The village Chemling sat like a bowl held by green ridges from all sides running along the blue skyline. The houses of the Mishmi people were located on the slopes that had been flattened at places for the erection of the structures. All the huts were like logged cabins as I had described earlier, where these happy folks resided with their domesticated animals like pigs, hares, hens, cats, and dogs.
The village could boast of the Government’s presence in the form of a primary school, a PWD office, and a Circle office. I was surprised to note that such a small village was actually a Circle HQ functioning under the District HQ as far away as Tezu. A small office stood there as a symbolic representation of the bureaucracy though remaining closed on most days. It was manned by a single peon and was responsible for primarily fetching rations for the locals from the State Government. The ration supplies that besides food grains also included fuel like kerosene oil and petrol for running a generator were quite irregular. Once in a span of two months, a helicopter of Pawan Hans Ltd or Indian Air Force would fly in, requisitioned by the State Government, and drop rations. On many occasions, the bags containing rice, dal, packaged milk, edible oil bottles, etc would be delivered at the helipad that was located inside the Assam Rifle post; while there were also times when they would be dropped from the helicopters with the help of the parachutes.
Though the pilots did their best to aim for the helipad but invariably the consignments would be carried away by the wind and lay strewn across the hill slopes. It used to be a herculean task for the villagers to locate the packages and tow them back to the Circle Office from where they were distributed to them. Our boys from the Assam Rifles would help the villagers in this exercise and it was saddening to see the wastage that would happen owing to the falling of the loads on rocks and boulders. The food items would often spill out owing to the impact.
I mentioned the generator. Well, the village obviously was not connected with the power grid of the state electricity board. The 50 KV generator which had been placed there about five years back was the only source of electricity. It used to run for two hours daily in the evening from 6 pm to 8 pm. However, the machine went thirsty for days at times courtesy of the inclement weather impeding the ferrying of petrol by helicopters.
The Assam Rifles looked after these people generously. When there would be a shortage of rations and fuel, villagers not only from Chemling but the surrounding small hamlets would pour in requesting help. We would try and provide them with rations from our stock which generally used to be always at a healthy level. The post-maintenance from the headquarters was planned meticulously and the provisions for the troops would be stocked adequately during the drier months by the Indian Air force helicopters.
The greatest assistance that could be provided to the villagers was the medical facilities. Our company post had a small medical set up which was run by a Nursing Assistant. There were no hospitals or health centres on the entire stretch of the Delai valley. So quite frequently indisposed villagers would come up looking for diagnosis and medicines. Our Thambi nursing assistant would treat them and advise the complex cases to be taken to Lilang, where there was a state government hospital located.
I was immensely touched by the pitiable condition of the villagers. These simple people however had a high sense of self-esteem. While few of them would want to pay for the services by offering whatever little cash they could manage others would visit me with vegetables like a bottle gourd, a pouch of maize corns, some wild boar meat, or a pair of colourful Monal pheasants (locally called Daphe) resembling small peacocks. Every time, quite obviously I used to refuse their proffering politely however their gestures would humble me inordinately. Instead, we would chat over a cup of tea for some time in the gazebo that was built in front of my Basha.
I considered myself lucky that my service gave me the opportunity to witness and realise the true essences of scantiness, apathy, benevolence and generosity at a very young age. These humane realisations could only evolve a person into a better human being.
Of all the visitors who would come to my post, the old Gaon Bura was of particular interest to me. He was a lean yet sturdy man whose fitness belied his age. He could be anywhere between fifty to eighty years of age. When asked he would laugh in a throaty voice through the missing teeth and say that he did not remember when he was born.
“Hum toh azadi se pehle paida hua…bahut pehle. (I was born before the independence…much earlier.)”
He used to wear an open-breasted jacket and a loincloth. A dagger sheathed in a scabbard used to be hanging from a much worn-out leather belt slung across his chest. His ears were pierced and held big rounded rings made of some animal bones. His eyes were murky probably owing to cataracts but the bright smile used to make up for that gloominess.
I had observed the older men amongst the Mishmis used to have a peculiar hairstyle. The top of the pate was covered by a crop of short hair in the manner of a crew cut and there would be a braid of hair originating from the rear end of this patch on top of the crown reaching up to the shoulder.
When I had asked the reason for this strange way of keeping hair the Gaon Bura had coughed to clear his throat and replied, “Yeh toh kab se Krishan Bhagwan ne sazaa diya tha humare jaati ko. (This was due to a punishment given to our tribe by Lord Krishna long back.)”
I could not grasp what the old man had said initially. Krishna in Arunachal Pradesh? I was intrigued. The old man had then gone on to explain. It was a lore amongst the Mishmi tribesmen that during the time of Mahabharat Lord Krishna had crossed Brahmaputra and visited the lower reaches of the Himalayas in the Dibang valley neighbouring the Lohit district. Both these districts were inhabited by the people from Mishmi tribe. That area was ruled by a king called Bhishmak in those days. Lord Krishna was enchanted by the princess of the kingdom, Rukmini who would later become his wife. Rukmini, who as per mythology was an incarnation of Goddess Lakshmi had also ben smitten by Krishna. The prince of the kingdom, Rukmin was against this unison and forbade Rukmini from marrying Krishna. So princess Rukmini had eloped with Lord Krishna one fine morning. They were chased by Rukmin and his Mishmi army.
A battle was fought on the banks of the Dibang River at a place called Roing, which I had visited during my tenure. Krishna defeated the Mishmi army and though he had pardoned Rukmin at the behest of his sister but condemned the entire tribe for going against the wish of a woman. As a punishment for their audacity and adamant patriarchal attitude, Krishna ordered the tribesmen to sport this type of hairstyle which would remind them of their mistake for generations to come. Since then probably the Mishmi society had become a matrilineal entity, a concept I had gradually learnt through my further interactions with these people.
(This story has been published by Readomania in a fictional form in my anthology “By the River Dibang”)
I further gathered that Lord Parashuram was also believed by the Mishmi people to be a warrior sage from these areas referred to as Mishmi Hills in the epic Mahabharat. (There is a holy site, Parashuram Kund located in the lower reaches of the Lohit River, approximately 21 Kms from Tezu, the district Headquarters of Lohit District where, as per mythology, Lord Parashuram atoned himself for his sin of matricide. People from all over India and neighbouring countries come there on the day of Makar Sankranti to take a holy dip in the waters of the Lohit to cleanse themselves of all worldly sins. This could somewhat substantiate the fact that famous sages had made these regions of Himalayas as their abode during the Pre-Vedic and subsequent times.)
The Mishmis followed a matrilineal system in their society. I was astounded to observe that their customs and practices were all women-centric. They had an inverted dowry system wherein the groom would have to pay in cash or kind to the father of the bride and the laws of inheritance also gave priority to the girl child over the boys. No wonder women held a very highly esteemed position in the family and the society, virtually calling the shots on many matters pertaining to the family.
And they deserved it too. With due respect to all, I have seldom encountered such laborious, gutsy, physically strong and industrious women other than in the North-eastern states. From managing the home to working in the fields and running a shop to trekking high altitudes with loads that a man would flinch to carry the women have been always much more adept than the males. So if one really wanted to realize the worth of woman emancipation a visit to these regions was a must. I wish the Governments would take more initiative to groom some of these women to become international level athletes following the examples of Mary kom, Mirabai Chanu, Kunjarani Devi, Lovlina Borgohain, and their likes.
I started spending my days in this beautiful hamlet looking after my post and interacting with the villagers. We, the Assam Rifle guys would often play volleyball and basketball with the villagers. There was a small flat piece of land in the middle of the village which served as the court.
The villagers used to be very fond of the latest Bollywood songs and often partied amongst themselves playing the peppy numbers in the community hall. The younger women, to my surprise, were quite fashion conscious when it came to dressing and in spite of being located hundreds of miles away from any big city would often attire themselves in denim trousers, tee shirts, and other modern dresses. They carried these apparel so well on their slender frames that some of them could actually give many top models a run for their money.
The only challenge I faced was communicating with my folks in Calcutta. There was a satellite phone placed in the Circle Office. It was known as “Hello 46” as the moment the call connected, which was a rare phenomenon owing to weather’s interruptions, the meter took off with Rs 46 as the basic charge. Then it used to bill the caller at the rate of Rs 5 per minute. So on days when I would get lucky to get through to my house, I would have to cough up seventy bucks, quite an amount by the standards of those millennial days.
When I had arrived there the winter had set in. It used to be freezing cold though the days used to be bright and sunny. Only when it snowed in the higher reaches of the mountains it would rain for few days at a length. However, when the weather cleared up it was a sight to marvel at. The sky would assume a bluish hue that appeared like a turquoise screen straddling atop the pristine white crests. The bright sun would slowly melt the snow into smoky white fumes that hung in the air for some time before dissipating into the cerulean nothingness.
The vegetation would look sloshed still drenched in the retreating rains resembling opulent femininity as would emanate from a damsel pampering herself with colour and fragrance soon after a bath. I would stand on the edge of the helipad staring across the defensive trenches and bask myself in this ethereal splendour of nature savouring the frozen moments and wishing to remain in that virtual realm every time a little longer.
This is the fourth part of a multi-part series on Udayaditya's travel through the northeast. Read the first part here. , the second part here. and the third part here.
Having served in the Indian Army, Udayaditya has travelled far and wide across the country and has been particularly fascinated by the diverse ethnicity, customs, and culture prevalent in various regions. He is the author of Rhythms in Solitude – Love, Nature and Life through Poetry, a collection of soulful poems published by Kaveri Books, Delhi, the poignant short story “A Beautiful Life” in the anthology Twilight’s Children – Chronicles of Uncommon Lives and the e-book, By the River Dibang and stories from the North East, both published by Readomania.
You can read his work on Amazon or on Readomania
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