there. Then they returned, and on the way a hurricane blew fiercely and heavy rain poured down in torrents, and, when they reached their homes, they found Chhura had put out all their fires. They besought him to give them a light, but he refused. They all remained in very great discomfort."
Chhura is claimed as an ancestor by a clan called Khawtlang, which performs a feast in his honour and erects a ladder up to the front gable of the house to commemorate one of his exploits.
Another Giant hero is called Mualsavata. He was so big that, when he smoked, the smoke from his pipe was like a jungle fire. His whetstone lies beside the road near to Chongthleng,—a roughly-dressed piece of stone some eighteen inches long and six thick. It is said to have dropped out of his haversack as he was travelling, his wife having been neglectful, and having left an unmended hole in one corner. These heroes, Tlandrokpa, Chhura, and Mualsavata, appear in the legends of nearly every clan, but under other names. The Thados call Tlandrokpa Dapa, ​and Chhura Benglam. Dapa is credited with having begged the cold season from his father-in-law, Pathian. The following story is again from Colonel Lewin, (op. cit., p. 90). It was told him by a member of the Kumi clan, which lives in the Chittagong Hill tracts to the south of the Lushai Hills:—
"God made the world and the trees and the creeping things first, and after that he set to work to make one man and one woman, forming their bodies of clay; but each night, on the completion of his work, there came a great snake, which, while God was sleeping, devoured the two images. This happened twice or thrice, and God was at his wit's end, for he had to work all day, and could not finish the pair in less than 12 hours; besides, if he did not sleep, he would be no good. If he were not obliged to sleep, there would be no death, nor would mankind be afflicted with illness. It is when he rests that the snake carries us off to this day. Well, he was at his wit's end, so at last he got up early one morning and first made a dog and put life into it, and that night, when he had finished the images, he set the dog to watch them, and when the snake came, the dog barked and frightened it away. This is the reason at this day that when a man is dying the dogs begin to howl; but I suppose God sleeps heavily now-a-days, or the snake is bolder, for men die all the same." Colonel Lewin adds that he is unable to say whether this story is peculiar to the Kumis or derived from some other source. I see no reason to doubt that it is an original Kumi tale. Images of men and animals are offered to the demons of the forest and the rivers by every tribe in the Hills. May this not be a survival of a general belief that all animals and men were made as the Kumi described to Colonel Lewin?
The snake appears in several legends. The following is known through a wide area:—
"Once upon a time there was a girl called ​Chhawng-chili, who worked in her father's jhum, i.e. hill cultivation. At the bottom of the jhum in a hollow tree a snake had its nest, and the snake loved Chhawng-chili very much. Whenever they went to the jhum, she used to send her younger sister to call the snake, who used to come and coil itself up in Chhawng-chili's lap. The little sister was very much afraid of the snake, but did not dare tell her father. When the girls were starting for the jhum their parents wrapped up some rice and vegetables for them to take with them. On account of her fear of the snake the little sister could eat nothing. Then her sister and the snake ate up all the rice and vegetables, and the little sister stayed in the jhum house all the day and got very thin, so that her parents said to her,—"Oh! little one, why are you getting so thin?", but she always said,—"Oh father, I can't tell you," but they pressed her, and at last she said,—"My sister and the snake make love always. As soon as we get to the jhum, she says to me,—"Call him," and I call him, and he comes and coils himself up in her lap, and I am so frightened that I can eat nothing, and that is why I am so thin." So they kept Chhawng-chili at home, and her father and the little sister went to the jhum. The father dressed himself to resemble Chhawng-chili, but kept his dao by his side; then the little sister called the snake, and it came and coiled itself up in the father's lap, and he with one stroke of his dao cut it in half; then they returned to the village. On the next day Chhawng-chili and her sister went to the jhum, and the little sister called the snake, but her father had killed it. So they came back to their house, and they found their father lying on the floor just inside the doorsill. Chhawng-chili said,—"Get up, father, I want to wipe the mud off my feet on the doorsill," but he would not move, so she scraped the mud off, and stepped in over him; but he struck up with his dao and killed her, and inside her were about 100 little snakes. They killed them, and they killed them, but one escaped, and hid under a piece of dirt, and ​grew up, and wriggled into the Rul chawm Kua, (i.e. Feed snake hole), and the people of all villages used to feed it. After a time it was not content with goats and pigs, but demanded children. One day a Poi, who was staying in the house of an old couple, asked them why they were crying, and they told him it was the day for giving the snake a child. "I will kill it," he said, and, being given a goat, he killed it, and wrapped its flesh round his dao and forearm, and offered it to the snake, which swallowed it right up to the elbow; then with a quick turn of his wrist he disembowelled the monster. The place where this took place is on the Aijal Falam road, some 40 miles from Aijal, and the hole is still there "to witness if I lie.""
The following is a specimen of a tale without an object:—"Nu-hlu-pi took the form of a tree, and below the road her red flowers bloomed continually. When the people tried to pluck them, she used to play some trick on them. Thlang-pa-saisira was about to pick one, when she seized him and flew away with him to the north, and made him perch on a branch of a tree. Then Nu-hlu-pi said,—"What do you want most?" "Tumtelek flowers from Burma," he replied. Then she flew off to fetch them, and he came down and met an old man. "Grand-daddy, if you meet Nu-hlu-pi, and she asks you, have you seen Thlang-pa-saisira?, please say,—"I have not seen him."" The old man said,—"Are you afraid? Strip off my skin, and put it on." So he stripped it off, and put it on. Then Nu-hlu-pi came seeking for him, and she saw him below the road, (i.e. she saw the old man in Thlang-pa-saisira's skin), and squeezed him hard,—"You are uncommonly like Thlang-pa-saisira," she said, but he replied,—"I am not Thlang-pa-saisira. You will squeeze my collar-bone in two." "You are very like him," she said, and left him. Then Thlang-pa-saisira began clucking to call the fowls beneath the man with the crowd of children, (the Lushai equivalent of the ​Old Woman who lived in the Shoe). Then the father of the crowd of children said,—"It will be some one enticing our fowls away, look beneath." They looked beneath, and it was an old man. They said to their father,—"It is an old man." "Ask him if he can watch fowls," he said, and they asked him. "Can't watch fowls," he replied. "Ask him,—can he drive off birds from the crops?" "Of course I can drive off birds," he replied. So they took him away to the field. Every day the youngest son used to carry him rice wrapped up in a leaf The old man said to him,—"Please always play your flute up on the hill over there." Till he heard the flute Thlang-pa-saisira used to take off the old man's skin, but put it on in a hurry when he heard the flute. One day the boy looked secretly before he played, and saw the old man without his skin, and behold! it was a very beautiful young man. The boy went back a little, and came playing. When he got home he told his father privately, and his father said,—"Let us make zu (rice beer). Let us soothe his spirit with a sacrifice." (Here we get a glimpse into the working of the Lushai mind. The father concluded that the strange state of the old man must be due to his having been bewitched, and at once prepared to make an offering to the demon, which he considered the cause of the trouble, in hopes of effecting the release of the sufferer. His reasons we shall see were not entirely disinterested.) "When his daughters were carrying up water in zu-pots, their father said,—"If you will not marry the old man in our house it will be the worse for you." Then they did not wish to marry the old man, and he threw down their brass zu-pots from their shoulders, and smashed them into pieces. Then the youngest one said,—"If all our pots are to be broken like this, as for marrying him, I will marry him, why not?" Their father was very pleased, and said,—"You are a very wise girl." Presently they made zu for the soothing of the old man's spirit. Then they said to the old man,—"Come, strip off your ​skin to-day." The old man replied,—"Can you take off my skin? If you can, you had better strip it off yourselves." Then they split his scalp, and stripped off the skin, and behold his face was very beautiful indeed. Then the elder sisters became very envious of the youngest sister, and pinched and pinched her hard. "Oh! father, my elder sisters are pinching me black and blue!", she said. After a short time they were married. Then they held the Chong festival. Then Thlang-pa-saisira spoke,—"As Nu-hlu-pi has not appeared at our Chong, she will certainly appear at our Khuangchoi" he said. Then, after a short time, they celebrated their Khuangchoi. The onlookers each held in his hand a piece of the Ai plant, and Thlang-pa-saisira, he grasped his fighting dao. Then Nu-hlu-pi changed herself into a bird, and came flying whiz! whang! And every one poked at her with their Ai plants, and Thlang-pa-saisira cut her clean in half with one stroke of his dao. Then Nu-hlu-pi changed herself into a huge rock, and blocked up the whole path. Every one tried to roll it away with levers, but they could not move it. Then Thlang-pa-saisira levered it up, and rolled it down rumpity bump. Then she stood obstructing the village water-hole. Thlang-pa-saisira in the same way pushed her away. Then she changed herself into two tall thin reeds in the water. The people tried to pull them up, but could not, but again Thlang-pa-saisira reached down, and pulled and tugged, and up came one, and behold, in the water, an old water demon was splitting cane. "Even though you be young, you shall die for taking it," he said. Then the other people said,— "Pull up the other one," but he replied,—"That old man down there said,—"Though you be young when you take it you shall die." I dare not go into the water again." But the people said,—"It is probably a lie." So he said,—"Very well, put a rope round my neck, and, directly I struggle, pull me out quickly, will you, please!" So they tied a rope round his neck, and made him go into ​the water again, and directly he struggled they tugged him up quickly, but the water demon snapped off his head."
The Story of Tlumtea and his Brothers.—"Tlumtea's brothers were going to court the Vanchung Maid. "We are going to court the Vanchung Maid," they said, —"Which of us is the best?" Then the people replied,—"That one in front, Tlumtea," they said. Then his elder brothers said,—"Tlumtea, you are an obstacle to our success; go in the middle," said they. So he went in the middle. "We are going to court the Vanchung Maid. Which is the best?" they said again. And the people said,—"The one in the middle, Tlumtea." Then his elder brothers said,—"Tlumtea, you are an obstacle to our success; go last of all!" they said again, and he went. Then the elder brothers said again, —"We are going to court the Vanchung Maid. Which of us is the best?" And the people,—"The last one, Tlumtea," they said again. Then his elder brothers said, —"Tlumtea, you are an obstacle to our success; go back again." So he turned back. Then the elder brothers arrived at the Vanchung Maid's house, and the Vanchung Maid called,—"My father, please come, we have visitors," said she. Her father replied,—"Good visitors or bad visitors?", said he, and she,—"Bad visitors," said she. Then her father,—"Put the cane rings in which the pots stand round their necks, and wrap up some of the rice, out of which zu has been ​made, and give it to them, and send them off," he said. So she sent them off. In a short time Tlumtea also went in his turn by himself. The bamboo rat said to him,—"Tlumtea, where are you off to?" "I am going to court the Vanchung Maid," he said. Then the bamboo rat said,—"Dig up this bamboo root for me, do, please; indeed I want it very much," said he, and so Tlumtea dug it for him. Then he met the red-necked snake,—"Tlumtea, where are you off to?", it also asked, and Tlumtea,—"I am going to court the Vanchung Maid," he said. Then the snake,—"Just cut this thatching grass for me; I do indeed want it very much," said he. So he cut it, and off he went. Then he arrived at the house of the Vanchung Maid. Then the Vanchung Maid said to Tlumtea,—"Presently, if my father says to you, "If you wish very much to marry the Vanchung Maid, tell me where is the root of the floor," just you answer, Below," said she. "Then if he asks where are the roots of the walls and the posts, just you say, The ground ends," said she. Then presently the Vanchung Maid,—"My father, come here, we have a guest." said she. And her father,—"A good guest or a bad guest?", he said, and she said,—"A good guest." "Wrap him up some meat and rice, and send him off," said he. So her father came, and said,—"If you want to marry this Vanchung Maid very much indeed, dip up that water out of the puddle in the street without wetting the bottom of this gourd ladle," said he. He kept on ladling up the water, and the bottom kept on getting wet; he was in despair, and he wept bitterly. Then the bamboo rat sucked up the water, and spat it out into the ladle and filled it. Then,—"Bring without tearing ​it in the least a plantain leaf from among the mimosa bush in the garden," he said again. So he kept on bringing one, and it kept on tearing; his heart was very sad. Presently the red-necked snake came and bit it clean off, so that he could take it without tearing it. "Which is the root side of the floor?" her father said. "Below," said he. "Then the walls and the posts, on which side are their roots?" he said again, "On the ground side," he said. Then they were married, and went away. Then on the way, when they came to the place where Tonulawki lived, the Vanchung Maid said,—"I have forgotten my brass comb and walking stick; I will just go and fetch them." But Tlumtea said,—"Rather I will go and fetch them," and he went. The Vanchung Maid was sitting on a stump of a tree. "Don't cry, and don't even laugh," said Tlumtea. "Down below where you are, there is Tonulawki," he said. Presently Tonulawki, seeing the shadow of the Vanchung Maid, said,—"Is that my shadow? Why, shadow, you have not a necklace or bracelets like me." Then the Vanchung Maid laughed,—"Hi! hi! hi! Why, it is my shadow," said she. Then Tonulawki, looking up, saw her. "Come down here," said Tonulawki; "let us search for lice in each other's heads." But the Vanchung Maid said,—"As for me, my father and mother made me without lice; I don't want to look for them," said she. Then Tonulawki,—"Can there be people without lice? I cannot believe it. Come down," she said. She came down. Then Tonulawki showed her her lice, and said,—"Crack them in your teeth." Now Tonulawki's lice were a span broad, so she secretly threw them away, but made a crunching noise with her teeth each time. Presently Tonulawki, in her turn, began to look for lice in the Vanchung Maid's head; then, just on the nape of her neck, she saw one. "Hei le! hei le!", she said. She cracked it with her teeth. Then she desired ​the Vanchung Maid exceedingly, and swallowed her with one gulp. Then Tonulawki wrapped herself in the Vanchung Maid's cloth, and went and sat where she had been. Then Tlumtea arrived. "Why have your fingers become so pointed and your eyes so small?" said Tlumtea. "From up there Tlumtea will soon come, I said; and, with pointing, my fingers became sharp; from up there Tlumtea will soon come, I said, and, with gazing, my eyes became small," she said. Then Tlumtea, though very vexed, took her along with him. The people of his village, saying,—"The Vanchung Maid is coming," spread cloths on the roadside for her to rest on. When Tonulawki arrived, supported by Tlumtea, the people all said,—"Awi! Why, that is only Tonulawki," they said, and swiftly pulled away the cloths they had spread. Then Tonulawki was covered with shame, and hid herself below the path, and was sick, and brought up the Vanchung Maid's necklace, which Tlumtea took to an old woman, saying,—"Granny! Tonulawki has swallowed the Vanchung Maid; what shall I do?", said he. Then the old woman replied,—"If you preserve the vomit in a pot, and look at it on the seventh day, it will surely have changed into the Vanchung Maid again," said she. So he preserved it. "Keep it for seven months, did she say?", he thought. But on the seventh day it turned into a human being. The Vanchung Maid used secretly to cook tasty rice cakes for Tlumtea's food, but for Tonulawki to eat she cooked nothing but deer's dung and husks of rice. One day Tlumtea said,—"I will catch this person who always cooks our food for us," said he. Early one morning he made as if he were going to his cultivation, but hid himself under a mattress. Then it became time to cook the evening meal, and behold the Vanchung Maid came jumping down from the top shelf above the hearth, and Tlumtea caught her, but she besought him,—"Don't catch me; your wife will swallow me again," she said. But ​Tlumtea,—"She shall not swallow you," he said. Presently they wrapped themselves up in the mattress, and went to sleep. Presently Tonulawki returned from the field, carrying a load of arum leaves for the pig's food. At the door she cried,—"Tlumtea, just open the door for me," said she. But Tlumtea did not want to open it. They just laughed at her. Then Tonulawki cried,—"Open it for me! Who is it that you are laughing away with on the bed?" Suddenly she pushed down the door. Then they cut down Tonulawki and killed her, and from her breasts there grew up in their garden a saishu tree. Then Tlumtea was very proud of his wife, and he said to every one,—"If my wife comes and asks for leaves to wrap up rice in, for the road, don't say you have any, even though you really have," said he. Then he sent her to get some leaves to wrap up the rice in, but no one said,—"I have some." She went through the whole village, but did not get a single one. Then her husband said,—"Just take the leaves of the saishu which is in our garden," said he. She was about to take one; she plucked at it, but could not pluck it off, so she tried to bite it off, but the saishu cut her tongue. She died. It is ended."
The object of sending his wife to fetch the leaves, and telling every one not to give them to her, was to ensure every one in the village seeing her and having an opportunity of admiring her. The casual way in which Tonulawki is introduced is very characteristic of the Lushais. Many a time have I been driven to desperation, when trying a case, by the sudden appearance of a new character quite at the end of the story, who, on inquiry, turns out to be the most important of the whole lot. Sometimes two Lushais would come and wrangle for an hour about a gyal; after much trouble I would arrive at a decision, and the parties would go off, but return and ask,—"What is to be done with the girl?" "What girl?" "Why the girl that the case was about." "But you never ​mentioned any girl, you talked about a gyal." "Of course, we thought you knew about the girl," they would say; "the gyal was her mother's price," and then the whole thing would have to be begun again.
The Story of the Father who abandoned his Children.—"A certain man had two sons. Then his wife died, so he married another. Then their stepmother hated the children. While the father was away in his cultivation, she threw herself down on the firewood, and raised weals. "Hei! Your children cannot bear me, they have beaten me with the firewood, I shall not be able to stay. Do you prefer your wife? If you prefer your children, let me go," she said. Then the father, —"Of course I prefer my wife," said he. He took his two children with him into the jungle, and, when they had gone a very long way, their father said to them,—"Do you know this neighbourhood?" and they replied,—"We know it, it is the jungle we drive our bison in," said they. So they went on again. "Do you know this?" he said. "It is the jungle where we gather fruits," they said. So they went on again. "Do you know this?" he asked. "It is where we gather koi seeds," said they. So they went on again. "What place is this?", he said again. "We don't know," they said. So then he piled up bamboo grass and put them to sleep on it; they went fast asleep; he plastered up their eyes with beeswax; he abandoned them. Then his sons woke up from their sleep, and lo! their father was not there. . . . Then they were perplexed, and went off, "Let us take a look around," they said. So the elder one climbed up a tree, and there he found some hornbill's eggs. "Younger brother, I've found horn-bill's eggs," he said. Then his younger brother said,—"Throw them down," so he threw one down, and it broke. Then,—"Elder brother! it has broken. Bring one down in your mouth," he said. He put one in his mouth, he swallowed it, and was changed into a hornbill. Then ​his younger brother called,—"Elder brother!", and he answered,—"Awk ngang." Then he cried,—"Younger brother! Look here, I will fly, do you go along steadily in my shadow," he said. Then he flew, and the younger brother went along in his shadow. Then he passed through a virgin forest, and he lost his elder brother's shadow, and, being much perplexed, he climbed up to the top of a fig-tree, and there was some fruit. Then he saw Mother Ghost. "Gather me some," she said. "Give me your walking-stick, and I'll knock some down for you," he said. So she gave it. "Open your mouth wide," said the orphan, and she opened it. Then the orphan hurled the stick at her. "You are spearing me," said the Mother Ghost. "Spearing you! Not at all, I dropped it by chance. Open your mouth again, and give me up the stick again." So she gave it up again, and opened her mouth wide. He threw it slap into her mouth. He speared her to death. Then he came down, and took her stick and went off. Then a tigress had died, and its cubs were crying, but he thrust his stick into her, and she came to life, and he left her. He arrived at a strange village. The widow said,—"Don't come to stay in my house, my dog has died; I am not able to entertain any one," she said. "Oh yes, I'll come; I'll bring it to life again," he said. "Go on, how will you be able to bring it to life?", said she. Then he pushed his stick into the dog, and it came to life again. Then the widow was very delighted indeed. Then, just at that very time, the chief's daughter died. The widow went to the wake. Then the orphan said,—"Granny! If I can marry her without paying anything, I'll restore her to life." Then she repeated it, and the chief said,—"If he can restore her to life, call him down, he shall marry her," he said. Then she called him down, and he restored her to life and married her without paying a price. After a short time they were going to hold their Khuangchoi feast, and they called the elder brother, who ​had been changed into a hornbill, and, indeed, many horn-bills came flying. "Is my brother there among you?", he said. "He is not with us, he is behind scratching up a Burman's excrement," they said. Presently his elder brother came flying up. "Is my elder brother up there?", he said. "I am here," said his elder brother." Eventually the younger brother, tiring of life, was turned into a hornbill, and joined his elder brother.
The following tale is told by the Lamgang, who are now settled in the southern portion of the Manipur state, but undoubtedly are closely allied to the Lushais. It was taken down by Babu Nithor Nath Banerji, and I have retained his expressive phraseology. "Once upon a time there lived a man. One day he heard from one of his village people that his crops were being destroyed by wild pigs, in the paddy field. He was very sorry to hear this report, and determined to kill the pigs. On the next day he set out with his wife, with arrows and bows; on his way he found a wild pig and aimed at it, but unfortunately his aim failed. But his wife covered the pig with her basket, which she had on her shoulder. The husband told his wife,—"Oh! my beloved wife, let the pig go, I will kill it with my arrow, it is really very disgraceful for me that my aim failed, and my wife caught it with her basket." On hearing this she let loose the pig, and the aim of her husband failed again, and the pig ran away. The husband, feeling much shame, followed it, and it happened that he met a tiger, and the tiger killed him. The wife had to wait for him till evening, and was obliged to return home at last. At daybreak she set forth to search for her husband in the jungles, and met the tiger which killed her husband. She was much frightened, and jumped to escape, but her efforts were in vain, the tiger soon caught and killed her. But ah! the most untoward event took place; the woman was enceinte. When the tiger caught her, twins were born, and the tiger ran away on seeing the two boys. When the tiger had gone away, a ​frog and a crow came to the place, and took the boys to their home. After some time the frog and the crow asked the boys to kill the tiger who destroyed their parents. One day the boys went into the jungle and searched for the tiger, and by chance they met him under a tree. The boys addressed him,—"Oh, tiger, you are the greatest foe of ours, who destroyed our parents." The tiger replied,—"Yes, my lovely boys, I killed your parents. I will make you rich if you do not kill me." Saying so, he took them into a cave and showed them 2 golden dolais (litters). The boys rode in them, and returned to the frog and crow, who took them to their grandfather, who was much delighted with his grandsons, and gave permission to live with him happily." Being carried in litters is an honour reserved for great men in Manipur, and among some clans the giver of a feast to the whole village is accorded this honour. I do not know exactly why the tiger could not eat up the children. Probably their having been brought into the world by his act, in killing their mother, was supposed to give them some power over him. In one or two tales the murderer is killed by his victim's son.
The Bear's Water-hole.—"The Bear made a dam to collect water, and put the Monkey to watch it. Every sort of animal came crying,—"I am dry. Who has water which he does not want? I am dry." The Monkey always said,—"The water belongs to Granddaddy Bear. If you dare to drink, drink. If you dare to suck, suck it up." Then the Tiger came along, saying,—"I am dry. Who has water which he does not want? I am dry." The Monkey replied,—"It is my Granddaddy Bear's water. If you dare to drink, drink. If you dare to suck, suck it up." The Tiger drank it all, he sucked the place dry. Then the Monkey went to the Bear, and said,—"Oh Granddaddy Bear, the Tiger has drunk your water." So the Bear rushed up and began to fight with the Tiger. They fought a long time, and both died, and the Monkey took their ​bones. "Whose bones will sound, whether my Grand Dad the Tiger's or Granddaddy the Bear's?", he said, and so, taking the bones which would sound, he made a Rot-chhem out of them, and he sat in the fork of a tree and played on it. The Quail, hearing the sound, came up. "Hallo! Monkey, let me play for a bit," he said. "Oh ho," said the Monkey, " you will fly off with the Rot-chhem." "If you fear that," said the Quail, "hold me by the tail." So the Monkey held him tight by the tail, and off he flew, but the Monkey pulled his tail clean out. Then the Quail came and begged for his tail, saying,—"Do give me back my tail." But the Monkey replied,—"You can ransom it by paying 8 mithans (gyals)." "Oh," said the Quail, "if I have to pay 8 mithans for it, I'll just remain tailless," and flew away."
Time will not admit of my giving you any more specimens of these tales. There is a very large number to choose from,— tales of the man who could be a tiger whenever he wanted, tales of the origin of witchcraft of Khaw-hring, that dangerous power possessed by some women of entering into the bodies of other women, or "eating" them as it is called, and tales to account for the names of rivers and hills and for peculiarities of animals, such as the one last read, which explains the shortness of the quail's tail.
J. Shakespear.
Plates XXI.-XXVI. are reproductions from some of the lantern slides exhibited at the meeting, and were commented upon by Mrs. Shakespear as follows:—
Plate XXI. (p. 388) shows a typical Lushai village (Nichama's), perched on the apex of a hill and straggling down the sides a little way. The village had been fired by a punitive expedition when the photograph was taken, and clouds of smoke are drifting from the more distant houses. The villages are always built on the hill tops, ​and every drop of water has to be carried up from the bottom in bamboos by the women. One is not surprised, therefore, at the Lushais being chary of using this precious water for other than cooking purposes, and that they are supposed to be very unclean. But when, on the march, they come to a river or stream, they take the opportunity of having a good wash, and, when we employed them as servants, they took a pride in keeping themselves clean.
Plate XXII. (p. 390) gives a very good idea of a grass-roofed Zal-Buk, or Bachelors' Sleeping-house, a kind of Young Men's Club, where all the young men of the village congregate of an evening, and smoke home-grown, home-cured, evil-smelling tobacco, drink home-brewed zu (rice-beer), gossip, have sing-songs, and generally enjoy themselves. Sometimes they are turned out of the Zal-Buk and it becomes the "guest-house," and is used to accommodate distinguished visitors, such as ourselves when we were on tour. On one such occasion we had to take refuge in a Zal-Buk because I was very ill, and it was inexpedient that I should continue to live in a tent, as I very much preferred doing. However, the particular Zal-Buk was so large that my tent could go inside it, which made it very comfortable for me, and gave me more privacy than I should otherwise have had. But unfortunately on the first night all the animals of the village seemed to assemble underneath the Zal-Buk, which, as shown, is raised high on piles and affords ample accommodation, and, as they never for a moment ceased to rub themselves against the piles and emit weird sounds, the whole structure was subjected to a continuous shaking, something after the nature of a gentle, though prolonged, earthquake. The second evening, at about dusk, a great shouting was heard from the door of the chief's house, and the villagers were summoned to listen to a proclamation. When all were assembled, the herald gave out in stentorian tones the chief's "word," which was to the effect that ​everyone might keep their animals under their own houses, or anywhere else they liked, except under the Zal-Buk; if one found its way under the Zal-Buk, dire would be the penalties inflicted on its owner. As the chief is always a very great man in his own village, and his word is law, we were afterwards able to sleep in peace, undisturbed by nocturnal earthquakes,
Plate XXIII. (p. 392) shows in the centre Darbilli, a venerable chieftainess of the Fanai clan. She was gifted with rare foresight, and, when my husband first went up with the Expedition to the hills, she sent men in to say that she knew the British were going to win, and she wanted to help them to do so; she certainly always gave us all the assistance in her power. When I first saw her, I thought she was very, very old,—quite a hundred years old, I should have said unhesitatingly,—but I am told that she was probably sixty or seventy when she died, about ten years or more after I first saw her. She was a dear old lady, and I was very fond of her. Her death was somewhat tragic. She fell ill, and the wise ones said that the illness was due to witchcraft, and the remedy was the liver of the wizard. Her people did their best for her. The wizard was killed, and his liver procured, but unfortunately the old lady died before they could bring it to her.
Plate XXIV. shows the Lushai carrying round the bones of their ancestors, with various trophies of the chase, etc., showing what important personages the departed were. The bones are enclosed in gourds carried upon a litter. I have never been present at one of these ceremonies, but I was told that there were few, if any, rites. It was mainly one of the occasions, so dear to the unregenerate Lushai heart, which afford unexceptionable opportunities for unlimited zu drinking.
Plate XXV. shows a Fanai chief in full war-paint. His gun is probably an old Tower musket, gorgeously lacquered, ​as I have seen many a time. The shield is covered with curious little brass caps, and finished with little tails of goats' hair, dyed red and black. The Fanai live on the eastern border of the Lushai. They differ in many ways from the Poi, another clan which figures in many of the tales. But the difference that struck me most was the different method of hair-dressing. The photograph of Darbilli and her two attendants shows the method of the Fanai women, and Plate XXV. that of the men,—viz. with their "back hair" hanging down loose and straight, and the front part drawn up and twisted into a neat roll or knob. The Poi draws up "back hair" and front tight on the top of his head, and, right on his forehead, coils it round and round until it forms a big "Chelsea bun," through which a massive hair-pin is generally thrust. By this it will be seen that the Lushai gentleman by no means considers it "a shame" to have long hair. Both Fanai and Poi plentifully besmear their long, thick locks with pigs' fat,—as, indeed, do all the Lushais, men and women.
Plate XXVI. shows a stone monument in the beautiful Valley of Champhai. It had fallen down, and the upper portion of it had been broken off, when it was discovered by Mr. Porteous, (my husband's predecessor in the North Lushai Hills), who had it re-erected. I believe it commemorates some great chief, but I do not remember the name of this chief, nor even if it is known. On the upper portion of the stone, (which it was impossible to replace, and which is just visible in the photograph, behind the main portion), there is carved the full length figure of a warrior, holding in his right hand a spear, and presumably the chief himself On the upper part of the main portion there are four lines of figures (and indications of another row along the line of breakage), each line containing six or seven figures, holding hands. Whether these are supposed to represent the slaves the great man possessed on this plane of existence, or the slaves which, by the simple ​process of removing their heads, on various head-hunting expeditions, he had sent on ahead of him to the Underworld to await his coming, is, of course, purely conjectural. Underneath these are two spear-heads, and beneath these five goats' horns, which, venturing once more into the realm of conjecture, we took to mean that the deceased was a mighty warrior and a wealthy chief.
Notes.
BY T. C. HODSON, EAST LONDON COLLEGE.
The following notes refer to only a few of the interesting points in the above paper. The tale of the origin of the Lushais from a hole or cave in the ground is also found among the Naga tribes north. At Maikel, to bear witness to the truth of the tale, is the stone which stood over the mouth of the cave. Dr. Brown in his Account of Munnipore, written in 1868, (p. 113), says that the Angamis had among them a legend of much the same purport, and I have collected a similar tale among the Kabuis, a tribe in contact with the Kukis. I have heard that the Angamis now relate a tale of their origin which seems to indicate that they have forgotten, and have abandoned, their former legend. As regards the eclipse stories, which are widely diffused, I venture to think that they have been multiplied by an error in transmission, which is interesting if only because it illustrates the difficulty experienced in this area where dialectical differentiation has been so marked. The Koms say that the Sun God stole the magic which cured all the ills of mankind, and the Kabuis have much the same tale. The Hiroi Lamgang say that the tobacco was carried off, while the Anals say that the virtue of the holy man was looted by the Sun. In Kuki, (v. my Thādo grammar), the word for magic is doi, and for medicine is lo, and for tobacco, dūm or damūm. In Lushai, the corresponding words are doi, ​dam-doi or hlō, and dam-ei or vaï-hlo. In Meithei, the one word hidāk means magic, medicine, and tobacco. Its primary sense, I venture to believe, is that of the material apparatus used in magic. In a secondary and derived sense, it means medicine and anything which produces strange mysterious effects, such as the narcotisation due to the use of roughly cured native tobacco. All these terms are applied to material objects, but the influence of Hindu ideas, which is so strong among the Meitheis, has doubtless touched the Anals and Hiroi Lamgangs, who are in close contact with their Meithei overlords. Hidāk, (or doi, or hlō), seems to have acquired the meaning of magical virtue. In Hindu philosophy, gun or virtue is the abstract quality inherent in anything which produces remarkable effects/ It is gun, the personal power, which enables one to do things. It is a term of philosophical abstraction, and the Tibeto-Burman languages are notably poor in abstractions.
The tale about the lightning has a parallel among the Thādos. The Rain God, a mighty hunter, comes home hot and weary from the chase, and finds that his wife has forgotten to get the zu ready. He stamps about, and swears at her, thus making the thunder, and draws his dao in anger upon her, the flash of which is the lightning. But in Thādo the word for thunder is wān aghin, the clang of the high arch of heaven; wān is the round vault, anything rounded; bān in Meithei compounds has the same force. The Thādo word for lightning is mei aying, fire in darkness. Among the Meitheis we have the tale lost to popular memory, but preserved in their vocabulary, for their word for thunder is nong khongha, the noise of the rain, and for lightning nōng-thāng-kup-pa, which means the flash of the rain dao. Nōng means Rain God, thāng means dao, and kup is a root meaning to flash, to be ​bright. The tales of the earthquake and the deaf Deity who is interested in the fate of mankind are also common among the Nāga tribes north. The snake legend is of peculiar interest, for the big snake,—rul-pi in Lushai, ghul-pi in Thādo, lairen in Meithei,—is a notable feature of popular legend. Colonel M'Culloch records, (Account of the Valley of Munnipore, p. 32), how sudden sickness was attributed by a Kuki of his acquaintance to the mere sight of a snake, while I have found the belief that it is a sin to see a snake, and one of those events which necessitate a special village genna (imposition of tabus). In Manipur we have the Pākhangba legend, and the Lushai story may be usefully contrasted with the U Thlen legend, so graphically described by Colonel Gurdon in The Khasis (p. 98). In the Lushai tale it may be noted that the snake appears when summoned by a virgin, that he is concerned in the unchastity of the elder sister, and that he requires human sacrifice. The curious will find the connection of the snake with unchastity is discussed at length and with much ingenuity by Mr. Crawley in The Mystic Rose (p. 193). I will only say that I have been solemnly assured that the lack of chastity among the ladies of royal blood in Manipur, upon which Colonel M'Culloch remarks (op. cit., p. 19), is due to their descent from a snake ancestor.
The Lamgang story of the lads who did not kill the tiger which killed their father and mother is, I think, to be explained by a tale which I heard among the Aimōl Kukis, where there is a clan, now called the Ningthaja clan (for Meithei nomenclature has been liberally adopted by, or forced upon, them), to which the flesh of the tiger is strictly forbidden because the first head of the clan was killed by a tiger. I have elsewhere been told that the family of a person who has been killed by a snake may not eat the flesh of a snake, and I suggest that the tabu against dealings with the creature which killed their ​parents is the explanation of the otherwise strange apathy of the lads when the tiger was in their power.
The Khaw-hring or Khāhrin, monster vampires, are of the same brood as the Meithei hing-chā-bi. Hing means to be alive, chā to eat, and bi is either the magnitive suffix or the feminine suffix.
The Zal-buk, or bachelors' hall, is a common feature of Naga village life, and was part of the village system in Manipur, where, in the tale of Khamba and Thoibi, mention is often made of the Pākhonvāl and the corresponding institution for the girls, the Ningonvāl.
Among the slides was one of a Poi whose mode of coiffure strangely resembles that of the Manipur Marring. The Marring have a tale of the origin and purpose of the steel bodkin which they now keep thrust through the bun of hair in front. It was, so they say, the implement with which they used to write. They used the skins of animals as material, while those cunning fellows, the Manipuris, used leaves and bits of board. It fell out that, one day, they all went down to the river to bathe, and then the dogs took advantage of their absence and ate up all the skins, so that from that day till now they have remained in ignorance of this useful art. This tale, with appropriate variants, is found very widely dispersed, and is one of the general Tibeto-Burman store. I cannot conclude without remarking how vividly this paper brings home to me the essential unity which underlies all the remarkable linguistic and ethnical variety of this part of Assam. The more I hear of Lushai folk and their ways and habits of thought, the more am I convinced that they differ from their neighbours the Nagas much less than we were brought up to believe. Differences there are, patent many of them to the eye, but there is fundamental unity, which we are apt to overlook or to under-estimate. T. C. Hodson.
* ↑ It is curious in a cumulative tale of "The House that Jack Built" type to find this counterpart of Brer Rabbit's "Born and bred in briar patch, Brer Fox."
* ↑ T. H. Lewin, The Hill Tracts of Chittagong, etc., 1869, p. 95. I regret to spoil this piece of poetic description, but I have seen this cave. It is a hole about four feet square and two or three feet deep, and I certainly heard no deep notes of gongs nor human voices. But perhaps they are only audible to true sons of the hills, not to alien invaders, however sympathetic.
* ↑ M'Culloch, Account of Munnipore and its Hill Tribes, p. 55. The book is not in the British Museum Library.
* ↑ See p. 417 infra.
* ↑ The Ai plant is supposed to have magical properties. The Khuangchoi is the last of a series of feasts, by giving which the Lushai attains to a proud position here below, and hopes to be able to cross the Pial river, to the realms of bliss, when he dies.
* ↑ You must remember that in the Lushai hills there are, or were till a few years ago, only footpaths, so that, from long walking on such narrow ways, the habit of walking in single file has so taken possession of the people that it is difficult to get them to walk in other formation. When I took some to Calcutta, wherever we went they followed me about like an absurd string of geese.
* ↑ The pots, being round-bottomed, are stood in twisted rings of cane, to prevent them from upsetting. Rice, out of which zu has been made, is useless as food. The cane rings replaced the necklace which might have been given to honoured guests, and the useless rice added to the insult, while keeping to the letter of the laws of hospitality, and not sending the guests away empty handed.
* ↑ This is a common employment of Lushai women.
* ↑ A musical instrument of the flute type.
* ↑ Report of remarks made in course of discussion at Meeting.
* ↑ J. H. Lorrain and F. N. Savidge, A Grammar and Dictionary of the Lushai Language (Dulien dialect).
* ↑ See H. H. Wilson, Religion of Hindus, vol. i., pp. 95 and 246.
* ↑ See Linguistic Survey of India, vol. iii. Part iii., p. 16.
* ↑ See T. C. Hodson, The Meitheis, p. iii.
* ↑ T. C. Hodson, op. cit., p. 101.
* ↑ Cf. T. C. Hodson, op. cit., p. 96.
* ↑ T. C. Hodson, op. cit., p. 153.
* ↑ Dr. Brown, op. cit., p. 125.