Cultural Forms and Practices in Northeast India 9811992916, 9789811992919

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People, Cultures and Societies: Exploring and Documenting Diversities

Kailash C. Baral   Editor

Cultural Forms and Practices in Northeast India

People, Cultures and Societies: Exploring and Documenting Diversities Series Editors Sunita Reddy, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, Delhi, India Sanghmitra S. Acharya, School of Social Sciences, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, Delhi, India Editorial Board Tulsi Patel, Department of Sociology, University of Delhi, New Delhi, Delhi, India Ash Narain Roy, New Delhi, India Ramesh C. Gaur, Central Library, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, Delhi, India Robert Tian, Shantou, China Maisam Najafizada, Faculty of Medicine, Memorial University, St. John’s, NL, Canada Shalina Mehta, Panjab University, Chandigarh, India K. K. Mishra, Motilal Nehru National Institute of Technology, Uttar Pradesh, India Alison L Kahn, Stanford University Overseas Program, Oxford, UK

The series proposes to capture the diversities in people and their communities in India. It provides a unique and innovative resource for anthropological knowledge, philosophy, methods, and tools to understand, analyse and formulate sustainable, innovative solutions to address socio-cultural issues in India. India is a repository of varied cultures and diversities. With the globalisation and development process, the cultural fabric is changing. Customs, traditions, beliefs, on one hand, food habits, art and craft, weaving, dyeing, and handloom artefacts, on the other, are undergoing a metamorphosis. It is imperative to explore, understand and document the process of changing diversity and relational inequalities. The series encompasses richness in art, craft, language, dance, music, folklore, food culture and beliefs, traditions and practices. It addresses the issues of development disparities, inequality, and segregation on the axes of caste, class, religion, region, ethnicity, and gender. The series publishes methodologically rigorous and theoretically sound, critical and comparative, empirical research peer-reviewed volumes related to non-codified healing practices, gender-based violence, migration induced vulnerabilities, child abuse, social identity-based work on a national, regional and local level, welcoming case studies, as well as comparative and applied research. The series is of interest to the academicians and students in the discipline of sociology, anthropology, psychology, social work, history, philosophy, and public health, and to all of those interested in a wide-ranging overview of art, culture, and politics. It accepts monographs, edited volumes, and textbooks.

Kailash C. Baral Editor

Cultural Forms and Practices in Northeast India

Editor Kailash C. Baral Department of Comparative Literature and India Studies EFL University Hyderabad, India

ISSN 2662-6616 ISSN 2662-6624 (electronic) People, Cultures and Societies: Exploring and Documenting Diversities ISBN 978-981-19-9291-9 ISBN 978-981-19-9292-6 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-19-9292-6 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Springer imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. The registered company address is: 152 Beach Road, #21-01/04 Gateway East, Singapore 189721, Singapore

For Yohaan and Kavyan

Acknowledgements

For a work to see the light of the day, many people put in their helping hands together. There are many visible hands but there are many more invisible hands too. The thought to have this volume crossed my mind in the fears and frustrations of the Covid-19 lockdowns. During the pandemic, we all were in a state of seize. Thank God! that the internet and mobiles did not come under lockdowns; communications remain alive through the stress, sorrow, and scare. The thought to have a volume on cultural forms and practices in Northeast, beyond my expectation, received a good response. I knew some of the contributors and did not know others; friends came forward to recommend their names and they did respond positively. The process started through many conversations about what I intended to do and the way contributors responded to the theme. Through mutuality and difference things did happen. Finally, I could have sixteen articles to submit to publishers. I went around looking for a suitable publisher and two publishers responded positively including Springer and the story of the volume Cultural Forms and Practices in Northeast India moved through. In the journey of the work, many people supported and they need to be thanked. Let me first thank those whose articles were not selected. They are not many. Yet they deserve my gratitude for their response. Of course, the sixteen contributors to the volume deserve appreciation and thanks, not for the pieces per say but for the cultures and communities they represent. They did a great service in presenting a slice of their cultural lives to us to read, understand and cherish. Springer Nature accepting the publication responsibility of the volume has revealed a different aspect of its publication policy that it is not guided only by the commercial success of a volume but is sensitive to other ideas and concerns. I thank Springer Nature, India for accepting the volume for publication. The series editors of Springer on “People, Cultures and Societies: Exploring and Documenting Diversities” have provided the initial motivation to the Senior Editor to consider the volume for publication. They deserve my thanks for their sensitivity and understanding. The anonymous reviewer deserves my thanks not only for his positive review of the MS but for his appreciation of the fact that volumes like Cultural Forms deserve to be published, for such volumes help in preserving our cultural heritage.

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Of course, the key person in the whole process is Satvinder Kaur, the Senior Editor, Humanities and Social Sciences at Springer Nature, India, who in short, has given life to this volume. Just to thank her would look mundane; with all sincerity, I deeply appreciate her commitment and understanding in the publication of the work. I also thank her colleagues Ayyasamay Gowrishankar and Jayanthi Narayanaswamy for their communications and productive support. There are friends who encouraged me in my journey. D Venkat Rao, a friend and former Professor of English at EFL University has been a pillar of strength in my academic journey. His insights in reviewing my initial proposal have been valuable. I cannot name each and everyone here but a few people I must thank for their support, affection, and confidence in me; they are Prof. J P Dimri, former Professor of Russian, EFL University, Prof. Sujit K Ghosh, Chairman of MAKAIAS, Kolkata, Prof. Jyotirmoy Prodhani of NEHU, Department of English, Prof. Pradip K Acharya, former Professor of English, Cotton University, Prof. Dilip Bora, Professor, MIL Department, Guwahati University, Prof. Bijaya K Danta, Professor of English, Tezpur University, Prof. Nigamanada Dash, Department of English, Nagaland University and Ms. Mitra Phukan, author, translator and singer, Guwahati. I thank my wife Chanchala K Naik, former Professor of ESL, EFL University for her support. I also thank each and every member of my family who directly or indirectly supported me in my endeavour. The new members of the family deserve my thanks for the energy to work in cheering me up with their innocence and enjoyable naughtiness. Hyderabad, India

Kailash C. Baral

Contents

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Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Kailash C. Baral

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Plural Embodiments: The Performative World of Sankari Vaishnavism in Assam . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Dhurjjati Sarma

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Sattriya Tradition of Assam: Rituality, Memory and Transmission . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Anwesa Mahanta

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Ojapali: The Sacred and the Secular in Assamese Folk Performance Culture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Dhira Bhowmick

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From Sacred to Popular: Demystifying Ojha-Nach of Barak Valley . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sib Sankar Majumder

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Culture and Commodification: Bihu from Meadows to the Rostrum . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Monalisa Borgohain

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Kushan Gaan: Retelling of the Ramayana . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Preetinicha Barman

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Kherai Ritual and Cultural Performance: Worldviews of the Bodos . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Rustam Brahma and Dwijen Sharma

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The Maibi Tradition and Lai Haraoba . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 111 Ahanthem Homen Singh and Dhurjjati Sarma

10 Shamanism Among the Adis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121 Karyir Riba

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11 Religion as Culture: Analysing the Mizo Discourse . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 131 Margaret L. Pachuau 12 No Song and No Dance: Invention of Tradition and Lushai Resistance to Cultural Colonialism: 1904–1911 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141 Sajal Nag 13 Jagoi Raas, the Manipuri Raas Lila . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 163 Tayenjam Bijoykumar Singh 14 When (and Where) Ritual is not Romance: Liminality, Gender and Storytelling Among the Khasis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 177 Jobeth Ann Warjri 15 Cultural Recovery and Reformation: Tourism and the Hornbill Festival at Kisama . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 187 Theyiesinuo Keditsu 16 Mizo Tlawmngaihna: Then and Now . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 199 Lalthansangi Ralte 17 Dynamics of Popular Culture: Jatra in Assam . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 215 Namrata Pathak Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 229

Contributors

Kailash C. Baral Hyderabad, India Preetinicha Barman Department of English, Women’s College, Shillong, Meghalaya, India Dhira Bhowmick Department of English, Shillong College, Shillong, Meghalaya, India Monalisa Borgohain JDSG College, Bokakhat, Assam, India Rustam Brahma Department of English, Bodoland University, Kokrajhar, Assam, India Theyiesinuo Keditsu Kohima College, Kohima, Nagaland, India Anwesa Mahanta Kalpa, Guwahati, Assam, India Sib Sankar Majumder Department of English, Assam University, Silchar, Assam, India Sajal Nag Department of History, Assam University, Silchar, Assam, India Margaret L. Pachuau Department of English and Culture Studies, Mizoram University, Aizawl, Mizoram, India Namrata Pathak Department of English, North-Eastern Hill University, Tura, Meghalaya, India Lalthansangi Ralte Department of English, Govt. J Thankima College, Aizawl, Mizoram, India Karyir Riba Department of English, North-Eastern Hill University, Shillong, Meghalaya, India Dhurjjati Sarma Department of Modern Indian Languages and Literary Studies, Gauhati University, Assam, India

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Dwijen Sharma Department of English, North-Eastern Hill University, Tura, Meghalaya, India Ahanthem Homen Singh Department of Modern Indian Languages and Literary Studies, University of Delhi, Delhi, India Tayenjam Bijoykumar Singh Imphal, Manipur, India Jobeth Ann Warjri Department of English, North East Adventist University, Joai, Meghalaya, India

Chapter 1

Introduction Kailash C. Baral

Abstract The essays in the present volume represent cultural forms that are prevalent in Northeast India. Some of these cultural forms are indigenous, while some others are inspired by and imbibed from other cultures. There are historical factors such as religious conversions that have either resulted in adopting to new cultural practices or in total loss of traditions. Of course there are resistances to new or alien forms of faith. However, some of the cultural traditions have survived till date either in their original forms or have been modified over time. While some of the performing arts have to face commodification under globalization at the same time some others are reinvented. ‘Culture’ and ‘tradition’ are two complex conceptual terms that are difficult to define but could be grasped the way the inhabitants of the region have practiced them. For putting the essays into some order, as many essays overlap in content with local variations, three perspectives are given. It is expected that the readers will have a feel of the cultural dynamics of the region in reading these essays.

All cultural forms are unique to the cultures that they originate from. In their manifestation and articulation, they fulfil the collective desire of a community. These forms are mostly indigenous as they evolve over a period of time. Sometimes, subject to outside influences or adopted from contiguous cultures, cultural forms are often modified and tuned to the local cultural needs. These forms, apart from attending to cycles of celebrations, are also performed/practised on various other occasions representing inherently embedded ritual significance. Each cultural community functions within a particular cultural cosmology that unravels a complex network of relationships between nature/culture, human/divine, ritual/performance, etc. Because of migration and historical interventions, some of these forms often come under stress and even erasure. Cultural forms are organic in the sense that they are interconnected systems in that humans live and act in a world of spatial and transactional modes. K. C. Baral (B) Hyderabad, India e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 K. C. Baral (ed.), Cultural Forms and Practices in Northeast India, People, Cultures and Societies: Exploring and Documenting Diversities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-19-9292-6_1

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Communities inhabit and inherit cultural forms and these forms signify a community’s spiritual/material practices through tangible and intangible inheritances. The intangible as units of thought, imagination, reflection, wisdom, and a whole host of other markers enters into the tangible in consolidating ritual gestures creating art forms in transforming the word/thought into performance. The expression ‘form’ implies a structure and also a process. The structure of a cultural form is complex. It has both ritual and performance aspects. It has its seasons and also rituals that may or may not be significant to us today but have anthropomorphic and deep ritual implications to satisfy human and cultural needs. Part of a matrix, performance forms are layered with cultural meanings. No ritual or performance is ever undertaken without human interest. Cultural forms thus foreground the social life of many practices; these could be material, visual, rhetorical, religious, and so on. The various cultural practices that are part of everyday life constitute different modes of sociality and social relations. Forms of sociality happen when individuals bond with each other constituting a cultural community. Cultural knowledge guides and informs these forms in the process of sociality. At the heart of sociality is cultural behaviour. Social interactions through cultural practices condition our behaviour. Without sociality, human interaction is not possible. Therefore, the evolution of cultural forms and practices is part of social interaction and shared values. All these constitute patterns, explicit and implicit, that characterize cultural distinctiveness. When a society transits over time and evolves under different conditions, the pattern of cultural forms also change. However, in most cases, the inner coherence of each culture remains unaffected. This culturalist view that has remained dominant in cultural studies is further consolidated by Clifford Geertz’s (1973) premise of ‘thick description’ that underlines generalization within instead of across thereby ensuring in-depth immersion in the culture and its representation. Of course, there are voices against culturalist assumptions (Horton, 1973 and others) that such views render cultural phenomena mechanical and the individual becomes a play thing in culture. If we consider three connected propositions such as human social behaviour, cultural practices, and their performances as parts of a whole and examine their inner coherence, it becomes clear that cultural forms are products of human endeavour, meant for the society as they evolve around tangible and intangible practices. Moving away from the cultural anthropology perspective to other domains of cultural understanding we have ideological, political, gender, and other concerns that have shaped cultural theories. Asserting that culture is ‘a whole way of life’, Raymond Williams (1958) confirms to the premise of inner coherence of a culture that provides stability to the cultural process. Williams has underlined the cultural logic of ‘a whole way of life’ to suggest that a culture should not be put on a hierarchy as ‘high’ and ‘low.’ His New-Left thesis has arraigned capitalism of creating inequality in the cultural sphere while seeking ways to democratize culture thereby bringing a view of cultural diversity against monolithic cultural representation. For Williams, culture encompasses modes of sensibility, values, and practices, as well as artefacts. It is obvious that Raymond Williams, E P Thompson, and Richard Hoggart, all from the New-Left group, looked

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at the site of culture as one of conflict or ‘antagonism’ not of difference (Postmodern view) in their cultural analysis. They underline the urban/industrial cultural dominance over the rural/agrarian societies. For them, culture is to be explored within the context of its material conditions of production and reception. There is an explicit partisanship in exploring the class basis of a culture that aims to give ‘voice’ to the marginalized and to examine the place of culture in class power. Their writings however exclude discussions on the folk and community-specific cultural performances and rituals while attempting to universalise cultural experience. Theodore Adorno’s (1984) concept of mass culture follows a similar trajectory, for he argues that bourgeois culture is reflected in the concept of mass culture, including mass media (radio, motion pictures, television, illustrated magazines with very large circulations, cheap paperback books, and phonograph records), the industrial and commercial production and distribution of standardized cultural commodities. However, there is another side of modernism that looks at culture and its products from the vantage point of tradition, sensibility and style. Contrary to the perception that there was a revolt against tradition and prevailing style in art and literature, Irving Howe (1967) argued that modernism was caught in a dilemma instead of having a clear path to follow against the established order: ‘Man is mired—you can make your choice—in the mass, in the machine, in the city, in his loss of faith, in the hopelessness of a life without anterior intention or terminal value. By this late date, these disasters seem in our imaginations to have merged into one’ (Irving Howe, https://www.commentarymagazine.com/articles/irving-howe/the-culture-ofmodernism/, accessed on 11 June 2021). Irving Howe has really deconstructed the vulnerability of western modernism in its own mess. This is true of colonial modernity that in the name of progress, in Howe’s words, lost sight of ‘the hopelessness of a life without anterior intention or terminal value’ (ibid). The postmodern turn in western epistemology has overthrown or seems to overthrow the modernist architecture of order and rationality pandering to diversified human subjectivity and identity. In expressing his concerns on culture, Jean Francois Lyotard, reminiscent of The Postmodern Condition, argues for more information-based cultural matrix instead of having some common sense notions for the purpose that ‘Culture is lending an ear to what strives to be said, culture is giving a voice to those who do not have a voice and whom seek one’ (1993, 33, “Dead Letter”, 1962) (Key Theories of Jean Francois Lyotard, by Nasrullah Mambrol, May 25, 2017, https://literariness.org/2017/05/25/key-theories-of-jean-fra ncoios-lyotard/, accessed on 14th June 2021). Roland Barthes critiques bourgeois culture as illusory and in the denial of the ‘opacity’ of language, he says that a culture ‘is concerned with verisimilitude, or the faithful and unbiased reproduction of an independent reality (both in visual representation and in verbal description)’ (“Roland Barthes as a Cultural Theorist”, Nasrullah Mambrol, May 4, 2017, https:// literariness.org/2017/05/04/roland-barthes-as-a-cultural-theorist/, accessed on 14th June 2021). An independent understanding of ‘reality’ is significant as it is bound up with particular cultural form creating its own reality. Although Jacques Derrida and Michel Foucault did not make direct pronouncements on culture, their methods of inquiry empower us to understand the nuances

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of cultural forms and artefacts, for their interpretations constitute ways outside to modernist and ideological epistemic structures. One such issue is Foucault’s thesis on power. Is culture a field of power? This question is answered by Stuart Hall. For Hall, what is at stake is the connection that cultural studies seek to matters of power and cultural politics. That leads to an exploration of representations of and ‘for’ marginalized social groups who seek cultural change. In cultural theories, knowledge is never a neutral or objective phenomenon but a matter of positionality, that is of the place from where one speaks, to whom, and for what purpose. We understand that all cultural practices are discursive, that is, ‘a cluster (or formation) of ideas, images and practices that provide ways of talking about forms of knowledge and social conduct associated with a particular topic, social activity or institutional site in society’ (Hall, 1997, 6). Cultural forms emerge from practices, institutions and systems and become part of a living culture of a people who share particular values, beliefs, and socially governed conduct. The representational aspect of culture manifests in the coming together of many practices and beliefs through cultural expressions/actions. Articulation suggests both expressing/representing and a ‘putting-together.’ Thus, representation of cultural forms may be ‘a putting-together’ in our understanding of community life in that other dynamic and temporal factors such as economy and politics are also significant. The political economy of culture alongside other factors contributes to cultural production and its circulation. Consequently, we might explore culture not only how economics as a factor underwrites its production but also politics that defines identity and cultural difference. From the political position, the forms of culture may be indeterminate yet the voices that constitute them are definitive. Most voices speak against universalism while privileging cultural singularity and identity. In view of hitherto discussions on various aspects of culture and its articulation as they flow from complex methods of theorizing that come from the western archive; it is pertinent to ask how do we understand and interpret cultural forms and their practices in Northeast India. Northeast India as a cultural geography within Indian subcontinent has its indigenous cultural forms and practices that may or may not be amenable to interpretative tools of western theories. If they are put to interpretations following western theories the fear is that some of their indigenous characteristics energizing these practices, for example, the Maibi chants or the ritual utterances of a Shaman may be muted because the critical vocabulary that we espouse may not sufficiently translate culture specific concepts, words, gestures etc. thereby resulting in autoerasure. This is a scenario in which the critical apparatuses used, ironically, result in the obfuscation of meaning. In spite of the apparatuses of cultural anthropology to decode and explain certain cultural forms, many of a culture’s unmanifest elements and their meanings escape demonstrating the limitations of western theories of meaning and interpretation applied to indigenous cultural forms and practices. Recent debates on humanities as a contested field have generated concerns that in a globalized world while cultural boundaries are shrinking, the autonomy of cultural forms is also waning. However, the ability of humanities for creative and analytic understanding of human culture and cultural forms has not lost its power. With the postmodern epistemological concern about truth and knowledge, having a plural and

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subjective understanding we need not embrace methodologies of inquiry that do not go berserk but enable us to explain the human experience in a coherent way in an uncertain and transitional world. The challenge of knowing ‘why we do what we do’ is enormous. We have to move against the grain in confronting the theoretical challenges in circulation in the global market. Critical humanities may provide us a strategic selection of parameters to engage with the local and the contingent. In questioning the critical frames of old humanities such as ideology, universalism, primitive/civilized, science/spiritual, etc., critical humanities prepare us to develop a critique that is self-reflexive and transformative. This endeavour may help us in developing an alternative theoretical model(s) drawing upon indigenous methods of inquiry. Theories as narratives seek to distinguish and account for general features that describe, define and explain persistently perceived occurrences. Theory does not picture the world more or less accurately; rather, it provides us interpretive tools or logic for intervening in the way we produce meaning. This is achieved through the mechanisms of description, definition, prediction and control. Theory construction is therefore a self-reflexive discursive endeavour that seeks to interpret and intercede in the world. Critical humanities as a theoretical project consider culture as a narrative. In this narrative, two important factors are human experience and human action. Therefore, critical humanities as a mode should be taken up for explaining cultural phenomena like cultural texts, performances, rituals and practices. Cultural forms foreground the social life of a variety of items and mediums (material, visual, rhetorical, performances, etc.) that circulate in the sphere of everyday life. The founding assumption is that forms are not transparent means of analysing ideology; rather, they are constitutive of distinctive modes of sociality that require interpretation and understanding. Living cultural forms are attentive to the way various media constitute social relations that encompass human conduct and action. Further, cultural forms as material manifestations cannot be considered outside the political economy of their production and circulation. Aesthetics also matters to understand a product and its cultural refinement the way attachments and effects get magnetized through rhythms, tones, body movements, costume and technology. It is to understand cultural forms/products as ambient, atmospheric and synesthetic. A cultural form is what pulls things together into consistency and coherence. If we say that cultural forms are important to know a society better than other parameters, we need to reflect on multiple aspects both symbolic or otherwise that a cultural form signifies in its various elements that bear on the cultural life of the community. The oppositional mode of ‘us’ and ‘them’ has been used in creating cultural universals following European models through disciplinary protocols that have made our understanding of cultural forms incoherent. Is there a way out to understand the cultural forms exclusively in the context of their origin, their spatiotemporal formation and their mythologies that wrap and uncover their significance in a ritual/performance domain? For this, we need a multimodal approach to critically engage with cultural forms particularly among communities that have lost most of them by interventions of historical forces such as colonialism and religious conversion in the context of Northeast India. Critical humanities as a multimodal

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approach may be adopted to make such studies relevant in the face of extinction and commodification of cultural forms. The task of critical humanities is to explore and know what makes human actions and performances meaningful thereby attempting to understand what makes us human in the first place. As humans, we do things in expressing ourselves creatively in order to crystallize our thoughts, emotions and feelings. To express ourselves we need ‘forms’ for articulation. At the heart of Indian/indigenous critical thinking is to move beyond binaries and accept plurality, for our views on man and his origin are set on an inexhaustible plurality. Being is not defined in many cultures through religion. For example, in most, if not all tribal world views the relationship between the divine creator and the humans is not significant instead the spirit world is more important in the daily transaction of life. The fundamental concern of humanities, starting with what makes us human to as humans what we intend to do and why, will provide us an enabling opportunity to make productive contributions to our understanding of indigenous knowledge systems. Cultural boundaries are largely based on difference, locked up in terms of nationality and ethnicity, for example, the British or Bantu cultures. Globalization has made the idea of cultural difference increasingly problematic. In particular, that which is considered to be local circulates in the global market. Their circulation become part of global corporate marketing strategies that are oriented to blur references to the definite cultural ‘local’. Much that is considered to be local and counterpoised to the global is the outcome of translocal processes (Robertson, 1992). Place is now forged globally by virtue of the movement of cultural elements from one location to another. For example, population movement and electronic communications have enabled increased cultural meeting and mixing. These developments suggest a model of culture as a locally bounded ‘whole way of life’ to be disappearing. Under globalization, culture is not best understood in terms of locations and roots but more as hybridized and creolized. Yet there is value in locating culture in-place in order to be able to say things like ‘this is a valued and meaningful practice in Assamese culture.’ The duality of culture lies in its being both ‘in-place’ and of ‘no-place.’ Place unlike space underlines the definitiveness of cultural vocabulary, ethnic rituals and the body in motion in performance. Belief systems and faith also play important roles as cultural features of any community. Therefore, the place is an inseparable part of the cultural geography and ecology that even resonates through the musical instruments, the songs, the gestures, etc. connecting to the community in its habitat. Looking at the rich cultural heritage of the Northeast, one is dismayed by the absence of good number of comprehensive works in the field. The present volume is an attempt to fill the gap. However, it is a modest attempt because it is impossible to have a volume with few essays on a humongous variety of cultural practices and performing traditions among communities and ethnic groups across the region. The endeavour all along has been to provide a self-reflexive presentation of culture and cultural forms from the region. Privileging cultural autonomy, within a critical humanities frame, is a valuable means of cultural creativity and renewal. Following such a premise, sixteen essays are collected in the present volume on cultural forms and practices in Northeast India.

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The essays included in the volume provide us with perspectives on multiple cultural practices as they evolve over a period of time. The primary focus has been to describe, analyse and understand the continuity of cultural forms associated with people’s belief systems and often their reinventions under socio-historical conditions. The effort has been to offer a ‘feel culture effect’ in the reading of these essays. It is difficult to separate these essays under some planned sections as they intersect and overlap in some aspects. However, for the convenience of organizing the book, the essays are grouped under three perspectives: socio-cultural, historical and representational.

Socio-cultural Perspective Cultural forms are dynamic in their evolution as they receive ideas and internalize influences. However, the stability of a cultural form is achieved because of its internal coherence. The process of sociality is consolidated on the basis of cultural identity. The society-culture interaction help resolve culture-identity tensions, and finally, help reclaim cultural uniqueness. This underlines cultural openness on the one hand and rootedness on the other that defines tradition. Dhurjjati Sarma’s essay on ‘Plural Embodiments: The Performative World of Sankari Vaishnavism in Assam’ offers a view of how a spiritual-religious practice impacted Assamese culture and cultural forms that becomes a living tradition for the Assamese. In spite of its ethnic and cultural diversity, the rise of NeoVaishnavite movement, under the leadership of Sankardeva (1449–1568) and his disciple Madhavdeva (1489–1596), a distinctive Assamese literary and performative culture was fashioned by appropriating and radicalizing the multilingual and multicultural elements of Assamese society in the early modern period. Apart from the composition of the core texts of Vaishnavism (such as Bhagavat Puran, Borgeet, Kirtan Ghosa, etc.), Sankardeva also created the performing repertoire of Ankiya Bhaona. Sankardeva developed this genre to facilitate the transmission of his philosophy of ekasarana namadharma that subsequently brought about a marked transformation in all aspects of literary and performance cultures of Assam. Anwesa Mahanta’s essay on ‘Sattriya Tradition of Assam: Rituality, Memory and Transmission’ is an extension of the premise that was advanced in the preceding piece. The Neo-Vaishnavite spiritual order was institutionalized through the Sattra order and the Namghars. If Namghars functioned at the village level, Sattras were meant for residential-educational needs of a large number of disciples or bhakats who would stay in Sattras and learn gayan, bayan and nritya under the guidance of adhyapaks (teachers). Sattriya has come to define a particular performative culture that combined ritual and memory in its pedagogic practice. Single minded devotion to the divine, here Lord Krishna, could be achieved in diverse forms including preparing the body for various modes of communication for an uplifting sense of bhakti. The Sattras gradually emerged as centres of performing art and Assamese cultural identity.

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Ojapali, a pre-Sankardeva, performing art form has plural beginnings, performance histories and articulations. Dhira Bhowmick in her essay, ‘Ojapali: the Sacred and the Secular in Assamese Folk Performance Culture’ attempts to untangle the knots of Ojapali performance as it has prevailed in Assam. She argues that the Ojapali performance form of Assam had its origin in the Indian Kathakata tradition. As a pan-Indian phenomenon, Kathakata has been the source of many folk performances across the country. Scholars and historians agree that Ojapali had its beginning in Assam around ninth and tenth century but it became a significant cultural form only in the fourteenth century. It has a mix of classical raga, nritya and music traditions with indigenous practices. In a sense, this art form has a cultural efflorescence unlike other forms. It resonates through the sacred-secular traditions of the state. In all its aspects, this performance form has functioned as a religio-cultural mode of entertainment and instruction. Sib Sankar Majumder looks into the Ojapali performance tradition in the Barak-Surma region of Assam and Bangladesh, in his article, ‘From Sacred to Popular: Demystifying Ojha-Nach of Barak Valley’. He contends that the Ojanach folk performance of Barak valley is an integral aspect of the ancient practice of ophiolatry or serpent worship. The cult of Manasa (alternatively known as Bishahari) is culturally very significant for some of the marginalized tribal and caste groups of Northeastern India. In Barak valley, the phenomenon of Manasa worship is primarily associated with the Kaivarta community. Majumder highlights, in his essay, the involved relationship of the Kaivarta community with this art form. Bihu is a popular folk festival of Assam and is celebrated following the annual agricultural cycle. In ‘Culture and Commodification: Bihu from Meadows to the Rostrum’, Monalisa Borgohain underlines how cultural life in Assam comes alive during the Bihu festival. Bihu dance unlike other forms of performative arts has transited from a rural-agrarian dance form to an urban, commercial product. The author follows this transition while offering her critical observations on how Bihu has been commodified under globalization and digital culture. There are many ethnic groups in Assam who share most of the Assamese cultural performance forms such as Ojapali and Bihu in their own style yet they have their own ritual performance practices. Khusan Gaan, a performance form of the Koch Rajbangshis of Assam in many ways unique, is broadly based on the Pala performing traditions of eastern India and on pan-Indian puranic culture. Preetinicha Barman explores this performance form in her essay, ‘Kushan Gaan: Retelling of the Ramayana’. This performance form is called Kushan drawing its nomenclature from Rama’s son Kush. This performance combines narration with dance, song and drama. Besides the main narrative, Kushan Gaan allows space for certain extraneous minor narratives based on everyday life, thus interweaving the folk with the grand narrative. The Kushani is the prime narrator cum lead singer and director of the performance. His image comes very close to that of the Sutradhara. The Kushani is assisted by his Dowari (assistant), Bains (musicians), Pails (singers), Sukkris (dancers) and actors. The origin of Kushan Gaan reflects cultural interpolation and assimilation. Throughout ages this performing tradition has witnessed variations and changes while maintaining its internal coherence.

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Kherai is a ritual celebration among the Bodos. Rustam Brahma and Dwijen Sharma, in their essay on ‘Kherai Ritual and Cultural Performance: Worldviews of the Bodos’ explore Kherai as a ritual performance that manifests collective hope and aspiration of the community, as part of Bathou, the ancient religion of the Bodos. This cultural form has emerged as a synthesis of spirituality, magic, music, dance and prophecy. In the enactment of rituals, the religious thoughts, beliefs, values, and attitudes to life of Bodos are articulated. Nevertheless, the customs and traditions of the Bodo community have been influenced and reshaped by various other cultures that it encountered in the longue duree of history. The Adis, who are not an ethnic group of Assam but are inhabitants of the adjoining state of Arunachal Pradesh, have close cultural contact with Assam. Shamanism, as a representation of Adi cultural-spiritual worldview, is a tradition that is practised among some other tribes or sub-groups of the Adis. Karyir Riba’s article, ‘Shamanism among the Adis’ examines this important institution in the context of traditional ethnic life. She expresses her unease with studies that exoticize cultural traditions, practices and symbols thereby distorting cultural meanings. This problem, according to her, seeks an urgent re-examination of native cultures with a need for epistemological reconsideration. Shamanism as practiced by Adis should be viewed as part of a well-developed cultural philosophy not as sorcery. However, its importance as a tradition even in the time of modern medicine, communication, science and technology cannot be undermined.

Historical Perspective Tradition and change are historical processes. Unfortunately, the organic link between cultural forms and their practices was severely disrupted by historical forces, in the context of ethnic groups from the Northeast, mostly by colonialism and missionary activities. Even adaptation to a new way of life through historical intervention, for example, conversion to Christianity in Mizoram and to vaishnavite Hinduism in Manipur has yielded different results. The essay on ‘Religion as Culture: Analysing the Mizo Discourse’, Margaret L. Pachuau examines Mizo identity in colonial and postcolonial contexts. She looks at the contemporary Mizo cultural life emerging from traditional folk life of the pre-colonial and pre-Christian period. According to her, conversion to Christianity has changed Mizo way of life, and it has contributed substantially to Mizo cultural identity. On the other hand, Sajal Nag’s essay on ‘No Song and No Dance: Invention of Tradition and Lushai Resistance to Cultural Colonialism, 1904–1911’ has focussed on resistance to Christianity in reinventing a performance form that is commensurate to the traditional Mizo way of life. This cultural resistance, according to him, was historic where resistance was fashioned through a song-dance form called Puma Zai. Although Christianity won in the end, it was forced to accommodate many traditional song and dance traditions within the Church practice.

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Tayenjam Bijoykumar Singh’s article on ‘Jagoi Raas: the Manipuri Raas Lila’ is a product of a historical religious intervention unlike colonialism. The Manipuries have creatively engaged with the new religious order of Gaudiya Vaishnavism. The conversion to this new faith did create some historical stigma in the burning of most of the ancient texts by a royal fiat, however, the new religion continued to engage with the old cultural performance forms and traditions. Unlike other classical dance forms, Raas Lila is a dance drama choreographed to enact Radha-Krishna love romance with deep spiritual intent. Inspired by the Vaishnavite mode of Bhakti, this dance form, known as Jagoi Raas has not lost its links with the tradition of folk-dance performance associated with Lai Haraoba. Raas Lila is a team performance, with its unique costumes, conventions and aesthetics. It is a graceful, fluid dance form that has strong links with the ethnic martial arts culture. Raas Lila has changed over time as it moved out of the temples to secular/commercial proscenium stage. Its transformation from a scared ritualistic dance to a secular dance form is significant in that it also underlines cultural identity and its uniqueness.

Representational Perspective The final section of the volume broadly deals with cultural representation. Moving away from the traditional understanding of cultural representation as is viewed by cultural anthropology and ethnography, the essays under this section look into intersections of intra-cultural domains say storytelling and performance in the case of Khasis, reinventing cultural forms and practices for encouraging cultural tourism and economic benefits in Nagaland and keeping up with a traditional social virtue of ‘service before self’ among the Mizos in spite of change of faith and conversion. These essays give a different tenor to representation per say. The last article in this section looks at the representational character of Jatra as a popular cultural form in Assam. Jobeth Ann Warjri, in her essay, ‘When (and Where) Ritual is not Romance: Liminality, Gender and Storytelling Among the Khasis’ examines Lapdiang Artimai Syiem’s Ka Noh Ka Likai and Performing Journey to highlight the role of the storyteller in Khasi culture, one who traverses the threshold between community law on the one hand and individual desire on the other. She argues what accounts for liminality in contemporary storytelling among the Khasis in trying to underline that by subverting both colonial constructions of the indigene and community law; the gendered/liminal experience calls for a re-assessment of Khasi identity. In ‘Cultural Recovery and Reformation: Tourism and the Hornbill Festival at Kisama’, Theyiesinuo Keditsu underlines the organic nature of culture, in the context of historical experience and future possibilities. She contends that in indigenous cultures there is an organic connection between celebrations, rituals, natural environment and ways of life. While celebrations in the form of music, dance, food, and dress comprise essential yet peripheral aspects of any festival, their ritualistic meaning gives a festival its core significance and makes it an indispensable part of a community’s cultural life. It is

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this core that colonialism to a lesser degree and missionization more invasively have cut away from Naga traditional festivals. However, in the present scenario, she makes a case for the Hornbill Festival at Kisama Heritage Complex as a cultural event in the making; beginning as an entirely concocted pastiche of the different festivals of the tribes of Nagaland it has gradually evolved into a community celebration (officially sponsored by the Govt of Nagaland) for the promotion of tourism. In spite of its commercial angle, the Hornbill Festival has led to a resurgence of pride in indigenous heritage thereby consolidating Naga cultural identity. Lalthansangi Ralte, follows the evolution of the Tlawmngaihna tradition as practiced by the Mizos. Even if the Mizos made a choice of converting to Christianity, Tlawmngaihna, meaning ‘service before self’, a social norm has survived. Instead of coming into conflict with Christianity, this particular practice has well integrated with the practice of Christian ‘fellowship’ and Christian institutional arrangement. It is, for this reason, the youth of Mizoram have rendered exceptional service during the recent Covid-19 pandemic. Jatra as a form of popular culture is widely prevalent in the Eastern Indian states of Bengal, Odisha and Assam. In her essay, ‘Dynamics of Popular Culture: Jatra in Assam’, Namrata Pathak examines Jatra as an important medium of popular culture and its changing dynamics in Assam. By tracing its evolution in Assam, especially in South Kamrup, and its subsequent localization in diverse socio-cultural terrains, she discusses Jatra’s loaded performative articulations within an eclectic and heterogeneous evolving frame. There is an attempt at mapping the journey of Jatra in Assam, its adaptation to new theatrical models and the changing scenarios (one being the Western proscenium stage) and also, the new configurations and reformulations that the form embraced at the crossroads of political injunctions, structural innovations and socio-cultural refashioning. Seeking to capture the hidden layers and nuances that make a performance project like Jatra ‘morally’ conscious with a goal to nourish the audience in ethics, Pathak highlights the periodic changes in the performance culture of Jatra and its social relevance in the context of Assam.

References Geertz, C. (1973). The interpretation of cultures. Basic Books. Hall, S. (1997). Representation: Cultural representation and signifying practices. Sage. Horton, R. (1973). Modes of thought: Essays on thinking in Western and non-Western societies. Faber. Howe, I. (1967). The culture of modernism. In Commentary. Retrieved June 11, 2021, from https:// www.commentarymagazine.com/articles/irving-howe/the-culture-of-modernism/. Key theories of Jean Francois Lyotard, by Nasrullah Mambrol, May 25, 2017. Retrieved June 14, 2021, from https://literariness.org/2017/05/25/key-theories-of-jean-francoios-lyotard/. Lyotard, J. F. (1979 [1984]). The postmodern condition. Manchester University Press Robertson, R. (1992). Social theory and global culture. Sage. Roland Barthes as a Cultural Theorist, by Nasrullah Mambrol, May 4, 2017. Retrieved June 14, 2021, from https://literariness.org/2017/05/04/roland-barthes-as-a-cultural-theorist/.

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Theodore, A. (1984 [2001]). The culture industry: Selected essays on mass culture. Routledge Classics. Williams, R. (1958 [2017]). Culture and society. Vintage Classics.

Chapter 2

Plural Embodiments: The Performative World of Sankari Vaishnavism in Assam Dhurjjati Sarma

Abstract The state of Assam is located in the northeastern part of India. From the very beginning of its history, Assam’s literary–cultural evolution has been marked by plural linguistic as well as social and cultural formations. Its plurality presents a composite culture contrary to the common perception that Assamese culture is a monocultural entity considering only its dominant linguistic–literary culture. The Neo-Vaishnavite movement, under the leadership of Sankardeva (1449–1568) and his disciple Madhavdeva (1489–1596), was instrumental in fashioning a distinctive Assamese literary culture by appropriating and radicalizing the multilingual and multicultural elements of the Assamese society in the early modern period. This chapter studies the development of ankiya bhaona as a literary–performative genre. It was also an integral component of the Neo-Vaishnavite repertoire constructed by Sankardeva to facilitate the transmission of his philosophy of ekasarana namadharma that subsequently brought about a marked transformation in all aspects of literary and performance cultures of Assam. The study here particularly draws attention to what Francesca Orsini calls the ‘materiality of the archive’ by means of which the language, script, and format of the ‘text’ in question along with the space/location of its composition/performance and the forces behind its circulation beyond the point of its origin are given due importance within literary–cultural studies. Based on these premises, the present essay attempts to undertake a study of select ankiya bhaonas composed by Sankardeva as part of the larger Neo-Vaishnavite archive in existence for over a period of four hundred years since the end of the sixteenth century. The ‘texts’ of the ankiya bhaonas will be read both in the light of their spatial–temporal location within the ritual/performative culture of sixteenth-century Assam and in the present context of the twenty-first century when they have gradually moved out from the sacred space of the Vaishnavite monastery into the secular space of the metropolis. The paper argues in favour of studying the ankiya bhaonas more as texts-in-performance open to reception from an essentially heterogeneous Assamese D. Sarma (B) Dept of Modern Indian Languages & Literary Studies, Gauhati University, Guwahati, Assam 781014, India e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 K. C. Baral (ed.), Cultural Forms and Practices in Northeast India, People, Cultures and Societies: Exploring and Documenting Diversities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-19-9292-6_2

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audience belonging to various castes and ethnic groups both within and outside the sectarian order of Neo-Vaishnavism. The focus of the study here is to explore the position of these texts-in-performance as active agents in cultural renewal over a long period of time in the Assamese social life. Keywords Sankardeva · Neo-Vaishnavism · ankiya bhaona · Assam · Assamese

Introduction Assam’s cultural geography is constituted of diverse linguistic, social, and cultural formations. This plurality entails confluences and intersections of varied strands and trends that have shaped the traditions and cultural practices of many communities in Assam. Historically, there has been a continuous process of cultural exchange and conversation between the cultures of mainland India and Assam, a frontier state. Indigenous cultural practices and outside influences together shaped and reshaped the vibrant dynamics of Assam’s cultural geography. The colonial encounter brought about a marked shift in the cultural dynamics of the region, leading to a demarcation between the ‘hills’ and the ‘plains’ and added Christianity as a new religion to the existing ones. The missionary enterprise of Christian proselytization in the hills and the impact of the Bengal Renaissance on the plains further widened the gap between the two.1 In addition to taking cognizance of the wide-ranging transformation brought about by colonialism in northeast India, it is equally crucial to understand the contexts and conflicts between civilizational and cultural interactions. These interactions over centuries have impacted the textual, oral, and performative traditions that define the Assamese culture. The present study takes for its subject a significant social–cultural movement that took place in Assam during the sixteenth century under the leadership of Sankardeva (1449–1568) and his disciple Madhavdeva (1489–1596).

Sankardeva and His Repertoire of Performance Forms Sankardeva’s Neo-Vaishnavite movement, having its theological core based on one God, one name, expressed in the philosophy of ekasarana namadharma (surrender to one name), brought about a marked and durable change in all aspects of literary and performance cultures of Assam. Sankari Vaishnavism was equally concerned with linguistic propriety and literary subjectivity, besides endorsing a collective commitment to sectarian fidelity to one spiritual authority. Sankardeva’s mission not only initiated a radical social transformation in matters of faith having an egalitarian sampradaya (community of believers) but also dominated the early modern period of Assamese literary history while setting the template for the succeeding generations of poets and hagiographers. The society that was revealed and envisioned through the literary, religious, and philosophical writings of Sankardeva and Madhavdeva

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was a multilingual and multicultural one. It recognized a symbiotic interrelationship between communities, yet each was unique in itself. Such an arrangement culminated in the fashioning of an Assamese identity in the late nineteenth century with Sankardeva as the prime signifier. The present study endeavours to explore the tangible and intangible cultural forms of Sankari Vaishnavism within the ritual and performance traditions and cultural practices of Assam. At this point, it may be appropriate to have an understanding of the geopolitical set-up of Assam during the sixteenth century. As early as the thirteenth century, the central and eastern parts of the state were under the rule of the Ahoms who belonged to the Shan tribe of Upper Burma and came to Assam in 1228. The Ahoms established an empire in the style of a ‘monarchical oligarchy’ that lasted for about 600 years.2 At around the same time, a new kingdom known as Kamata came into existence with its capital at Kamatapur, at a distance of some eighteen miles from Cooch Behar. The Kamata kings ruled over the western part of the state including certain areas of the northern part of present-day West Bengal. The Neo-Vaishnavite movement of Sankardeva expanded across a wide terrain of social–cultural geography extending from Dhuwahat, near Narayanpur, in eastern Assam to Cooch Behar in the west. In addition to that, Sankardeva’s charismatic persona and his growing influence over the demotic sensibility of the region had threatened initially to subvert and undo the sacerdotal authority of the Brahmins who in turn sought the mediation of the Ahom monarch. As a result of this, Sankardeva and his disciples had to abandon their habitation in the central-east of Assam and flee towards the west where they sought refuge in the court of Koch king Naranarayana. From 1543 to 1568, he spent his life in relative peace and composed a substantial portion of his literary works under the patronage of the king. Sankardeva left behind a huge corpus of texts composed by him ranging from translations of Bhagavata Purana (one of the eighteen puranas) from Sanskrit, bargeets (devotional songs) in Assamese and ankiya bhaonas (dramatic performances) in the artificial Brajabuli language. Well versed in Sanskrit, Brajabuli, and in Assamese, Sankardeva was one among a few multilingual poet-scholars of the period who enriched the vernacular literary cultures of India in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. To do justice to the study of his oeuvre, it is necessary to extricate him from the bounds of exclusive, single-language history and understand his position within the multilingual reality of early modern Indian literary cultures. More importantly, as Francesca Orsini (2012) suggests with reference to the multilingual world of that time, the focus should be on the ‘materiality of the archive’, that is ‘paying attention to the language, script and format in which texts were written down and copied’ along with ‘the spaces/locations in which literature was produced and performed’, and ‘the oral–performative practices and agents that made texts circulate to audiences in ways not bound by the script in which the texts appear to us’ (227–228). So far as the literary–performative works of Sankardeva are concerned, the recovery/reinterpretation of the archive would entail searching for traces within the ‘text’ that have escaped standardization and, therefore, betray evidence of their spatial–temporal location within the ritual/performative culture of sixteenth-century

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Assam. Whereas it is well-nigh impossible to locate, map, and understand the intricacies of the whole Sankari archive within the confines of this brief exposition; however, a few pointers and perspectives with selected examples from among his works would surely contribute towards developing a multimodal approach to the study and analysis of various cultural forms that constitute the performative world of Sankari Vaishnavism.

Formless (Nirguna) Divine and Utterance Spirituality The Sankari Vaishnavite literary culture was fashioned on the lines of the panIndian bhakti movement, albeit accompanied by regional specifications and directed primarily to the mission of proselytisation. Sankardeva combined three elements to form the main tenets of his creed: satsanga (the association of the good, i.e. bhaktas) taken from the Bhagavata Purana, nama (the chanting of the Lord’s name) taken from the Padma Purana (‘Sahasranama Khanda’), and ekasarana (the undivided devotion to one and the same god) as enunciated in the Bhagavata Gita (Neog, 2006, 129). For an ekasaraniya devotee, the worship of other gods and goddesses is strictly prohibited. The ekasarana bhakti, in the words of Banikanta Kakati (1921), was ‘one with exclusive emphasis on slow spiritual regeneration, on the growth of a new spiritual outlook by laying flesh and spirit in the hand of the Lord’ (2). As such, it advocated in favour of a monotheistic form of devotion and dispensed with austere Brahmanical rituals to be supplanted by a community form of devotion where everyone, irrespective of caste or creed, could congregate and contemplate on the nirguna/nirakar (formless, without attributes) form of Brahman in the figuration of Hari or Vishnu.

Religion for Social Change At the very outset of his mission, Sankardeva, in the year 1481, undertook his first pilgrimage along with seventeen companions, including his guru Mahendra Kandali. During this twelve-year-long sojourn across India, he visited many temples and tirthas, including the Jagannatha temple at Puri. Upon his return from pilgrimage, as attested by most of the hagiographies, he mounted a pantomimic depiction of the scenes of the seven vaikunthas with a painted scenery as the backdrop, accompanied by dance and music. This mode of performance came to be known as the Chihnayatra (performance through signs). This was arguably his first foray into performance as a medium to propagate his new faith and mode of worship among the unlettered and uninitiated masses around his immediate vicinity at Bardowa. Through the performances, the devotees in the audience were made to realize the divine through symbolic gestures. The Chihnayatra marked a crucial turning-point in fashioning the persona of Sankardeva in the eyes and imagination of his disciples borne out

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in the mythology of Krishna cult. This provided a much-desired ritual–devotional legitimacy and recognition to the literary–performance works of their preceptor. It is interesting that for a relatively long time subsequent to the mounting of the Chihnayatra performance, Sankardeva chose instead to consolidate the textual corpus of the new order. There is disagreement among different hagiographers of Sankardeva regarding the precise timing of this performance; a few are of the opinion that it was performed at a time when he was just nineteen years of age. However, in his biography of Sankardeva, Maheswar Neog (1986) opines that ‘it is widely possible that Sankar got the inspiration for the production of Chihnayatra after witnessing Krishna-related pageants (yatras) or other such dramatic performances at Jagannatha, Puri, and various places across north India; it seems more plausible to consider Chihnayatra as an event following his first pilgrimage’ (53–54). The agency of the visual in imagining and experiencing the nature (swarup) of the divine was emphasized in the course of the performances. Taking the cue from the incident in the tenth book of the Bhagavata Purana regarding the visualization of the vaikuntha by Krishna among the inhabitants of Braj, Sankardeva was requested by his fellow feudal lords and followers to do likewise for them as well (‘gopa-gopikoje krishnai dekhale, amaro krishna tumi, icchha goise, dekhowa jak’). No texts as such composed for the performances are available. It is hence speculated that the characters were not given any speech, and they possibly played their roles through gestures and body movements to the accompaniment of songs and music. The performance went on for seven days and seven nights. It marked the transformation of Sankardeva from being a feudal lord (bhuyan) to the much-exalted position of a preceptor (guru) of a new religious order and was ordained with the authority of admitting new bhaktas into his fold. The Chihnayatra is not considered as a singular dramatic work by Sankardeva. In addition to his six ankiya bhaonas, the hagiographies mention that he had composed two more plays, namely, Janmayatra (the story of Krishna’s birth) and Kanshavadha (the slaying of Kansha), which are extinct now.3 The ankiya bhaonas were performance texts through which Sankardeva reached out to people beyond his devotees. For this reason, these performance texts were very important in the course of Sankardeva’s mission.

Ritual Performance and Ankiya Bhaonas The six extant ankiya bhaonas composed by Sankardeva are, namely, Patni Prasada (homage of the wives), Kaliya Damana (taming of the Kali-naga), Keli Gopala (divine play of Gopala), Rukmini Harana (the abduction of Rukmini), Parijata Harana (the stealing of the parijata-tree), and Rama Bijaya (the victory of Rama). The term ankiya or anka refers to the play-text or the dramatic composition in Brajabuli and Sanskrit, while the art or the medium of presenting them is referred to as the bhaona (a kind of medieval histrionics).4 However, it must be noted that the term anka or ankiya was not used during Sankardeva’s time; instead, the terms jatra,

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nataka, and nritya appeared within the texts of the compositions (Bharali, 1993: 44). It has not yet been possible to correctly estimate the year of composition and performance of his plays, except for the last one, Rama Bijaya, which was composed and performed in the year 1568 in the court of king Naranarayana, at the behest of Chilarai, the king’s brother. The subject-matters of his plays were mostly based on incidents narrated in the Bhagavata Purana (book X), the Vishnu Purana (book V), and the Harivamsa (Medhi, 1997[1948–49], lii–lx). Rama Bijaya is based on the Ramayana, with certain narrative elements borrowed from the Agni Purana (ibid.: lviii). Krishna is the prime protagonist of all the plays except Rama Bijaya (where Rama is the hero). The primary characters in the plays deliver their dialogues in Brajabuli. In this regard, we may argue that Sankardeva’s use of Brajabuli was motivated by the larger pan-Indian surge in Krishna bhakti in the early sixteenth century across north India. Through Brajabuli (or rather its application in Sankari literature), Sankardeva attempted to refashion the existing expressive resources in the Assamese language with the new repertoire of Krishna literature developed in Brajbhasa of north India. In other words, Sankardeva’s decision to use Brajabuli for the composition of bargeets and ankiya bhaonas may also point towards his vision to create literary works in Assam that were localized for immediate visual/devotional appeal of Braj literary culture of north India. Sankardeva’s translation of various cantos from the Bhagavata Purana, particularly the tenth book or the Dasama Skanda, is venerated as the Word of God and has attained sanctity as the sacred text for worship among the Vaishnavite devotees in Assam. In addition, the oral reformulation of the textual matter in the form of kirtanas emphasizes the efficacy of listening to the nama or the name of God thereby extending the spatial vista of the purana from the confines of the temple, from the manikuta5 out into the open space of the courtyard. The centralized location of the naamghar 6 or the sattra7 in this context acts as a discursive site for the congregation of the masses collectively listening to the edicts and teachings of the Bhagavata Purana. Within the larger spatial–ideological context, what happened furthermore through the performance of the ankiya bhaonas is an aestheticization of religious feelings mediated by literary and performative components. In this context, it may be appropriate to reflect on the following lines from J.N. Mohanty (2002): The figure of the deity—in itself formless, and worshipped and thought of under any name and form—is a creation of the artist. The songs in his or her praise are compositions of poets, to be sung [or performed] in accordance with the canons of music [and performance] and often in communion with other devotees. Religious rituals performed in service of the deity involve subtle movements of the body, which transform the body into an aesthetic medium. (130)

This assertion by Mohanty takes us from the ritual import of worship to the aesthetic dimension of spirituality. Sankardeva’s ankiya bhaonas not only add a visual import to the devotional discourse of sravana-kirtana (prescriptive chanting of the name of the Lord) but also help in developing an embodied aesthetics of devotion in all aspects. Furthermore, it is important to remind ourselves that Sankardeva was attempting to proselytize an audience belonging to multiple ethnic communities. It was therefore appropriate to focus their attention to a singular point of tangible

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reference in the embodied form of Krishna. Through his diverse manifestations and dramatic actions in the ankiya bhaonas—as a cowherd boy, a lover among the gopis, a young prince or a powerful king—the character of Krishna drew substantial resemblance to the quotidian lifestyles within the developing feudal agrarian social system in medieval Assam that had emerged from an age-old tribal economy. To quote Guha (2015 [1991]): Several tribal state formations alongside of a fragmented political system known as the bhuyan-raj flourished during the thirteenth-sixteenth centuries. The term bhuyan or bhaumik is etymologically derived from bhumi meaning land and signified a landowner or landcontroller. A caste-differentiated Assamese-speaking people under the Bhuyans formed the core of the society and coexisted with numerous tribal settlements representing diverse languages and uneven levels of cultural development. (100)

Sankardeva himself, once a shiromani (chief) bhuyan, had ‘inherited and managed a landed estate which included, among others, thirty pairs of bullocks and one hundred and twenty cows’ (ibid: 51). Therefore, even though he never settled down for a sedentary living with landholdings, the personality of the feudal lord commanding singular attention from his vassals was never away from his poetic–philosophical imagination. Such a position might be concomitant with his projection of the image of Krishna as the purusa par excellence in the ankiya bhaonas. Four of his six plays contain scenes of war and retaliation which might as well have struck a chord with his audience who witnessed similar tussles between kings and feudal lords. The postfixes to those four plays are damana, harana (twice), and bijaya which signify the predominance of conquest or victory metaphors in them. The depictions of battles and heroic resistance were staple components of many kavyas and natakas in Indian literatures, with vira rasa (heroic sentiment) being the predominant mode. The ankiya bhaonas by Sankardeva, however, exhibit judicious use of this sentiment in presenting the full aesthetic force of the visual and complementing it with the verbal/rhetorical exposition, advocating the efficacy of nama and kirtana as a means to an end. Interestingly, Sankardeva, at an early age, understood the persuasive power of the visual, as is evident from his Chihnayatra performance. Perhaps it is because of this acknowledgement of the enduring capacity of the visual that mukhas (masks) were used as an essential component of the ankiya bhaonas.8 However, with the expansion of his circle of followers hailing from disparate social–cultural backgrounds, it was necessary to exercise the power of language to fashion the self of an ideal bhakta from among those communities traditionally located outside the caste-Hindu paradigm. The ritual significance of the verbal was also emphasized, as was evident from specific injunctions issued within the text of the ankiya bhaonas. Examples include ‘ahi patniprasada nama natah/ sampurna bhaila/ihaka jeshaba loka/ bhakti-bhave gawe/ je bhaona karaya/ tarasobora krishna charane/parama bhakati barhaba/’ (Hereby concludes the patni prasada nataka; whosoever, with a spirit of dedication, sings or performs this play should by these deeds increase his devotion at the feet of Krishna) and ‘ramaka parama bhakati rasa jana/ shrishukladhwaja nripati pradhana//ramaka vijaya jo karaoli nata/ milahu taheka vaikunthaka bata//’ (Realizing the sentiment of extreme devotion towards Rama, Shri Shukladhwaj [or Chilarai]—the prime minister to the king—oversaw the performance of

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the rama vijaya nataka. May the road to vaikuntha be made accessible to him!). Therefore, the ritual act of performing or witnessing the performance of an ankiya bhaona was not only an act of piety but also an occasion to imagine oneself as part of a congregation dedicated to an unwavering submission to one Godhead.

Characters of Rama and Lakshmana in an ankiya bhaona. Source: Author

Use of mukhas (masks) in an ankiya bhaona. Source: Author

Along with sight, the aspect of sound was equally predominant within the performative imagination of the playwright. The function of various songs constitutes not merely facilitating the flow of the narrative, but also enhancing the experience and impact of various rasas aroused by incidents described within the play. The entry of the protagonist(s) within the play is marked by songs (prabesha geetas) rendered through ragas like sindhura (in Parijata Harana and Rama Bijaya). Descriptions of action or battle scenes involving the vira rasa (heroic sentiment) are rendered

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through ragas ashowari and kanara (in Parijata Harana, Kaliya Damana, Rukmini Harana, and Rama Bijaya). Ragas like shyama, sripayara, and kedara are used in Keli Gopala to convey the complex interplay of emotions (sambhoga and viraha) in the love-play between Krishna and the gopis in Brindavan. Apart from these, there is a multitude of various ragas carrying forth the flavours of different rasas in the ankiya bhaonas of Sankardeva. Lyricism thus became another important component that accentuated the experiential intensity of these performances. A significant incident (rather the prime mover) in Parijata Harana is Krishna’s attack on Kamarupa (present-day western Assam) and slaying of the ‘demon’ Naraka at the request of Indra. Even though Sankardeva was only relating to an incident whose provenance can be traced back to the Sanskrit sources, yet the very reference to Krishna’s conquest of Kamarupa and his subsequent installation of Bhagadatta, son of Naraka, still a child, as the ‘king’ of the region is a point hard to miss in the interpretation of the play in performance. As dramatized in the ankiya bhaona, the character of Naraka at one level plays out as an adversary of Krishna and, at another level, as the progenitor of an unbroken line of kings who ruled over Kamarupa. The play demonstrates the supremacy of Krishna’s power; if opposed faced with destruction and if revered would receive a reward. Most of the stone and copperplate inscriptions in Assam bearing the epigraphs in Sanskrit were issued on the occasion of providing land-grants to Brahmins who, in turn, reciprocated the favour by composing certain verses called prasastis in praise of the kings as descendants of some illustrious characters from the puranas.9 This may explain how the ruling dynasties of Kamarupa could trace their lineage from Vishnu via Naraka. The kings also helped facilitate the process of settled cultivation by deploying the tribal population of the region to work as enforced cultivators. With regards to this process, Hiren Gohain (2014) is of the opinion that the beginning of Sanskritisation was also concomitant with the gradual emergence of caste distinctions orchestrated by the Brahmins under the authority of Kshatriya kings. He also draws our attention to the growth of a general feeling of condescension and disdain at the underdeveloped nature of the non-Aryan and non-Brahminical tribal society. This, according to him, could also be seen in the case of the Vaishnava gurus though they left no stone unturned to proselytize and assimilate the tribal population into their fold by weaning them away from their so-called ‘primitive’ modes of worship (40–42). Following the slaying of Naraka in Parijata Harana, it is immediately stated by the sutradhara that ‘sey sura, narakaka mari kohu srikrishna yash sadhala’ (Having killed Naraka, the demon, Krishna earned fame and glory for himself). Consoling Vasumati, the mother of Naraka, who is utterly dismayed at the loss of her son, Krishna tells her that, ‘ahe vasumati! toho tap tejaha/ tohari putra narakasura bhumika bhar heli/ sey nimitte ihaka mari bhumika bhara dura kayala/ tohari bachane ohi bhagadatta shisuka kamarupa raja pataba/ tohu chinta nahi karaba//’ (Vasumati, weep no more. Your son Naraka became a burden to the earth, and for that reason I slew him and removed it. I will do as you ask and install Bhagadatta as ruler of Kamrupa. You need worry no more [Translation from W.L. Smith, 2007]). It is ironical that Krishna is talking about making lighter the burden of the earth by

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slaying the ‘demon’ whose mother is Mother Earth herself! What is further striking is that the problematic implication of this ‘conquest’ or ‘extermination’ is justified or rather overshadowed by frequent injunctions within the play to chant the Lord’s name in anticipation of his blessings and goodwill. From the vantage point of presentday textual/performative critical insight, it may be easy to theorize the said event as Sankardeva’s reworking of the epic/puranic narrative to create a narrative of divine retribution for acts of violence or disobedience against the rule of God. Added to that, the performance of an ankiya bhaona is seen as a ritual enactment which is construed as an act of piety and charity. Therefore, the challenge is to re-imagine the context of the production of a play like Parijata Harana within the cultural geography of sixteenth-century Assam-Kamarupa as an engagement with ‘the local and the contingent’. It is crucial to understand the conditions of its performance before an audience of which a majority would have belonged to communities either ritually inducted within the caste paradigm (as in the case of the royal dynasties leading up to the Ahoms and the Koches) or still affiliated to certain ritual practices considered non-Aryan or non-Vedic at that time. In another instance of engagement with ‘the local and the contingent’, we may refer to an earlier play Kaliya Damana where the act of overpowering (not slaying) the Kali Naga has been dramatized. Just like the case of Naraka and the cultural–political identity of Assam-Kamarupa, the ritual–performance engagement with snakes is no less significant within the cultural geography of the region. This is evident from a long tradition of worshipping Manasa Devi, the snake-goddess in the region. In fact, as near contemporaries to Sankardeva, there lived a group of poets, referred to as the Panchali poets, who subscribed to the ritualistic authority of Manasa and believed in the fulfilment of worldly ambitions through her benediction and goodwill. These poets, namely, Mankar, Durgabar, Pitambar, and Sukabi Narayan, were composing poetry outside the ideological influence of Sankari Vaishnavism. Therefore, in this context, the dramatic portrayal of this incident through the medium of an ankiya bhaona, despite the provenance of the narrative in the Bhagavata Purana, to an audience already aware of the local parallel tradition of Manasa assumes crucial significance. Can this be seen as a conflict between a pan-Indian ideology of krishna bhakti re-contextualized in Assam-Kamarupa on the one hand and a strong folk– ritual tradition of Manasa worship endemic to the larger cultural geography of the region on the other? Was the spiritual–ideological surge of Sankari Vaishnavism through Kaliya Damana demonstrative of the fact that snakes could be tamed thereby reducing the ritual significance of snake-goddess worship? These are questions that require a deeper engagement with the ‘materiality of the archive’ as indicated earlier, particularly one whose contours and dynamics have been framed and fashioned through centuries of sectarian indoctrination and interpretation. The endeavour to fix the meaning of the text as a determinate entity often subverts the possibilities of alternative interpretations of the narrative in performance. In other words, there is no admissibility of paradigmatic substitutions within the fabric of the ‘text’ that may threaten the sanctity of the value-system within which it is implicated. One example will illustrate this point. There is often a point of discussion among the editors of Sankardeva’s plays regarding the alleged mention of Radha as a character

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in Keli Gopala. One of the earliest editors, Kaliram Medhi (1997[1948–49]), in his English introduction to the plays, remarks that: ‘In Sloka (Sanskrit verse) no 12 [in the play] the word Radha appears in the three manuscripts consulted. It occurs also in six places of the prose portion in vernacular following that verse although in seven others the word Gopi Bala or stri appears where one could expect to find the word Radha for the sake of consistency. In the succeeding songs also the word Gopi and not Radha appears to mean the same cowherdess. It is very easy to change the reading in the prose portion, but not so in the sloka and song. The word Radha, in these places, appears to be an interpolation’ (liii-liv). He further clarifies that the word ‘Radha’ appears nowhere in the Bhagavata Purana, the source of this drama, or in the vast collection of works composed by Sankardeva, precisely because there is no permission for the composite worship of Radha and Krishna within the tenets of Sankari Vaishnavism. The matter worth pondering here is not regarding the presence/absence of Radha as the consort of Krishna, but the effort on the part of the editor to deny or forestall any divergence based on the fixity or steadfastness of authorial intentions. The position of Keli Gopala as a text-in-manuscript and a text-in-performance is passed over as an aberration. A later editor, Mahim Bora (2017 [1989]), however, notes the presence of the character of Radha in the manuscripts of the play preserved in the Bholaguri Sattra of Kaliabor and also in the Natun Kamalabari Sattra of Majuli (26). Therefore, despite editorial injunctions to the contrary, it would be nevertheless fruitful to consider such deviations for expanding the horizons of the text-in-performance other than the ones avowed by its author or his sectarian followers. There is then a possibility to examine an ankiya bhaona not merely as an artistic–cultural text for the propagation of the Neo-Vaishnavite principles but also as embodying within itself a self-reflexive critique of very principles it was meant to signify and support in the first place.

Contemporary Manifestations of Ankiya Bhaona Traditionally, the ankiya bhaonas were organized within the confines of the two prominent Vaishnava institutions of Assam, namely, the naamghar and the sattra, sacred spaces for practice of the faith. The large prayer-halls meant for the congregation of the bhaktas and their collective nama-kirtanas in these places are also used for the purpose of staging the bhaonas. At times, such performances are organized in the open field adjacent to the naamghar or the kirtana-ghar within the sattra. The satradhikar and other elderly dignitaries of the sattra sit towards or near the pillars close to the manikuta. As noted by Neog (1984), the actors for a bhaona performance within a sattra usually belonged to the immediate circle of the clerics (20). The sattradhikars are also known to have played the roles of the sutradhara or the prime protagonists of the play. In contrast to the sutradhara from the Sanskrit dramatic tradition, the sutradhara as a character within the ankiya bhaona stays on the stage for the entire duration of the play. He orchestrates the narrative flow of the performance thereby offering directions and commentaries to the audience (through his characteristic mode of address: ‘aahe samajika loka’) at various points within it

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(Kakati, 2010[1991], 64). As far as the actors in general are concerned, there were no professional groups in the days of Sankardeva, but Neog (1984) observed, ‘we have the mention in charitas of the Koch general Chilaray’s nartakas, … which is possibly a reference to ordinary musicians and dancers retained at the Koch-Behar court. These nartakas had to be trained for the representation of the Rama-Vijaya by Sankaradeva himself’ (20). In post-Sankardeva period, with the gradual consolidation of the sattras as permanent establishments at various places like Barpeta, Patbaushi, and Kamalabari, the institutionalization of ankiya bhaonas took place as a continuance of the tradition and its practice well into the twentieth century. In the post-Independence period, the establishment of Sangeet Natak Akademi (the national academy of music, dance, and drama) among others, helped in the promotion and dissemination of ankiya bhaonas on the national platform. Simultaneously, these plays also became the subject of serious academic study in the universities of the state. In this context, two notable compilations of ankiya bhaonas namely, Ankavali (edited by Kaliram Medhi, 1948–49) and Ankamala (edited by Satyendranath Sarma, 1973) came into circulation. Even though women’s roles in the ankiya bhaonas were traditionally played by men, recent instances testify to the participation of women as actors, in performances held outside the confines of the sattras. Towards the middle of the twentieth century, Pitambar Deva Goswami, the progressive sattradhikar of the Garhmur Sattra, had founded a drama troupe called the Banshigopal Natya Samiti under the auspices of his sattra and encouraged the participation of women along with men in dramatic performance. In 2015, an all-women troupe gave a performance of Rama Bijaya in Mumbai. In recent years, a number of all-women bhaona groups have emerged at many places across the state. It can be argued that, along with a host of other equally significant factors, the increasing participation of women in the traditionally maledominated ritual art form of the ankiya bhaona has liberated it from the sectarian confines of the monastic space. It has also added to its acceptance within the secular space of the proscenium stage, without compromising with its inherent ritual and aesthetic components.

Conclusion The present study has attempted to address certain issues pertaining to the representation of select ankiya bhaonas of Sankardeva. In considering Sankardeva’s recognition, as evident from his Chihnayatra performance, of the efficacy of the sakar in redirecting the swarup of Hari/Vishnu/Krishna/Rama in the minds of his audience, the ankiya bhaonas as performance texts are important. Besides the affirmation of the Neo-Vaishnavite doctrine, what is significant is that these plays are also strategic for the religious order of Sankardeva in countering the ritual culture of Brahminical Hinduism. Interestingly, the plays drew upon the broader classical rasa tradition for enhancing the compositions’ aesthetic form while propagating spiritual simplicity through namadharma. Originally an integral component of the sacred space of the

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Vaishnavas, the genre has subsequently moved into the secular space. In fact, the use of different linguistic registers by Sankardeva befitting the specific means of production only goes on to signify his acknowledgement of the heteroglossic sensibility of precolonial Indian modernity. In the light of these concerns, the present study has sought to understand the potential of a text like that of an ankiya bhaona, securely ensconced within the manuscript/performance world of Sankari Vaishnavism, as an active agent of individual/community meaning-production in sixteenthcentury Assam-Kamarupa and continuing its influence well into the modern period of Assamese literary–cultural history.

Notes 1. It can be argued that the Assamese response to Bengal Renaissance provided the second instance of Assam getting exposure to a pan-Indian event following the sixteenth-century Bhakti Movement of which Sankari Vaishnavism was the regional manifestation in the state. Writing on the historical context of the impact of the Bengal Renaissance on Assam, Amalendu Guha (2015[1991], 250) quotes a comment from the Bengali periodical Samachar Darpan dated 30 July 1831 where the editor had noted with surprise that: ‘The distinguished persons of the Province of Assam maintain contact with every affair in and about Bengal through the newspapers of this Province. In no district of Bengal are found so many subscribers to our newspapers as are found amongst the people of Assam. Moreover, while from about half the districts of Bengal no letter is sent and appears in newspapers, hardly a week passes without a letter being sent from Assam to us or to other newspaper editors of this Province.’ 2. To quote Guha (2015[1991], 24): ‘The Tai-Ahoms settled down in Upper Assam as migrants from Upper Burma in the thirteenth century. They belong to the Tai or Shan race which extends in scattered pockets from Assam to Tongking and southwards to Bangkok and Cambodia. They had their own written language which, although now dead, is still cultivated by a handful of their erstwhile priests. The original Tai-Ahom settlers liberally absorbed Chutiya, Moran and Borahi tribes into their fold, and after some three hundred years of separate identity adopted Hinduism and the Assamese language by the seventeenth century.’ In the so-called post-Sankardeva period from the late sixteenth century till the beginning of the nineteenth century, the Buranjis (royal chronicles of the Ahoms), initially composed in the language of the Ahoms and subsequently in Assamese, became a major source of Assamese prose literature along with the Guru Charitas (hagiographies). 3. Also, during the time of his pilgrimage, he was presented with a copy of the Bhagavata Purana by Jagadish Mishra from Puri along with commentary on the verses called Bhavartha Dipika by Sridhara Swami. That event marked a vital shift in the nature of the work hitherto undertaken by Sankardeva. 4. Maheswar Neog (1984, 53) speaks about two types of bhaonas: ‘first, ankiya bhaona or representation of the dramas of Sankaradeva and Madhavadeva, and some other plays of the later Mahantas, which have a special and superior way of music (called ankiya bajana), and secondly, dramas written by latter Mahantas, which may not have the sweet Brajabuli idiom but only the everyday Assamese speech for its language (and, therefore, sometimes called matribhasha natak in recent times) and may not have the rich ankiya bajana to accompany it.’ 5. A manikuta is ‘a shrine attached to a nam-ghar with a simhasana containing the Bhagavatapurana or some poetical work based on it or, in some sattras, an idol of Vishnu or Krishna’ (Neog, 1984, 64). 6. A naamghar is ‘a prayer-house, the central structure within a sattra or the central institution in a village, providing venue for bhaona performances’ (ibid.).

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7. A sattra is ‘a residential institution of Vaishnavas, with a kirtana-ghar, q.v., and barracks or rows of huts housing the abbot and monks, who may be married or celibate’ (ibid.). 8. To quote Neog (1984, 28–29): ‘In some sattra circles up till recent times nobody without a mask could represent kings;.… The masks are made of clay, wood or bamboo, and cloth. They are painted suitably with vermilion (hengul), yellow arsenic (haital), indigo and lamp black.’ Hem Chandra Goswami, a Padma Shri awardee from the Samaguri Sattra of Majuli, Assam, is a well-known present-day exponent of the art of life-size mask-making. 9. Sheldon Pollock (2006, 14) identifies the position of Sanskrit as a cosmopolitan language by enumerating its contribution, among other things, towards ‘articulating a form of political consciousness and culture, politics not as transaction of material power … but as celebration of aesthetic power. This it did in large part through the new cultural-political practices that came to expression in the prasasti, which not only arose coevally with Sanskrit kavya but from the first exploited the full range of resources of the language-centered aesthetic of literature. Inscribed on rock faces or copperplates or, at a later date, temple walls, and thus to varying degrees publicly available, the prasasti was the literary expression of political selfhood.’

References Bharali, S. (1993). Ankiya naat aru tholua loka-kola (Ankiya drama and indigenous folk-arts). In D. Kakaty (Ed.), Sahitya sanskriti sourabh (Critical essays on topics of literary and cultural interest) (pp. 44–50). Asom Sahitya Sabha. Bora, M. (Ed.). (2017). Sankardevar Nat (An anthology of Sankardeva’s dramas). Publication Board Assam. Gohain, H. (2014). Asomiya jatiya jeevanat mahapurushia parampara (The mahapurushia tradition in the Assamese social life). Aalibaat Prakashan. Guha, A. (2015). Medieval and early colonial Assam: Society, polity and economy, 1991. Anwesha Publications. Kakati, B. (1921). A new life, letters and a state. In Sankaradeva: Vaisnava saint of Assam. Natesan and Co. Kakati, B. (2010). Ankiya Bhaona. In M. Neog (Ed.), Banikanta rachanavali (Complete works of Banikanta Kakati), 1991 (pp. 62–65). Publication Board Assam. Medhi, K. (Ed.). (1997). Ankavali, 1948-49. Lawyer’s Book Stall. Mohanty, J. N. (2002). Classical Indian philosophy. Oxford University Press. Neog, M. (1984). Bhaona: The ritual play of Assam. Sangeet Natak Akademi. Neog, M. (1986). Maheswar Neog rachanavali (Complete works of Maheswar Neog), Vol. 1. Bani Mandir. Neog, M. (2006). Sri Sri Sankaradeva. Maheswar Neog Publications Trust. Orsini, F. (2012). How to do multilingual literary history? Lessons from fifteenth- and sixteenthcentury north India. The Indian Economic and Social History Review, 49(2), 225–246. Pollock, S. (2006). The language of the gods in the world of men: Sanskrit, culture, and power in premodern India. University of California Press. Sarma, S. N. (Ed.). (1973). Ankamala (A collection of ten early Assamese plays). Gauhati University Press. Smith, W. L. (2007). The translation of Shankaradeva’s Parijata Harana Nata. In E. F. Bryant (Ed.), Krishna: A source book. Oxford University Press.

Chapter 3

Sattriya Tradition of Assam: Rituality, Memory and Transmission Anwesa Mahanta

Abstract The present paper deals with the performance tradition under Sattriya religious order. Namghar and Sattra are the two institutions that Srimanta Sankaradeva instituted for the propagation of his form of Vaisnavism. If Namghars functioned at the village level, Sattras were meant for residential–educational needs of a large number of disciples or bhakats who would stay in Sattras and learn gayan, bayan and nritya under the adhyapaks (teachers) at the Sattras. The Sattras gradually emerged as centres of performing art and Assamese cultural identity. Sattriya has come to define a particular performative culture that combined ritual and memory in its pedagogic practice. Single minded devotion to the divine, here Lord Krishna, could be achieved in diverse forms including preparing the body for various modes of communication for an uplifting sense of bhakti. The core of Sattriya dance is bhakti that developed through Ankiya Bhaonas and other independent raga-based dance forms. The concern of the author in this paper is to explore the aspects of rituality and memory that continues to reinforce the Sattriya performance tradition under the guru-sishya parampara, a living tradition in Assam. Keywords Sattra · Namghar · Vaisnavism · Bhakti · Ankiya Bhaona · Rituality · Memory Devashilpanyetesamvaishilpanamanu kriti ha shilamadhigamyate (Aitarya Brahmana 6-5-26) (Haug and Jain, 2017)

(Arts are hymns to gods and arts in this world are to be understood as an imitation thereof.) Art and Divinity along with art and ritual are a long-cherished part of cultural memory in India. Art, be it in the Vedic or the tribal tradition, is associated with life and expressed in the form of ritual invocations through music, dance, painting, and A. Mahanta (B) Naimisa, House No. 4, Keteki Path, Saurabhnagar, Guwahati, Beltola 781028, India e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 K. C. Baral (ed.), Cultural Forms and Practices in Northeast India, People, Cultures and Societies: Exploring and Documenting Diversities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-19-9292-6_3

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so on. In sculpting an image on rock or such other material, laying a foundation of an architectural work like a temple or work of a similar nature, rituality takes a preeminent role. The foundation of Indian music, dance, and theatre is often conceived of divine origination and rests in rituality so much so that pursuit of sangeeta is equated with purusartha sadhana or dharma kamarthamoksadam (Sastri, 1953, 4) as pronounced in the celebrated canonical texts like the Natyasastra, the Abhinaya Darpana, and the Sangita Ratnakara. The Bhagavata Purana in extolling Bhakti and revalidating this enduring phenomenon describes the act of singing and dancing as modes of celebrating the glory of the Lord Krishna that please Him. Upagayangrinannrityankarmnyabhinayan Matkalinahsrvayansrinumuhurtambhavet Bhagavata Purana 11-27-44 (Singing, dancing, acting, and listening to my lilas, a devotee can attain bliss.)

The divine dispensation of art has been carried over the ages even in the face of changes in the material as well as historical situations in India. Recital of the epics— the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, hymnal compositions belonging to the Vedas, or such other texts—in any linguistic tradition in any part of India continued to be done with ritual fervour. It was felt necessary to foreground the above discussion to relate the notions of rituality and performance in the context of the Sattriya tradition of arts, an inclusive matrix, in which diverse forms of arts—music, dance, theatre, painting, and sculpture—are set on the same plane of significance. The Sattriya tradition of arts with its composite form emerged from the Bhakti movement in Assam during fifteenth-sixteenth centuries with Srimanta Sankaradeva (1449–1568) as its fountainhead. This movement has brought a plethora of images, narratives, and sets of cultural memory transmitted through generations. Srimanta Sankaradeva’s movement marked a unique ritual space in the spiritual domain as practiced by his followers with a supportive community. The performance forms of neo-Vaishnavism opened up the spatial dimension to the wider view of proscenium space at the beginning of the twentieth century in the wake of increasing connoisseural activity and acceptance of Sattriya art as community heritage. In the process, the tradition endures a duality of continuation—ritual and proscenium, and sacred and secular. On another plane, in course of its transmission, each generation of a Sattriya learner or practitioner undergoes a reflective moment within and outside the tradition that determines not only the journey of the practitioner but also of the tradition as a whole. A performer accesses a body of knowledge while living through memory in a pedagogical mode that ensures the embodying of rituals and collective memory opening into an infinite space of enactment and transcendence. The present essay is an attempt to explore these nuances of the Sattriya tradition, with particular reference to the dance form as an adorable and enduring inheritance in the cultural space of the land.

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Contours of the Sankaradeva Movement Sankaradeva’s Bhakti movement with its simplistic doctrine of ekasaran naam dhrama, having unflinching devotion to Lord Krishna as the supreme deity, heralded an all-pervasive cultural resurgence in Assam resulting in an efflorescence of visual art forms such as Ankiya Bhaona and Sattriya dance. A prolific poet and composer himself, Sankaradeva left behind an enviable corpus of writings in all forms prevailing in early Sanskrit literary tradition—epic narratives, hymns, plays, and treatises on bhakti including renderings from the Bhagavata Purana and the Ramayana—widely discussed by Pradip Jyoti Mahanta (Mahanta, 2007, 2). Ankiya Bhaona, a form of musical play, accompanied with songs is presented with subtle combinations of music, dance, drama, and poetry. The ingenious devices in use in the texture of the play paved the way for the emergence of a distinctive ritual tradition in the hands of the later apostolate through community observance in the sacred space of the namghar in the Sattra institutions. Thus, dance became a part of the vocation of the devotees that became integral to the celebration of various festive occasions. The first ever play Chihnayatra mounted by the saint in the early part of his life in Bardowa, his birth-place, with larger participation of the kindred, laid the foundation of the form with dance and music as an inalienable part of its spectacle, a novel genre, hitherto unheard and unexperienced by the people. At another level of ideating the method for the spread of the faith of bhakti among most of the unlettered populace, Sankaradeva took to the participatory form of sravana and kirtana (listening and singing of holy names of the Lord) out of the nine modes of pursuit of bhakti pronounced in the Bhagavata Purana. yadyapitonavavidha bhakti madhavara sravanakirtana tata aatisreshthatara (Srimadbhagavata1-1-38) (Even though there are nine modes of devotion to Lord Madhava, listening and singing of His glory are more adorable amidst them.)

The naam-kirtan and other artistic forms were participatory in nature and devotional in spirit that helped Sankaradeva to reach out to a society of mixed populace, even to those who were outside the portals of varnasrama. The Vaisnavite art forms were potential media to share the Bhagavata faith and stir the minds of the people with imagination and aesthetic sensibility through a methodological practice of sarira (body), svara (musical notes), and nada (sounds). With importance laid on the embodying practices, be it music, dance, drama, painting, crafts, textiles, etc., the Bhakti movement in Assam steered by the saint preacher was around the idea of intense single minded devotion to Lord Vishnu or Krishna as the centre. The movement in Assam led to the growth of an inclusive fraternity inspired by the ideal of bhakti. Performance and its multiple dimensions that engendered a stream of new thoughts and interpretations were well-envisioned by the saint poet, thus making the performative aspect a window to unfold the philosophical, theological, aesthetic, religious, and social facets of the bhakti faith culminating in a movement with its own

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unique characteristics. The Ankiya Bhaona, a hallmark of the saint’s genius, evolved as a distinctive theatre form of Assam that also came down as a ritual play tradition (Neog, 1983). Although conceived as a medium for propagating the tenets of bhakti, the skilled artistry and execution of the performance structure, rich in music, dance, and drama along with visual scenography gained its momentum through wide acceptance by the people. The plays of Sankaradeva and Madhavadeva and other apostles together with their dramatic intensity, spiritual entertainment, and a never seen visual spectacle got modelled as a highly stylized and popular theatre form. The Ankiya Nat and its performance, known as Bhaona, developed as an extensive portal of creativity. With imagination and brilliance, it flourished within the religious space in that the saint poet ingeniously employed creative tools to innovate upon the form. The classical Sanskrit drama was one of the models that was in view, but the concern of the saint-composer was how best to reach out to the vast multitude of unlettered audience with the message of bhakti. Introduction of Brajabuli, the much-adored poetic language of Bhakti literature in North and Eastern India, was adopted by giving a new twist to the subtle mixture of Sanskrit, Maithili, and Assamese that added novelty to the range of bhasha nataka. With a set of hymnal compositions called Bargit using Brajabuli as its medium, Sankaradeva introduced a new melodic and rhythmic style that set the trend of doxological compositions to be rendered in congregational chanting (nam-prasanga) in the Namghar in addition to the other compositions such as the Kirtanaghosa, the Namghosa (by Madhavadeva) and the Bhagavata rendered in Assamese. These melodic and rhythmic patterns evolved with the efflorescence of margi-desi continuum blending the shastric elements with the local descants led to the formation of an indigenous performance tradition and identity (Mahanta, 2013, 143). Dance as an embryonic core developed within the performance of Ankiya Bhaona through the sequences of dramatic structure as seen in the entry, exit, and various interactions of the dramatis personae during the performance. The orchestral presentation called gayan bayan with the khol (drums) and taals (cymbals) conceptualised and introduced as purvaranga of Ankiya Bhaona is a spectacle with vigorous dance sequences. The Sutradhara, who holds the unifying thread of the scenes, sings, comments, and builds up the narrative sequence of the play having elaborate and intricate strings of dance numbers. Even today, in the practice of Sattriya dance, the role of Sutradhara reflects the mastery of a performer in dancing, singing, enacting, and communicating. The narrative voice of the Sutradhara constitutes the core of the performance; his character and role make him an observer, a commentator, and a witness to the performance as part of and outside of the audience. Madhavadeva, the principal apostle of the saint poet further supplemented this creative process with his six playlets and added to the gamut of six plays penned by Sankaradeva. He appended a large number of dance numbers with masculine vigour and feminine grace to embellish histrionic artistry. He further introduced a new dance number— calinac–outside the dramatic core thus initiating independent dance compositions separate from the theatrical frame. This weaving of new movement textures within the dramatic frame and then as an independent unit of dance continued with fervent ritual pursuit by the practitioners of Sattra institutions. In the process, a large number

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of dance choreographies with rich rhythmic and melodic input became part of Sattriya tradition in addition to the existing ones. Similarly, the pictorial and craft tradition marking its beginning with the saint poet in his first play Chihna Yatra unfastened the practice of manuscript paintings in literary texts, making masks for certain characters created powerful expressive forms. A ‘vast edifice of space’ (Vatsyayan) was unravelled, initiating gati—motion and momentum—through the performing body while engaging with the mind, synchronizing the physical movement with the mental waves in an embrace of bhakti as a way of life. The emergent creative form and its frame carried the signature of the local, indigenous and swadeshi performance tradition. Ananda Coomaraswamy observes: A True Swadeshi is a way of looking at life… a true swadeshi would have attempted to preserve the status of our skilled artisans and village craftsmen, for the sake of the value to our country of Men as Men (Singam, 2011, 24).

In championing indigenous talent in craftsmanship and in respect to age old tradition, Coomaraswamy underlines the value of unique and differentiated art/craft traditions that have flourished in India. Sattriya dance and the accompanied craft culture testify to this understanding.

Sattras: Past and Present The term Sattriya is a newer appellation that has been added to the range of artistic traditions efflorescing from the Sankaradeva Movement and practiced, preserved, and developed by the Sattra institutions. In an extended implication, it also refers to the practitioners or inmates of the Sattra. Hence, Sattriya denotes a proponent of arts who belongs to the spiritual fraternity inhabiting within the premises of a Sattra. A reference to a tradition takes us to the sustained efforts and contributions of several performing bodies that help its continuation as a flow from the past to the present time (Paarviainen, 1998, 77). Conceptually, the Sattra as an institution was envisaged by the saint poet to concretize the idea of sattresusamajesu (Goswami, 2005, 354) or an assembly of people discoursing on the Brahman or the Paramatman in singing in praise of the Lord or discoursing on the Bhagavataprasanga. In view of the regional ethos and Sankaradeva’s missionary vision, the saint poet mostly conducted the discourses in Assamese rather than in Sanskrit and also initiated his listeners to the Brajabuli so that commoners could easily get introduced to the philosophical nuances of the faith he was preaching in order to enhance their spiritual learning. This reveals that the beginning of Vaishnava literary tradition both oral and written is closely linked to the idea of Sattra assemblage. Gradually, Bardowa, Barpeta, Belaguri, Patbausi, Sundaridiya, and several other Sattras became pivotal to congregational prayers and spiritual pursuit. These Sattras, in due course of time, gradually developed a pedagogy of artistic forms, expanded the rhythmic and melodic varieties of dance and music thus building up a large repertoire of foot work, histrionic artistry, stylization of the expressional aspects, and shaped a strong conservatoire of

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arts. The Sattra and its institutionalized support endured the artistic pursuit while reaching out to the people, combining performing arts with Bhakti in an embedded cultural progression leading to social resurgence. The message of the Bhagavata got entrenched in the collective consciousness and memory through which an unlettered Assamese could recite the Bhagavata and could sing the devotional songs of Sankaradeva, Madhavadeva, and other apostles; he could chant sections of the Kirtanaghosa and the Namghosa, could enact roles in Bhaona even though there were no formal institutions or centres in today’s model to train people, except a handful of Sanskrit tols all over the valley. This role of the Sattras, as non-formal learning centres, helped in transmitting a system of knowledge as lived experience. The nature of the transmission through performance has also opened a wider democratic acceptance and appeal and continues to prevail till today. With the pedagogic objective of reaching out to the masses for spiritual learning, the Sattras and Namghars become enduring centres of non-formal education in Assam’s villages. One of the benefits of informal and voluntary pedagogy is that it generated not only an interest in spiritual aspiration but also allowed a devotee to immerse in the whole repertoire of the Sattriya tradition that moved through—pathan (reading), smaran (memorizing), nritya (dance), sangeetakirtanprasanga (singing and music), abhinaya (role playing), etc.—bringing together the mind and the body through reflection and performance. The followers of Sankaradeva became a community of seekers who adapted to a life where faith became a way of life. Of late, the organic nature of Sattra life is threatened as some of the inhabitants have moved to urban centres in search of livelihood and wider outreach of Sattriya arts. While imparting training outside the Sattras has contributed towards the proliferation of the arts through an extensive outreach of learners, in few cases, it has also been observed that the nature of training has gone against the very essence of its pedagogic structure, for at the heart of this institutional practice was to experience the community life in seeking the path of the divine.

Rituality and Performance Discourse The polyphonic pattern of Sankaradeva’s movement opened up creative reflections on varied artistic expressions; one such reflection is making an ‘offering’ to the divine through performance. It is not simply a ritual but a mode of Bhakti that opens up a spiritual path before a devotee to offer himself to the divine through his performance. The word ‘offering’ holds utmost importance here looming from the stream of navadha bhakti (nine ways of devotion) in its view of atmanivedana (submission of self), archana (offering), vandana (celebration) to the extent of sravana (listening), and kirtana (chanting). It is these preparations and stages of the rituality that define the corporeality of the performing body in this context. The performance is beyond mere presentation of the self where the individual learner or the performer prepares, learns, and moulds the ‘self’ for a social moment. Victor Turner describes about rituality and communitas, inculcating a sense of togetherness and bonding. 1

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The scheduled calendar of performances (music, dance, theatre, recitation of manuscripts) gradually built up a social ecology for arts in the Sattra system and its surrounding areas. Planning, training, and execution of performances in view of the grand ritual ceremonies of the Sattras offer a practitioner an opportunity and space to bring in innovativeness and individual interpretations in performance narratives. Aiming to enhance social well-being the performances and kirtan chants as ritual offerings at one level are ceremonised in an engagement of sarira, svara, and nada; at another level, they symbolise a collective remembrance and enactment for collective good. Moreover, with gradual proliferation of the Sattra institutions, there has been a constant interaction through the medium of performances with other existing traditions that helped to extend Vaisnava ideals of peace and harmony within the spiritual tenets of the Bhagavata among various ethnic communities. In the process, the Namghar has become a secular platform for various social concourses apart from serving as a sacred space for rituals connected to Bhakti. The Namghar also becomes a social platform for the community, where juridical issues are solved through mutual dialogue and discussions on social conflicts and other issues. Even in contemporary context, the Sattras play a crucial role in harmonizing social relations between the tribal and non-tribal communities thereby spreading Sankaradeva’s abiding ideals of human well-being translated into a cohesive social fabric in Assam. The pedagogy of non-exclusion and mutual respect has constituted the core of Sankaradeva’s thought and mission that resulted in the formation of a peaceable society.

The Body in Bhakti Srimanta Sankaradeva in his propagation of bhakti elucidates smarana as he says smarane karaya siddhi in his devotional hymns, Bargits (Mahanta, 2015a, b, 65). The word gives us a clue to the embodied process of the performing body and the reflections it undergoes in imbibing a tradition. The Sangita Ratnakara further underlines memory as knowledge towards attaining buddhi (Shringy & Sharma, 2018, 53–54). Dance lies at the point at which reflection and embodiment meet, at which doing and anticipation are intertwined (Martin, 1998, 1).

Whenever we look into the history of Sattriya dance and its allied traditions, it brings before us an unsurpassed understanding of body memories passing down the treasured experiences of knowledge and learning to the next generation. Corporeality...conveys a cultural heritage from one generation to the other…a body belongs to the ancestors as much to the contemporaries (Paarviainen, 1998, 74).

The perseverance of the practitioners amidst the political upheavals of the region, climatic challenges, and natural disasters has stood the test of time. The history and practice of the whole tradition is a composite matrix of multi-layered perceptions

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and artistic visions that have led to the contribution of a huge vocabulary on movements and grammatical texture of the artistic forms. A young learner has to master the movement vocabulary not as utterance but as body movement while memorizing the nuances of the dance in synchronizing bol (sound), tal (beats), and nritya (body movement while dancing). Memory becomes an inevitable tool through which internalization or antahkarana, a mediated reflection (Shringy & Sharma, 2018, 53–54) takes place. David E.R. George says: It is not only our bodies which enter the world of performance; it is, even more significantly, our minds which step across a threshold from one set of assumptions about one kind of reality into another (George, 2017, 27).

The learning process is a constant interaction between memory and the body that communicates with the audience. It also provides an experiential view (Vatsyayan & Saraswati, 1995a, b, 4) that is both aural and visual. The sacred narratives are often accompanied with visual depictions in manuscripts, paintings, and sculptural engravings combining orality with sacrality. The motifs of sacredness manifesting in rituals underline ‘social submission’ that meets the performance requirement as termed by Malinowski (Dundes, 1984, 199) on the part of a practitioner. This can be further elaborated in the sense that there is a process and product relationship, the product being spiritual enhancement/upliftment through the process of performance and other accompanied arts. Invoking the spirit of Lord Krishna in the performance space ingrains the teacher and the learner to teach and learn the particular performance narrative both as a social need and as a devotional exercise on the occasion. The Sattriya performance culture over centuries has sustained itself through commitment to spirituality and art. The complementarity of bhakti (devotion) and kala (artperformance) has developed into a unique pattern, for example, when a learner memorizes episodes from the Kirtanghosa, he also visualizes the painting that is demonstrative of some dance movement; simultaneously translating the words into visual realization. This could be the best example of anthakaran. The painted manuscripts become a source of meta-narrative performance analysis. To speak from my own experience of learning and spacing the contours of movement dynamics through these collective memories of a ‘living tradition’, I experienced intense moments that unlocked the way a new narrative emerged from the existing ones through interaction and communication between memory and body. This generative possibility has sustained the Sattriya tradition over centuries.

Sattriya Dance: A Living Experience Sattriya dance is a living tradition within a socio-cultural environment belonging to the cultural geography of Assam. The art form has undergone changes over the passage of time with its inner core enduring to the present. The dance form having passed on through oral transmission has no laconic record of documentation of its

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performance history, and interestingly for the performers and the ritual presenters, that miss has not created a problem, mainly for two reasons: (i) the Sattras as sites for training, preservation, and propagation of the dance form have rigorously maintained its continuity, to a great extent; (2) the art form has sustained itself on orality and is nourished by collective memory and common faith. The mode of oral pedagogy through the rigour of a teacher’s (addressed as Adhyapak) commitment nurtures a learner to the state of perfection by getting him totally immersed in it. Within the principle of collective working set up in the Sattra, the guru-shishya (teacher-disciple) parampara gets institutionalized in respect of dance and music and allied traditions of visual arts. The ultimate performance in the completion of everyday rituals and rituals on special occasions is the definitive moment for which each learner gets prepared. While the presence of audience in these rituals is of least importance the perfect representation of the performance ritual on the occasion is of utmost concern. The constant supervision of the Adhyapak to train the next generation for successful completion of learning through rigour and a sense of surrender in the mind so as to become an inseparable part of the teaching–learning process, has worked in sustaining the art form over centuries. The process thus has kept the oral pedagogy and its embodied transmission of knowledge distinctive. The training of a learner with constant reference to sarira and nada in tune with the rituality of the performance has made the whole inventory of Sattriya pedagogy a spiritual undertaking and experience, where the pupil in the process of learning, listening, seeing, and observing is constantly reminded of a higher realization of Sankaradeva’s philosophy and the contours of Vaisnava faith and beliefs. Be it the preparation of the crafts, cleaning of the performance space, or even the preparation of the costumes for the rituals in flattening the creases of the white robes or the yellow dhoti or designing the head gear (kiriti), the target destination is to experience the moment of ritual considering the namghar as vaikuntha (heaven). But the situational variation of performance in its learning, transmission, and presentation also brings a change in the entire process, where the priority of rituality takes a back seat and the form precedes on a principle of art for art’s sake. A brief view of schools mushrooming in various corners of the region itself will give us an instance. These dance schools/institutes and academies are now centres for imparting the heritage of Sattriya traditions that invite attention to thousands of learners each year from various parts of the world to learn the dance. However, the sole target of learning and teaching follows a different methodology in these urban situational contexts where the rituality is secondary and the exposure of movement dynamics and its histrionic artistry assume priority. Moreover, in the Sattras the young boys who are offered to the Sattras by the respective families are being trained by the masters, but the situational variation in the urban dance studios finds interested enthusiasts from various disciplines and methodology of training get improvised according to the context, keeping the core of the Sattriya philosophy and grammar intact. An immediate example, in this case, is the body discipline through khacaka where the teacher massages the spine of the learner with his foot. This helps in straightening the back of the performer that builds up towards the angashuddhi (correct posture) during performance. This primary exercise also builds up the organic

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bond between the Adhyapak and shishya in the Sattra. But in the urban context such techniques are not usually employed; however, in due course, the learner is definitely trained to imbibe a rigorous body discipline inherent within the oral pedagogy. The choreographic pattern too has been imbibed in response to the situational change from the sacred space to the proscenium. The variety of costumes dedicated for each ritualistic number has now been mostly represented under the ekaharya (one-costume) model with a division of male dance costume and female ones signifying the purusha-prakriti (male–female) repertoire of the dance form. In the case of manoeuvring movements and choreographic patterns in view of the change from the namghar to the uni-centric dimension of modern auditoriums, the movement dimensions of dance too have followed uni-directional patterns rather than addressing the four walls of the spaces. The Sattra masters are traditionally prepared for every changing situation and re-frame the movements in terms of the need of the time. This is evident from the performance history of Sattriya dance in the royal courts of Ahom dynasty from seventeenth century. In the field of the music accompaniment which is traditionally framed within the gayan-bayan parampara where the bayan commands the dance performance in the Sattras in the present proscenium performance form, the bayan is replaced with orchestral design. Persons playing musical instruments such as violin and flute seat next to the bayan and gayan on the right aisle of the performance space in the new arrangement. One must note that the spatial change of performance from its ritualistic context to the proscenium hides a lot more actions that are part of each presentation. The garland of performance sequences starting with rag reponi (orchestral presentation of gayan- bayan with a recitation of the melody to be elaborated in rendering the composition during the dance), followed by pure dance and consecutive dance sequences ending with the mela nach speaks about the intricate structure and nuances of the performance and its elaborate dimension in the ritual setting. One also sees such enactment of rites during a staging of Ankiya Bhaona with the commencement of nat mela (beginning of rehearsals of an Ankiya Nat) through invocation of the Lord while seeking the blessings of the seniors for successful completion of the presentation. Each day of the rehearsal is monitored by the seniors with necessary inputs till the final offering of the nat on a celebrated occasion of birth/death anniversaries of the saint poets or a Sattradhikara (spiritual head of a Sattra). The beginning of the ritual with the gayan-bayan (orchestral presentation of khol and taal) followed by an elaborate sequence of Sutradhara (narrator) who meticulously through his recitations, movements evokes the space towards the four walls of creative imagination and allows the audience to soar higher towards a realization of spiritual enlightenment (natakam mukti sadhakam). The change in the ritualistic space has curbed those finer segments of actions in the proscenium space in view of constraint of time and physical space where presentations have been minimized down to a span of exclusive performance. The audience too gets introduced only to a partial presentation where the details of the whole performance get missing outside the ritual context of namghar. But saying so, in every performance context, be it in the ritual or outside of it, the intensity of the performance is meant to savour the rasa may be a partial view. However, the

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performance in this case provides the inner passage to the audience towards the larger social ecology of arts that is necessary for any art form to survive. The changes so far in the context of a shared space between the ritual tradition and its proscenium versions have raised new concerns and possibilities of reflections. As a practitioner and researcher, I feel concerned for dilution of the much of the nuances of the performance narratives that impinge on the minds of the traditional masters in the changing contexts of performance and commercial demands to which both Sattriya dance and Ankiya Bhaona are subjected to constantly. In an interaction between tradition and change, some teachers addressed as Adhyapaks have remained committed to the philosophical core of bhakti in spite of the changes in some aspects of presentation while trying to meet the demands of commercialization. Commercialization is a part of the economics of culture 2 that contributes to the sustenance of a performance tradition. A representation of ‘Sattriya’ is related to the inner core of the philosophy of bhakti and its various artistic expressions in every situational context and a responsible practitioner would have to understand this organic bond of Sattriya in every given situation. While challenges are part of survival and existence of life, representing and transmitting a living tradition in a global context needs antarikshan (introspection) of one’s commitment to the art and its core philosophy without reducing the whole tradition to a mechanical rendition only for commercial benefit. While the interpretations could definitely be improvisations, the recognition and acceptance of it by the larger public validates the identity of the performing body in sharing its sense of belonging to the Sattriya as perceived in public memory. The performer is the instrument, the patra in the process of performance and transmission of a whole culture of socio-cultural experience. The challenges to a Sattriya dancer in a changing time are enormous. With generations of interpreters, demands of the market, and commercialization, a performer has to accommodate acceptable changes and remain steadfast to the core ideals of Sattriya dance only then the dance form that began in 15th–16th centuries will continue to be a living tradition.

Notes 1. Victor Turner defines communitas as an ‘intense, pleasurable feeling of social bonding, togetherness and social unity.’ Turner also equates this state of feeling to a collective bonding amidst people with a note of sacredness in contrast to the secularity of the ‘non-ritual world’. For more: see Beeman, William O. ‘Religion and Ritual Performance’. Interkulturelle Theologie., 2013. p. 4. 2. George Mergos and Nikolas Patsavos comment: ‘Cultural heritage is today considered an activity with far-reaching economic and social impact. Whilst it is a part of the historical past, it is an element of the living present, as well as a constituent of the future to be created. It should be the subject of public reflection and debate on what is worth saving, what priorities should be put on preservation and what the economic effects of heritage activities are. Cultural heritage can operate as a platform for local recognition, as a medium for intercultural dialogue, as a means of aesthetic reflection, and as a generator of sustainable development; it is a component of urban and regional planning, a factor of economic development at regional and local level,

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References Beeman, W. O. (2013). Religion and Ritual Performance. In Interkulturelle Theologie (pp. 320–341). Evangelische Verlagsanstalt. E-Document. Retrieved on 15.09.2020. Dundes, A. (Ed.). (1984). Sacred narrative. California: California University Press. George, D. E. R. (2017). Performance epistemology. In J. Keefe & S. Muray (Ed.), Physical theatre: A critical reader (pp. 26–31). Routledge. Goswami, M. (Ed.). (2005). Srimad Bhagavatapuranam. Guwahati: Publication Board, Assam. Haug, M. (Ed.), & S. Jain (re-ed). (2017). Aitareya Brahmana. New Bharatiya Book Corporation. Mahanta, A. (2013). Performance traditions in Assam: The role of Sattras. In Nartanam, VOL XIII, No. 2. (pp. 137–149). Sahrdaya Arts Trust. Mahanta, A. (2015a). Sattriya dance and Sastric memory. In Sangeet Natak: Prayog and Shastra, Vol. XLIX (pp. 39–52). Sangeet Natak Akademi. Mahanta, B. (Ed.). (2015b). Bargit. Students Stores 1992 (First). Mahanta, P. J. (2007). The Sankaradeva movement: Its cultural horizons. Purbanchal Prakash. Martin, R. (1998). Critical moves. Durham and London: Duke University Press. Margos, G., & Patsavos, N. (Eds.). (2017). Cultural heritage as economic value: Economic benefits, social opportunities and challenges of cultural heritage for sustainable development. Technical University of Crete. https://www.inherit.tuc.gr. Accessed on 09/01/2021. Neog, M. (1983). Bhaona: The ritual play of Assam. Sangeet NatakAkademi. Paarviainen, J. (1998). Bodies moving and moved. Tampere: Tampere University Press. Sastri, S. P. (1953). Sangita Ratnakara of Sarngadeva. Adyar Library. Shringy, R. K., & Prem, L. S. (2018). Sangitaratnakara of Sarngadeva. Munishiram Manoharlal Publishers. First Published 1989. Singam, S. D. R., & Fitszerald, J. A. (Eds.). (2011). The wisdom of Ananda Coomaraswamy. World Wisdom. Vatsyayan, K., & Saraswati, B. (1995a). Prakriti. The integral vision, Vol. 5. Indira Gandhi National Centre for Arts. Vatsyayan, K., & Saraswati, B. (1995b). Prakriti. The integral vision. Vol. 1. Indira Gandhi National Centre for Arts.

Chapter 4

Ojapali: The Sacred and the Secular in Assamese Folk Performance Culture Dhira Bhowmick

Abstract It is argued that the Ojapali performance form of Assam had its origin in the Indian Kathakata tradition. As a pan-Indian phenomenon, Kathakata has been the source of many folk performance forms across the country. Scholars and historians agree that Ojapali had its beginning in Assam around ninth -tenth century but it became a significant cultural form only in the fourteenth century. Classical raga, nritya and music mixed with local traditions over a period of time evolved into Ojapali performance form. This art form has a cultural efflorescence unlike other forms. It resonates through the sacred-secular traditions of the state. There are three major Ojapali traditions: Byas gowa Ojapali, Sattriya Ojapali and Suknanni Ojapali. In addition, there are other minor traditions. Interestingly, there is also an all women Ojapali tradition called Api Ojapali. In all its aspects, this performance form has functioned in a religio-socio-cultural mode of entertainment and instruction. Keywords Ojapali · Kathakata · Classical · Byas gowa · Sattriya · Suknanni Ojapali is one of the longest surviving folk performance forms of Assam. Having its origin in the sacred narratives of the great epics, close to similar forms across the country, Ojapali has evolved in course of time into a practice of worshipping the snake Goddess, Manasa in Assam and some adjoining areas of Bangladesh. This art form bears testimony to the ritual cultural heritage of the state going back to antiquity. It is part of the larger Indian folk tradition called Kathakata (a religious recital meant for rural entertainment based on folklore). A Kathak or a narrator is at the centre of this folk form. In Kautilya’s, Arthashastra a Kathak is referred to a person who makes a living from ‘words.’ Kathakata tradition is the source of many regional folk performance forms across the country such as Kathakalakshepam or Hari Katha of Tamil Nadu, Burra Katha of Andhra Pradesh, Daaskathia and Palagaan of Odisha, Panchali Gaan of West Bengal, Yakshagana of Karnataka, Meitei Jogoi of Manipur, D. Bhowmick (B) Department of English, Shillong College, Boyce Road, Don Bosco, Shillong 793001, India e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 K. C. Baral (ed.), Cultural Forms and Practices in Northeast India, People, Cultures and Societies: Exploring and Documenting Diversities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-19-9292-6_4

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Gondhal and Keertan of Maharashtra, Oggu Katha of Telengana, Bhillu Pattu of Tamil Nadu and Kerala as well as of North East Sri Lanka and Gandharva Gaan or Balun of Nepal to give a few examples. A common thread that runs through these local forms is to entertain and educate the masses through simplification and edification of religious texts. Ojapali originated from the pan India Kathakata tradition and there is no doubt about that maintains Sharma (2018). In a presentation in song dance mode, the Kathak becomes a scholar, a good teacher, a serious orator, and a fine singer having ready wit and flair for the dramatic. He is the intellectual among his lowly contemporaries but his main function is to provide answers, chiefly philosophical, to the questions that may arise in the minds of the devout listeners for whose benefit a difficult, usually Sanskrit scripture is explained in simple vernacular (https://www. indianetzone.com/30/kathakata_indian_folk_art.htm, accessed on 05.04.2021). Giving an account of this tradition, William Ward (during the 1769–1823 period of the Serampore Mission), says that ‘a text from the Mahabharata, Ramayana, Kalika Purana i.e. on the goddess Kali, or Skanda Purana on the god Kartikeya is chosen for recital and interpretation by the Kathak, who sat on a raised platform at one end of a large space under a temporary thatched roof, accommodating around 5000 listeners’ (Ibid). The Oja in Ojapali is the Kathak of the Kathakata tradition. Reflecting on the tradition Kishore Bhattacharjee, an eminent folklorist says: There is a tradition of epic singing in Assam which is based on written manuscripts and oral traditions and these songs should be distinguished from traditional balladry. This tradition is connected with the worship of snake goddess Manasa, a deity worshipped in Assam, Bengal, Orissa, Bihar and some parts of central India (2006, 2).

It is believed that Ojapali in Assam originated in the Kamatapur kingdom in the western and northern region of the river Brahmaputra including parts of the presentday West Bengal. Under the patronage of Koch King Dharmanarayan, Ojapali performance moved to Darrang region. A ‘generally accepted historical narrative is that this district (Darrang) became the hub of Ojapali performance when Darrangi Dharmanarayan ruled over it during 1615 A.D. to 1637 A.D’ (Bora, 2016, 465). This art form is passed on orally from generation to generation through guru-shishya1 parampara. It is a composite art form, a blend of devotional songs, dance and drama. Initially, Ojapali was performed during religious functions in temple courtyards and other places of religious worship. Gradually, it moved to secular spaces and was performed at community festivals. It adorned the courts of kings and was even organized on the 11th day death rituals. However, its sacred content remained intact. Besides selected episodes from epics, it adopted dialogue or kathopokathan (dialogue) into its structure. In its theatrical mode, it included skilled dance performances through mudras with nimble footwork combined with ardha natya or semi-acting. This performing art form is popular across the state including the ethnic groups with some variations in its form, structure and style. But in all variations of the form the Oja has remained the central figure, the master performer and Palis have followed him in the performance. A myth from the Mahabharata gives an interesting twist to this performance tradition tracing its origin to Arjuna, the third Pandava. Urvasi, the celestial dancer

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cursed Arjuna with impotency for refusing to reciprocate her love. With Indra’s mediation, the duration of the curse was reduced to one year and this one year was used by Arjuna during the last year of Agyatvas (the incognito existence) of 13 years of exile of Pandavas. Arjuna as Brihannala taught the art of dance to Princess Uttara, the daughter of king Virat of the Matsya kingdom. This art that Arjuna acquired from Chitrasen Gandharva is known as gandharvavidya. It incorporates music, dance, acting and storytelling. This mythic origin has made this art-form dynamic in its structure. According to another version, the knowledge of Ojapali was revealed to a woman named Parijati in her dreams who passed on the art to her disciples that came to be known as Byas Sangeet or Byas Ojapali or Biyahar Ojapali. According to another popular version, the duo Vyasa Kalai and Kendu Kalai, well-versed in music and art of recitation, were the originators of Ojapali. There are speculations among scholars on the timeline of the beginning of Ojapali. Its association with Vasudev or Vishnu puja has led renowned scholar Tirathnath Sarma to maintain that there is evidence of ‘the prevalence of the tradition of worshipping Lord Vasudev or Vishnu in Assam from 3rd to 4th century AD’ (1975, 1). In Kalika Purana, there is mention of Byas Sangeet as an accompaniment of Vasudeva Puja dating back to eighth-ninth century. Most scholars trace its beginning to tenth century alongside the development of Panchali poetic tradition. Others trace its origin to Sam Veda; in particular, a reference is made to the sacrificial recitals of Sam Gaan. Though the word Ojapali gained currency only in the fourteenth century, some of its performance aspects are drawn from Natya Shastra of Bharatmuni. Renowned scholar Dr. Nabin Chandra Sarma associates Ojapali with a pre-existing performance art form (prior to tenth century) in Pragjyotishpura/Kamarupa in his work, Bharatar Uttar Purbanchalar Paribeshya Kala (2009). Historically, it is presumed that it was performed at the reception of the Chinese pilgrim Huen Tsang (84). Having its association with select geographies of the past, some scholars point out that Suknanni Ojapali came into existence under the patronage of the Koch Kings of Darrang who commissioned Sukabi Narayan Dev to compose Padma Purana. Suknanni Ojapali is associated with Manasa Puja. That the Ahom and Koch kings were great patrons of the art is evident from the works of the time. There are references to song and dance performances accompanied by musical instruments in Shiva temples. Mareh Gaan and Deodhani dance are associated with Suknanni Ojapali. In Vedacharya’s Smriti Ratnakara there is a reference to the performance of Jagar 2 during Shiva and Vishnu worship in that Byas Ojapali was an indispensable part of the celebration. Under royal patronage, this art form became very popular among the masses thus consolidating its base and enabling its social propagation. Ojapali bears close resemblance to other folk art forms that involve musical storytelling across India, Sri Lanka and Nepal. All these performance forms share common characteristics of combining narrative singing on religious topics with dance and part-acting (abhinaya). Performed by a team comprising of a lead singer-narrator and other supporting singers, these forms have survived over centuries. The structure and presentation of these folk arts may differ from place to place but largely they remain a mixture of song, dance, narrative and acting. Eventually, the exclusive religious narratives were modified to suit secular presentations for expanding the

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scope of entertainment for the masses. Gradually, narratives of popular local legends gained currency, as the performers focused more on public taste. Humour and social satire became integral to the modified performance form. A broad division based on epic and non-epic based themes underlines the two types of Ojapali performance. The epic based Ojapali also includes Vaishnavite or Sattriya Ojapali introduced by Sankardev, the great Vaishnavite saint. Following the spiritual and philosophical affiliations, the Ojapali tradition, apart from its commitment to Puranic themes, also includes the teachings of Sankardev’s Vaishnavism. This form is called Sattriya Ojapali. The other variety of Ojapali draws on Padma Purana and Kalika Purana in celebrating Sakta/Sakti rituals in honour of Goddesses Kali, Durga, Manasa, Jagadhatri etc. Existing records show that initially the element of caste was central to this performance where only Brahmins could become Ojas. Those who acquired proficiency in Byas Sangeet were called Biyahar Oja and were identified with Biyahar Ojapali. There was a rule that to be a Biyahar Oja one must be a Brahmin. If anyone other than a Brahmin acquired proficiency in the art he was not considered as a Biyahar Oja. Byas gowa Oja must be a member of Daivajna family who traditionally settled in the village of Vyaspara (a village in Darrang district). No one could claim the honour of Byas gowa Oja other than members from the said families. Eventually, Ojas started coming from other castes because an Oja was considered to be a learned man with considerable social status. The other performers in the group did not have rigid caste selection. Here we may be reminded of the fact that Assam never had a rigid caste system that was prevalent in other parts of the country. Byas gowa Ojapali can be called classical for its share of classical features in the presentation of ragas (classical notes) and mudras (gestures used in classical dance). There is widespread use of raga in its musical renderings. Suknanni Ojapali, on the other hand, is a mixed form of folk and semi-classical musical tradition. Ojapali performances under the rubric of epic-based and non-epic based are also of different types; the former can be divided into seven sub-types and the latter into five.3 These performances differ in recitation, context, technique and style of presentation. Narration of mythological stories and geet–pad recitations are the two main characteristics of Ojapali and have remained common to all Ojapali forms. Sanskrit is used in the shloka recitations; but in some songs, Sanskrit is mixed with early (old) Assamese in Byas gowa Ojapali and Sattriya Ojapali. Ojapali performance enthrals the audience with a mix of recitations, vocals, music, dance and acting. The performance begins with an Alap or initiation which is also known as Swar Sadhana. A small cymbal of four inches radius called Khuttitaal (ideophone) is used for maintaining the beats. Ojapali singers use Mandra (lower scale notes), Ghor and Saar in their musical renderings that affirm its classical base. A Saar can be divided into five parts: umkar, humkar, tar, ghor and mardan (Mandra). In some songs of Ojapali, we find words resembling the sound of musical instruments like Mridang, Veena or other stringed instruments. The early instances of Ojapali mention the use of some other instruments including ektara (one-stringed instrument), lautonkari and dotara (two-stringed musical instrument). ‘The evidence of

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Veena being used in the Byas gowa Ojapali is found in the ancient references’ (Baruah, 2017, 110). There are six ragas and thirty-six raginis used in Ojapali performance. There are five definitive sections into which an Ojapali performance can be divided including singing, dancing and part acting. The songs which are sung in Ojapali style are also known as Panchali. These can be rendered both in standing and sitting positions. Some performances combine both positions. An Oja wears Nupur (anklets) in Byas gowa Ojapali and Api Ojapali. The Oja wears the Nupur only after a prayer is offered on stage and takes off the same indicating the end of a performance. Ojapali is a combination of two words Oja and Pali. Oja is the lead singer and the principal performer in the performance and Pali is his assistant. The word Oja means Upadhya (a teacher or guru in Sanskrit), an erudite person having knowledge of the Puranas and scriptures. He is supposed to be proficient in singing and dancing, adept in mudras and gesticulation, well versed in raga and raginis with the knowledge of swar sanchar, (notes and rhythms) and skilled in the art of conversation. An Oja has to be of honest disposition; should possess excellent physique; should have melodious voice and a sharp memory. Such a versatile personality qualifies to become an Oja. Ojapali is primarily a choral performance, where the Oja, the lead singer, narrates a mythological story in an amalgamated form of music, dance, narrative singing and acting while the Palis take up with the refrain, maintain the beats and continue to assist him in every aspect of the narrative singing right from the beginning till the end. The number of performers varies, depending on the type of Ojapali. In Suknanni Ojapali, there are about five to seven performers excluding the Oja. In Sattriya Ojapali, there are 10 to 15 performers with the Oja in the lead. Khuttitaal is the only instrument used in this performance. Daina Pali is the chief among the Palis and when the Oja rests, he takes over. Daina Pali, the man next to the Oja in importance, has to be eloquent besides being proficient in other arts. Frequently, the Oja indulges in dialogue with the Diana Pali in order to make his narrative lively and interesting. These dialogues are known as Kathopokathan (conversation) between the Daina Pali and the Oja. The roles of Palis are as important as that of the Oja and the performance becomes meaningful through the enthusiastic and meaningful participation of each. Costume is another important aspect of this art form. It is believed that the costume of the Oja resembles that of Brihannala of the Mahabharata fame. Minor variations are found in respect of dresses and ornaments worn by the Oja and Palis during the performance. In Byas gowa Ojapali, the Oja wears capkan (a kind of flowing shirt with the pyjamas), white boat shaped pagori (turban), jama (tunic), saraswati chadar (shawl) around the shoulders, tongali (a girdle on the waist), an ornate pachara (a kind of cloth made from muga cocoon), a dholmaduli (traditional Assamese ornament, a necklace) in the neck, keru (a type of ornament for both ears) in the ear, phut (a circled dot made of sandalwood paste on the forehead), gamkharu (a thick bangle) in silver or gold on the hands, nupur (anklets) around the ankles. The accompanying Palis wear white clothes and have Khuttital (small cymbals) in their hands. In addition, the Palis wear bhunicheleng, phulam gamosa, chapkonchola and dhuti. A Suknanni Oja wears special apparel during a performance. The Oja wears a long dress called capkan, white egg shaped small pagori or head gear, necklace made of puwalmoni or dholmaduli made of gold in the neck, karia (ear ornament) in the ears, gamkharu

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(thick bangle) in the hands and finger rings. Deodhoni dancers wear phulam gamosa over mekhela, colourful tongali (belt or a girdle), a piece of yellow cloth tied around the chest, with muthikharu (bangle) in the hands and puwalmoni on the neck. Mudra as an essential aspect of Ojapali dance form is integral to the performance. Mudra is a stylized, symbolic gesture used in rituals and dance performances. An intricate movement of positioning hands or fingers constitutes mudra. In Indian classical dance, hand gestures occupy the place of utmost importance. The dancer emotes through finger gestures. In the Natya Shastra, there is mention of samyukta (combined hands), asamyukta (single hand) and nrityahasta (hands in performance) gestures. In Abhinay Darpan, fifty-one and in Kalika Purana one hundred and eight gestures are enumerated. These gestures come under the broad division of Daivik and Vaishaik mudra (Nath, 2008). In Ojapali, there are three groups of mudras: bandhanmudra (both hand gestures) comprising forty-seven gestures, kholamudra (single hand gestures) consisting of seventeen gestures and salanimudra (gestures while in motion) consisting of twenty-one mudras. The Oja or the lead artist is supposed to demonstrate the ten avatars (incarnations) of Lord Vishnu through subtle finger and hand movements while chanting a stuti or vandana or offering a prayer in praise of the Lord. Different mudras are used for different deities. They are basically symbolic representations of Gods and are indicative of the awe and respect for the deities expressed by the performers for the community. The mudras constitute a symbolic language, for a particular mudra is used to represent a particular entity—a God head like the trunk of Ganesh or a king as a Chhatrapati. These hand gestures also serve the purpose of communicating with the audience where the voice of the Oja or Daina Pali is not audible. Besides hand gestures, facial expressions are equally significant. A serene smile adorns the face of the Oja and the Palis except while depicting tragic happenings or while expressing anger. Eyebrows are raised as an expression of wonder that gets transmitted to the audience. A cupped palm is used as a gesture of listening seriously when the Oja and the Daina Pali engage in dialogue or conversation. A smile on their faces changes into hilarious laughter after sharing a joke. Eye movement is a ubiquitous aspect in Ojapali performance. The Oja rolls his eyes as an indication of deep respect to the invoked divine. Rolling of eyeballs in different ways underlines many expressions from wonder to confusion; similarly, a wide-open eye is an expression of wonder and could also be associated with anger. We know that the eye and finger movements get primacy in Kathakali. In terms of expressive gestures, Ojapali could be likened to some movements of Kathakali. Multiple emotions are expressed through eye movements. Like the eye movement, the movement of the jaw is part of the facial expression. A protruding jaw and wide-open mouth are gestures associated with the representation of the grotesque. The Daina Pali often uses eye and jaw movements to generate laughter among the audience. However, there are certain rules to be followed while performing the mudras, for mudras cannot be placed below the navel or above the head while the performer has his eyes fixed on the mudra. Hand mudras are gender specific. While the left-hand gestures are meant to be feminine, the right-hand gestures connote masculine and the divine.

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There are three major types of Ojapali in vogue in Assam; they are Byas gowa Ojapali, Suknanni Ojapali and Sattriya Ojapali. Other minor traditions with some modifications belong either to the epic-based or non-epic based traditions. One of the distinctive forms is Api Ojapali, for all its performers are women. It follows Byas gowa Ojapali in its structure and performance.

Byas Gowa Ojapali Byas Ojapali, known as Byas gowa Ojapali or Byas Sangeet is primarily based on the episodes from the Ramayana and the Mahabharata. Episodes from Bhagwat Purana and other Puranas are also adopted for the narrative. This popular form has its origin in the Darrang district of Assam. Having links with classical dance forms and traditional rituals, this form of Ojapali is favoured and venerated. This tradition also constitutes the basis of Sattriya Ojapali. In 1696, King Lakshmi Nath Singha invited one Sagar Oja to settle in Darrang and perform Byas gowa Ojapali. Byas gowa Ojapali used to be hosted at Gandha Chaupri Sabha where Vishnu Puja was organized; the duration of the performance was twenty-four hours; at Ek Pauri Sabha, again on Vishnu Puja, it was performed for twelve hours. Besides recitations of episodes from the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, recitations from Vishnu Katha, Vishnu Pada, Durga Pada etc. also take place. Byas Ojapali is raga based and there are twenty-eight ragas (locally called Bana) that are performed.

Byas Ojapali (Source: The Author)

There are different versions regarding the origin of Byas gowa Ojapali depending on the legends. Byas Ojapali exponent Late Durgeswar Nath Oja sees its definitive rise in the 9th to tenth century taking its cue from Buddhist classical based Charyageet.4

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However, this particular art form evolved through mediation of a variety of influences—the Buddhist, the classical and the indigenous—gradually maturing into a harmonious whole during fourteenth–fifteenth centuries. From this pre-Sankardeva performance form emerged Sattriya Ojapali that was developed by Sankardeva. Under the royal patronage, the Ojas were divided into two categories; the pure ones having received the royal recognition and the Pharingatiya Ojas who were without or outside the patronage. There is of course no difference in performance ability and knowledge between the two. Before the advent of Sankardeva’s neo-Vaishnavite movement, Assam was a land of Sakti worship. Therefore, Ojapali performances included both Sakta/Sakti and Vishnu worship. The Sakta Ojapalis were popular during Shiva Jagar ritual, at Durga Puja, Kali Puja and other Sakti rituals. Other deities like Ganesh, Sati, Laxmi etc. are also part of the performance narrative. Although the Vishnu cult has its own ritual practice in Ojapali performance, it underwent some modification by Srimanta Sankardeva who adopted the form. Khuttitaal is the only musical instrument used during the performance and five taals are played: chaaptaal, choutaal, zikiritaal, lecheritaal and thokataal. During Durga Puja and Shiva Puja, rupohi taal is played. The Byas Ojapali team comprises an Oja and five to nine Palis. The one who sings the pad is known as Oja and the ones who sing the refrain are called Palis. The music of Byas Ojapali has some specific characteristics. It is called Pancha Sangeet and is divided into five parts: (a) Alap, (b) Guru Vandana, (c) Vishnu pad, (d) Sangeetalap and (e) Jhuna, all in a sequence. In Guru Vandana, five swaras are played. There are five phases in the presentation style. It is known as Panchakram in Byas Sangeet. In the dance too, there are five arts in use: jhulan, chawan, para, loy and mudra. Byas Ojapali presents a composite form of nritta including dance with mudras, abhinaya (natya) and geet. The five dance movements are mayurnach (peacock dance), hansininach (duck dance), dhupuninach (galloping), natuanach (dancer’s dance) and paruaghuraninach (pigeon dance). At the beginning of the performance the Oja and the Palis engage in Pak Ghurani nach (dancing in circles). Alap is the improvised section of a raga. Known as a process of Swar Sadhana, Alap is meant to establish the notes or swaras with auspicious symbolic sounds or syllables like ha,ta,na,ri,ritta. The Oja worships Ganapati, Sadasiva, Mahamaya, Krishna and the Gandharvas and seeks their blessings. Rhythmic beats or taals are not used in this section. Sindhura or Ramgiri, Gunjari or Bhramari ragas are used in Guru Vandana. In this section, the Oja and the Palis present their songs with dance movements in musical beats as taal. In this section, Shlokas and Patoni geet are recited at the beginning of the performance. The performance starts with the recitation of the following shloka in praise of Lord Krishna: Shri Krishnaye Vasudevaye Devaki Nandnaya cha I Nanda Gopo Kumaraye Govindaye Namo Namoh II The vandana geets are rendered in ragas or in one or two of the raginis. Alap, Guru vandana and Patoni geet are clustered together as Gurumondoli or Gaid or Ghunni. Next in order is the presentation of Vishnu pad. In Vishnu pad, mostly excerpts from

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Jaydev’s Gita Govinda are recited. Sangeet alap is a movement from one stage to another. It starts with Malita, narrating the genesis of ragas and raginis. Malita is a representation of the Sanskrit parampara of Ragdhyan. After Malita raga, charan is presented by the performers; Bana notes in higher octave are presented that add beauty and variations to a song rendition. It is followed by diha and pada, the two parts of the same song. This is the part where the Oja narrates stories from the epics in the form of dialogue with abhinaya. Daina Pali explains the meaning of the narrative song in simple language for the benefit of the audience. The narration is followed by kathopokathan between the Oja and the Daina Pali. The Daina Pali makes the conversation amusing with show of wit. The role of Palis is as important as that of the Oja and the performance becomes meaningful through the enthusiastic and meaningful participation of each as is said: ojar bal Pali (the strength of the Oja is Pali). Jhuna is the last stage of the performance. It is also called Pueli Geet (morning song or song of the auspicious moment or brahmamuhurta) because the performance comes to an end in the morning of the following day. There is predominance of shringar rasa in this section. This could be called the audience section, for the Oja and the Palis present some more stories and songs on demand. The performance comes to an end with a Krishna, Rama or Vasudev stuti (prayer).

Sattriya Ojapali Sattriya Ojapali draws its name from Sattra, the neo-Vaishnavite monastery as is known in the state. This dance form ‘evolved as an ingenious contrivance for the propagation of Bhakti faith by Sankardeva and Madhavadeva on the principles of classical dance and subsequently developed by the Sattra institutions with all artistic manifestations leading to a distinctive trait and termed as Sattriya Dance’ (Mahanta, 2016, 1). This form of Ojapali is also known as Sattra-Sangeet-Manchar Ojapali, Biyahiya Ojapali or Byas Kirtana. This Ojapali is broadly epic based but draws mostly from Bhagawat Purana. Additionally, it also includes renditions of Borgit, Kirtan and Dasam.5 The performance is entirely based on Sankardeva’s ek nam saran (devoted to one name) philosophy. Sattriya Ojapali constitutes one of the fourteen prasangas (contexts) of Sattriya tradition. It is performed on the auspicious tithis of Srimanta Sankardeva, Madhavdeva, Badula Padma Ata and other special occasions like Hari Kirtan. Having its origin in pre-Sankardeva Byas gowa Ojapali, Sattriya Ojapali’s performance history is linked to the rise of the Bhakti movement in sixteenth century Assam. The Byas gowa Ojapali was given a new form to advance the Vaishnavite teachings of Srimanta Sankardeva and Madhavdeva. Sankardeva realized the power of this popular form and modified it by creating its performance grammar and recasting it in a new style. Although Sattriya Ojapali was meant to be performed within the

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sacred precincts of the Sattras it could be performed in other places of religious veneration as well, according to Gopiram Bargayan of Uttar Kamalabari Satra of Majuli, a renowned exponent of Sattriya Ojapali and a recipient of Padmashree. ‘The Sattriya Ojapali like the Byas gowa Ojapali is based on classical ragas in its renderings. There are twenty ragas and no raginis in this form’ (Bora, 2016, 196). Apart from episodes from Bhagwat Purana that constitute the mainstay of the performance narrative, compositions of Srimanta Sankardeva and Madhavdeva such as Namghosa, Kirtan and geet-pad are also part of its repertoire. Like other Ojapalis, structurally Sattriya Ojapali is a choral performance in that a team of 10–15 artists take part led by the Oja. In Sattriya Ojapali only khuttital is used by the Palis. The Oja wears a dhoti with chapkonchola, a white turban, gamkharu on hands, kundol in ears, anklets around the ankles and puts a tilak on the forehead and carries a cloth called chaleng on the shoulders. The Palis wear chapkon, a garland of tulsi beads around their necks, white turbans on their heads, and tilak on their foreheads.

Sattriya Ojapali (Source: Jadab Borah used here with permission))

The guru-shishya parampara in the Sattriya system is very rigorous. Young boys (ordained to be monks) are admitted into the programme and practice the art for several years. These learners are mandated to excel in the four arts of gayan, bayan, nritya and abhinay. It is only the Guru who determines the capability of a Shishya to be a performer. A programme is organized to test the ability of the young performers, recommended by the Guru in front of other disciples and senior Bhakots. This ceremony is called Oja Utha. The Barpeta Sattra and some important Sattras of Majuli are at the forefront of preserving and continuing with this form of Ojapali today. The Oja is the central figure in Sattriya Ojapali. He excels, as has been said, in the four arts of gayan, bayan, nritya and abhinay (singing, playing musical instruments, dancing and acting). Through various roles that the Oja plays, he keeps on

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improvising in order to help the audience immerse themselves in Bhakti rasa. The Palis, consisting of any number between 10 and 15, are positioned in a semi-circular formation behind the Oja who keeps the rhythm playing on cymbals as well as with feet movement. As it is a raga-based performance, the dance recitals combine ragas to have a greater impact, a later day addition. The dance performance in Sattriya Ojapali has two parts: shuddha nritya or pure dance and abhinay or acting. The pure dance numbers are organized around different foot work, hand gestures, pirouettes, elevations etc. The techniques of akal pak, juti cari, kati chata, jalak etc. are used along with alapadma and ardhacandrahasta. Usually, the body of a dancer remains upright and deflections or sharp shifts are not normally encouraged. In movements, the ancita foot steps are employed in most cases. The bobbing of the body is followed by stamping of the heel, a distinctive feature of the dance that is performed repeatedly. As far as the interpretative aspect of the dance is concerned, the dancer follows all the fourfold divisions of abhinaya: angika (expression of the limbs),vachika (expression of the speech), sattvika (true expression) and aharya (costume and scene). The performer expresses the song line through interpretative hand gestures, facial expressions, stances (sthana), gaits (gati), dialogue and speech. The other dance forms from Sattra schools don’t demand the use of such a large number of interpretative hand gestures which may be observed in the case of Ojapali. The recital begins with an akol pak (pirouette) followed by displaying of ardhacandra (half-moon gesture) hand gesture. A particular scene or sequence taken for abhinay is generally preceded or followed by a short duration of pure dance. The dancer, in geet part, first goes on interpreting the melodic line and also performs some pure dance pieces to the music provided to the song. Before interpreting a particular scene or sequence, sometimes a dancer gives a hint of his stratagem by displaying the hand gesture pertinent to it for several times. The choral songs employed in the dance are of various types but gets integrated into the main narrative. The duration of Sattriya Ojapali like the Byas gowa Ojapali is long. Sattriya Ojapali performance has five units known as raga, shloka, geet, diha and pad. The recital starts with rendering of a raga called bandha to which the shloka and geet of the successive stages are set. The other two components of bandha raga are raga malita and raga charan. Next to the raga diya, some shlokas (verses either in pure Sanskrit or in mixed Sanskrit) are recited in the melody of the foregoing raga and the dancer interprets it through hand gestures. The first shloka taken up for interpretation is always a eulogy of Lord Krishna mostly taken from Sankardev’s Kirtan-ghosa compositions. In the geet unit, the Oja performs abhinay to a Borgit. This Borgit is set to bandha raga which has already been rendered in the raga-diya unit. Here abhinaya is performed through hand and other gestures. In the midst of abhinaya, the Palis provide some musical interludes with cymbals and a dancer presents some pure dance (shuddha nritya). Diha is the fourth part of the performance. It is an innovative form of ghosa (refrain) composed in the line of original ghosa attached to the Kirtanas of Sankardeva. Unlike the ghosa used in Kirtana, the tune of diha is simple and is

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not based on raga melody. A particular diha is always attached to a series of padas (verses) from any original Vaishnavite text. Here such padas are usually taken up from the caturvinsati –avatara of the Kirtanaghosa of Sankardeva. The Oja takes up these dihas and padas for abhinay through interpretative hand gestures and body movements. Five avataras of Vishnu—Matsya, Kurma, Baraha, Narsingh and Bamon—are described through songs accompanied by hand gestures and body movements. The term pad-gowa means a narrative in verse. It is the lengthiest and vital part of the performance where a particular episode is taken up for abhinaya. Here the dancer through words, gestures, glances, stances and gait, brings home to the audience the entire gamut of feelings and emotions inherent or present in the episode. In the course of such verse narrative, the dancer picks up some other verse passages like raga-malita, caron, badyakheyali etc. and improvises thereon. This part is further subdivided into (a) Paton, (b) Kathan (c) Dhura (d) Bana (d) Pad-jurani (e) Badyakheyali and (f) Upadesha. The dancer concludes the recital with upadesha or moral preaching. The basic teachings of the faith are embodied in this section. The dancer does not dance here but simply keeps the rhythm of the song line with feet and hand movement. The main taal of upadesha is thukuni. It is clear that Sattriya Ojapali is rigorous in its approach as it follows prescribed norms set by Sankardeva and the Sattra Gurus. There are Sattra specific Ojapalis. Panchali Ojapali is prevalent in Dakshinpat Sattra and Auniati Sattra of Majuli. The Panchali tradition is a medieval song tradition mostly associated with the poets Durgabar, Mankar and Pitambar. These poets mostly used adi-ras in their compositions. The musical renditions from Ramayana, Mahabharata, Bhagawat Puran, Badhkavya and Kirtan are used in the Panchali style in this Ojapali. The Oja does the recitation while simultaneously playing the khuttital and the camara while the Palis play the mridanga. The Panchali Ojapali also involves a prompter (smaraka) which is unique to this form. Known as Panch geet, this Ojapali has five angas or parts: (i) alap, (ii) dhura, (iii) ghosa, (iv) pad and (v) upasanhar. At Dakshinpat Sattra and the Auniati Sattra, Dulari Ojapali is performed that is similar to Panchali Ojapali. The theme of the performance is drawn from the Assamese version of the Bhagawat Purana and other Puranas. A Dulari Ojapali troupe consists of an Oja, a Dulheriya, and a few Palis. Although Panchali and Dulari Ojapali are performed within the Sattra precincts, they are not categorized under Sattriya Ojapali. These are performed on special occasions like Bihu, Ekadasi, Sankranti etc. The musical divisions of Dulari Ojapali (that follows five stages) are a little different from Panchali Ojapali. The five stages followed by Dulari Ojapali are: (a) alap, (b) vandana or mongolacharan (c) raga malita, (d) dhura or ghosha or sthayi and (e) upasanhar. There are other epic-based Ojapalis prevalent in Assam with some variations in structure, presentation and theme. For example, Bhauriya Ojapali draws its narrative from the Ramayana. In this form, all songs are drawn from the Ramayana. The dramatic aspect receives more emphasis in this form. It follows the stages of (a) Sabha vandana, (b) sur sadhana or swaralap, (c) Guru vandana or Dev vandana, (d) Swar sadhana, (e) pad and (f) samoroni. Durgabaria Ojapali is another form based on

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Durgabar’s Giti Ramayana. Durgabar himself was a famous Oja. This is considered as a variant of Byas gowa Ojapali. Today, its performance is limited to Hajo area of Kamrup district. Another form of Ojapali called Ramayan gowa Ojapali is extant in some areas of Assam. This form is based on the Ramayana composed by Madhav Kondali and Anant Kondali and also Giti Ramayana of Durgabar.

Suknanni Ojapali Suknanni Ojapali is part of the most ancient and unique ritual-performance tradition of Assam. This Ojapali form is closely associated with the living cultures of the people of Darrang, Kamrup and Goalpara districts of the state. It is distinct in respect of geet, nritya, badya, mudra, costume and many other performance practices. ‘Suknanni Ojapali is about the worship of the snake Goddess Manasa and has been in vogue for many centuries’ (Nath, 2008, 7). Darrangia Manasa Puja or Rang Puja has certain special characteristics and Suknanni Ojapali is an inseparable part of this Puja. Suknanni Ojapali’s narrative performance is based on Sukabi Narayan Dev’s sixteenth century composition, the Padma Purana. Suknanni Ojapali flourished during the time of Koch king Dharmanarayan under whose patronage Sukabi Narayan Dev composed Padma Purana. This Ojapali was equally popular among the Hindus and Muslims of Darrang. There is evidence of Parasu Oja, a proficient Muslim Ojapali performer of the time. Different khandas (sections) of Padma Purana like Dev khand, Baniya khand, Bhatiali khand, Swarga khand are recited during Suknanni Ojapali performance. This Ojapali follows the tradition of guru-shishya parampara. It has an entirely indigenous music tradition without the influence of Indian classical music and ragas. However, opinions vary and some scholars point to its semi-classical base in that it follows certain performance rules. According to Karuna Bora, the author of Satriya Nrityar Rup Darshan, ‘that the snake worship had a special place in the ancient history of our country is evidenced by the discovery of sculpted figurines of snakes in 700 temples in Kashmir alone. Shaivaites and the Kiratas of Assam also worshipped snakes in different forms. Snake figurines are seen in Indus Valley seals. Atharva Veda also makes mention of Snake worship’ (Bora, 2016, 198). Scriptural evidences suggest that the tradition of worshipping goddess Manasa was prevalent in the Northeastern part of India from 9th to tenth century. Taking cognizance of the available historical evidences, it can be surmised that snake worship was prevalent in Assam in between 10th to thirteenth century. According to noted historian Dr. Nalini Kanta Bhattashali, ‘The Senas came from Southern India and settled in Bengal in the middle of the eleventh century A.D. They very likely favoured the worship of snake Goddess ‘Manecha’ and their rise probably gave impetus to her popularity’ (https://archive.org/stream/in.ernet.dli.2015.128118/2015.128118.HistoricalStudies-In-The-Cult-Of-The-Goddess-Manasa_djvu.txt, accessed on 13th May 2021).

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Suknanni Ojapali is performed in two ways either in sitting or in standing positions. It is also known as Rong gowa Ojapali which continues for 12 hours from dawn to dusk; Gotta Rang Puja continues for 24 hours and the ones that continues for 3 days is called Gora rang puja while Moroi puja or Rangini puja continues for 4 days. This form differs from epic based Ojapali in terms of content, context and structure apart from ritual invocations to different Gods and Goddesses including Manasa. The narrative’s mainstay is the story of Behula and Lakhinder.

Suknanni Ojapali in progress (Source: Nayan Jyoti Nath, used here with permission)

The Ojapali team comprises of five members excluding the Oja; they are Daina Pali, two Orapalis (back Palis) and two Agpalis (front Palis). Daina Pali has to be as adept in nritya, geet and gesticulation as the Oja himself. When the Oja asks questions on contemporary issues, Daina Pali answers in a witty and humorous way. The Palis play khuttital using the right hand only while playing Kubia, Rupohi, Zikiri, Lecheri, and Thenthenia taals. A troupe of female dancers perform Deodhoni dance at the end of Suknanni Ojapali performance. In the works of Kavi Mankar, Durgabor, Sukabi Narayan Dev there are certain ragas and raginis composed in a fixed scriptural format like Gunjari, Patmanjuri, Ramgiri, Bhairavi, Sarang, Suhai, Chalni, and Shrigandhar. In Suknanni Ojapali, there is no mention of the genesis of a raga. More of a folk art, less classical in nature, Suknanni Ojapali is more diha dominated. Based on Kathakata tradition it has an interesting style of presentation. In Suknanni Ojapali, the songs are presented in three tunes: vilambit (slow paced), madhya (medium paced) and drut (fast paced). The performance is divided into five parts following the Panchali tradition. It starts with an Alap, an introductory initiation or prologue in the musical note of ha,ta,na,ri,ritta etc. This is part of swar sadhana or fixing the swar. Although it has a similarity with Byas gowa Ojapali, in this context, it is distinctive in its style of rendition. Vandana or devotional prayer follows Alap. It

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starts with mangalacharan from Padma Puran. Hymns in praise of Ganesh, Rama, Vishnu, Anadi, Shiva and other gods and goddesses are rendered with appropriate taal or rhythm. As Vandana geet reaches a crescendo and ends, the Palis sing ‘tusto howa Bhagabati’ (let Bhagabati be propitiated) and pause for a while before the Oja reintroduces Alap in ha,ta,ne,ri,ritta. Palis rhythmically follow the same in unison. In the diha section, Ojapali singers present songs based on the mythological stories of Padma Purana. While diha constitutes the first part, pada is the second part of the song. In Suknanni Ojapali, generally the padas are based on praise of Devi Padma or Manasa and the narrative follows the story of Chand Sadagar, Behula and Lakhinder. Upasanhar or epilogue is meant to send off Goddess Manasa or Padmavati amidst geet-pad recitation accompanied by musical instruments. Here the Oja along with the Palis sing in a sitting position. ‘In the evening Oja sings the padas from Padma Purana in a standing position’ (Sharma, 2018, 60) ‘in ekparia or Jagua Puja…padas from Garuda Purana.’ Although the performers in Suknanni Ojapali are mostly male, female performers perform Deodhoni dance as part of the ritual. Among other minor traditions, Bisahari gaan Ojapali is devoted to the serpent goddess. Originally, this form originated in the temples of Kamakhya and Bamun Sualkuchi where the songs were sung to worship Hindu gods and goddesses. The performance style is entirely different from Suknanni Ojapali. The poet Mankar’s Manasa Geet and Durgabor’s Manasa Kavya constitutes the narrative form of this Ojapali. The Oja is known as Geetal or Pathak and the Pali as Juri. The process of presenting Manasa Kavya is called Jagar. Conditions are attached as to how these granths or texts are supposed to be opened and closed particularly in Kamakhya temple. This performance follows the stages of (a) Arohon, (b) Dev-Devi vandana, (c) Guru Vandana, (d) Diha, (e)Pad or Sangeet and (f) Samoroni. Sukabi Narayan Dev’s Padma Puran is also exclusively rendered in an Ojapali form as a ritual worship of Manasa or Bishahari that includes geet-nritya and abhinaya. Although both Suknanni and Bishahari gaan Ojapalis follow the same text there is a substantial difference in the presentation style. There is a predominance of bayan and there are two bayans in the troupe. The Oja is the main singer who is called mul-gayak or gidal; he is accompanied by Palis and ablis (who play the khol). Boys in girl’s attires are the dancers who perform alongside. This particular Ojapali form is popular in parts of Goalpara district of Assam. Marehgaan Ojapali and Tukuria Ojapalis are practised mostly by the indigenous people of Assam. These forms which are popular among the Bodo, Pati Rabha and Kachari communities have some differences in presentation style. In Marehgaan Ojapali, there is no Daina Pali and the cymbal is the main musical instrument, played by the Palis. Deodhani dance is an integral part of this form. The musical part called uthani follows five stages of vandana, diha, pad, jhuna, and somorani. Tukuria Ojapali, popular in South Kamrup district, is based on Tukuria ritual of the Pati Rabhas. The combination of geet-pada-nritya constitutes its basic elements. Four Palis sit around the Oja at the centre. The Oja narrates a story in simple language with the help of Palis after reciting a song. There are four stages in this presentation: (a) arambhani, (b) mangolacharan or vandana,(c) recitation of pad, and (d) samapti or conclusion.

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Api Ojapali Api Ojapali is important from gender perspective. In a male dominated Ojapali tradition, Api Ojapali is a troupe of all female performers. In structure and style, Api Ojapali bears a close resemblance to Byas gowa Ojapali. In Darrang and Kamrup districts of Assam, the word Api or likiri means woman. The Oja in the feminine gender is called Ojeni. The performance can be organized both in sitting and standing positions. The costume of Api Ojapali is similar to that of Byas Ojapali and Ramayani Ojapali. The Ojeni wears Muga Mekhela Chador and a phulam gamosa around the neck. Api Daina Pali wears ghuri. The Palis wear piran and dhuti. The Daina Pali along with other Palis plays khuttital. The Kathopokathan between Ojeni and the Daina Pali, the puns and the humorous dialogues make the presentation lively and interesting. Social satire is an important part of Kathopokathan between the Ojeni and Daina Pali. A distinctive characteristic of this form of Ojapali is that it does not confine itself to religious music alone. Awareness about contemporary social or political issues is raised through the singing of lokgeet, biyageet, khichageet, nagara naam etc. Here the Ojeni or the Daina Pali enacts the roles of different characters. In this, the influences of Bhauria Ojapali, nagara naam become evident. It is difficult to historically determine its beginning. Although the form is becoming extinct, it is still prevalent in Kamrup. In some troupes there is a gender mix; besides the Ojeni and the Diana Pali, other Palis could be male performers.

Tradition and Change Ojapali, is a performative art form. It has its religious, social, moral and cultural relevance and aesthetic significance over the centuries. The sacred and the secular traditions associated with this precious art form make it of perennial interest, a performative form for all seasons. If its ritualistic aspect makes it a part of the sacred, its performative aspect carters to secular entertainment and ethical learning. The importance of this form has increased in present times as it gives space to discussions on contemporary issues in the form of a purposeful dialogue between the Daina Pali and the Oja. It is important to note that this form has very successfully integrated the classical with the folk and the indigenous. The guru-shishya parampara has been the bed-rock of this performance art. What endures in this art form, in a period of changing visual media scenario, is its religio-social orientation. As in case of an epic, it ‘does not exist as an isolated mental text, but is deeply integrated in religious and social thinking’ (Honko, 1998, 275). Many folk forms have disappeared or have changed over time or have been lost to commodification of culture. But Ojapali has withstood the challenges of time with its living traditions in performance in public space and having guarded protection within the cloistered space of the

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Sattras. The Ojapali tradition has sustained itself through a vibrant guru-shishya parampara. This living performance tradition that has sustained Assam’s cultural identity for centuries, it is hoped, would continue in the face of commodification of culture and other challenges.

Notes 1. Guru-shishya parampara is an age-old Indian tradition literally meaning teacher-disciple relation. It has been a pre-colonial institution. A student or learner goes to a master to learn a specific art form wherein the teacher looks after the disciple’s all-round development. Most of the knowledge and techniques of an art are transmitted from the Guru to the disciple. This also leads to panths or sects within a broad tradition. This tradition is still in existence when it comes to performance arts. 2. The word Jagar comes from the Sanskrit root, Jaga, meaning ‘to wake’. It is a ritual that happens on certain days in Hindu calendar to wake up Gods to seek justice. 3. Epic-based Ojapali can be divided into seven sub-types: Byas-gowa Ojapali, Ramayani Ojapali, Bhauria Ojapali, Durgabori Ojapali, Sattriya Ojapali, Panchali Ojapali, and Dulari Ojapali. Non-epic based Ojapali which are generally based on folk myths can be sub-divided into five types: Suknanni Ojapali, Bishahari gaan gowa Ojapali, Mareh gaan gowa Ojapali, Padma Puranar gaan gowa Ojapali, and Tukuria Ojapali. 4. Charyageet constitutes a variety of songs chanted by Buddhist monks of the Sahaja cult. The term charya refers to achara that implies rules or norms of conduct of a sect. A section of these songs are devoted to the rules for mystical practices. 5. Srimanta Sankardeva produced his invaluable creations like Kirtan, Dasham, Borgit, Bhaona, Bhatima, Ankia Naat and made a stellar contribution to the development of Assamese literature and culture.

References Baruah, S. (2017). Ojapali. Chandraprakash. Bora, D. (2016). Politics of performance and the creation of Darangi identity: Looking at the Ojapali performance of Assam: Research in drama education. The Journal of Applied Theatre and Performance, 21(4), 465–470. Bora, K. (2006). Satriya Nrityar Rup Darshan. Grantha Sanskriti. Bhattacharjee, K. (2006). Constructing community and kinship through epic singing. Indian Folklore Research Journal, (6), 1–12. Bhattasali, N. K. (2021). Retrieved May 13, 2021 from, https://archive.org/stream/in.ernet.dli.2015. 128118/2015.128118.Historical-Studies-In-The-Cult-Of-The-Goddess-Manasa_djvu.txt. Honko, L. (1998). Textualizing the Siri Epic. Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia. Mahanta, J. (2016). The Sattriya dance of Assam: An analytical and critical study. Sattriya Kendra Guwahati and Sangeet Natak Academy. Nath, L. C. (2008). Suknanni Sangeetor Rengani. Calligraphy Offset. Sarma, N. C. (2009) Bharatar Uttar Purbanchalar Paribeshya Kala. Saraighat Offset Press. Sarma, T. (1975). Auniati Satrar Buranjee. Sri Vishnu Dev Deka Publisher. Sharma, T. C. (2018). Manasa Puja Aru Suknanni Ojapali. Assam Book Trust. Retrieved April 5, 2021, from https://www.indianetzone.com/30/kathakata_indian_folk_art.htm.

Chapter 5

From Sacred to Popular: Demystifying Ojha-Nach of Barak Valley Sib Sankar Majumder

Abstract The Surma-Barak region of Southern Assam is a land of amazingly diverse traditions and rich cultural heritage. The folk performative arts of the region are unique in their aesthetic orientation. The ojanach folk performance form of Barak valley is an integral aspect of the ancient practice of ophiolatry or serpent worship. The cult of Manasa (alternatively known as Bishahari) is culturally very significant for some of the marginalized tribal and caste groups of Northeastern India. In Barak valley, the phenomenon of Manasa worship is primarily associated with the Kaivarta community. During the course of this article, I would initiate a brief discussion on the ojanach folk performance form of Barak valley by highlighting the intricate relationship that this art form shares with the cultural beliefs of the Kaivarta community. Keywords Barak valley · Manasa and ophiolatry · Ojanach · Kaivarta community · Cultural practice Folk culture comprises of people and objects that represent a way of life which is governed by traditional customs and practices based on shared experiences. The shared experience of a community provides stability to inter-connected world views. A strong family or clan structure constitutes the core of a folk community that functions on a set of principles or rituals which may or may not be religious in orientation. In the domain of art and culture, the term ‘folk’ is mostly used as a relational category which designates or defines something that is not ‘classical’ or ‘elite’. Cultural anthropologists usually try to neatly distinguish the sphere of the ‘folk’ from the ‘classical’ based on the idea that unlike the ‘classical’, the sphere of the ‘folk’ is characterized by vitality, openness, exuberance, and accessibility. Arguably folk performance forms are less complex and less dependent on established aesthetic principles. Folk performance analyst, Julia Hollander argues that in S. S. Majumder (B) Department of English, Assam University, Silchar 788011, Assam, India e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 K. C. Baral (ed.), Cultural Forms and Practices in Northeast India, People, Cultures and Societies: Exploring and Documenting Diversities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-19-9292-6_5

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the Indian subcontinent folk and classical performance traditions have co-existed for centuries. Roughly from the eighth or ninth century onwards when classical performance forms dissipated as an impact of invasion from Central Asia, folk performance forms managed to survive primarily because of its ability to absorb diverse range of influences—‘folk performers are good at holding onto things that work, but they also know how versatile they must be to survive’ (Hollander, 2007, 68). Folk performance forms derive their energy from mundane concerns of human life through a vigorous fusion of dance, music, and dialogue with the audience. One of the primary factors which contributed to its survival is patronization by masses. In India, folk performance genres are primarily known for their regional specificity i.e. their affiliation to a particular region or linguistic culture from which it emerges and where it thrives. Other important characteristics include (a) its dependence on ‘popular’ patronage and (b) its efficacy as a vehicle of mass entertainment. Cultural historians and anthropologists emphasize that ritualistic essence and religiosity have nourished folk performance forms for centuries. However, one should also note that because of its intimate association with marginalized classes and castes, folk performance genres are also viewed with suspicion and generally deemed to be crude, degenerate, or halfhearted imitations of classical/elite art forms. Ophiolatry or snake worship is an ancient folk cultural practice prevalent in many parts of South Asia. A serpent deity called Manasa (alternatively Monosha) is worshipped in the Surma-Barak region of Northeastern India for hundreds of years. Barak Valley is a remotely located region of Northeastern India surrounded by hills almost from all sides with a slight opening towards the West i.e. the Srihatta or Sylhet region of present day Bangladesh. Its landmass is covered with abundant greenery punctuated by expansive water bodies and marshes (known as haors in Sylheti dialect). The subtropical rain forests, hot weather, and slimy water bodies contribute to a climate conducive for an amazing bio-diversity comprising of at least twenty species of venomous snakes. At present, Barak valley comprises of Cachar, Karimganj, and Hailakandi, the three southernmost districts of Assam. This region has a rich tradition of nurturing various kinds of folk art and performance forms like ‘putul-nach’, ‘bou-nach’, ‘dhamail’, and ‘ojanach’ etc. These performance genres have emerged, evolved, and thrived in this region and are in turn nourished by the rural communities. Ojanach (known as ojha-pali in Brahmaputra Valley), possibly the most sophisticated folk art form of Surma-Barak region, is organically connected to the cult of goddess Manasa. In Sanskrit ‘Manasa’ means a thing or a phenomenon which is of psychological origin, an object of ‘desire’. In the Puranas, Manasa has been imagined as an arbiter of justice who appears in the form of a reptile. In medieval Southern Assam, the cult of the serpent deity might have been flourishing from the time of Padma Purana and Brahmavaivarta Purana of the thirteenth century. However, the adoration of snakes in this region, as in other parts of the country, has a complex history which cannot be completely divested from the fear of death from snake venom. Ancient Sanskrit texts like Devibhagavata Purana and Brahmavaivarta Purana imagine Manasa as a deity, having a metaphysical character, conceived in the imagination

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of Sage Kashyap. However, the incorporation of the Manasa legend into the culturally dominant Shaivism has a more revealing story: once Shiva was walking alone in a forest; he suddenly felt aroused and hugged a tree; when he ejaculated his semen dropped on a lotus flower out of which a half snake deity was born (Haq, 2015). Such narratives contribute to the semi-divine status of the snake deity. This genealogical association of Shiva with Manasa has a special significance in our present context. In spite of the complex stories of her origin and her prolonged struggle for a ‘rightful’ place in the hierarchy of Hindu pantheon, Manasa is feared, loved, worshipped, and at the same time supremely revered. There is remarkable faith in the cult of the snake deity and her supernatural attributes among certain communities of Northeastern India like Rajbongshis, Bodos, Rabhas, Khasis, Mishmis, and Hajangs including the Kaivartas (fishermen community) of Barak valley. For most of the lower caste and tribal communities, Manasa is the principal goddess: She is the main goddess for the majority of Rajbansis, an officially scheduled caste in North Bengal and West Assam, as well as the local tribes of Tibeto-Burman groups… Her shrine can be found in the courtyard of almost every agrarian household [in some parts of Eastern India] (Ryzkova, 2020, 29).

Based on the descriptions in mangalkavya texts and visual images compiled from various sources, Manasa possesses multiple names and identities. In the Gangetic Bengal region, Manasa is popularly known as Vishahari (the destroyer of poison), Padma (lotus born), Nitya (eternal), and even Kani (the one-eyed). One could still add a few more from Southern Assam like Dorai Bishohori (or simply Dorai), Marai etc. Different types of clay images of the deity are made by potters depending on her local/regional attributes like Ashta-nag, Naba-nag, Beyallish-nag, Ghot-Bishohori, Korondi, Chaturbhuja, Sarpabhushita, Padmasina, Hansarura etc. Before the neo-Vaisnavite influences swayed the literature and culture of Assam during the fifteenth century, the lyrical mangalkavyas (hymns to different Hindu deities) dominated the region. After centuries of conflict and contest between the Vaishnavas (followers of Vishnu) and Shaktas (the worshippers of Shakti) an uneasy peace was worked out between the contesting sects from the beginning of the seventeenth century. However, both sects continued to claim the supremacy of their respective deities. The religious hymns or ‘mangalkavyas’ was one of the principal sites in this struggle for supremacy. One of the most popular among these mangalkavyas is the Manasa Mangal Kavya (alternatively known as Padma Puran) which is concerned with the celebration of the cult of the serpent deity. Manasa narratives of Eastern India are generally classified under three broad categories, based on regional and linguistic variations, i.e. Purba Bangiya (of Eastern Bengal), Uttar Bangiya (of North Bengal), and Rahriya (of the Rahr region in Bengal). In Brahmaputra valley, the most notable poets associated with Manasa cult are Mankara, Durgavara, and Sukabi Narayana Deva. Mankara’s Maanasa Kavya, Durgavara’s Beula Akhyan and Narayana Deva’s Padma Purana have primarily shaped the Manasa cult in Brahmaputra valley. Mankara has been hailed as the ‘first Assamese Manasa poet’ who was in the habit of singing ‘his Manasa songs with little cymbals in his hands’ (Neog, 2008, 75). The story of Beula (or Behula) and Lakhindara constitutes the essence of

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Durgavara’s Manasa songs which are primarily associated with the Suknanni ojapali performance tradition. It is not difficult to imagine that the Manasa legends of Surma-Barak were primarily influenced by the Eastern Bengal variety because of the geographical and cultural proximity of the region with Eastern Bengal. The earliest version of the Bengali Padma Purana is attributed to Bijoy Gupto. Besides Bijoy Gupto other notable poet-litterateurs who have richly contributed to the flourishing cult of the snake deity in the Barak Valley region are Kanahari Datta, Narayan Dev, Dwija Bangshi Das, and Ketakadas Khemananda. By invigorating certain aspects of Manasa’s narrative these poets tried to represent the deity as a goddess of the masses. The earliest versions of the Manasa Mangal Kavya might have been scripted as late as sixteenth century after a prolonged period of circulation through oral transmission. In Surma-Barak region Sashthibar Datta composed a simplified version of the Padma Puran in Sylheti dialect towards the end of seventeenth century. Radhanath Roy Choudhuri continued the task of ‘improvisation’ of the Sylheti Padma Puran and compiled a more simplified, accessible, and performance-friendly version of the Manasa narrative by softening the complex musical notes of Manasa Mangal Kavya (Bhattacharya, 1995, 65). The most distinguishing feature of the Purba Bangiya style is the choral singing and dancing accompanied by recitation and chanting from Padma Purana as an integral part of the Manasa worship ritual. The representation of the narrative of Manasa and her adversary turned worshipper Chand Saudagar is undertaken with dance, recital, chanting, and singing by a group of performers. The lead performer is popularly known as ‘oja’ (possibly a derivative term from Upadhyay in Sanskrit). The performance form is popularly known as ojanach in Brak valley. I would undertake an analysis of certain characteristics of the ‘ojanach’ performance form of Barak valley with an emphasis on its association with the ‘ojha-pali’ dance form of Brahmaputra valley. I shall proceed with the hypothesis that ojapali dance form associated with the Manasa cult is sociologically significant. Worshipped mostly by the Kaivarta community of Southern Assam, it has a deeper significance as a resistant cultural form which defies hegemonic influences of the higher castes. The ojanach of Surma-Barak is closely connected to the tradition of ojhapali performance of Brahmaputra valley, especially to the Suknanni ojhapali tradition. The term Suknanni is generally presumed to have been derived from Sukavi-Narayani (i.e. of Narayan the poet). The Suknnani ojhapali performance form usually comprises of an oja, a daina-pali, two ag-palis, and two ora-palis (Neog, 2008, 351). Different kinds of rituals are performed by the ‘oja’ and ‘daina’, an assistant (alter ego?) during a Suknnani ojapali performance, the most notable amongst which is the song and dance of ‘deodhani’ (literally, woman of god) and ‘deodha’ (her male counterpart). In fact, this is the key ingredient of Suknanni performance. The ritual is considerably theatrical in nature where mythological episodes like marriage of Lord Siva and Gouri, voyages of Chand Sadagar on sea; Lakhindar’s death by snakebite; journey of Beula towards heaven etc. are performed on popular demand. Such spectacles remain a great source of entertainment and instruction for the rural spectators/audience. During the performance, the deodhani may alternately play male and female roles

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by wearing gender specific masks. The masks, costumes, and jewellery worn by the deodhani and a musical instrument called ‘khuittal’ are necessary components of such a performance. Renowned artist and folk enthusiast, Mukundadas Bhattacharya observes that traditionally the lead artists of ojanach performance of Barak vally are called ‘Gurma’ and the associated art form Gurma-nach (Deb, 2012, 33). This has given rise to the debate whether all oja performers of Barak, irrespective of their gender, can be called ‘Gurmas’. Traditionally, the Gurmas have played a significant role in the Manasa worship rituals of the Kaivarta community. For centuries through the enactment of androgynous principle of ‘ardha-nariswara’, the Gurmas nurtured a considerably complex art form. Because of the marginalized status of transgendered people in the society, Gurma dance has remained limited to ritualistic performance. At present, there are very few practicing transgendered priests within the Kaivarta community of Barak Valley. The position of Gurma or community priest is not hereditary. Acceptability by the standards of traditional value system of Kaivartas and ability to sing, dance, and perform with élan are deemed to be crucial determinants for the position of Gurmas. Life of an oja performer is limited by a set of socio-cultural norms or principles which s/he must uphold and mandatorily follow. This is of utmost significance in the context of the Kaivarta ojas who also play the role of faith healers in the community. As a customary aspect of guru-shishya tradition, complete submission to the command of the guru is a crucial aspect of the training of the apprentice artist. The guru or the master chooses his disciple from within the community by identifying certain necessary or desirable virtues in the latter. The shishya or the disciple is required to live with the master for a significant period of time since certain specialized aspects of the ritual are transmitted orally. Both ojanach and ojhapali have been traditionally nurtured within the ancient ethos of ‘guru-shishya paramapara’ where the learner undergoes a prolonged rigorous training, stretching for ten to twelve years, under the supervision of a master before his or her eventual initiation into the status of an ‘oja’. This art requires excellent command over singing, dancing, recitation, and acting (all of which might have to be displayed during a given moment in a performance) and it also prioritizes absolute and unflinching devotion and dedication to the ‘guru’ as well as to the deity from the artist. Familiarization with fundamental skills of singing, dancing, acrobatic moves, and the ability to memorize long passages from Padma Puran, and considerable knowledge of local language/dialect are absolutely critical. Techniques of improvisation (during a performance) have to be painstakingly mastered over rigorous training stretching across several years. Training of a disciple begins at a very tender age (usually when s/he is six or seven years old). In Barak valley, ojanach performance groups usually comprise of 6–7 members where the oja is the lead singer. Musicians and other assistant performers accompany the oja on the stage or the performance space. A ritual performance begins with ‘vandana’ or invocation to the deity, followed by the performance enclosure, the village deity, then ‘adiguru’ and oja’s parents etc. Oja invites the audience to participate in the choral singing of the hymn to the goddess which is followed by his assistants in a refrain. The most distinguished musical instrument used in ojanach

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performance is ‘Pakhaj’. The special attire worn by the ojas has long been a matter of speculation because of its peculiarity and absence of parallel in the local traditions. It comprises of a ‘kurta’ (a long cotton shirt with full sleeve covering up to the wrist for the upper portion of the body and a long gown with multiple folds, similar to ‘ghagra’ worn by the North India women. These two parts are tied together with a ‘cummerband’ or a sash worn around the waist. A silken ‘patta vastra’ or drape is placed on the shoulders with loose ends hanging in front. A ‘pagri’ or headgear of cotton or silk adorns the head of the performer. The complete attire must invariably be of white colour, with red or yellow borders on the gown. A garland of beads, pair of small clove-like ear-pins, and silver bangles are necessary aspects of oja’s performance makeup. Dance movements or physical gestures of ojanach are classified into three principal patterns: mukhaja avinaya (or facial expression), saririk avinaya (or kinetic expression), and chestakrita avinaya (or gestural expression). In mukhaja avinaya the emphasis is on expressions of the eyes and head; sariik avainaya stresses on gestures of chest, feet, thigh, waist, and heap, and chestakrita avinaya primarily showcases movements of hands, arms, and fingers. There are also certain highly stylized rhythmic movements like ‘vujunga chalan’ (serpentine movement), ‘mayur chalan’ (peacock movement), ‘chari’ (simultaneous movement of four different parts of the body—feet, thigh, waist, and heap) and ‘karan angahar’ (complete sideways movement). In Southern Assam, there are four prominent Manasha worship ceremonies— Shravani Puja, Panchami Puja (or Nag Panchami), Nouka Puja, and Dorai Bishohori Puja (alternatively known as Dorai Brata). The epithet ‘Dorai’, as a synonym for the serpent deity evokes a sense of fear in her devotees (in Sylheti dialect ‘dorai’ means to be scared of someone or something). The phenomenon of Dorai Bishohori is almost an exclusive affair of the Kaivartas of the region. Women from the fishermen community observe the ‘Dorai vrata’ for the well-being of their loved ones. The rituals of this worship can only be performed by an androgynous priest who is called ‘Gurma’. Dance, music, and recital with incantation are inevitable aspects of Dorai puja. Nightlong celebrations of the quasi-mythical exploits of the deity by Gurma performers with dance and music may turn out to be bawdy or overtly sexual. At the time of performing the rituals the Gurmas uses a chamar, a soft and tender fly-brush like object. The elaborate rituals of Dorai Bishohori puja are performed in a more serious and somber tone compared to other folk-popular rituals. Sacrifice of goat, duck, and pigeon offered by the devotees to the deity forms a customary aspect of Dorai puja ritual. The bloody and ecstatic performances of Gurmas in front of the deity heighten the fearful aspect of snake worship. The Gurmas often fall into a trance and may remain in that state for hours. The devotees seek opinion, counselling from the Gurma about certain issues and he/she also provides medicines for prolonged diseases at that state when he/she is still under the spell of a trance or possession. The context of Nouka Puja (alternatively Tettrish Koti Devatar Puja) is linked with Behula’s performance in heaven in presence of the gods. According to Padma Purana, Behula promises the gods that her father-in-law Chand Saudagar would worship Manasa if Lakhindar, her husband, is resurrected. In continuation with this anecdote during Nouka Puja various gods and goddesses are worshipped where

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Manasa occupies the privileged position at the centre. Boat worship or Nouka Puja is a weeklong affair during which ojanach is performed on all evenings. The performance text of Nouka Puja-ojanach is usually a combination of select passages from various popular texts associated with the cult of Manasa. Shravani Puja is celebrated on the last day of the month of Sravana (between July–August). In fact, Mankara prescribes that the deity should be worshipped during the last four days in the month of Sravana during which an image of the goddess should be placed on an altar and sacrifices should be offered. In Barak valley throughout the month of Sravana (July–August) the devotees indulge in choral singing of Manasa Mangal. Though ojanach is not an integral aspect of Sravani Puja sometimes special performances are organized to celebrate the exploits of the deity. According to the folk belief Behula carries her husband Lakhindar’s corpse towards heaven (encoded in the ‘mangalkavyas’ during medieval period) where she enthralls the gods and the goddesses with her exquisitely beautiful dance moves: Her movements were ethereal, she didn’t seem to touch her feet to the ground but seemed to float and fly and make intricate movements in the air. When her eyes shot a glance at someone, he was at once pierced by love’s arrows (Haq, 2015, 329).

It is popularly believed that ojanach is primarily a human manifestation of this divine dance performance of Behula before the gods. The oja begins the performance with an invocation to the Puranic deities. The performance space is usually a temple courtyard which is surrounded by spectators from all sides except a small opening towards the direction where the Manasa idol is placed. Performance ensues with the playing of musical instruments for a while (not more than 5–10 min) followed by invocations. Since the Manasa lore is very familiar in the region preliminaries are kept to the minimum. Through an intricate combination of song, dance, and ‘vandana’ or incantation the oja invites the deity to join the ritual ceremony. In traditional ritualistic performances, the lead performer or oja is believed to be possessed by the deity. While performing the dance of Behula the dance moves of oja becomes more delicate and graceful. The following is an extract of a very popular song which is usually sung during the Behula performance of the oja: O tomra dekhogo asi—valo nrtya koroin Shaher Nandini Monohor besh dhori nrtya koroin sundari Nrtye bhulailo Deb Tripurari Monohor besh dhori nrtya koroin sundari… (Deb 43) [O you please come and witness the beautiful dance of Shahe’s daughter The beautiful dame dances wearing attractive attire [Her] dance has enchanted Tripurari [Shiva] The beautiful dame dances wearing attractive attire…(my translation)] The next few lines of the song challenges the oja to perform some of the most difficult but equally attractive dance moves associated with this performance form, Jemon hansha chalan temon tar dolon chalan Jeno hangsha pore hangsha bahini

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Dekho dekho mayur chale shatapakkha meli dhare Jeno bala nache Madhukar… … Kancha sara var kori nrtya koroin sundari Mohit hoilo jata devapura nari… (Deb 43). [Her postures are like the movement of a swan As if a swan is trailed by flock of swans Look the peacock moves unfolding her feathers Like Madhukar (Lord Krishna) dancing with his consorts The beautiful dame dances on a plate of clay The female deities of heaven are highly pleased… (my translation)] Bhramari or rhythmic-circular movement of the dancer is another superlative aspect of oja’s artistic accomplishment. As the song goes: Pak dia Padma age, anchal patia mage Anathere deha Swami-dan (Deb 35). [Circling before Padma (Behula) spreads her pleats and begs For resurrection of her husband (my translation)] From the last few decades of the previous century, there has been an effort to ‘secularize’ the ojanach so that it could be presented on urban platforms as a popular art form. According to an estimate, by the end of 1990s in Barak valley there were at least thirty fully professional oja performance groups and most of the artists affiliated to these groups were from the lower caste (Bhattacharya, 1995, 60). Unlike the traditional ojanach which is only performed during Manasa worship ceremonies, its ‘artistic’ representations are now showcased during festivals and cultural exhibitions. Compared to the ritualistic ojanach its urban representations are more ‘exhibitionist’ in nature. Contrary to the ritualistic performances of ojanach which is ‘faith’ centric, its representation in urban platforms is often ‘art’ centric. There are several striking differences between the ‘religious’ and the ‘artistic’ versions—the ritualistic ojanach performances are expected to continue for 3–7 nights at a stretch for the complete rendition of the Padma Purana narrative whereas its ‘artistic’ representations focus on choicest episodes/events (for example Behula’s dance before the gods) from the Manasa narrative so that the performance may be completed within an hour or less. Whereas ‘Religious/ritualistic’ performances mandatorily begin with an elaborate ‘vandana’ i.e. invocation mixed with incantation, exhibitionist or ‘artistic’ performances usually begins abruptly. During ritualistic performances only folk musical instruments used whereas during exhibitionist performances in urban stages modern musical instruments are freely used. An erroneous presumption has been developed by certain scholars who opine that ojanach of Barak Valley is different from ojhapali performance form of Brahmaputra Valley. There has been a sustained attempt to differentiate these art forms based on subtle variations between the two. This presumption might have been the consequence of inadequate field-based research or unfamiliarity with the aesthetic nuances of this art form. The origin of this misrepresentation may be traced to Maheswar Neog who wrote ‘There is a Bengali version of the Sukavi Narayana’s poem and it is

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performed in chorus with dancing among the Bengali speakers of the Surma Valley’ (Neog, 2008, 317). Narayana Deva was one of the last and the most notable Manasa poets of the region and both Bengali and Assamese literary traditions claim him to be one of their own. In fact, the ownership of Sukavi Narayana Dev’s Padma Puran was a fiercely contested issue between the Assamese and Bengalis in the previous century. Literary historians of both languages still claim Narayana Dev as one of their own (Deb, 2012, 50). In the contemporary scenario of Northeastern India, such conflicting claims have ultra nationalist implications. Folklorists and cultural critics of Barak valley have played their part in furthering and legitimizing the view that ‘ojhapali’ and ‘ojanach’ are two different art forms having multiple distinguishable features. Mukunda Bhattacharya’s opinion is premised on the idea that unlike ojhapali, ojanach is predominantly a dance oriented art form but he also accepts that there are also remarkable similarities between the two (1995, 80). Some other performance historians emphasize that ojhnach is essentially a folk performance whereas there are several classical elements in ojhapali (Deb, 2012, 37). Such perceptions are nurtured and communicated in complete disregard to the reality that both these forms have been nourished under one and the same cultural tradition. Both the content (Manasa Mangal) and the form (song, dance, and incantation) of ojanach and ojhapali have an identifiable origin. There is unmistakable similarity in the attire, musical instruments, and most importantly in its ritualistic principles. Across the Indian subcontinent folk-popular performance traditions have continuously interacted with elite/classical traditions and there are abundant examples on the fact that folk culture and more specifically folk performance forms have been imagined as a dependent category which can’t be properly understood or analyzed without a reference to the elitist/classical traditions. However, with the advent of western modernity there occurred a disjuncture between classical and folk traditions. During the previous centuries, folk traditions and performance forms were increasingly viewed with a sense of disdain. These were often labeled as ‘degenerate’ art forms ‘impoverished’ and ‘primitive’ in essence, not worthy of attention to the sophisticated classes. Because of its geographical remoteness and isolation, Barak valley could sustain some folk art and performance forms which are unique. As a region located far from Bengal heartland to which it remained culturally and politically aligned for centuries, this valley suddenly discovered its cultural affinity with Assam after Partition highlighting a sense of anxiety generated by displacement and divorce from one’s ancestral culture. Sukalpa Bhattacherjee writes, When the Sylhetis of Barak Valley imagine themselves as exiled and yet a part of the diasporic Bengali identity, it produces a self effacement that is conflated with the current situation of not being-at-home with itself, but being located in the contested trajectory of Assam’s history (Bhattacherjee 2021, 253).

From the final few decades of the previous century, there has been a growing sense of resurgence and consolidation among the Bengali speaking marginal caste groups of Barak valley. In this cultural consolidation folk beliefs, folk art, and cultural forms are playing a crucial role as an expression of identity and resistance against

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the hegemony of superior castes. Manasa, as the supreme deity of the ‘Kaivarta’ (the fishermen/farmer) community, occupies a privileged position in this assertion of ethnic identity. Interestingly, Manasa’s story also foregrounds a considerably long narrative of struggle of the serpent deity to acquire a divine status. She continuously challenges the hierarchy of Hindu pantheon in an attempt to overcome her status as a marginal god. She puts up an epic battle with Chand Saudagar, a devotee of Shiva to claim a divine status and establishes a lineage of devotees. In the present context of Barak valley, the parallels in the struggle for identity between the worshipper (the Kaivartas) and the worshipped (Manasa) appear rather fascinating. There are ample sociological evidences on the fact that Manasa is not equally worshipped or revered by all caste groups. Her genealogy has always been particularly associated with the ‘people of specific low castes’ (Rytzkova 2021, 34). Pradyot Maity emphasizes that throughout the late medieval period the ‘relationship of Manasa with the lower classes of society remained constant’ which continues till date (Maity, 2001, 319). The dominant Manasa narratives situate her within the canon of marginal deities of ‘small’, local traditions like Sitala and Sasti. This is the reason why in spite of the rapid proliferation in the number of her devotees among the higher caste groups Manasa is widely presumed to be the saviour of the marginalized. In parts of North Bengal, her priest is called a ‘deyasi’ (possibly a degenerated version of Devadasi in Sanskrit) who are usually non-Brahmins. In Barak Valley, the priests of Dorai Puja are lower caste androgynous persons. The association of ojanach with marginal caste groups might have also played a part in its exclusion from ‘classical’ status. Ironically, for centuries the ojanach performance form has been subjected to censure and stigma because of its humble origin, its practitioners continue to harp on its ‘divine origin’. They steadfastly hold on to the idea that this art form was ‘brought on earth by Arjuna in the role of Brihannala from Indra’s heaven’ (Neog, 2008, 315). Oja artists of Barak valley also claim that the mythical dancing couple of Indra-sabha, Usha, and Aniruddha were reincarnated as Behula-Lakhindar (Deb, 2012, 36). Suknanni ojapali artists observe certain customary gestures and postures associated with classical dance forms like the exhibition of mudras, beginning with ‘samhara mudra’, singing of ‘malchi’ (or ‘malava-shri’) i.e. the invocatory songs etc. (Neog, 2008, 316). There is a long history of denial of ‘classical’ status to the ojanach performance forms in spite of its claim of a quasi-mythical origin. In India, there are certain elitist parameters based on which an art form is classified into ‘folk’ and ‘classical’ categories. In the case of a dance form, for example, the distinctive features associated with ‘classical’ dance are aesthetic background, tradition, representation, relationship with classical texts, and antiquity. To a certain extent, all these features are present within ojanach and it is believed to be very closely associated with the classical dance forms yet it is categorized as a folk form (Bhattacharya, 1995, 75; Deb, 2012, 40). Manasa is an extremely ambivalent character, an enigmatic deity, who is simultaneously welcomed and unwanted by her devotees. Like most folk-popular narratives, the anecdote of Manasa may appear scandalous and conflict ridden on the surface but it also foregrounds the intimate relationship of the deity with the marginalized strata of Hindu society. Padma Purana unfolds an essentially animistic worldview

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in which deities, witches, and human beings transgress their limitations and also transform their circumstances. This is an integral aspect of the myth as well as the cult of Manasa. Contemporary popular representations of ojanach, especially by the Kaivartas of Barak valley, creatively draw upon their mythical past. It is represented through their folk belief and religious praxis through an enactment of the ‘vijaya’ or victory of the deity over a merchant. Contextually, it underlines the moral victory of Kaivartas over socially hegemonic castes/groups. Drawing upon the rich resources of their centuries old cultural forms and narratives they transform the Manasa myth into a meta-representation of their faith. As a performative representation of Manasa Mangal, ojanach has become a living metaphor for the pride and identity of the Kaivarta caste.

References Bhattacharya, M. (1995). Barak Upatyakar Loknritya: Gramin Nritya Kala. Silchar: Baul LoknrityaSangeet Prachar Samiti, Cachar. Bhattacharjee, S. (2021). Narrative constructions of identity and the Sylheti experience. In T. Misra (Ed.), The Oxford anthology of writings from north-east India: Poetry and Essays. New Delhi: OUP. Deb, S. (2012). Gouriya Nrityer Guru Parampara Dharar Ojha Nritya. Guwahati: Viki Publishers. Haq, K. (2015). The Triumph of the snake goddess. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Hollander, J. (2007). Indian folk theatres. New York: Routledge. Maity, P. K. (1966). Historical studies in the Cult of the Goddess Manasa. Kolkata: Punthi Pustak. Neog, M. (2008). Aesthetic continuum: Essays on Assamese music, drama, dance and paintings. New Delhi: Omsons Publications. Ryzhakova, S. ( 2020). Welcomed and unwanted: Uncertainty and possession in a Manasa cult (North Bengal and West Assam, India). Journal of Ethnology and Folkloristics, 14(1), 25-48.

Chapter 6

Culture and Commodification: Bihu from Meadows to the Rostrum Monalisa Borgohain

Abstract Bihu is the most important festival that manifests Assamese cultural identity. The community life comes alive in Bihu performances. It is part of the agriculture cycle and traditional agricultural economy. In its transition from an agrarian to a market economy, on the one hand, this folk form remains organically linked to Assamese cultural identity, on the other hand, it has been transited from the open-air meadows of rural Assam to the proscenium space of the cities being commercialized in the process of commodification of culture. From popular folk culture it has become part of global public culture in a digitised and globalised world. The context of this change is the subject of discussion in this paper. The paper examines the changing nature of the festival in the light of the new socio-economic, cultural, and political conditions and the ways it has influenced the greater community life. Keywords Festival · Bihu · Assamese culture · Identity · Commodification · Transition · Continuity

Introduction Festivals are always vital to a vibrant socio-cultural life of any community. Part of seasonal celebrations and products of folk cultural practices, festivals are occasions to celebrate sacred and secular events. These are passed down from one generation onto the next generation in rearticulating cultural continuity. Festivals of course have a component of leisure in getting reprieve from the daily grind and enjoying life, but they do have deeper cultural and ritual significance. The customs, traditions and practices, religious rites, songs, and dances are main elements of a traditional celebration in India. Festivals represent our collective life and are entwined with agricultural cycles, civilizational ethos, religious, and ritual practices. Festivals at another level represent natural cycles and ever dynamic conditions of human life. M. Borgohain (B) JDSG College, Bokakhat, Assam, India e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 K. C. Baral (ed.), Cultural Forms and Practices in Northeast India, People, Cultures and Societies: Exploring and Documenting Diversities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-19-9292-6_6

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Bihu Festival in Assam Situated in the north-eastern part of India, Assam is largely a hilly territory with plains stretching on either side of the river Brahmaputra. Woven into its ethnic and cultural fabric are many mythologies and vibrant folk practices. Historically, the people of north-east are considered closer to south-east Asian countries including Thailand and Myanmar. Assam has been a crossroad for migration of people and cultures. The cultural identity of Assam, therefore, is a hybrid one, developed in the cultural assimilation of different ethno-cultural groups under various politicoeconomic systems in different periods of history. Like in every society, there are different specified time-frames for festivities in Assam. The celebrations have been grouped and divided based on many factors; like changes in seasons, of life cycles, commemoration of historical events or the birth and death anniversaries of great saints and personalities etc. Assam is primarily an agrarian society that is known for producing paddy, tea, and jute. Though Hinduism is prevalent, Neo-Vaishnavism is the dominant religious practice. Vedic and Vaishnavite thoughts intermixed with tribal ways of life have created distinctive folk forms in Assam. The folk festivals are mostly seasonal and are often associated with particular days of a month determined by a tithi (time in Indian calendar decided as per position of stars and planets). However, there are celebrations which are limited to a few participants to keep its ritual significance intact, while other celebrations could be associated with life cycles such as birth, death, and marriage. Some of these are also associated with the birth and death of saints and with sacred pithas (holy places); unlike private celebrations, these are public events (Sarma, 1989, 333). For survival, humans are dependent on food sources. Farming and agriculture have been the principal means of sustenance for humans since ancient times. Early people believed that the womb of a woman and that of Mother Earth is similar; so, fertility is essential for all types of reproduction in nature and also with humans. Such a belief has given rise to the celebration of fertility practices through festivals. The settled agricultural communities across the world perform religious or magical rites in various ways to ensure good weather and good harvest for the perpetuity of the tribe. This has been the practice for centuries. In Assam, most of the festivals are associated with agriculture and the changes in seasons. Bihu is the most important celebration in Assam that is connected to the annual farming cycle. The term Bihu is said to have originated from the Sanskrit word Vishuva, referring to the period of the autumnal and vernal equinoxes. Popular belief also relates the word Bishu to Deori, a Tibeto-Burman word meaning joy that many tribes use. The rituals and traditions of this festival are related to fertility rites and are observed during the pre-harvest and post-harvest periods. The festival associated with the beginning of the agricultural season during spring time is called the Bohag or Rongali Bihu. The festival observed during autumn is known as the Kati or Kongali Bihu and the one celebrated at the end of the harvest season in winter is known as the Magh or Bhogali Bihu. Bihu is the only festival that is celebrated three times in

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a year and is associated with the agricultural cycle. Astronomically, Bohag Bihu is associated with Vernal Equinox, Kati Bihu with Autumnal Equinox, and Magh Bihu with Winter Solstice.

Bohag Bihu The Bohag (mid April–mid May) month ushers in the Assamese New Year. The commencement of the spring season is also the time for farmers to begin agricultural activities like ploughing the fields and making it ready for planting crops. It starts on the domahi (the junction of two months) of the Assamese Chot (mid March–mid April) and Bohag months, and is celebrated for seven days. Therefore, it is also known as Saatbihu having seven phases of its rituals. Chot Bihu is the propaedeutic part of the Bohag Bihu. Since the start of the Assamese month of Chot, the young boys and the girls start rehearsing Bihu songs and dance for the entire month as preparatory time for the Bohag Bihu. This month-long preparatory stage is termed as Chot Bihu. However, in today’s time, it is observed only as a ritual on the second last day of Chot month. Raati Bihu (Night Bihu or Bihu at night) is performed on the nights of Chot Bihu till uruka1 night. It has now become obsolete. However, Raati Bihu is performed throughout the night. Originally, the performance used to take place in the dark, in rice fields, or on the river banks, usually underneath some big trees. Both unmarried men and women can participate in the Raati Bihu, but in separate groups: Deka Bihu for young men and Gabhoru Bihu for young women. Permission of the village elders has to be sought to conduct Raati Bihu. Medhi, the village headman, appoints the leader of each group called Deka Bora for the group of young men and Gabharu Bora for young women’s group. The observance of Raati Bihu seems to be the origin of present day Husori2 performances. Goru Bihu or Bihu for the cattle is celebrated on the last day of Chot month or the day of Sankranti.3 This day is devoted to livestock in particular for rural folks depend on their cattle mostly for all agricultural practices. Early in the morning all cows and bullocks of the village are brought to a water source, a pond or a river. They are at first smeared with a mixture of maah-halodhi,4 and smacked with sprigs of digholoti5 and makhioti.6 After that, pieces of laau7 and bengena8 are thrown at them by reciting the following: Digholoti dighal paat, maakhi maaru jaat; lau khaa bengena khaa, bosore bosore baarhi jaa, maare horu baapere horu toi hobi bor goru

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(With the long leaves of digholoti, we kill flies of different types; eat bottle gourd, eat aubergine, and grow year to year; your mother is small, father is small, you will be the bigger one) (My translation). After the wash is over, the old ropes are removed through the legs of the cattle, as if indicating the casting of all that may prove harmful to them. The animals are then let loose in the field. People smear the remaining paste of maah halodhi on their bodies before bathing. They then offer prayers in their private places of worship or at the Naamghar,9 honour the elders, and have meals of ethnic delicacies like chira,10 curd, rice cakes etc. Before the cattle are brought back in the evening, a smudge of paddy chaff and certain other kind of strong-smelling herbs are lit at the gate of the compound, near the entrance of the cowshed. This is meant to drive away mosquitoes and other insects, and to drive away evil. The ash is mixed with oil and rubbed on the neck of the bullocks either as medicine or as a preventive of the sore ensuing from pulling the plough. New ropes are prepared for the cattle. Red threads are tied on their necks and they are sanctified by sprinkling basil leaves. Their feet are washed; they are served with pitha11 and then tied up in the cowshed. The pieces of gourd, turmeric etc., and the remaining branches of digholoti-makhioti brought in the morning are stuck on the roof of the cattle shed. The plough and harrow are also washed and worshipped on this day. A day after Goru Bihu, the first day of Bohag month is Manuh Bihu, that is, Bihu for humans. Early in the morning people bathe with maah halodhi, put on new dresses, and pay obeisance to their elders. Traditional food items called jalpan12 and varieties of pitha are prepared and served. Bihuwan,13 called gamucha, and ethnic clothes are gifted as token of love, honour, and friendship. The elders are honoured with the Bihuwan. Husori or carol singing starts on this day; it is first performed at the Naamghar and blessings of the group are secured by the community. On this day people visit friends and relatives. Some practices of this day and the following days of the celebration are marked by games played with shells and eggs. Playing with shells is believed to cause rain, while the eggs serve as a symbol of reproduction. The day after Manuh Bihu is Kutum (friends and relatives) Bihu which is also termed as Gosain (deity) Bihu. One of the important folk customs of Kutum Bihu is to welcome and visit relatives and friends. Offering Gamucha, feasting, and merriment continue on the day. At the Namghars prayers are offered as part of the ritual of Nam-Prasanga.14 The practice of Gosain Bihu is particularly prevalent among the followers of Srimanta Shankaradeva. The Vaishnavite tradition of singing hymns in accompaniment with large cymbals and kettle-drums is observed. There is no caste or tribe restriction within the assembly, but the eatables offered to the deity are not distributed by the so-called low castes of the society. This caste differentiation is a part of the religious ritual only; no such division is prevalent in the community celebration of Bihu in general. Mela (fair) Bihu or Haat (market) Bihu is a form of public celebration. Bihu Husoris (Choral Singing and dancing) are organized in open fields under big fruitbearing trees. This again is symbolic of productivity. People assemble in the area and become a part of the celebration either as spectators or as participants. Modern day Bihu Melas or Bihu functions are believed to have originated from this ritual.

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The last day of the festival is known as Sera Bihu. The term Sera means ‘to leave or pass’ and this day is considered as the end of Bihu on the seventh day. The prevalent ritual is of gleaning seven different types of pot-herbs, known as sat-saki or the seven herbs, while in upper Assam hundred and one varieties of herbs are collected to prepare dishes on this day. Husori singing gets over and Bihu is given a ceremonial farewell. It is called Bihu uruwa or making Bihu fly away. Husori singing, as well as Bihu dance and music in the fields, goes on all these days, characterizing the spirit of the season. This, in brief, is the general description of the Bohag or Rongali Bihu in Assam although there are variations at the local level. The fertility cult has several parallels among other tribes inhabiting Assam. While the Bodos celebrate springtime Bihu as Boishagu, the Bodo Kacharis trace their religious lore to Bathou, Khiringraja, and Sibrai, all names of Lord Shiva. The Deori Bihu is called Bisu, and involves a seven-day celebration of feasting and merrymaking. However, the Mising tribe, who forms a sizeable population of the state, observe their seed-sowing festival in the month of February, in the first week of Phagun (mid February–mid March) month, and call it Ali-ai-Ligang or Ligang in short. Although the essence of all these festivals is similar, the rituals, performances, and material practices involved vary from tribe to tribe.

Kati Bihu Kati Bihu falls during the autumn season, on the domahi15 of the Assamese Aahin (mid September–mid October) and Kati (mid October–mid November) months. Unlike the Bohag celebrations, feasting and merry making do not form part of it. The granaries are almost empty at this time of the year, as people wait for the harvest time. So, this Bihu is also known as Kongali Bihu or poor (empty) Bihu. It is observed at the time when rice grains begin to ripen in the paddy plant. The well being of the crop for better harvest is the chief aim of this festival and the duration of its celebration is only for a day. The Tulsi or basil plant is worshipped representing Goddess Lakshmi, the consort of Lord Vishnu of Hindu mythology. On this day, small banana trees are planted beside the sacred Tulsi in the yard and in the evening earthen lamps are lit at the foot of the plant. Lighted lamps are also put at the granary, in the garden, and in the fields accompanied by singing of hymns. The male folk plant a small bamboo in the field and put a lamp at its foot. In some places, they whirl a bamboo stick and chant mantras to ward off pests and rodents. Another feature of Kati Bihu is the lighting of Akashbanti or sky-lamp hanging from the tip of a tall bamboo. As believed, this is done to show the souls of the dead the way to the divine world, or to enable them to attain the abode of Vishnu. The purpose of worship and the rituals is to protect the seedlings from depredations of mice, insects, birds, and animals while hoping for a good harvest.

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Magh Bihu Magh Bihu is the harvest festival of Assam and it starts on the domahi of the Assamese Pooh (mid December–mid January) and Magh (mid January–mid February) months. It has several parallels among the farming communities across the country. After a good harvest, the granaries are full and people have no shortage of grains and foodstuff. Additionally, it is the time to bid adieu to the harshness of winter and welcome the arrival of spring with feasting and merrymaking. That is why this Bihu is also called Bhugali Bihu (Bhugali in Assamese has an association with food and comfort). The core of the Magh Bihu celebration is a fire ceremony, observed on the day of Uruka, i.e. on the Bihu eve, which has its specific importance. On the break of the dawn, one of the family members ties bands of laths, jute, or thatch around fruitbearing trees, calls out to dogs, and offers them rice. Women folk start cleaning the house; on the previous day, they used to complete the preparations for traditional ethnic delicacies like chira, pitha, muri, aakhoi, laru, hurum etc., while the men folk go for fishing and prepare for the community feast in the evening. All take a purifying bath and put on washed, clean clothes. The young people collect stubble, dried banana leaves, and bamboo in a nearby open area and raise a high pyramid-like structure known as bhelaghar or meji, as known in upper Assam. They also construct a makeshift cottage close by and stay there overnight. Feasting and celebrations go on until the wee hours. After that they move on to the bhelaghar or meji and make offerings to God. Then, amidst singing of hymns the structure is set on fire. The older members of the community offer blessings and put marks of ash on the forehead. The half-burnt sticks and ashes are scattered in the fields, and generally a few items are also brought home to be thrown near fruit-bearing trees. It is believed that the ashes and embers increase fertility of fields and trees. The act of worshipping fire has been an ancient one; the purpose being renewal of fertility and increased production. After the meji is burnt, people sing hymns to the accompaniment of kettledrums and large cymbals. This is done in the naamghars, in places for the entire magh month. The influence of Vaishnavism is clearly marked in this context. Different types of games and sports are played like wrestling, racing, egg fight, buffalo fight etc. In earlier times a lot of martial sports like sword fighting, javelin throw etc. used to be organized.

The Bihu Dance and Songs Songs and dance are an integral part of Rongali Bihu. Having its origin in the fertility cult, the Bihu songs and dances are distinctive assets of Assamese folk culture. Having the fertility consciousness at its core, the songs and dance forms are generally amorous and tuned to the general vibrancy in the climate:

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Spring usually comes after the Ahu16 cultivation is completed and before the Sali17 cultivation begins; this period of time is the time for leisure for the peasants. Since, after this there would be a period of hectic agricultural operation, they utilized the time for preparing themselves mentally and physically for the ensuing agricultural activities. So, they observed the pre-harvest song and dance rituals which virtually began with the advent of spring. Having been inspired by a fertility consciousness, people enacted the dramatic design of song and dance to increase fertility in Mother Earth who was believed to possess the same physiological properties as a woman. This was done logically by rousing the sexual urges in the womenfolk indulging in amorous songs and sex appealing dances (Biswas, 1964, 30).

Any folk performance including song and dance has a purpose; most importantly it focuses on communication of cultural practices and ritual significance. To Roland Barthes, semiotics of dance involves a process of ‘culturalization’, whereby choreographic codes of dance represent the spontaneity of ‘natural’ movements, gestures, and feelings within a repeatable system of expression (Barthes, 1986, 33). Bihu songs and dance thus are part of ‘culturalization.’ It is not only that the songs attend to the imaginations, feelings, and sensibilities of the people but as background to the dance, their exuberance is achieved through the ‘body’ in motion. Within theoretical approaches, the body is studied both as a symbol and an agent. The ‘body’ as a conceptual category has assumed significance in critical theory challenging the Cartesian duality of ‘mind’ and ‘body’. We have today a complex notion of the body that is theorized from existential, Freudian, feminist, and cultural perspectives. As a cultural entity, the human body has other functions too for it is also an ‘expressive space’. At the physical level, the body is a sign system that represents/expresses our feelings, emotions, morality etc. having in its movements inherent rhetorical potential. Citing Fontanier’s concept of ‘Metonymies of the Physical’, Blanariu (2014) is of the opinion that different languages and cultures often ‘culturalize the natural’ as Barthes has said. Balnariu further says: The body is the crossroad of the biological and cultural (representational) experience of human beings. It has a basic rhetoric potential, which is exploited in various cultures, through both verbal and non-verbal communications. Therefore, the body is… the symbolic value of its segments being deeply involved in choreographic significations… (2014, 29).

Following Barthes, it may be said that the Bihu dance is an example of ‘culturalizing the natural’. The celebration of fertility and renewal cycles are part of the natural process. This natural process has been culturally internalized and expressed through Bihu dance with songs (rhetoric) and music that not only celebrates the procreative power of the mother earth but also of humans. In earlier times, people believed that performing erotic songs and dances would influence the earth to become more fertile and yield more crops. Thus, the dance follows a fixed pattern and technique of ‘imitation’18 involving the natural world. The drumming is said to suggest the sound of rain-bearing clouds and it is the function of the dancer to suggest the union of the male and the female in that the rain drops symbolize the means of fertilizing the earth. The dance movements include keeping the hands on the hips and then sway the trunk, gradually opening out the arms and vigorously pushing out the pelvic region

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as well as the breasts. The male dancer also exhibits a similar form. The dance for all its sexual suggestiveness is ceremonial or ritualistic in character. It is rhythmic and invigorating and its erotic basis associates it with the springtime fertility cult of ancient times.

Bihu dance. Open source

The Bihu songs constitute one of the richest treasures of Assamese oral literature. They are commonly sung in quatrains with alternate rhymes. The Naams are poetic in nature and represent youthful exuberance. They describe beauty of nature and the loved ones, speak of frustration and sorrow, but above all glorify youth and categorically express the longing for union in love. Hem Barua maintains: The history of Assamese poetry is replete with the rich folk music of the past. The people of Assam still nurture a sort of pagan devotion to nature, manifested in popular festivals that are associated with the change of seasons. These popular festivals which mark the advent of spring and autumn are known as Bihu. Poetry by common consent is the oldest form of literary expression. Long before man wrote down his thoughts, he expressed them in songs, e.g. in rhythmical language. The Bihu songs speak of such an origin… (Barua, 2003, 25).

Bihu’s rhetorical potential is marked by its passionate and erotic suggestiveness that is primordial in its natural essence. However, the Bihu dance and songs go beyond and reflect the reality of an agrarian society and its ritual culture. The Husori songs are more pious in tone and have Vaishnavite influence. They are sober and serious compositions, like hymns. The Husori songs are sung by groups of men in the courtyards of villagers when various households are visited by people to wish good luck for the New Year. Given below are a few examples of the general Bihu and Husori songs: Bihu Songs Otikoi senehor mugare mohura otikoi senehor maaku taatukoi senehor bohaagor bihuti nepati kenekoi thaku.

6 Culture and Commodification: Bihu from Meadows to the Rostrum (So dear is the muga19 bobbin/So dear the shuttle/Dearer still is Bohag Bihu/How can we do without celebrating it?) (My translation). Buku bohol kori kokal siyan kori Tumar maan huwoni naai Tumar ei kokalti otikoiye laahi Khujat haali jaali jaai. (With the broad bosom and thin waist/None is your equal in beauty/Your waist is so slim/It sways as you walk). (My translation) Tawang Bomdila’t bortup phutile kaan taal maari jaai nasonir bukut ogoni jolise senai dhan gharate naai. (Bombs have burst at Tawang and Bomdila20 /one’s ears get deafened/a fire is raging in the heart of the dancer/her dear love is not at home). (My translation) Husori Songs Krishnair murote bokul phool epahi ninyor paai mukoli hol O Govindai Ram (On Krishna’s head there is a bakul 21 flower, Getting wet in dew it opened its petals, O’ Govinda O’ Ram). (My translation) Husori bai ou dolou sorai aami je aasu husori gaai husori bai ou dolou sorai tamul thuka paan gusi rupor horai dui baanhe theka laagi jaai chot maah laaut diba hedali jikat diba jeng bohaagor bihute aahibor niyam eta baanhor terota kaami bohaagor bihute aahisu aami upore borokhun tole buka

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M. Borgohain husori gowa lorahotor bilai suwa upore barakhun tole buka sinajuke khai mare aathur jukha da potharore boha aamaku husrokha kora da pothrore pera grihashthak aakhirbaad kora. (O sister Husori o dolou22 bird we are singing husori songs o sister husori o dolou bird a bunch of areca nuts, a sheaf of betel leaves and the silver horai23 a bamboo of this garden, a bamboo of that garden both knock against each other this month of Chot a trellis for the gourd, tree branches for the jika24 it is the custom to come in the month of Bohag thirteen withes from one bamboo in Bohag Bihu have we come it is raining above and there’s mud below look at the plight of the Husori singing boys it is raining above and there’s mud below, leeches are sucking us up to the knee houses of the hollow field do attend to us a box of the hollow field let us bless this household). (My translation)

To translate these lines in another language in order to capture the cultural nuances is difficult, for the songs cannot be explained without constant reference to the broader contexts of verbal utterance. In these songs, hardly anything is plain or direct as there is the artifice of suggestiveness. Interpretation could sway in any direction from the mundane to deep spiritual meaning. Names of fruits, leaves, trees, references to local rivers and hills, and such concrete objects are intertwined with the texture of the songs. The whole of nature comes alive in the songs and human emotions representing nature make the Bihu dance and songs vibrant and unique.

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The Transition In 1898, The National Guardian carried an article, ‘The Assamese Bihoo’ by Bhuddhinath Delihial Bhattacharya, a renowned tea planter and the author of The Pronouncing Anglo Assamese Dictionary, where he made an appeal to the British Government for the censorship of Bihu. He wrote: When the dancing wakes high, the dancers both men and women, become frenzied and behave very indecently… this notorious Bihu greatly demoralizes the Assamese, especially the lower class… (Cited in Kandali, 2016).

The comment at that point of time was very significant because Bihu faced vehement criticism and condemnation by the elite section who championed Victorian morality during the last decades of the nineteenth and early decades of the twentieth century. The first phase of Bihu during the pre-medieval period principally comprised of the rituals and prayers to the fertility, divinity, and dance that characterized youthful love, passion, and desire. As has been mentioned above, the songs and dance movements delineated the joy in the union of youthful love, and reflected the connection between the natural and the human worlds. In the second phase, the celebrations were influenced by the new socio-cultural developments and changes brought about by the Neo-Vaishnavite Bhakti movement25 propagated by the Bhakti saint, reformer Srimanta Sankardeva. The Vaishnavite sway gave way to a spiritual overtone, especially to the songs of Bihu. A definite departure can be seen in the third phase during the rule of the Ahom26 king Swargadeo Rudra Singha. An aesthete, Swargadeo27 promoted the practice of performing Bihu in the Royal courtyard. The performances in the open expanse expedited a broader spectatorship and brought in the new tradition of Husori. The Husori tradition gradually paved the way for large scale performance as a marker of community bonding and identity. It was at this juncture that Bihu came up as a transformed public spectacle for the first time. The festival no longer remained a ritualistic agrarian celebration, but transitioned to a combination of classical Vaishnavite and folk exhibits that catered both to feudal culture and aristocratic fancy. Later transitions followed during British colonization that brought forth unprecedented socio-cultural, political, and economic implications. The enactment of the British Education System gave rise to a new Assamese bourgeoisie in the nineteenth century. Entranced in puritan moral norms and modern classical ideals, these rising elites looked down upon the celebrations of Bihu as ‘low art’ performed by the socalled ‘lower class’, as evident in the comment cited above, made by Buddhinath Delihial Bhattacharya. The spirited tradition of Raati Bihu slowly declined because it was not encouraged by the emerging class. The vibrant dance form came under threat of extinction with the spread of colonial education, and the influence of the Western and pan-Indian elite. Classical culture and the simultaneous inclination of the individuals for jobs instead of agriculture as a means of bread and butter conjointly contributed towards some decline. However, it is competitive identity politics that led to the revival of Bihu as a cultural symbol. The newly educated youth, fired with the idea of nationalism,

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protested against the puritan denigration of Bihu by the older elite and strived to uphold Bihu as the symbol of Assamese cultural identity. In this effort, Bihu gained a momentum from being an agrarian rural phenomenon to an urban spectacle. In 1941, Bihu for the first time was celebrated publicly at Sivasagar Natya Mandir, in upper Assam. Under the patronage of eminent scholars like Raghunath Choudhari, Maheswar Neog, Paragdhar Chaliha, and particularly of Radha Govind Baruah, known as the Iron Man of Assam, Bihu as a festival became immensely popular. As a dance on the meadows, Bihu travelled to the fashionable stage of the urban spaces. The celebrations now become spectator-centric and aimed at entertaining the audience. With it came all the associated changes and transformations like using props, settings, lighting, and structured choreography.

The Metaphor of Change The re-creative and regenerative aspects of festivals involve an experience where the revellers discover themselves in a completely different frame of space and time. The celebration becomes a kind of transformative event where people return to communal bonding in reliving an enchanting past. However, there is another aspect to festivals that they represent our material culture signifying modes of consumption; a festival thus introduces into the celebration, ‘the idea of commodity… to be consumed… Festivals (become) instances of spectacle, constructed around aspects of both production and consumption’ (Debord, 1973, 18) in that ‘the world we see is the world of commodity’ (Ibid 29). The celebrations now do not involve static adherents, spectators, and spaces but embrace changes in accordance with the evolving socio-economic conditions of production, consumption, and political scenarios. This being so, meanings of festivals apparently rooted in social life, are constantly being challenged by the ‘rootlessness’ of an inter-connected ever speeding world (Caillois, 2001, 114). It is crucial therefore not to consider festivals as specific and static events, but as dynamic events susceptible to propagation, social change, and identity politics. One of the important political scenarios in which Bihu became the symbol of Assamese cultural identity was the students’ agitation of the seventies of the last century, triggered by sentiments of subnationalism.28 The ethos of the movement was instrumental in giving way to a new political consciousness and self awareness among various ethnic communities that eventually led to the emergence of new political power structures in Assam. A land of diverse identities, ethnicities, and cultures, efforts were made towards constructing Bor Axom,29 an inclusive pan-Assamese community. At the same time, individual communities also asserted their ethnic and cultural identity leading to a period of political disturbance in the state with claims to autonomy. This is when Bor Axom or an inclusive pan-Assamese identity was the need of the hour in that Bihu became an instrument of social solidarity. The transition of Bihu, from an agrarian rural folk festival to a competitive urban entertainment phenomenon underlines a whole host of socio-political and cultural concerns. The fifties and sixties of the last century saw an awakening amidst

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the educated urban middle class. In a bid to reappropriate and reconstruct the past to cater to the idealistic concerns of the new cultural identity, Bihu perfectly suited to the need as an all encompassing democratic, secular, unified cultural marker, bearing the signature of the greater Assamese cultural identity. Further, the economic boom of tea and oil industries, advancement, and improvements in technology and communication redefined the concept of leisure and entertainment for the urban elites. Bihu served two very important needs of the elite that it becomes the central piece of Assamese cultural identity and a means for the entertainment economy that people with money could invest in its commercialization. Consequently, there was mushrooming of Bihu committees sponsored by big corporate houses, political agencies, and affluent business class transforming the ethos and presentation of Bihu as an urban spectacle. ‘Stage Bihu’ became a neon glittering spectacle of a million-rupee budget. As part of popular culture, its enduring effect resulted in the production of a number of videos and audios besides being part of film music. The digital culture further accentuated the Bihu phenomenon in Assamese culture scape. The politics of identity eventually led to the creation of the modern Bihuwati, a contest to choose the best female Bihu dancer. The dancer has to adorn herself in the traditional Assamese muga silk mekhela sador 30 and demonstrate her skills in the dance form. The competition is intense as it involves rewards in cash and kind and being decorated with the title of Bihuwati or Bihu Samraggi,31 a title above Bihu Rani, Bor Bihuwati etc. These Bihuwatis also stand as representatives of tribal communities which they display through a fusion of costumes signifying a new Assamese community with an integrated identity. However, a mere coalescence of cultural costumes and motifs of the variegated ethnic groups can never suffice to address the socio-political complexities of the region; at the best, it could be seen as a quest for a unified vision of a greater community. Bihu thus evolved as an instrument of political-cultural consciousness in Assam from a simple rustic folk dance.

Conclusion Spectacle is a phenomenon characteristic of modern societies; it is a large scale, extravagant cultural production, a performance with dialogic, polyphonic, and polythematic communication (Manning, 1983, 145). The meta-message of spectacle has been defined as one of entertainment and detachment. Bihu as a festival today has a tenuous link with the ancient harvest rituals; there is a world of difference between the celebrations now and that of the earlier days. In this journey, the carnivalesque component of Bihu has perhaps lost its resonance. The earlier participatory component of the common folk has been reduced to a mere display. The modern audience hardly knows what Bihu actually is. The changes have been aimed more at marketing Bihu rather than presenting its authentic cultural specificity. Bihu for all occasions has been reduced to its commercial mantra.

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Nevertheless, there is the creation of a space–time matrix and a network that operates with the celebrations. As part of popular culture, its reach is immense and it has been successful in creating a pan-Assamese cultural consciousness where other mechanisms have failed. Bihu, in whatever form it exists today, no doubt brings a sense of cultural continuity and ensures a cultural identity to the diverse communities of the state. Terry Eagleton (2000) states, ‘Culture, (then) is the unconscious verso of the retro of civilized life, taken for granted beliefs and predilections which must be present for us to be able to act at all’ (28). Bihu, in this sense, is a testimony of ‘beliefs and predilections’ of Assamese culture. In its continued re-creation, it consolidates the political, economic, and social changes in Assam.

Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25.

26.

The day before Rongali Bihu. Husori: carol singing performed normally by community elders from house to house, to bless the household for the ensuing year. Vernal Equinox. Black gram and turmeric paste. Litsea salicifolia, a plant with long leaf. Flemingia strobilifera, a plant with flower like a soft plastic butterfly. Bottle gourd. Aubergine. Community prayer hall. Flattened rice, an ethnic delicacy. Rice cakes. A type of ethnic food usually prepared with rice in various ways. Traditional Assamese cotton cloth offered as a mark of honour. Vaishnavite community prayer. The junction between two months. Autumn variety of rice. Winter variety of rice. In philosophical theories, Aristotle explained dance as ‘imitation’ involving different meanings. Plato voices a similar concept as he saw dance as an ‘art of imitation’. Muga silk is the product of the silkworm Antheraca assamensis endemic to Assam. The larvae of these moths feed on som (machilus bombycina) and suolu (litsaea polyantha) leaves. Places in Arunachal Pradesh. Mimusops elengi, an evergreen tree found in tropical forests of South Asia, Southeast Asia and Northern Australia. A local species of bird. A traditional symbol of Assam, it is basically a tray with a stand at the bottom originally made from bell metal. Ridge Gourd or Luffa acutangula. The Neo-Vaishnavite movement (Ekasarana Dharma, literally: ‘Shelter-in-One religion’) was initiated in Assam by Srimanta Sankardev in the latter period of the fifteenth century. It ushered in an era of socio-cultural renaissance in Assam. The Ahom dynasty (1228–1826) ruled the Ahom kingdom in present-day Assam for nearly 598 years. The dynasty was established by Chaolung Sukaphaa, a Shan prince of Mong Mao origin who came to Assam after crossing the Patkai mountains. The rule of this dynasty ended with the Burmese invasion of Assam and the subsequent annexation by the British East India Company following the Treaty of Yandaboo in 1826.

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27. Reference to Ahom kings, meaning ruler of heaven. 28. The Assam Movement or the Assam Agitation (1979–1985) led by All Assam Students Union (AASU) and the ‘All Assam Gana Sangram Parishad’ (AAGSP) was a popular uprising to drive out the illegal immigrants from Bangladesh. The movement ended with the signing of the Assam Accord by leaders of AASU-AAGSP and the Government of India under PM Rajiv Gandhi. 29. The concept of an egalitarian society where all tribes and communities co-exist in harmony envisioned by Srimanta Sankardev. 30. Traditional Assamese costume. 31. Literally meaning the Empress of Bihu, it is a popular contest held in the prestigious Latasil playground in Guwahati.

References Barthes, R. (1986). The rustle of language (R. Howard, Trans.). Hill and Wang. Barua, H. (2003). Bihu Geetor Oitijyo. In J. Kalita & I. Buragohain (Eds.), Bihuwan (Vol. 14, pp. 24–27). Image Graphic Advertising and Publishing. Biswas, S. (1964). Harvest festival and the Bihu songs of Assam. Lalvani Publishing House. Blanariu, P. N. (2014). Semiotic and rhetorical patterns in dance and gestual languages. Southern Semiotic Review, 4(13), 22–29. http://www.southernsemioticreview.net/semiotic-and-rhetoricalpatterns-in-dance-and-gestual-languages-by-nicoleta-popa-blanariu/. Accessed 26 September 2020. Caillois, R. (2001). The sacred as transgression: Theory of the festival. In R. Caillois (Ed.), Man and the sacred (pp. 97–127). University of Illinois Press. Debord, G. (1973). The society of the spectacle. Zone Books. Eagleton, T. (2000). The idea of culture. Oxford Blackwell. Kandali, M. (2016). Imagining the community: The making of the spectacle of Bihu. https://www. nezine.com/info/IMAGINING%20THE%20COMMUNITY-%20THE%20MAKING%20OF% 20THE%20SPECTACLE%20OF%20BIHU. Accessed 15 May 2021. Manning, F. E. (1983). The celebration of society: Perspectives on contemporary cultural performance. Congress of Social and Humanistic Studies, University of Western Ontario. Sarma, N. (1989). Asomiya Loka-Sanskritir Abhash. Bani Prakash.

Chapter 7

Kushan Gaan: Retelling of the Ramayana Preetinicha Barman

Abstract Kushan Gaan is one of the most popular performing traditions of the Koch Rajbangshis. It is called Kushan as the story is supposed to be drawn from Kush’s version of the Ramayana. It is a performance form that combines narration with dance, song, and drama. Besides the main narrative, Kushan Gaan allows space for certain extraneous minor narratives based on everyday life, thus interweaving the folk with the grand narrative. The Kushan dance form has similarity with Yakshagana, Bh¯agavatamel¯a, Ankiya Nat, and Ojapali. The Kushani is the prime narrator cum lead singer and director of the performance. His image comes very close to that of the Sutradhara. The Kushani is assisted by his Dowari (assistant), Bains (musicians), Pails (singers), Sukkris (dancers), and actors. The origin of Kushan Gaan reflects cultural interpolation and assimilation. Throughout ages this performing tradition has come across variations and new additions. But each performance follows a basic pattern while allowing innovation and adaptability in changing times. Keywords Performance · The Ramayana · Variations · Folk · Kushani Cultural inheritance includes a host of performance forms such as music, dance, song, and rituals that invigorate a living culture and its traditions. The folk life worlds represent the tangible and intangible aspects of any culture. The human intent and aspirations are articulated in these forms. Among these forms, the performance genres seem to have greater impact. A performance genre functions within a well-defined tradition. Additions to and influences on these art forms either from contiguous cultures or from outside are in tune with changing times. Of course, in some cases, performances may be modified or readjusted to suit the local demands but largely the structural parameters remain intact continuing with the ethnographic cultural paradigm. The elements that are borrowed and appropriated into the structure of a visual performance form provides dynamism to the form. While the ritual function P. Barman (B) Department of English, Women’s College, Shillong, India e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 K. C. Baral (ed.), Cultural Forms and Practices in Northeast India, People, Cultures and Societies: Exploring and Documenting Diversities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-19-9292-6_7

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of these forms remains central, their entertainment aspects attend to local demands; more so in case of a community that is dispersed over a wide geographical area across states and countries. The Koch Rajbangshis, as a cultural community, are scattered across India, Bangladesh, and Nepal. Historically, this demographic dispersal underlines the spread of the Koch kingdom under such powerful rulers like Biswasinha and his famous son King Naranarayan. Even inside India, the community lives in the states of Assam, West Bengal, and Bihar with varying scheduled identities as tribe, caste, and OBC. Besides the scheduled identities bestowed upon them by different states, the community remains outside the caste paradigm. However, the community shares a cohesive linguistic and cultural identity. They practice a variety of visual performances including Kushan Gaan that is one of the Pala Gaans of the Koch Rajbangshi performance tradition. Pala Gaan, as the name suggests, is a song-series in which song, dance, and drama accompany the narration of a tale which is usually a myth, a legend, or a story from the Puranas. In Pala Gaan, the term gaan does not mean only song but connotes a beautiful medley of song, dance, action, narration as well as comic interludes. It is called Pala because it is a ballad series meant to be performed. The performance time of Pala Gaan is not limited to a definite time schedule. Often it continues for a day or even more than a day. The Koch Rajbangshi community1 has varieties of Palas of which a certain Palas are identified with religious rites and the non-ritualistic ones are meant mostly for seasonal festival celebrations. For an agrarian community like the Rajbangshis seasonal festivals are important. Although rituals are not central to these celebrations, some rituals are undertaken initiating the festival. Kushan Pala is primarily meant for the spring festival, and is performed, in particular, during the Bishuwa or Beshma, the Rajbangshi New Year festival. It has in the past adorned the royal court of the Koch kings Biswasinha and Naranarayan as a spectacle during the coronation ceremonies. For its richness and performance subtleties, it has earned its popularity among the royalty as well as the masses. Throughout the ages, kings, landlords as well as rich farmers had patronized the performance of Kushan Gaan during various festivals and celebrations. The word Kushan refers to Kush, the younger son of Lord Rama. Kushan Gaan draws its name from Kush as one of the first singers of Valmiki’s Ramayana. Kushan appears to be his version of the Ramayana sung in a series of ballads. There are many folk versions of the Ramayana that emphasizes on the Lava-Kush tradition. For instance, Uttar Ramayana brings in Lava-Kush to the forefront as prime narrators of the Ramayana. Kushan Gaan follows this Kush-Lava tradition. It is a form that beautifully interweaves the narration with performance, representing continuity and change at the same time. In India, narratives from epics have immensely influenced folk performance forms in which, as Suresh Awasthi (2001) maintains, ‘epic performing traditions’ are the ‘oldest and also the richest in artistic value’ (05). Kushan Gaan belongs to a similar artistic tradition that retells the Ramayana using local variations and interpolations through performance.

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The lead narrator-performer of the Kushan troupe is known as Kushani. The Kushani is also called the Gidal or the lead singer as he sings almost all the major songs and carries on the Gaan. He is also known as the Mul or the root. He must be a veteran singer, dancer, music player (especially Bena, a string musical instrument), and director of the show besides being the prime narrator. He must remain on stage throughout the performance unlike the Sutradhar of Sanskrit plays who mandatorily remains on the stage only during the p¯urvara˙nga, occasionally appearing on the stage in case of some special demand of the play. In a parallel context, the Kushani comes very close to the omnipresent Sutradhar of Ankiya Nat, a performance form developed by Sankardava, the founder of neo-Vaishnavism in Assam. Noted litterateur, Birinchi Kumar Barua (2012), observes that ‘In Sanskrit dramas, the Sutradhara disappears altogether after the invocation. But it is different with Assamese plays. Here the Sutradhara remains all along on the stage’ (iii). There are at least 15–20 performers in a Kushan troupe led by the Kushani. The Kushani is assisted by the Dowari, Pails, and Bains. The Daina Pail, the Baya Pail, and other Pails join the Kushani in his songs. The Daina Pail or the accompanying singer on the right side of the Gidal holds the lead position in singing, right after him. The Baya Pail positions himself on the left side of the Gidal. In the hierarchy of performers of a Kushan troupe, the positions next to the two Pails are those of the Daina Bain and the Baya Bain. The Daina Bain is the lead musician (apart from the Gidal) and he takes the right-side position while the Baya Bain occupies the left side. Besides them, there are other Pails (singers) and Bains (musicians). However, the Kushan troupe has a hierarchical composition, after the Kushani it is the Dowari, then the Daina Pail, followed by the Daina Bain, and so on. At times, the Gidal-Dowari combination is compared to the pairing of Kush and Lava, the original narrators of the Ramayana. Sarma (1962) refers to the Dowari of Kushan as the right hand of the Gidal whom he compares to the Oja of Ojapali, a folk theatre genre of Assam (5). The Dowari is the actor-narrator cum singer-dancer as well as the jester. He combines all these arts in his persona. He accompanies the Kushani in carrying on the narration, sings his part of the chorus, dances with the Sukkris as well as acts in a number of roles. Besides engaging in the narration, he enlivens the performance with earthy humour and wit. A Dowari is always versatile who by means of his wit and alacrity makes it a point to mirror the day-to-day life as well as the current events. Usually, he wears costumes of a village peasant, thus underlining his identity as a common man. His simple attire can be taken as symbolic representation of the folk in the grand design of the Ramayana. He connects the artists to the mythical world of the main narrative and the world of everyday life. Nonetheless he presents social satires in the form of phyasha.2 He can be compared to the Vidusaka of classical Sanskrit plays or the Hanuman¯ayaka of Yakshagana, except that unlike many Vidusakas or Hanuman¯ayakas he is a veteran dancer who accompanies the Sukkris in their Jhaptaal.3 Similar to Hanuman¯ayaka, the Dowari presents social criticism by means of his satires. The actors of Kushan Gaan are not simply actors but are also dancers and singers. Usually, the Pails themselves act as casts. In their performing acts, they can be compared to the actor-singers of Bh¯agavatamel¯a performances. In Bh¯agavatamel¯a the actor starts performing by means of reciting, then he goes on to singing, miming,

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acting as well as dancing. The Kushan actors too start as Pails then go into acting and dancing. Even the Kushani himself may take up a role. The Dowari may interrupt him in the middle of his narration and request him to enact a scene taking up the role of a character. The Kushani then would accept the role and declare it aloud that he is acting as that particular character for the time being. In earlier times, the casts performed in simple attires comprising of a dhoti, kurta, and a scarf (gamcha).

Traditional dress of Kushani Troupe. Source: The author

In present times, the Kushan troupe follows different dress codes that include changing dresses off stage in between songs. They dress up in elaborate costumes suitable to the mythical characters. The Sukkris are actor-dancers. They are mostly young boys dressed as women. They usually wear patanis4 and adore them with traditional ornaments like hasili, chandrahaar, gajamati mala,5 muthakharu, nolo, onti,6 etc. At present, girls have started performing as Sukkris. They play in many roles according to the need of the narration. For instance, a Sukkri playing Mandodari may join the other Sukkris playing as heavenly nymphs in another scene. The Kushan spectators happen to be veteran enough to get the clue and accept one artist in many roles without any confusion. The Sukkris also sing in a unique taal called Khemta and perform a special dance on Jhaptaal besides others.

Dance with music. Source The author

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Unlike the Ramlila in North India, Kushanpala performance has the duration of a day or a day continuing through the night. There is a selection of certain episode or narrative from the Ramayana keeping in view the duration of the performance. The beginning of a Kushan performance is marked by Kholaban or an orchestra, followed by the Mangalacharan, Saraswati Vandana and Raghu Vandana. The invocations or the starting prologues are an integral part of Kushan Gaan performance besides the narration and its enactment. The Kushani starts by reciting a Sanskrit s´loka related to the Ramayana. After the s´loka, he starts the Saraswati Vandana. In the Saraswati Vandana, he invokes goddess Saraswati, the goddess of music and learning. Here the Kushani plays the part similar to that of the Sutradhar of classical Sanskrit plays or the Bh¯agavatar of Yakshagana performance. He would invoke the goddess with his song which usually goes as (taken from Bhakat, 2001): O-Ma-go, Aishek Ma mor Saraswati Rathekariyabhar, Jai jogarenamek Ma tui Sabharo bhitar. ……Are ay ay (27) (O Mother Come my Mother Saraswati Riding on a chariot, …O, please do come). [translations mine]

The refrain ay ay is repeated and remains recurrent throughout the whole vandana. Immediately after the initial s´loka, the Gidal or the Kushani would start this song reciting Jai h¯ah¯a. This typical part is called h¯ak or calling. As the Gidal gives h¯ak, the other singers join. Although an invocation is made the Kushani does not bring any idol on the stage (which is usually an open space). He then sings another song praising Lord Rama and is followed by other singers. After a brief discussion with the spectators and the Dowari as to which plot to be enacted on the particular occasion, the Kushani now commences the narration of that particular story from the Ramayana. These initial rituals come very close to that of Yakshagana performance. As pointed out by Kapila Vatsyayan (2007), in Yakshagana performance, ‘the p¯urvara˙nga is known as the sabh¯alaksana and constitutes three distinct parts. First, the invocation of Gane´sa or Mukh¯ambik¯a in the green room, followed by Bh¯agavatar singing a s´loka on the stage… in the second phase there is dialogue between Hanuman¯ayaka and Bh¯agavatar. Finally, in the third phase, the Bh¯agavatar again sings a s´loka and two young dancers… enter and present a pure dance’ (39). In Kushan Gaan, the invocation to a deity (though not in the green room) follows with reciting of s´lokas, the dialogue between the Kushani and Dowari and the dance (Nachari7 ). The Kushani, the Dowari, and the Sukkris resemble the sabh¯alaksana of Yakshagana performance.

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After these elaborate beginning rituals, the main narrative and performance of the Kushan Pala starts. As the Kushani sings the narrative, the enactment follows. In between the performance based on the Ramayana, a Kushsan performance also interpolates some minor plots not exactly related to the main plot. There are songs which are quite secular and unrelated to the subject matter of the prime narrative. Besides, there are some practical jokes and pranks which are introduced by the Dowari. A notable feature of Kushan Gaan is the mixing up of diverse genres into an integrated performance. The Kushan Gaan having ingredients from different performing forms becomes an organic whole. The concept of the organic whole is in fact common to all folk performances. For instance, the Sukkris not just dance, they sing and act as different characters. The Pails, as mentioned, sing as well as act. The Dowari sings, dances, acts as well as adds witty statements. He is a jester, a wit, and a performer, as well as the assistant of the Gidal. The Gidal through his introductory conversation with the Dowari engages the audience and asks for their taste and opinion about the part to be acted out. Hence, the spectators become essential in shaping the performance. This is a typical feature Kushan Gaan followed for ages; this tradition is called Japsal that is also followed in many other types of palas in the Rajbangshi tradition. In Japsal, the Dowari asks many questions to the Gidal who clarifies his doubts, in the process, simplifying the narrative and responding to the spectators’ queries. Conventionally, the Sukkris are boys belonging to the age group between 10 and 16 years, dressed up in the female attire. There is an old tradition regarding this practice of turning the boys into girls for the sake of performance. An ancient myth relates to this. Once an elephant became very proud of its mighty size and power. He thought that no one can match his strength. One day, it was bathing in a lake when a crocodile bit it on the leg. The elephant with all its strength could not escape from the crocodile’s snout. In agony, it screamed at the top of its voice. But nobody cared about its trumpet. At last, it prayed to God. Holding a lotus in its trunk it prayed to the Almighty to rescue him from the crocodile’s grasp. This story is linked to the Kushan group by an inner analogy. The idea of sin and repentance brings them together. The elephant felt proud and paid for its sin with genuine repentance. The Kushan group sins by turning the boys into girls apparently. In order to atone for this sin, they adopt a symbol from the preceding myth in the form of a miniature elephant head in wood mounted on the bena, the main instrument of Kushan Gaan. The symbolic inclusion of the repentant elephant represents the penitence of the Kushani and his troupe. Therefore, the very performance of Kushan begins with a conscious inclusion of a ritual. Though the performance of Kushan Gaan is apparently free from any ritual yet it embeds a number of rituals that are integral to its existence as a traditional form. The rituals related to the worship of the musical instruments are most relevant in this respect. The instruments of Kushan Gaan include bena,8 dotara,9 khol,10 cymbals, flute, sarinda,11 and the harmonium. Among all these, the bena is regarded with utmost importance. As Mohanty (2012) points out, ‘Bena’ is essentially a symbol of Ramayana recital tradition. ‘Bena’ is also a symbol of Kushan Gaan’s ritualistic

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origin, its religiosity, its purity and its supernatural power. This instrument is believed to be the fruit of the holy fire ceremony (Yagna) conducted in Mithila some thousand years ago’ (71). Mohanty also refers to Gaturam Barman, a veteran Gidal12 in this context. Gaturam Barman says that it is only through the tune of bena that goddess Saraswati can be invoked. Hence bena has a ritualistic dimension other than being just an instrument. Similarly, Kholaban or invocation to the khol can be looked at as a rite so precisely carried out in Kushan Gaan performance. This Kholaban is basically a musical concert in which all the instruments are used in reverential offering to the khol. Dwijendra Nath Bhakat (2001) compares Kholaban with the Khol Dehemali13 of Ankiya Nat14 (26). This resemblance is quite significant as both Kushan Gaan and Ankiya Nat belong to the same region of India. The prevalence of Kushan Gaan in lower Assam and North Bengal (the area once under the Koch kingdom) spatially coincides with the region of the origin of Ankiya Nat of Srimanta Sankardeva. Though Sankardeva had started composing his plays in his sattras in the Ahom Kingdom, most of his plays were written later, while he was residing in the Koch Kingdom. In the Dhemali part of Ankiya Nat, both the Gayan (singer) and Bayan (musician) take part, but it is the Bar Bayan or the lead musician who holds the central role (Bora, 2017, 1). He beats his khol to symbolize the commencement of Ankiya Nat and others accompany him. So, khol happens to be the first instrument to be played in both performances. The end of the Kushan Gaan is declared as Khol Bhanga. This is another typical ritual related to the musical instruments as well as the whole performance. Khol Bhanga, literally means breaking of a khol, but its actual meaning is the declaration of the end of a performance by means of the ensemble of instruments. Another ritual associated with instruments of Kushan Gaan is the homage paid to the instruments before the performance. Bhuban Kushani informs that the Kushan troupe members say prayers to the deities before entering the performance space. They set up a ghat or ritualistic pitcher, say certain prayers to ward off evil and sanctify the instruments with flowers, tulsi leaves, sandal paste, and incense, in the darighar or bashaghar (out house) allotted to them as the green room.

Bhuban Kushani with bena. Source: The author

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The ritual related to the stage of Kushan Gaan is also unique as the performance entails the worship of the stage or the performance space. In Kushan Gaan, a number of vandanas are recited. The vandanas include prayers to the deities as in Raghu vandana and Saraswati vandana as well as to the inanimate entities as reflected in Khol vandana and Mandap vandana. The mandap comprises of an open performing space covered with a coloured tarpaulin. It does not have anything like the ra˙ngap¯ıt.ha, ra˙nga´s¯ırsa, or mattav¯aran.¯ıs of a typical Sanskrit play as prescribed by the Natyasastra (Gupta, 1991). But the vandana to the mandap (stage) adds ritualistic value. The spectators encircle this bare space that is the performing stage. This stage, called asar, is also secured by the sacred chants of the Gidal before the performance. A similar ritual is found in Manipuri Raaslila15 in which a character called Vrinda decorates and purifies the mandap by means of a performance called Vrinda Nartan. In both cases, though the mandap is already there an invocation is made to the mandap to add a ritualistic dimension to the performance. In Raaslila, the mandap serves as Vridavana while in Kushan Gaan it transforms into the mythical land of the Ramayana. The performance space is thus endowed with ritualistic purification. Looking at the specificity of space in folk performances, Suresh Awasthi comments in his ‘In Defence of Theatre of Roots’ that ‘Theatre does not simply occur in available space. It creates its own space, and alters available space’ (in Bhatia, 2009, 299). Awasthi further adds, ‘The character of the performance and most of the elements of a theatrical event—have a role to play in shaping and determining theatrical space. But the main source is the presence of the possessed body of the actor. A given space acquires new form in its dimensions according to ‘where the actors take up their positions’ (ibid). So, it is the performance that transforms the ordinary space into performance space. The external decorations and stagecraft, in this sense, do not reflect the adequacy of transforming a space into a performance space. Tagore (2009) shares a similar view about the stage of a play when he says, ‘the artificial platform with its hanging canvas is not worthy of a poet’ (433). By ‘poet’ he means the dramatist who has written the text of the play. In case of Kushan, however, it is not the written text but the tradition that matters. The directions of the Gidal along with the improvised live performances of the performers on stage reproduce the text before the audience. A remarkable tradition associated with Kushan Gaan is the custom of learning the art under a veteran master. Usually, the Kushani or Gidal of a troupe happens to be the master-trainer under whose guidance the amateur boys of the troupe get trained. They should have single-minded devotion and commitment to the art. Many of the boys, who join as Sukkris, gradually learn to dance, sing, and play the instruments. After years of hard work and practice, they might attain a better position like that of a Pail or a Bain. A talented and much seasoned artist may aspire to be the next Kushani of the troupe or may lead another troupe as a Kushani. But it is the master Kushani who has to be a seasoned artist. Bharat Bhusan Mohanty (2012) refers to this tradition as ‘guru-mukhi’ vidya (64). A veteran Kushani of Dhubri District of Assam, Bhuban Chandra Ray (2020), while being interviewed informed that he had started his career as a Sukkri. Then he attained the position of the Baya Bain and after

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a long struggle achieved his Kushanihood. He expresses his gratitude to his master, Tepu Kushani, who had conferred him the honour to being a Kushani. The origin of Kushan Gaan can be traced back to the seventh/eighth centuries, to the beginning of the process of Aryanization when the Rama-centric traditions flourished in this region. However, the Maithili influence has been strong on the Kushan Gaan tradition. The Koch Rajbangshis are devotees of Lord Shiva and the Mother Goddess. How Kushan Gaan became an integral part of the Koch Rajbangshi culture is a matter of debate. Looking at the antiquity of Kushan Gaan have it could be ascertained that the influence of Hinduism back in the seventh/eighth centuries has been the cause of the growth and popularity of this traditional art form. Though the Koch Rajbangshis had their folk gods and goddesses, they never excluded the significance of other deities whom they soon incorporated into their belief system. This tendency of inclusion and assimilation can be seen reflected through a number of folk rituals of the Rajbangshis in which numerous deities whether originally belonging to their folk pantheon or adopted later on from mainstream Hinduism or some other faiths are worshipped. The same must have been true in case of adopting the Ramayana. As the Rajbangshis came under the influence of Hinduism, Rama being one of the iconic gods soon acquired greater significance in the Rajbangshi imagination. The process of inclusion and assimilation is something common to certain other traditions as well. Even in several versions of the Ramayana this is evident. Jani (2003), in his essay, ‘Different Versions of Valmiki’s Ramayana in Sanskrit’, points out that the popular narrative of the Ramayana has been repeatedly improvised in the subsequent versions that had appeared after Valmiki’s Ramayana. He says that in Adbhut Ramayana, the narrator attempts to assimilate Shaktism with Vainshnavism. The author of Adbhut Ramayana has presented Sita to be stronger and more powerful than Rama, thus introducing the concept of the Supreme Mother Goddess. As he ´ akta devotee to establish S¯ ´ aktism in an argues, this version reflects the effort of the S¯ alien culture in which the Ramayana narrative is already adored (in Iyengar, 2003, 43). In case of Kushan Gaan, it is just the reverse. Through Kushan Gaan Vaishnavism entered into the land of Saivism and Tantric cults. Similar to Kushan Gaan, there are other parallel forms of the Ramayana tradition in the Koch Rajbangshi culture. Ram Mangaler Gaan is prevalent in Uttar Dinajpur, Lankar Gaan, a popular Pala of Darjeeling, Raboner Gaan popular in Jalpaiguri and Dhubri, Sita-centric Lakkhiala Gaan popular in Dinajpur, etc. are different forms that present versions of the Ramayana. Like language, cultural forms can have both synchronic and diachronic variations. As Deepak Ray (2020) says, this is much evident through cultural forms like the Kushan Gaan. Such forms go through improvisations over time while adapting to diverse local variations. Kushan performances started initially as renditions of small narratives in songs. They are called Kischabandi Gaan, songs narrating small stories. Later they became elaborate narratives with dramatic enactments. Kushan performances also reflect spatial variations through the variations in songs (especially the extraneous songs) in local dialects in which the narration and dialogues proceed through the interludes introduced by the Dowari with the accompaniment of selected musical instruments. For instance, in

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Dhubri District of Assam, the bena serves as the main instrument of Kushan. The rhythm of the bena is either very slow (Dheeralaya) or medium (Madhya laya). Hence this type of Kushan is known as Bena Kushan or Kushan with the slow cadence of the bena. Contrary to this in Bongaigaon and Kokrajhar Districts of Assam, Khara Kushan is the most recurrent type in which the dotara occupies the position of the main instrument. Since the dotara is played in the khara or drutalaya, meaning fast beats, this type of Kushan is called Khara Kushan. In Raboner Gaan, a similar form like Kushan, bamboo kartals figure as the main instrument. The source of the narrative of the Kushan Gaan is supposed to be either the Durgabari Ramayana or the Krittibasi Ramayana. Scholars argue vociferously on this point. According to Dwijendra Nath Bhakat, the source must be the Krittibasi Ramayana as the rhythm reflects resemblance to this version of the Ramayana. But scholars like Deepak Ray argues that the Durgabari Ramayana should be the most authentic option as it precedes the other by at least a hundred years. The Krittibasi Ramayana, according to him, is a far later composition than the time when Kushan Gaan had already become a form of popular pala. Moreover, the Durgabari Geeti Ramayana is in the form of a song which, according to him, happens to be the original pattern of the narrative of the Kushan Gaan. However, it can be assumed that the Krittibasi Ramayana entered into Kushan owing to the close proximity between the then Gauda and the Koch kingdoms which might have made some impact on the culture of the land. When I interviewed two Kushan Gidals (lead singers), on two different occasions, about the source of the narrative and songs they practiced, both of them were of the view that they did not take those from any written source. Whatever they narrate or perform were learnt from their respective Gurus. They confirmed that it is from the oral tradition that they had acquired their skill and art. The same version is supported by Dwijendra Nath Bhakat in his book, Kushan Gaan (2001). He points out that Kushan Gaan started in the Rajbangshi language, but later on, as the Krittibasi Ramayana gained its popularity many Kushanis adopted stories from this composition and relied on its easy access. The language too in the process got interpolated. So, the local Rajbangshi language of Kushan got mixed up with the Bengali language of Krittibasa. Folklorist Saymon Zakaria considers Kushan Gaan as one of the most popular versions of the Ramayana even in Northern Bangladesh. He says, ‘Kushan Gaan, ‘the story of king Rama’s life, as narrated by his sons Luv and Kush’, is still performed in the villages of Kurigram district, which is located in the Rangpur division. Here the text is a beautiful ‘blend of the two versions of the epic written by seers Valmiki and Krittivasa’ (Hindustan Times, March 17, 2009). The tendency of adopting a different language other than the native language/dialect can be observed in certain other Ramayana-related forms. For instance, the prevalence of Tulsidas’ Ramayana can be found in almost all the Ramlila traditions of North Indian region. Lutze’s (2009) essay ‘Enacting the Life of Rama’ discusses the Ramlila performances of Bhimtal in which the ‘archaic’ Old Avadhi language of Tulsidas’s Ramcharitmanas is adopted in lieu of the local dialect Kumauni. He argues, it is the ‘otherness’ of the language that makes the performance ‘exceptional’ as well as helps the audience ‘break away from the dreariness

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of everyday life’ (in Bhatia, 2009, 20). In case of Kushan, a similar idea was operational while the Kushanis incorporated Bengali verses from Krittibas’s Ramayana in order to defamiliarize their own language. But, at present, many Kushan troupes have started preferring the Rajbangshi over other languages. However, the initial s´lokas are recited invariably in Sanskrit. In praxis, it does not seem to matter for the performers and even to the spectators as to which source the pala draws its narrative from. Suresh Awasthi (2001) regards the performing tradition of epics to be a ‘bridge’ between the literary and the oral traditions. He says, ‘It uses a great deal of poetic material from the literary tradition, and also makes use of the thematic variations and new conception of the epic characters from oral traditions… It supports and sustains both the traditions and maintains close link between them’ (5). In case of Kushan Gaan, though the main source is the Ramayana, certain other oral narratives get interpolated from time to time. The oral tradition through narration and performance remains predominant. The spectator-spectacle unity (which is a common feature of folk performances) transforms the Ramayana narrative into a typical Rajbangshi pala. In Kushan Gaan while the Gidal holds the central position, the Dowari crafts smaller circles in and around, which forms parts of a larger circle around the Gidal. The centrality of the Gidal and of another figure, the Dowari, within the performance boundary is something remarkable; suggestive of circles within circles implying the narrative itself that is discursive. As an ancient traditional form Kushan Gaan projects the essential deferral that is very much needed for any kind of performance open to inclusion and compliance. This apparent flexibility of the form of Kushan adds to its acceptability and popularity even today. In the Introduction to Folklore in the Changing World (1999), Handoo and Kvideland (1999) talk about the urge of acceptability of the folkloristic performance. They highlight the fact that the traditional performances tend to modify their forms and enhance their adaptability in order to meet the contemporary social demand. This, as they suggest, is taken as a means of retaining their popularity as well as survival in a ‘changing world’. In case of Kushan Gaan, it does not need any such strategy as the very form of Kushan is always open to adaptability. The grand Ramayana narrative, in Kushan Gaan, goes hand in hand with the folk interludes coloured and enlivened by the Dowari and the Sukkris. Besides the Gidal, others too contribute to the improvisation and harmonization of the grand and the folk. This popular Pala remains opulent throughout ages and the tradition continues to renew itself through oral transmission. The oral that is always dynamic and democratic, through improvisations and interpolations, keeps on enriching the form and content of the Kushan Gaan.

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Notes 1.

2.

3.

4. 5. 6. 7. 8.

9.

10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15.

The Koch Rajbangshi community basically belongs to the Northeast India as well as some parts of other states of Eastern India. The population is scattered among the whole of Assam, Northwest Meghalaya, North Bengal, Purnia, and Katihar Districts of Bihar, Jhapa, Morong, and Sunsari Districts of Nepal as well as Rangpur District of Bangladesh. Phyasha or Shong is a form that can be compared to comic interludes. It is comical in tone and contains references to the current or day-to-day activities. The Dowari presents phyasha as a kind of comic relief. He might engage the Sukkris or the Pails in his phyasha. These phyashas are external to the main narrative. It is a peculiar taal, typical to Kushan Gaan in which the Sukkris and the Dowari (at times) dance. The dancer progresses in the rhythm of this taal in a circular way, trotting with one leg and dragging the other. Patani is the traditional attire of the Koch Rajbanshi women. It is a saree like cloth usually yellow in colour with green borders. Hasili, chandrahaar, and gajamati mala are the different types of Koch Rajbanshi traditional necklaces. Muthakharu, nolo, and onti are traditional bracelet, nose-ring, and ear-ring, respectively. Nachari refers to the dance of the Kushani, Dowari, and Sukkris, in the beginning part of a Kushan performance. It is not accompanied by any song, but only music (see Bhakat). Bena is a stringed instrument made of a bamboo pipe and a small drum covered with animal hide on which stings of thread are stung on both sides. It is played by striking the string with a bow-like fiddle called Chhara that comes with it. Bena is one of the most ancient instruments used by the Koch Rajbanshi community. Dotara is another stringed instrument, very popular among the Rajbangshis, in which four strings are tied to the ends of the instrument while a striker is used to play on these in order to produce sound. Khol is a kind of oblong drum of which one side is narrower than the other. Sarinda is a kind of stringed instrument almost like a bena, but with more strings. It is also played with a fiddle. The lead singer of the Kushan troupe or any other group is called the Gidal. The words Gidal and Kushani are used interchangeably in the Kushan Gaan performance. Khol Dhemali is a typical playing of khol in the beginning of Ankiya Nat. Ankiya Nat is a typical play propounded by Srimanta Sankardev in Assam. Manipuri Raaslila is a typical ritualistic performance comprising of worship, song, dance, and act. There are different kinds of Raaslila performances in Manipur, viz. Maharaaslila, Vasantraaslila, Kujaraaslila, etc.

References Awasthi, S. (2001). Performance tradition in India. National Book Trust. Awasthi, S. (2009). In defence of ‘Theatre of Roots’. In N. Bhatia (Ed.), Modern Indian theatre: A reader. Oxford University Press. Barua, B. K. (2012). Ankiya Nat. Government of Assam, Department of Historical and Antiquarian Studies. Bhakat, D. N. (2001). Kushan Gaan. Bonomali Prakashan. Bora, M. (2017). Sankardevor Nat. Asom Prakashan Parishad. Gupta, C. B. (1991). The Indian theatre. Munshiram Manoharlal Publishers Pvt. Ltd. Handoo, J., & Kvidel, R. (1999). Folklore in the changing world. Zooni Publications. Iyengar, K. R. S. (2003). Asian variations in Ramayana. Sahitya Akademi.

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Jani, A. N. (2003). Different versions of Valmiki’s Ramayana in Sanskrit. In K. R. S. Iyengar (Ed.), Asian variations in Ramayana. Sahitya Akademi. Lutze, L. (2009). Enacting the life of Rama. In N. Bhatia (Ed.), Modern Indian theatre: A reader. Oxford University Press. Mohanty, B. B. (2012). Folk theatre beyond boundaries: A study of Kushan Gaan (Western Assam) and Prahlad Natak (South Odisa). DVS Publishers. Ramayana: Popular performing art in Bangladesh. The Hindustan Times. https://www.hindustan times.com/world/ramayana-popular-performing-art-in-bangladesh/story-4hskKbu7W2TOedO LCmHAGO.html. Updated 17 March 2009. Accessed 21 July 2020. Sarma, S. N. (1962). Asomiya Natya Sahitya. Soumar Prakashan. Tagore, R. (2009). The stage. In N. Bhatia (Ed.), Modern Indian theatre: A reader. Oxford University Press. Vatsyayan, K. (2007). Traditional Indian theatre: Multiple streams. National Book Trust.

Interviews Bhuban Chandra Ray (Bhuban Kushani), Veteran Dance Teacher and Kushani, Baniyamari village, Dhubri district, Assam. Interviewed on January 18, 2020. Deepak Kumar Ray: Professor and Folklorist, Department of Bengali, Rayganj University, West Bengal. Interviewed on February 02, 2020. Khudu Ray, Gidal, Ghorialdanga village, Dhubri district, Assam. Interviewed on January 20, 2018.

Chapter 8

Kherai Ritual and Cultural Performance: Worldviews of the Bodos Rustam Brahma and Dwijen Sharma

Abstract The paper critically analyses kherai ritual and cultural performance of the Bodos. Kherai, which manifests collective hope and aspiration of the community, is the main cultural form of the Bodos as it is significantly the largest ceremonial performance of Bathou, the ancient religion followed by the Bodos since time immemorial. Kherai is a spiritual performance that has both syntagmatic and paradigmatic dimensions. Thus, it frames their worldviews. It is a synthesis of spirituality, magic, music, dance, and prophecy. In the enactment of the rituals, the religious thoughts, beliefs, values, and attitude to life of Bodos are articulated. Thus, the socio-cultural practices of Bodos seem to have emerged from the performative tradition that is associated with Bathou. Nevertheless, the customs and traditions of the Bodo community have been influenced and reshaped by various cultures that it encountered in the longue duree of history. Keywords Bathou · Bodos · Kherai · Ritual · Cultural performance With a population of 35% among the ethnic communities (Statistical Handbook of Assam 2019) of Assam, the Bodos constitute the largest ethnic community in Assam. The Bodo population is mostly concentrated in the BTC1 (Bodoland Territorial Council) area of Assam. They also have a thin presence in Bengal, Tripura, Bangladesh, and Nepal. Their life is closely associated with nature. Thus, they are still practicing, to a large extent, their age-old customs, while preserving their ancient cultural heritage and practices. Hunting, fishing, and cropping are the main occupations of the Bodos. Nature and topography have significantly contributed to the formation of Bodo ethnic culture. As an agrarian community, they have a simple life style governed by the codes and ethics of their culture. In fact, their urban experience R. Brahma Department of English, Bodoland University, Kokrajhar, BTR, Assam, India D. Sharma (B) Department of English, North-Eastern Hill University, Tura Campus, Tura, Meghalaya, India e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 K. C. Baral (ed.), Cultural Forms and Practices in Northeast India, People, Cultures and Societies: Exploring and Documenting Diversities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-19-9292-6_8

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is much recent. More than 95% of Bodo people still live in the villages. This is one of the characteristics that is common to all other ethnic communities in Northeast India. So, like other ethnic communities, they celebrate many rituals and festivals that are connected to their agrarian practices and fertility cycles. The rituals and practices also depend on geography. However, Bathou is important to Bodo culture as it shapes the entire pattern of Bodo folk customs, rituals, and other traditions that help them to claim a distinct identity for themselves. Most of the socio-cultural practices are derivatives of the rituals and practices associated with Bathou. Thus, it is central to the Bodo way of life. Most anthropologists and sociologists (Durkheim, 1912; Bohannan, 1963, Tylor 1871 and others) have speculated and theorized on belief systems and practices of ethnic groups under the appellation ‘tribal religion’. The so-called tribal religion designated as animism by Tylor has a structure that often goes beyond its anthropological definition and analysis. For example, many tribes in India worship many deities both male and female while also worshipping natural forces. While there is a creator, the tribal world has always been dominated by the spirits, both benevolent and evil. Among all the spirits, the ancestral spirits are the most important. Ritual constitutes the basic form of dealing with spirits. There is a ritual for each spirit that causes sickness or that brings bounty to the community. The epistemological pursuit follows a cause-and-effect relationship in that it must be noted that the customs and practices are based on some logic and rationality. Just to ascribe each ritual practice to a traditional belief system handed down from one generation to the next may not be ground enough for the practice’s continuance. However, as Radcliffe Brown (1959) maintained, ‘Rituals have a useful function in ordering society and this function is the essential and ultimate reason for their existence’ (Cited in Chakraborty, 2018, 13). The ritual-cultural practices of ethnic communities may not hold ground before modern ways of thinking but to say that they are just inherited practices would not do justice to a discourse structured around a different way of understanding. The worshiping of Bathou, as part of traditional Bodo religion, has been shaped and reshaped in the longue duree of history under the influence of many other spiritual thoughts and ideas like Buddhism, Saivism, Vaishnavism, etc. Kherai, being the main cultural form of Bathou ritual, articulates the worldviews of the Bodos. Hence, Kherai has significantly contributed to Bodo cultural forms. Bodos also perform Garja and Marai puja, which are primarily non-native deities. The word Bathou holds composite meanings ranging from the Supreme Creator, Soul, to altar and philosophy. Bathou is not the elemental God, but the greater Spirit or Energy or Light which is responsible for creation of the whole universe. Etymologically, the word Bathou is derived from the two root words in Bodo language—Ba means five and thou means a deep thought or philosophy. Bathou is also called Sibrai (Sib Bwrai), Si means soul (Atma), and brai or bwrai means Supreme. Thus, Bathou means five deep thoughts, while Sibrai is the Supreme Soul. Five basic principles or natural laws organize creation and also guide Bodo way of life. According to their beliefs, the creation of life and the creation of universe depend on ‘five’ fundamental elements—earth, water, fire, air, and spirit. It is believed that all animate things in the universe are created with these five elements. Further, there are five tenets of Bathou:

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‘Bathouni bandwa badwba/Sijouni siria siriba/thaigirni khonga khongba/sifungni gudunga gudungba/Subungni asara asarba’ (Swargiary, 2011, 99). (These lines can be roughly translated thus: Bathou has five stripes; Sijou (Euphorbia) has five ridges; an elephant fruit has five petals; likewise, there are five common laws.) The Bodo language starts with five basic root words; Bodo arithmetic calculation begins with five basic numerical sound like se, nwi, tham, brwi, and ba (one, two, three, four, and five); a Bodo flute has five holes that stand for five basic sounds: laughing, crying, singing, talking, and shouting; and Bodos have five Bathou marriages. Moreover, the traditional Bodo people have five fundamental rules to regulate the society which are termed as ‘B˘a.ds’ as prescribed by Mwnsinsi Bwrai,2 one of the earliest Gurus of the Bodos. B˘a.ds are a part of the Bodo social folk custom. The logic of the B˘a.d is to regulate the social behaviour of the individuals, and thus B˘a.ds are exercised/performed to maintain peace and harmony in the society. These are a ritualistic way of purification or redemption from some primary social sins or taboos which can be termed as consecration rites. A follower of Bathou should keep away from the five major sins like ‘rape’, ‘illicit relation between close relatives’, ‘assaulting parents’, ‘eating forbidden food’, and ‘performing any kind of socially prohibited act’. To redeem from these social sins, rituals like Agar B˘a.d, Fongslod B˘a.d, Daokhi B˘a.d, Khawali B˘a.d, and Laokhar B˘a.d are performed. Besides, the five stripes of Bathou represent five tenets or principles to be followed. Therefore, if we try to define Bathou, the meanings would slip away. However, simply put, it is the idea of creation which is inexplicable and incomprehensible, but made possible through the combination of five basic elements or objects or ideas. Thus, the socio-cultural forms and practices of the Bodos are structured by it, enabling the formation of Bodo culture. Further, the followers believe that Bathou represents the structure of the whole universe which is inclusive of three layers of the world (upper/middle/lower world). Thus, the structure of the Bathou altar metaphorically stands for this principle of creation. According to the tradition of Bathou puja, five things like ‘betel nut and betel leaf’, ‘banana’, ‘jou’ or ‘jumai’, ‘bird’ or ‘animal’, and ‘raw rice’ must be offered to Bathou. The most essential items are ‘jou’ or ‘jumai’(rice bear) and ‘betel nut-betel leaf’; these are essential and equally important for any kind of Bodo socio-cultural occasions. They traditionally worshipped Bathou offering ‘jou’ and, on a particular day, ‘ganja’ is offered to Lord Shiva. Betel nut and betel leaf are equally important offerings made to Bathou and other gods and goddesses as sign of valediction at the end of the puja. Likewise, these two basic items are offered to guests and visitors as a mark of honour. This custom is still prevalent in many Bodo villages. The idea of Bathou influences even the pattern of Bodo houses like that of Vastu Shashtra; every Bodo household, more or less, except those who have converted to other religion, should have the altar of Bathou erected on the eastern side of the courtyard. To the north, the main house (nomano) of the family is built where the parents stay, and it consists of two basic parts—‘ishing’ that means interior part and ‘okhong’ that means outer part. Ishing is the sacred part where Mainao (Lakshi/Lakshmi), the goddess of wealth, is worshipped; her permanent altar is kept here. Towards the eastern side and just behind the altar of the Bathou, usually a treasure house is built to store paddy and other valuable things. South side of the

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courtyard is considered good for kitchen and dining hall, and western side is meant for residence of the members of the family and also for setting a drawing room for guests or visitors. Like most religions of the world, Bathou has undergone changes although its core tenets have remained intact. Racially, the Bodos belong to the Mongoloid stock having racial affinity with Tibetans, Chinese, Kiratas, and so on. Bathou religion has traces of Confucianism and Taoism and also of Buddhism and Hinduism. Because of the geographical location, the Bodos came under deep influence of Hinduism and its different sects. Bukul Chandra Basumatary (2018), a renowned Bodo historian, makes a significant statement in the introductory note to his book Bathou and Religious Transitions of the Bodos (2018): ‘Bathou being followed by the Bodos since pre-Buddhist era has been maintaining a close and inseparable affinity to Hinduism. Bathou can neither be isolated from Hinduism nor it can be said to be independent of Hinduism’ (1). In other words, it can be said that the Bathou religion is a brilliant fusion of Confucianism, Taoism, Buddhism, and Hinduism. Interestingly, the Vazrayan tantrism of the Buddhist and the Sakto tantrism of the Hindus also influenced Bathou. But, in the mid-nineteenth century, Hinduism, through its process of Sanskritization (Brahmanization), made larger impact on Bathou. During that time, there was large-scale cultural assimilation and conversion of Bodo people. It was the beginning of split of Bathou into several sects: Sakto Bathou (BuliBathou), Shiva Bathou (Saivite Bathou or Brahma Bathou), Phool Bathou, Aros Bathou, etc. The latter three, which have been reformed and reshaped under the influences of Hinduism and Vaishnavism, are most recent emergent forms of Bathou. They worship Bathou twice a day by lightening a lamp and strewing water as Hindus do is a common practice. Some new elements have also entered into the Bodo culture, like worshipping of goddess Saraswati, Lord Biswakarma, and Lord Ganesha. These are new deities adopted from Hinduism for ritual worship. However, the influence of Islam on Bathou cannot be ignored as the community has adopted a Muslim god, Mughal B˘a.dsha. In Kherai puja, seats are arranged for Mughal B˘a.dsha and Lord Krishna as Laokhar Goshai. Although Islam forbids worship of picture/statue/deity or a divine in physical form, this practice must have been adopted for giving both Islam and Hinduism equal status within Bathou religion. Thus, Bathou religion has adopted and assimilated the best practices from some of the ancient religions of the world, particularly of Southeast and Far East Asia. As a syncretic religion Bathou has been dynamic, inclusive, open, and flexible. Syncretism in Bathou practice has elements from many religions but mostly Hinduism. Worship of many traditional deities is given up and many new deities such as Ganesha, Biswakarma, goddesses like Durgadevi, Saraswati, and Lakshmi are being worshipped. Apart from the process of Sanskritization (a contested category particularly in case of tribes), Brahmoism, a reformist Hindu religious movement has had a considerable influence among the Bodos under the leadership of Gurudev Kalicharan Brahma (1989, 1998) in the mid-twentieth century. Consequently, a large number of Bodos left Bathou and accepted Brahmoism, which believes in unseen Monotheistic concept of God. Another section of Bodos, who accepted Shaivism,

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continued to worship their ancient God, for them ‘Shiva is Bathou and Bathou is Shiva’. Assam has been a land of many forms of Hindu religious practice along with discernible markers of Tantric Buddhism influence. Sakti worship has been very old in Assam; it was of course followed by Vaishnavite movement under the leadership of Srimant Sankardeva that revolved around Vishnu worship. The Hari/Har duality came to some kind of synthesis while worshiping the one willy-nilly we worship the other. This discourse has enriched the cultural experience of the Assamese. However, Brahmo religion does not subscribe to any idol worship or rituals; moreover, the religion does not subscribe to the central theme Avatarvad of Hinduism. The Bodos who followed Brahmo religion indeed have revolted against the traditional religion. However, those who continued with the tradition elevated the status of Bathou as worship of Lord Shiva subscribing to the Sakta principles, the most important practice before the advent of Neo-Vaishnavism. If we follow S N Balgangadhar, what is significant in the context of the Bodos is culturalization, a process of cultural experience. Bodos have been receptive to new ideas and practices and yet held dear their tradition. In this sense, Bathou as a religious practice that has shaped the Bodo way of life for centuries had no problem in adapting to changes. So, the followers of Bathou Shiva Dhwrwm (religion) worship both Bathou and Shiva along with other Hindu gods and goddesses. This particular sect fuses the two concepts into one. However, one still can discern dissimilarity in these two traditions. For instance, despite debates over the issue, the followers of Bathou Shiva Dhwrwm not only claim but worship Bathou as Shiva (Budha baba). But it has merely remained as a conceptual alliance because in practice these two gods are worshipped separately. In the Bathou Shiva Ashrams, it is observed that Bathou is not worshipped inside the Shiva temple, but worshipped separately in isolation. Kherai is the largest ceremonial Bathou ritual performed at the public arena to please the supreme God, Bathou, and his accomplices. It is also called as Kherai puja. It is a synthesis of spirituality, magic, music, dance, and prophecy. There are various kinds of Kherai—(a) Darshan, (b) Umrao, (c) Phalo, and (d) Noaoni. The term ‘kherai’ has got numerous interpretations. Some scholars believe that the word kherai comes from three root words—‘khe’ means ‘hantu’ (knee), ‘ra’ means ‘raisong’ (enchant/pray), and ‘i’ means ‘iswar’ (God). Complete meaning of the term is ‘kneel down before the Almighty and pray to Him’. Others believe that ‘khe’ is derived from ‘Kharia’ one of the 18 deities (Gurus) who introduced this puja and ‘rai’ means prayer or puja. It means Kharia puja in honour of Bathou. Now it has got two major forms—Buli Kherai and Phul-prasad Kherai. Buli Kherai, the ancient form of Kherai puja, follows the sakta tradition and allows the sacrifice of birds and animals as offerings to God. On the other hand, Phul-Prasad or Bibar Kherai is a reformed Kherai puja in the line of the Shaivite tradition in which Bathou is worshiped by offering fruits, flowers, grains, and leaves. This novel form of Kherai puja started in the mid-twentieth century. Apart from the sacrificial ritual and its collaborative dance form, the other aspects and ritualistic practices remain the same in both the forms of worship.

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Kherai is a performative ritual of Bodos, done for appeasing their visible Gurus (human Gurus) and invisible Gurus (Deities) to obtain blessings, good fortunes, and positive prophecies. In this festival, traditional rituals and performances are accompanied by games and sports. The celebration has both entertainment value and moral/spiritual significance. Bodos perform Kherai puja annually/half yearly for good fortune, good harvest, and also to validate the cycle of life: how life revolves and moves from body to spirit, moves from life to death, and thus teaches how to lead a good life. The cultural pedagogy seems to serve a larger social purpose to have order in society. They also perform Marai puja to escape from probable diseases, misfortunes, and other dangers in the course of the year. The structure of the altar of kherai puja has symbolic significance. It is symbolic of Bodo ways of life and worldviews. Generally, the altar of Bathou varies depending upon the place and form of worship. The lengthy altar is symbol of a bridge between heaven and the earth. The altar of Bathou is encircled with stripes of bamboo (five embankments for Bathou) with ‘Sijou’ in the centre and two tall bamboo plants at the front door. This structure gives a sense of the universe having the Creator/Supreme Soul (Sijou) at the centre. A white cotton yarn tied between the two bamboo posts signifies the unending rules and principles of creation. Sijou (euphorbia) represents immortal life (soul) or Bathou, as the central principle of all creation. Two bamboo posts at the altar are called ‘ramjangklas’, ladders by which gods and goddesses come down to the kherai shali, the performing spot, a meeting ground of the mortals and immortals (spirits of both divine and human), of the past and the present, and of the present and the future. On the left side of the altar, a cobweb-type fencing is built with stripes of bamboo and reeds, which symbolizes illusions and innumerable difficulties of the human world.

Altar of Bathou for Kherai puja. Source: Author

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One of the mantras that is chanted in Bathou puja is given below with its English translation: Wng, Wring, Khling, Fwd, Se. Listen O’ Father, listen to us,/There stands a Mughasong (a tree), ‘We’ve forgotten your holy name’/You should not hold that way. Your holy name, forever we hold!/The craw is not yet whitened, The heron is not still blackened,/Neither has sea nor ocean dried; You are creator of all, O’ Father,/You have created the shining sun, You are the originator of the sky,/You have blown the unseen wind, All water, O’ Father flows from you,/You are the founder of the earth;

(Hazowary, Bathou Thandwi: Bathou Herald, 11–12) God and deities descend alternately through the agency of Deodini who perform dances and sports. As already stated, the five stripes of bamboo fencing symbolize five principles of Bathou, five b˘a.ds, five stages of human life, five basic terms of Bodo language, etc. On the other hand, 18 pillars are representative of 18 deities (Gurus), and each pillar is split into 2 that symbolizes male and female. During the Kherai Puja, an egg and a stone are kept inside the altar of Bathou to signify ‘creation’ and ‘permanent truth’. An earthen lamp filled with mustard oil is lit throughout the period of the ritual. The whole performance is symbolic and spiritual in nature. It demonstrates the heavenly entertainment and pacification. It is actually a devotional festival celebrated and dedicated to the Supreme God, Bathou, the creator of all, earth, water, air, sun, and sky. In his book, Bathou Thandwi: Bathou Herald (2020), Mangalsing Hazowary3 states: ‘Unlike many other folk-dance forms, the Kherai is free from erotic elements’ (Hazowary, 2020, 63). Kherai is reflective of Bodo people’s spiritual thoughts, beliefs, values, and ways of life through performance. Bodos believe that after creating the universe with the animate beings and inanimate objects, the Creator created 18 pairs of Gurus or Teachers to train man how to lead a good life. In the Kherai Puja, all of these Gurus are given separate altars along with the altar of Bathou and are acknowledged for their great services to humans. Indeed, the Puja is performed in a ceremonial manner to express gratitude and thankfulness to Bathou and his accomplices and get their holy blessings. As an agrarian community, the Bodos perform this ritual twice a year, before and after cultivation. The main focus of the ritual is on Deodini, a deity-possessed dancer, usually a woman, who performs the entire process for one/two/three night (s) with the help of Deoshi, the priest and Deori, his assistant. Deodini becomes an agent of deities who descend to meet their worshipers and to grace the performance. Interestingly, the Deodini, Deoshi, and Deori have certain special qualities (competency), and they follow strict disciplines or order of life. However, their positions are neither hereditary nor permanent. Further, the ethnic

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musical instruments like kham (big size drum), sifung (flute), and jota (cymbal) are primarily associated with this particular performance. Kherai Puja begins with a purification ritual called Bathou fwtharnai where Deodini sprinkles pure water on Bathou Altar and its surroundings to purify the space before welcoming the holy Spirits. The priest chants mantras by invoking deities and spirits of rivers and hills/mountains to transform Deodini from a normal person to a deity. The process of the transformation of Deodini to a spiritual agency is called ‘ulwngkikhangnai’. It is a difficult part of the entire performance. Other rituals and dances follow it alternately. Different dance forms, having different symbolic meanings, are interpreted by different practitioners in different ways. Deodini’s performative motion round the altar signifies endless revolutionary movements of life and its struggles. It also signifies the repetition of the same life. Furthermore, Nao Jaonai Mwsanai (Boating Dance) signifies hardships and difficulties of human life. On the other hand, DhahalThunggri Mwsanai (Shield and Sword Dance) stands for courage, challenges, and struggles of life, while Thunggri Sayao Mwsanai (Dance on Sword) signifies self-control and negotiation with enemies. However, the locus of the complete performance lies in revealing the complete journey of life, its happiness, and adversity.

Deodini Dance in Kherai Puja Kherai, which is called kher puja in Tripura, is performed in the public arena. It does not have any fixed temple or house for performance. Usually, an isolated green field is chosen for this ritual. The Kherai performance indicates the worship of nature along with the Supreme Spirit, Bathou. Performatively, it articulates the community’s ways of life, and how all thriving things could survive under the utmost will and care of the Creator and 18 deities (gurus), responsible caretakers. So, to have a good human life with a good fortune, one has to be truthful, pure, virtuous; one must accept life as it comes; and one must conduct properly with both fellow humans and

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gods/goddesses because the Bathou worshipers believe that if anyone misbehaves with fellow human beings or God/Goddesses, or breaks any social norm, misfortune would befall him/her. This is telling of how an individual may be responsible for societal misfortune or vice versa. Further, indulging in any one of the five taboos is considered a great sin. Therefore, before the Kherai or Garja Puja, one, who had involved in any of these taboos, must confess before gods and goddesses by performing purification rituals, or else the whole Kherai or Garja rituals would be treated as impure as it is believed that it will not be accepted by Bathou Maharaja. They also call God as Maharaja, the Great King. This is how, Bodo society, in the past, strictly prohibited prostitution and sexual violence, and maintained a stern social order in the name of Bathou Maharaja. Such social crimes are still rare in the Bodo society. In fact, the society still considers even talking about sex as a taboo. It is believed that through an austere life man can connect to God. In addition to this devotional purpose, Kherai is also performed to anticipate the future of the community or the world. Deodini plays the role of an oracle and makes prediction about the future of the community, whether good fortune or misfortune would befall them, and also convey the ways of escaping from the misfortune. Deodini also predicts about the weather condition, calamities, and diseases that would prevail in the calendar year. Finally, Mainao (Lakshi/Lakshmi), goddess of wealth, appears to give moral guidance and shower her blessing on her worshipers. Bodos adorn Mainao and take home and keep her in the ‘ishing’. So, in another sense, Kherai can be interpreted as samudra-manthan whereby goddess Lakshmi is churned out from the depth of the sea to adorn Bodo homes. It is believed that goddess Lakshmi would visit their houses and remain with them for the entire year so as to take care of them and help them harvest better crops. Thus, the main purpose of the Kherai ritual is to ascertain protection of the community from the dangers and misfortunes of the year. Kherai reveals moral/ethical norms, social tradition, and cultural practices of the Bodos. The socio-cultural traditions and practices are reflected in the ritualistic performance. The belief system, customs, traditions, and various art forms of the Bodos roll into the performance. It involves different forms of dances and sports which are sources of many community dance/game forms like Baisagu dance, marriage dance, Bagurumba dance, dahal-thungrisibnai dance, rwnswndri dance, etc. Many sportive games of birds and animals are performed like cat’s play, tiger’s play, buffalo’s play, dog’s play, bat’s fly, peacock’s dance, etc. Besides, it has certain historical significance. Furthermore, in Kherai performance, music and magic are also entwined. Certain ancient narratives like the story of Mwnsing Sing Bwrai, Jarapagla, Tentamali, and Sandwbaodia are enacted in the rituals, rendering the socio-cultural traditions of the Bodos. The ballads and legends of Jarapagla, Tentamali, and Sandwbaodia in performance become contexts for communicating the significance of Bathou precepts. Among the kherai rituals, two magical dances are prominent. One is swallowing of fire, meaning control of human desire, and the other is dance on sharp sword which means fair treatment to enemies for mutual negotiation or understanding. Nevertheless, Bodo community which belongs to warrior tribes (Kiratas) is fashioned through some martial performance using weapons like swords and shields. Further, Bodos

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consecrate the Supreme God, Bathou, and His daughter, Mainao, at their homes to invoke blessings and protections. At every house, Mainao stays at ‘ishing’ and Bathou at the courtyard. Apart from being personal deities/Gods, Bathou and Mainao are also divinities of public ritual and ceremony. It is unique that the individual prayers for well-being and good life resonate through the public ritual for the same. It is a happy blending of the personal and the community life that adds to community bonding and consolidation. In this context, Mangalsing Hazoary states: ‘The kherai performance is not limited only to the art form or a dance, but presently its scope is extended to a festival’ (Hazoary, 63). Thus, kherai integrates the worldviews, desires, and perspectives of the community. The man-nature ‘interconnectedness’ (Verghese, 2014, 250) that connects Bodos with nature is remarkably visible in Kherai performance. Kherai is performed against the natural backdrop, especially in the open field; all the objects used in the rituals are natural and easily available in the immediate surroundings. Thus, its link to nature creates pastoral aesthetics and natural aura. For instance, the worship of Sijou plant as the supreme soul itself corresponds to the idea of existence of divinity in nature. These eco-friendly cultural practices integrate man and nature, thereby ordaining a holistic worldview that opposes dualism of man and nature, a regressive construct of the Anthropocene that gained currency from the time of Enlightenment in Europe. Significantly, the ecocentrism of Bathou religion helps the Bodo community to create eco-cultural values which are not only substantially different from Western materialistic cultural values but also mutually opposed to each other. Whereas the eco-centric cultural values of the indigenous communities like Bodos help them to lead a sustainable and peaceful life, the techno-cultural values of the contemporary Europeans make them, in the words of Chellis Glendinning, ‘live with anxiety, anger, trauma and with a sense of loss or spiritual alienation’, a life of ‘Techno-Addiction4 ’ (Glendinning, 1995, 39). That Bodos are closely associated with nature not only for their livelihood but also for their existence in the Kherai rituals. The peaceful coexistence of man and nature is underscored. As cropping, fishing, and hunting have been their occupations, they perform Kherai ritual before the cropping season every year; they invoke and pray to Buliburi before fishing and Song Raja before hunting. Buliburi is the goddess of water and fish, and Song Raja is the god of forest and animals. Especially, before and after cropping, they invoke and worship Mainao (Lakshi), goddess of wealth, for better crops, and also pray Her to visit their paddy fields and home. Furthermore, the Bodo art, culture, and social practices have emerged out of these rituals and performances. The Bodo customary laws are also framed out of Kherai ritualistic practices. Kherai, thus, is not only the performative articulation of worldviews, values, and ways of life of the Bodos, but also the expression of their deep thoughts on creation, human life, and cultural economy.

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Notes 1. Bodoland Territorial Council (BTC) is an Autonomous District Council created in 2003 as per the BTC Accord signed on 10 February 2003, a product of the negotiation between Indian government and the BLT (Bodo Liberation Tigers), a militant group which led an arm struggle for more than a decade. 2. Mwnsinsi Bwrai and Mwnsinsi Burwi are the first two gurus of the 18 gurus and believed to be the earliest humans created by the Bathou, the Creator. Mwnsinsi Bwrai prescribes many customary laws for the Bodos. For instance, b˘a.ds are some of the rules given by him. 3. Mangalsing Hazowary is a well-known Bodo intellectual, teacher, writer, and religious leader of Aros Bathou who is presently leading it. He is the former principal of Govt. B. Ed. College, Kokrajhar. He is awarded prestigious Sahitya Akademi Award for his poetry collection Angni Jiuni Mwkhthang Bisombi (2015). 4. Chellis Glendinning, in his article ‘Recovery from the Western Civilization’ published as a chapter in the book Deep Ecology for the 21st Century, discusses about the crisis of technological culture in Europe that is suffering from a major addiction which he calls as ‘Techno-Addiction’.

References Basumatary, B. C. (2018). Bathou and religious transition of the Bodos. Words & Words. Brahma, K. (1989). Aspects of social customs of the Bodos. Bina Library. Brahma, K. (1998). A study of in cultural heritage of the Bodos. Bina Library. Chakraborty, P. (2018). Tribal religious beliefs and practices: An anthropological study on KoraMudi Tribe. International Research Journal of Social Sciences, 7(11), 12–16. Glendinning, C. (1995). Recovery from the Western civilization. In G. Sessions (Ed.), Deep Ecology for the 21st Century: Readings on the Philosophy and Practice of the New Environmentalism, edited by George Sessions. Shambala. Hazowary, M. (2020). Bathou Thandwi: Bathou Herald. Mainao Publication. Swargiary, B. (2011). Bathou Dwhrwm arw Sijouni Gumur. In L. Brahma (Ed.), Bathou Raithai Bidang (Part I). Onsumoi Library. Varghese, S. (2014). Nature, culture and philosophy: Indigenous ecologies of North East India. Lakshi Publishers & Distributors.

Chapter 9

The Maibi Tradition and Lai Haraoba Ahanthem Homen Singh and Dhurjjati Sarma

Abstract This essay examines the role and significance of the maibi as a seminal entity within the ritual–cultural world of the Manipuri Meitei community. As a counterforce to the hegemonic sectarian influence of Hinduism, the maibi has preserved the indigenous character and ethos of the community. An attempt has been made in this essay to analyse the maibi as a pedagogic–performative subject, beginning with her ritualistic initiation into maibism and thereafter focussing in particular upon her dominant agency in the solemnization of the ritual cycles within the Lai Haraoba festival. The dual position of the maibi as a spokesperson/representative of the lais (divine ancestral spirits) and a member of the community conducting the ritual is explored in the course of this study. Furthermore, an attempt is made to understand her agency in representing the ‘worldview’ of the Meitei community through her ritual enactment of the entire range of activities defining the human life cycle. Finally, the essay argues that in order to grasp the significance of the maibi within the Meitei community, we need to see her as an ‘open and endless signifier’ that has been continuously invested with newer meanings and interpretations reflecting the lived experiences of the people. Keywords Maibi · Manipur · Lai Haraoba · Ritual · Performance

A. H. Singh Department of Modern Indian Languages and Literary Studies, University of Delhi, Delhi 110007, India D. Sarma (B) Department of Modern Indian Languages and Literary Studies, Gauhati University, Assam 781014, India e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 K. C. Baral (ed.), Cultural Forms and Practices in Northeast India, People, Cultures and Societies: Exploring and Documenting Diversities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-19-9292-6_9

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Introduction Manipur, a state from Northeast India, has a rich cultural–political history going back to the beginning of the Christian era. Located as it is between mainland India to the west and southeast Asia to the east, the region is witness to centuries of migration and intermingling of communities moving in from both sides. About two-thirds of the inhabitants of Manipur belong to the Meitei community, while the rest are constituted of the Nagas, Kukis, and others. The Meiteis primarily occupy the fertile valley that lies at the heart of the state of Manipur, while the other communities are spread along the surrounding hills (Parratt & Parratt, 1997, xi; Sebastian, 2019, 16). The Meiteis consider themselves as the earliest settlers on the land, initially arriving into the valley along with other migrant groups (yeks) in successive waves, and, in due course of time, subsuming all of them within its own ambit. Their claim in support of earliest settlement on the land is based on the Cheitharol Kumbaba, the Manipuri state chronicle, that traces the ruling period of Pakhangba, the first king, to AD 33. From this period till about the beginning of the eighteenth century, the culture prevalent in Manipur was primarily pre-Hindu, characterized by the dominant presence of local deities and ancestral spirits referred to as the lais, in whose honour, the ritual ceremony of the Lai Haraoba (trans. ‘pleasing of the gods’) was solemnized and is done even now.1

The Lais and the Maibis: Aspects of Pre-Hindu Manipuri Culture The eighteenth century witnessed the spread of Hinduism across the region in the form of Vaishnavism that was adopted as the state religion by King Garib Niwaz (1709–1751). This contributed in some measures to the marginalization of the prevalent worship of the indigenous lais. With growing interaction of the Manipuri royal court and its counterparts in Assam, Bengal, and Tripura, there took place a gradual influx of sectarian practitioners (of Vaishnavism, Saivism, and Saktaism) into the region. This led to the increasing assimilation and integration of Meitei indigenous religious practices with Vaishnavism, mainly under the patronage of the royal court, giving birth to a significant performance genre known as the Manipuri raslila (Sebastian, 2019, 17–18). However, the indigenous culture of the lais did continue, as is evident through the figures of the maibis and maibas (traditional priestesses and priests) who have continued to uphold the ritualistic culture of the pre-Hindu period2 through their preservation and transmission of the oral–ritual culture of Lai Haraoba.3 With respect to the main difference between the maibis and maibas, Otojit Kshetrimayum clarifies that ‘the former is god-gifted (possessed) and ordained completely while the latter is made and trained through his labour and research’ (Kshetrimayum, 2009, 21). The maibas and maibis are both accompanied by the

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penakhongbas4 (the pena players) whose participation adds an aspect of musicality to the ritualistic enterprise. Apart from their roles of priestesses and priests, the maibas and maibis also function as oracles and custodians of the tradition thereby performing the sacred duty as intermediaries between the divine spirit (umanglais) and the common masses. The maibis, in this case, exercise greater authority in being involuntarily ‘possessed’ by the spirit, and also representing the female spiritual power—so widely venerated within the animistic faith of Sanamahism. It is argued that the lais show more inclination towards possessing the bodies of the women, and there were instances in the past when the maiba wore the apparel of the maibi when possessed and was referred to as the ‘male maibi’ (Parratt & Parratt, 1997, 33). However, it must also be noted that not all maibas and maibis are entrusted with the same responsibility— some of them also serve as healers of diseases through the application of herbal medicines, as distinct from the ones purely ordained with ritualistic functions. As far as the process of initiating a woman into the maibic community is concerned, a girl may either get ‘possessed’ by the divine spirit at a very young age or it may so happen that a woman is accepted into the fold during the Lai Haraoba ceremony under the authority of the ima guru (mother maibi/guru). In the first case, the act of ‘possession’ may manifest itself in ‘symptoms of illness or abnormality, sometimes in hysterical behaviour’ (ibid., 33–34). This is followed by her being inducted under the guardianship of an elder maibi, under whose mentorship, the very act of ‘possession’ is transformed/elevated into a ritualistic act signifying the entry of the divine spirit into her body. We can even argue that the apparent symptoms of ‘illness and abnormality’ are here metamorphosed into a phenomenon of ‘empowerment’ since the maibi at once transcends her quotidian/grounded existence as a daughter or wife and enters into a ‘spiritual relationship’ with the lai. It is usually during the night that the lai makes its entry into the body of the maibi; the physical sensation accompanying the process is often equated with the act of physical union.5 The process of training a girl/woman as a maibi necessitates her attendance in a number of Lai Haraoba ceremonies in the course of which the neophytic maibi learns, among other things, about lairon (ritual oration), making ritual offerings to the lai, performing incantations accompanied by songs and dances, and undergoes a unique form of divination called senmit yengba that is carried out through the study of coins (Singh, 2020, 261). In addition to these, she also gets trained in the use of the sharik (a brass bell), considered to be the most important component of her divine profession. Above all, however, she must be able to ‘control and channelize [the] mystic energy of possession’ (ibid.), which, when acquired and mastered, enables her to establish herself as a full-fledged maibi. Therefore, we see that the fashioning of the maibi goes much beyond her outward manifestation as a cultural–performative individual; the mystic energy that regulates her inner-being also heightens her ability to perceive her own position as a ‘pedagogic subject’. The maibi has to, first of all, develop an amicable relationship with the lai to whom she is attached and by whom she is empowered. There are occasions when the call of the lai has been reduced to mere cases of ‘spirit possessions’ and even been diagnosed as an instance of ‘dissociative identity disorder’ (DID) (ibid., 260). In such a case, the ‘patient’

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is forced to propitiate the lai and convey her inability to honour the divine call to become a maibi. Therefore, the situation is not only about the lai choosing to ordain a girl/woman with maibic powers, but also involves an act of willingness/submission on the part of the latter to enter into a symbiotic relationship with the divine spirit in question. The pedagogic implication inherent in becoming a maibi is evident from the fact that the ritual of initiation, as described above, is accompanied by a strenuous process of overcoming mental and physical constraints for the neophytic maibi. Therefore, while the act of ‘possession’ could be random or incidental, the elevation to the position of a full-fledged maibi is aspirational and an outcome of individual endeavour. The accomplishments of the maibi are not merely the consequence of divine benediction but that of sustained perseverance over many years, overcoming personal and social struggles, in order to acquire the powers of divination and spiritual knowledge.

The Lai Haraoba and the Agency of the Maibis The gradual transformation of a ‘possessed’ girl/woman into a maibi involves a process of ‘rebirth’—hence the use of the appellation of ima guru for the senior maibi in recognition of her revered position as a mother to the former. The belief system of the maibis appropriates the ‘worldview’ of the Meitei community with respect to her re-enactment, during the Lai Haraoba, not only of the story of creation and preservation of this universe, but also that of the narratives centring on the guardian deities. During the months of April and May, and following the harvest season, three kinds of Lai Haraoba performances have been recorded: (i) the Kanglei Haraoba, which is performed in the honour of Pakhangba, the chief deity of the Meiteis; (ii) the Moirang Haraoba, which is based on the narrative of Khamba and Thoibi, and performed in the name of Thangjing, who is the chief lai of the Moirang yek; and (iii) the Chakpa Haraoba, which seems to be relatively more primitive than the other two (Parratt & Parratt, 1997, 18; Sebastian, 2019, 84). There is also a fourth type of performance in existence, called the Kakching Haraoba. The Lai Haraoba performance is usually carried out in an open space surrounding a temple—this space is sanctified as representing the whole universe and also signifying the residing place of the lais who have come down from their abode in the heavens to witness the performance. The lais are invoked by the maibis on the first day of the performance (as part of the Lai Ikouba cycle) and are kept as witnesses to their performance on all the days of the festival (performed within the Lai Higaba cycle). In the company of the people from the community, the maibis invite the lais to appear from the water— this is done by offering flowers (and even gold or silver coins) to a water body (a lake, a river, or a tank) and ringing a bell to summon the lais to the festival. The arrival of the lai is signified by a maibi suddenly falling into a trance. Once this happens, the community of participants (both men and women) welcome the divine spirit by singing and dancing and follow the maibi in a procession towards the shrine erected

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in the space of the performance. The maibi chants the kontharol (a lyric associated with the invocation to the lais) which goes in the following manner: O water, abiding alone, the first of the waters, all six dark layers and five bright layers: you are being appeased by the maiba and maibi; for the purpose of performing the haraoba to you, Sovereign God (name of lai honoured), and Divine Goddess (name of female lai honoured), all your servants, the whole village, have offered in the waters the gold and silver pieces. From within the waters, leaving your royal and pleasant house, we beseech you to come up through the string of the hiri on this day; O waters, the white silver has appeased the heavens and the red gold has appeased the earth (Parratt & Parratt, 1997, 75–76).

The invocation to the deities from the water refers back to the original moment of creation. This moment of rebirth is also articulated through the use of appropriate hand gestures at the very outset of the Lai Haraoba performance as the maibis reenact the release of creative energy as a marker signifying the birth of the cosmos. With the use of 364 hand gestures in a performance, they first indicate the birth of nine male deities (laibungthous) and seven female deities (lainuras), followed by the gestation of human being in the womb. The subsequent dance motions represent the eventual birth and growing up of the human child as well as the external events of cultural life like weaving of clothes and cultivation of land, both again signifying birth and creation of new life (Yumnam, 2018, 120–121). The maibis articulate these expressions in simple circular, curved, and spiral dance movements of hand, foot, and the body. In this regard, it may be worthwhile to note that the origins of the Lai Haraoba dance movements could possibly be traced to the Meitei martial arts, particularly in the sword and spear dances (Parratt & Parratt, 1997, 46). This further attests to the intimate association of the performative dynamics of the maibis with the indigenous Meitei social–cultural worldview. Every evening, after the completion of the daily ritual, the lais are lulled to sleep and rest (as per the Naosumba cycle) by the penakhongbas who are also entrusted with the responsibility of waking them up in the morning (according to the Yakeiba ritual). The maibis continue with the rituals depicting creation, propagation of life, and cultural–civilizational processes of the Meiteis on each day of the festival. The rituals thus enacted could be classified into four basic sequences, namely, Laibou (birth), Panthoibi (narrative of Panthoibi and Nongpok Ningthou as lais), Phijang (canopy), and the Ougri (ingathering). At the end of the ritual, the maibis bid farewell to the lais as they return to the heavens. It may be noted here that there is no specified duration of the Lai Haraoba festival—it can go on for a period of 10 days or so. Among the ritual cycles performed within the Lai Haraoba from the second day of the festival onwards, the Panthoibi cycle constitutes complex rituals that vividly recreate a significant episode from the Meitei mythology, i.e. the romantic narrative of Panthoibi and Nongpok Ningthou. Married to Khaba Tarang Khoinucha, Panthoibi falls in love with Nongpok Ningthou and ends up eloping and uniting with him at Kangla. Even though her husband pursues her, he later recognizes that both Panthoibi and Nongpok Ningthou are lais—Panthoibi in fact is also recognized as the goddess of fertility (Parratt & Parratt, 1997, 118–119). As part of the larger life-cycle narratives dramatized by the maibis, the Panthoibi jagoi (a dance accompanied by lyrics) signifies the growth of the child into an adult and his/her subsequent search for

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a partner for further propagation of life on this earth. This, in a way, also re-enacts the primary maibic engagement with the aspects of creation and preservation— performed in this context through the sacred union between Panthoibi and Nongpok Ningthou. The maibis consider this union to be an auspicious event for the well-being of the people who are invited to join them in the Panthoibi jagoi. A typical invocation to the lais to shower their blessings on the people by means of their sacred union goes as follows: O you servants of the Sovereign God and Sovereign Goddess! Yes. We have completed the building of the royal house for the prosperity of the village and of the country. Let us dance the Panthoibi jagoi so that the Sovereign God and Goddess can have intercourse, and for the prosperity of the land! Let us dance. (Parratt & Parratt, 1997, 119)

In fact, the last day of the festival contains a dance sequence called the louyanba (within the Ougri cycle) where the maibis, maibas, and penakhongbas come together to perform the first meeting of Panthoibi and Nongpok Ningthou—with the maibis as Panthoibi and the maibas as Nongpok Ningthou (Sebastian, 2019, 93). The return of the lais to heaven, once again by water, is enacted through the ritual of Hijing Hirao which is about preparing a boat for the said purpose. The maibis, who had all throughout the days of the performance, conveyed the message of the god to the people, will now cease to do so as the ceremony has ended. She declares, ‘The gods desire to return to their abode. / O sovereign Lord and Lady, / Grant us your prosperity and your good will!’ (Parratt & Parratt, 1997, 164). The participants of this ritual simulate the act of ‘rowing’ thereby signaling the departure of the lais to their respective abodes.

The Significance of Maibis in the Meitei Society The maibis thus occupy the central position in the solemnization of the entire ritualcycles—her presence is both symbolic and mediatory. Through her hand gestures and body movements, she recreates the ritual philosophy behind the Lai Haraoba festival and, in this process, also performs the pedagogic function of sensitizing the participants as well as the onlookers towards the all-pervading affirmative power and sustainability of the Lai Haraoba ritual within the Meitei cosmology and worldview. Since no written codification of detailing the intricacies of the Lai Haraoba ritualcycles is available, the onus of carrying out the rituals without any glitch or omission rests upon the maibis’ ability to remember and execute repeatedly the successive stages of the performance, even during moments of high trance. In addition to that, her role as an oracle or a diviner conveying the word of the gods to the people also necessitates her immense control over her pronouncements. The pedagogic and performative selves are integrated into the complete persona of the maibi from the moment of her

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becoming the lai’s representative till the time she willingly relinquishes her position of omnipotence signaling the end of the ritual. Furthermore, the body of the maibi also embodies dynamic overtones—it has to perform and enact every function endemic to the conception, growth, and sustenance of human/community life in the world, straddling both sacred/religious and profane/secular nature of activities. Also, her powers of divination could extend beyond the individual worshippers and encompass the whole community or any larger space beyond it. The distinctive white attire of the maibi, consisting of a phanek (ankle-length skirt), inaphi (shawl), a waist wrapper, and a long-sleeved white blouse (Parratt & Parratt, 1997, 34), symbolizes purity and austerity—it also enables the worshippers to posit any identity upon the figure of the maibi, be it hostess to one or more lais, of a fortune-teller, of a healer, or just of a mother. The maibi becomes an open signifier endlessly exercising her vision across space and time. As Yumnam notes, ‘[e]very time the Maibi performs in the LaiHaraoba, [she is] remaking a world of the Meitei which is already there…. Each moment performed is a lived experience for the Meitei’ (Yumnam, 2018, 129). This ‘remaking’ entails a radical re-conceptualization of the dynamics between tradition and modernity within the Meitei society. Considering the fact that the ritualistic ‘worldview’ of Lai Haraoba met with challenges not only from the ‘text-centric’ sectarian/Brahmanical interventions (Parratt & Parratt, 1997, xiii), but also from European rationalism at a later stage. However, its continuing relevance in the postcolonial world is the result of its deep-rooted engagement with both the sacred and quotidian life cycles of the Meiteis. Furthermore, it must be recognized that, in addition to performing every ritual within the Lai Haraoba with utmost care and precision, the maibis must also preserve and articulate the semiotic diversity inherent in each of them. Being an oral tradition that has accrued layers of signification over centuries of enactment, the performance of Lai Haraoba also entails overcoming interpretive challenges on the part of the maibis. She is an individual both acting out on behalf of the lais and representing the aspirations of the community that has entrusted her with the hallowed responsibility of performing the ritual. The persona of a maibi from Manipur bears certain resemblance to similar figures from the neighbouring south and southeast Asian cultures, namely, the nagas and yakshas (from India), the nats (from Burma), and the phii (from Thailand) (Parratt & Parratt, 1997, 1; Sebastian, 2019, 62). From northeast India, the Kherai dance performed among the Bodo community on the occasion of Bathou puja (worship of Shiva) shares certain similarities with the Lai Haraoba festival. Along with the aspect of animal sacrifice which is common to both, the figure of the doudini or deodhani exhibits specific similarities with the maibi. The deodhani (as she is commonly known) takes her seat before the altar of the god Bathou, accompanied by the douri (or deuri, the priest) who sits near her. Once the deuri starts chanting the mantras (ritual incantations) with the playing of the sifung (a traditional musical instrument), the deodhani is ‘possessed’ by a god and starts shivering in a frenzy. This is followed by the ritual dance of the deodhani impersonating the gestures and body movements of various gods and goddesses—this is her way of appeasing the latter and acquiring their blessings and goodwill. Holding a sword in the right hand and a shield in the left,

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the deodhani even performs a tandava. At the end of her ritual dance, while being still possessed by the god, the deodhani, much in the nature of the maibi, acquires the power of divination or fortune-telling (Sarma, 2013, 453–454). Therefore, there remains a wider scope for undertaking a comparative analysis of the deodhani and the maibi, and their mythological–ritual significance within the respective world of the Bodos and Meiteis. The emphasis, however, should not be merely upon the tangible aspects of the ritual performance, but must extend towards exploring the critical–reflective dynamics operating behind the reception and sustenance of such cultural endeavours for centuries till the present time. One important component associated with these performances is the agency of the female figure as a connecting link between the human and the divine. This empowerment of the female performer is realized through, what we have seen, a process of ‘possession’ by a deity or a spirit. As a result, the performer usually gets into a trance, and this enables her to transcend the confinements of conscious human subjectivity and attain a stage whereby her behavioural responses are construed as articulating literally the ‘words’ of a transhuman power. While such a phenomenon was denounced under the impact of colonial modernity and variously suppressed as an instance of sorcery and witchcraft, the necessity of the present is instead to contextualize it within the ritual–cultural worldview of the community which sanctifies it and normalizes its practice and prevalence within the cultural space inhabited by it. Also, the ritual incantations of a deodhani or maibi constitute a mystifying yet profound linguistic universe, and the female agent has access to it only in her trance during the ritual. Nevertheless, even for that limited period of time, she ends up challenging the limits set upon her as a gendered entity within the patriarchal world, and emphasizes her agency in sustaining the belief and well-being of the larger community through her powers of divination. An analysis of the maibi’s role and significance within the Meitei community, therefore, brings to the fore certain fascinating and intriguing aspects of women’s agency in facilitating the community’s access to the divine–ritualistic world of the lais, particularly on the occasion of the sacred Lai Haraoba festival. In fact, the very persona of the maibi or the deodhani becomes largely symbolic of the deity’s existence in the midst of the community throughout the duration of the ritual ceremony. The power to summon and bid farewell to the divine entity rests with the female figure—she is even invested with the authority to speak on its behalf to the people. Taken together, all these factors could possibly contribute towards an understanding of her position as a figure of ‘exalted femininity’, who embodies her human/worldly attributes as a woman and, at the same time, moves beyond to attain a transhuman level of abilities and intelligence.

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Notes 1. The festival of Lai-Haraoba is ‘a vast complex of oral literature, ceremonial and ritual, dance and music, which enshrines the soul of the people, and which demonstrates their extraordinary aesthetic capacity’ (Parratt & Parratt, 1997, xiv). The prominent lais worshipped in the course of the festival are identified as representing the four directions, namely, the northwest, northeast, southwest, and southeast. The corresponding deities are: Koubru, Marjing, Thanjing, and Wangbaren. All four of them are collectively referred to as Makei Ngakpa, meaning the ‘guardians of the directions’ (ibid., 4–6). 2. It is believed that the institution of the maibi has been in existence since the time of King Thawan Thaba, who ruled over the Meitei Kingdom from AD 1195 to 1231 (Singh, 2020, 259). 3. As noted by Otojit Kshetrimayum, the folk religion of the Manipuris, known as Sanamahism, involves the worship of Atiya Shidaba, Apanba, and Asheeba, who are, respectively, the creator, the preserver, and the annihilator of the universe, as per the Meitei cosmology. The male deities of the Meiteis are Pakhangba, Sanamahi, and Nongpok Ningthou, whereas Leimarel Shidabi and Panthoibi are worshipped as the major female deities. Maibism or maibi culture is the most significant component of Sanamahism (Kshetrimayum, 2009, 20–21). 4. The penakhongbas are the players of the pena, a one-stringed fiddle, which is the most original and representative among the musical instruments used in Manipuri music and dance. As an essential participant in the Lai Haraoba ritual, the penakhongba is trained in the lairon (sacred music), and, in addition to his musical accompaniment to the dances, he also plays the role of a chanter of sacred lyrics (Parratt & Parratt, 1997, 36). 5. ‘The married life of the maibi is complicated by her relationship to the lai by whom she is possessed. Usually, she sleeps on the left side (outside) of the bed, the position normally occupied by the husband. The lai visits the maibi by night, on particular nights of the month when she has to sleep alone. On such occasions the lai may approach her in either human or animal form. The maibi feels the actual sensation of sexual intercourse on such occasions’ (Parratt & Parratt, 1997, 34).

References Kshetrimayum, O. (2009). Women and shamanism in Manipur and Korea: A comparative study. Indian Anthropologist, 39(1/2), 17–34. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/41920088. Accessed 1 Aug. 2021. Parratt, S. N. A., & Parratt, J. (1997). The pleasing of the gods: Meitei Lai Haraoba. Vikas Publishing House Sarma, N. C. (2013). Asamar Sanskritik Itihash (The cultural history of Assam), vol. 2. Asam Sahitya Sabha. Sebastian, R. (2019). Cultural fusion in a religious dance drama: Building the sacred body in the Manipuri R¯asl¯ıl¯as. University of Florida, PhD dissertation. Singh, N. N. (2020). ‘Blessing in Disguise’: A case study of spirit possession among the Meiteis of Manipur. Antrocom Online Journal of Anthropology, 16(2), 251–266. Yumnam, S. (2018). Performance as philosophy in the context of the Lai-Haraoba. The NEHU Journal, XVI(1), 119–133.

Chapter 10

Shamanism Among the Adis Karyir Riba

Abstract The cosmologies of native communities have the reputation of being almost impalpable with pre-literate beliefs. The study of these communities has resulted in exoticization of cultural traditions, practices, and symbols, often invoking an air of mystery and wonder around them, diverting or distorting cultural meanings, as Esther Syiem says, ‘culled out of context and exhibited as some kind of intangible relic that pre-existed existence’ (Syiem in India International Centre Quarterly 43, 80–88.). This problem in cultural representation seeks for an urgent re-examination of native cultures with the need for epistemological reconsideration. Shamanism as practiced by many tribes of Arunachal has been viewed either as part of a welldeveloped cultural philosophy or reduced to just sorcery. However, its relevance as a tradition even in the time of modern medicine, digital communication, and science and technology cannot be undermined. Hence, the article aims to study the practice of Shamanism among the Adis to have a glimpse into their indigenous worldview. Keywords Religion · Cultural Memory · Shamanism · Indigenous ontology · Adi Stereotyping reduces, essentializes, naturalizes and fixes ‘difference’… it divides the normal and the acceptable from the abnormal and the unacceptable, then excludes everything which does not fit, which is different. Stuart Hall

Difference is the key to cultural meaning but, at the same time, it does not need to be essentialized and constituted into a binary. Deeply layered, cultural difference needs deep engagement. There are a number of works on or about tribal cosmologies produced by ethnographers, anthropologists, travellers, and others, each bringing a different perspective on the subject. The tribes of Arunachal Pradesh have been studied by many scholars and also acknowledged in the colonial and Ahom records. Extensive studies have been undertaken by scholars on the number of tribes, their K. Riba (B) Department of English, NEHU, Shillong 793022, India e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 K. C. Baral (ed.), Cultural Forms and Practices in Northeast India, People, Cultures and Societies: Exploring and Documenting Diversities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-19-9292-6_10

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geographical locations, social formations, marriage, birth and death rites, festivals, languages, etc., very often sidestepping the cosmological and epistemological structures of their worldviews that have helped these communities to survive for centuries in a hostile land while facing many inter/intra-tribal conflicts and also confronting outside forces such as the colonialists. Some of these studies don’t include what might be called the native perspective, hence most studies lack authenticity. It is in this context, Shamanism is important. A Shaman is more than a traditional medicine man who treats the sick through communicating with the supernatural (illness may not be always related to spirits); he is a rhapsodist, a forecaster, having an incantatory function of remembering the community’s past and history among the Adis, Galos and other tribes of Arunachal. The Shaman connects the known with the unknown, the mortal with the spiritual worlds thereby offering a worldview that is connected to nature and beyond. In all these, the native understanding and perception of this figure bring a lot of authenticity in deepening the cultural significance of Shamanism. In her work, The Legends of Pensam, Mamang Dai, an Adi and English language writer from Arunachal, dramatizes a scenario where a Miri (Shaman) leads a group of dancers in memory of a historical event, the first encounter between the British and the Adi. It was an occasion of a ‘long night of stories, when myth and memory would be reborn in the song of the ponung dancers’ (Dai, 2006, 50). The Shaman recounts the story of the encounter that gets transformed into the rhythmic and nimble foot movements, the swaying of bodies from one direction to the other, for the dancers relive the terrible event of the massacre. When the journey (dance) comes to an end, he cries out, ‘The beads in his hair glisten; the beads of the snakes, the beads of the woodpecker; the beads of the first man and woman. From the beginning of time, one by one the beads are crafted!’ (55). He, according to Dai, is ‘the miri, the shaman and the rhapsodist’ (Dai, 2006, 50). The Shaman apart from other ritual performances is also the gatekeeper of community memory, the rhapsodist of time and destiny. The shaman thus is one of the important institutions of the Adi culture. Today, as we speak of cultures and identities, the pre-eminent stress on cultural pluralism and the urgency to acknowledge cultural idiosyncrasies constitute the underlining debate in the study of cultures. What, however, remains problematic in projecting representation of cultural values is the universal subscription to ideologies and frameworks that map the lot of indigenous communities. Pauline Clague, in ‘Indigenous Storytelling: Deconstructing the Archetype’ comments on the problems of representation: I still sometimes get scripts from non-indigenous writers where the Indigenous character is nondescript… They include: The Noble Savage, The Aboriginal Woman… and The Sharman, who is even more mystical and distanced than the Noble Savage, declining to speak … (https://www.artlink.com.au/articles/4758/indigenous-storytelling-deconstructing-the-arc hety/, accessed on 28th May,2021).

In recent times, representation has become a major site of re-interrogation, with scholars making way for what they call ‘ontological pluralism’ and the need for ‘ontological turn’ (Cameron, 2014, 2); the urgency to acknowledge the coexistence of different worldviews by challenging Eurocentric approach to meaning, knowledge,

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and power. The highlight of this approach may be in tackling the major challenge of reinvestigating cultural histories shadowed by a long heritage of distortions, which, even in the present times controls cultural representations. Memory remains the most important building block in the ontological turn, that attempts to seek answers to ‘who we are and from where we have come?’ Origin myths get mixed up with the community’s journey in time sharing the same stories, rituals, and ways of life. The agency of the Shaman remains important in an interconnected time of the past and the present while connecting the present life to the afterlife. The Miri in Dai’s work underlines the significance of this connectedness: In the beginning, there was only Keyum. Nothingness. It was neither darkness nor light, nor had it any colour, shape or movement. Keyum is the remote past, way beyond the reach of our senses. It is the place of ancient things from where no answer is received. Out of this place of great stillness, the first flicker of thought began to shine like a light in the soul of man. It became a shimmering trail, took shape and expanded and became the Pathway. Out of this nebulous zone, a spark was born that was the light of imagination. The spark grew into a shining stream that was the consciousness of man, and form this all the stories of the world and all its creatures came into being. ‘We are not here without a purpose,’ the shaman explained (Sharma, 1994, 56).

It is not what a Shaman does but his deep understanding of creation itself and human consciousness that makes the Shaman one of the most important figures in the cultural life of the Adis. Dai creatively and evocatively portrays the figure of the Shaman and through him presents the Adi epistemology. However, Shamanism as a practice in the context of the Adis and similar other tribal cultures are undoubtedly important. As Dai’s Shaman says, we are here with a purpose, for knowing well our stories and our destiny in time that is our journey. The Shaman rightly is the gatekeeper of collective memory that he recreates through telling stories, repeating the rituals to cure the sick, and interpreting signs for good harvest or calamity, a person who traverses a middle path between the known world and the unknown. This enigmatic figure blends magic with mysticism, guides the community in times of happiness and suffering. Derived from the Tungusic1 word, šaman means ‘one who knows’ (Donald, 2001, 6); it travelled to Europe in mid-seventeenth century from its Russian adaptation. Although the traditional practice of Shamanism is on its way out because of the advent of modernity, it has become a practice for mystical experience by groups who promote neo-shamanism2 today. According to Choudhuri (2008), ‘a shaman is a person in some religions and societies who is believed to be able to contact good and evil spirits and cure people of illness. In general parlance, shamanism implies power possessed by medicine men and sorcerers who are used to controlling or manipulating spiritual forces for human ends’ (86). Others consider the Shaman as a magician, a sorcerer, and a medicine man who under spells announces cures or predicts the future. Its prevalence in North East India, it is asserted, has been connected in some ways to the rise of shaktism and tantrism (Bhagabati, 1, cited in Choudhuri). The connection to ‘the rise of shaktism and tantrism’ arguably may be tenuous for the reason that Shamanism has evolved from a different religious

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ecology and belief system. Central to the spiritual/ritualistic and cultural practices, Shamans, occupy an important position in the cultural landscape of native communities across the globe, each culturally distinctive, yet sharing a similar mystical philosophy. As argued by Donnalee Dox (1914), ‘Shamanism refers to a category of spiritual-religious practice characterised by the encounter between humans and spirits…rituals may induce trance, mystical visions, out of body experience, a radical shift in awareness, soul-journeying, spirit possession, ecstatic experiences…healing, among other experiential transformations’ (115). These being the shared philosophy in defining Shamanism across cultures, the performative function can be intrinsic to communities. The Shaman is a person who by establishing direct contact with spiritual beings has the ‘insight into the world’s interrelations’ (Stirn & Van Ham, 2000, 95). Shamanism might have some affinity with tantric Buddhism as it has co-existed with this religion in Arunachal Pradesh. Among the non-Buddhist tribes, the practice of Shamanism is part of their indigenous belief systems. On this note, the present study makes an attempt to explore the evolutionary and modern-day relevance of Shamanism among the Adi community of Arunachal Pradesh and attempts to shed light on the necessity to study indigenous ontologies. The Adi, like other major tribes, is divided into sub-groups such as Pasi, Padam, Minyong, Gallong (presently, the Gallong is identified as an autonomous tribe), Bori, Bokar, Millang, etc., who in turn are divided into various clans and sub-clans. This is quite remarkable as the various groups of Adis trace a different identity within the confines of the tribe. Their oral traditions are reflected in Abangs, Ponungs, Abes, etc. The oral religious literature of the Adis is mainly represented by rhapsodies known as Abangs, relating to the myth of creation, the origin of social institutions, and the history of the people (https://pasighat.wordpress.com/2011/10/22/the-ori gin-and-migration-of-adi-tribe-part-i-compensated-by-the-oral-tradition-of-the-peo ple-in-the-form-of-legends-myths-folklores-and-sayings-etc/, accessed on 28 May 2021). William Robinson, the first European who in 1841 ‘referred to the ‘dark veil which conceals the origin of the tribes’ and the several histories written during the succeeding 150 years have not yet dispelled that obscurity’, says Stuart Blackburn (2003/2004, 15). According to G.W. Beresford, all the Adis acknowledge a common origin from the Bor Abors. There are many myths, legends, and narratives regarding the different clans and sub-clans of Adis, however, all confirm to the Tani ancestry. The practice of Shamanism is prevalent among some other tribes of Arunachal Pradesh. The roots of this being prominently found in the belief system of the Tani tribes, also, are relevant to other major tribes outside the umbrella of the Tani ancestry, such as Mishmis inhabiting Lohit, Upper and Lower Dibang Valleys, the Noctes, Wangchos, and few other tribes settled across the eastern zone of Arunachal. Two among the five tribes under the Tani clan ancestry, Nyishi, and Apatani inhabit the districts including Siang, East Siang, and Upper Siang and are spread across some parts of Shi Yomi and Lower Dibang Valley; while the Galos are settled in West Siang, Lower Siang, Leparada and spread across some parts of East Siang, Lower Dibang Valley, East Kameng, Changlang, Lohit, Namsai, etc. Other tribes are also spread across these regions.

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Identified among the Galos as ‘Nyiib’/ ‘Nyibo’ and ‘Miri’ among the Adis, Shamans, with the gift of ecstasy, act as mediators between the physical and the spirit worlds thereby enunciating a spatial significance. A comparison is often drawn between Shamanism to conventional ‘Priesthood’. While the latter is ordained or trained for the job, the ability of a Shaman implies out of chance over choice, often, if not all the time, related to blood lineage. It is believed that the journey towards becoming a Shaman is sudden and involuntary; the person so chosen cultivates the spiritual craftsmanship as a mediator through dreams and visions, guided by the spirits of Shaman ancestors. The spiritual craftsmanship of a Shaman is subjected to social ranking, with the possibility of one being less or more powerful than the other. This decides the function of a Shaman as such; each Shaman may be different from another, performing rituals in accordance to their merit, with the ability to negotiate healing, make prophetic declarations, guide a lost soul back to a physical body; bestowed with the gift of knowledge playing the role of a rhapsodist. While it is extremely rare to come across a Shaman with a holistic rendition, in the use of a universal noun to recognize the plural scope of Shamanism, it becomes often difficult to categorically label Shaman according to functional rendition. A Shaman’s expertise and calibre to perform certain rites may depend upon his experience or relationship with the natural world; a testimony to declining numbers of Shamans is often linked to the increasing disconnect between man and nature. The pathway of turning into a Shaman is unspecific to gender; rather, the body becomes a medium of spiritual transaction outside gender identity. As such, the word ‘Miri’ or ‘Nyiib’ is gender neutral, but, is denotative of the very function of the name/title. The prime difficulty in articulating the cultural orientation of Shamanism stems from the subscription of meanings to ‘typification’. ‘Without the use of types, it would be difficult, if not possible, to make sense of the world. We understand the world by referring individual objects, people or events in our heads to the general classificatory schemes into which—according to our culture—they fit’ (Hall, 2003, 257). It is therefore important to decode ‘schemes’, that establish them as concrete examples; categories inside which social narratives of ‘the other’ are forced to fit, ‘always making sense of things in some wider categories’ (Ibid). This being said, the ‘scheme’ of religion as a category, a borrowed concept, accommodated over the indigenous spiritual apparatus has made it difficult for the iteration of Shaman’s idiosyncratic relevance to the community. In fact, the concept of divinity or spirituality is interestingly contrary to the popular belief of labelling the indigenous communities as nature worshipers. The concept of ‘faith’ or ‘religion’ being alien during the preliterate times, was eventually borrowed and institutionalized. Rituals that involved Shaman’s participation were once as ordinarily innate as any other cultural activity. The separation of cultural activities from beliefs/practices among the Adis (which now are categorized under the taxonomy of religious practices) is shaped as the reformist movement progressed, viz. Donyi-Poloism. Reformist movements have been gradually gaining ground among the tribes in order to protect and preserve their indigenous beliefs and practices. Such reformist movements have

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generated new taxonomies, such as “Donyi-Poloism”, “Intyaism”, “Rangfraism”, and so on (Chaudhuri, 2013, 260).

Though the institutionalization of Donyi-Poloism was initiated to safeguard fading spiritual practices, this, however, should not be confused with the juxtaposition and comparison of Donyi-Poloism to the framework and hierarchal divisions pertinent to other mainstream religions. The absence of any form of idol worshipping in the indigenous belief system is today being misrepresented. The etymology of the words ‘Donyi’ and ‘Polo’ implying ‘Sun’ and ‘Moon’ have been often misappropriated as symbols for god and goddess, missing, in lieu of a holistic symbol of indigenous belief system—implying light and blessings over darkness. This misappropriation has more than often projected misrepresentation of indigenous faith that is based on man-nature harmony, man as nature worshipper. While Donyi-Poloism has become institutionalized today, the core of it is unique to its cultural history and cannot be codified with comparative conceptualization. Unlike the expected rendition of conventional priests, Shamans do not engage in invoking the divinity through worship, rather they engage in an intended and induced ecstatic journey to chiefly act as mediators. The Shaman’s art to usher healing stems from this very act of negotiation. Popularly known as the ethno-medicine man or the traditional doctor, the Shaman is never the source of healing, rather, he identifies the cause of the ailment and channelizes healing by negotiating with the offended spirits of nature. This calls for attention into the indigenous ontology on sickness and cure which summons upon a distinct belief system: The ethno-medical practice of the people of Arunachal Pradesh was rooted in religious beliefs and shaped by their environment and customs. Their concept of illness was basically rooted in supernatural cosmology [7]. The concept of disease or ailments of any sort occurring as a result of breach of the balance with natural and supernatural forces among the animistic communities of Arunachal Pradesh thus made the traditional priest (healer) the curer and healer of disease (Dabi, 2017, 105).

A ‘Priest was the sole negotiator to safely retrieve the diseased soul of a person from the offended spirits and gods’ (ibid). In the contemporary parade of globalization and scientific advancement—developments in medical sector, introduction of Western biomedicine, conversion to various religions—the pre-eminence of ethnomedicine might have diminished, but it is far from being completely absent. The ‘Ali Ternam’ (among the Galos), and ‘Kili Pator’ (among the Adis) are the actively performed rituals in the Galo and Adi belts to avert the repeated outbreak of diseases. It is performed by constructing a bamboo gate structure at the entry points of a particular area, which then is sanctified by the Shaman’s chant, resting on its efficacy to ward off diseases or any form of community affliction. It functions on the belief that the erected gate would act as a barricade against external forces. The period of this ritual usually extends to 3 days or more, maintained by observing taboos and community isolation, and by keeping strict exit and entry norms. B. Kumar in his book Folk-lore and Folklore Motives (1993) advocates a detailed understanding of motifs and describes how ‘the study of folk-lore in Northeast India shall reveal the fact that people are neither uninventive nor over-inventive’ (Kumar, 1993,

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32). The ‘Ali-ternam’ ritual finds its modern-day relevance and similarity to ‘lockdowns’ and ‘containments’. While this ritual is propagated by beliefs that concede to human-spiritual orientation, its purpose is to contain or block a possible pandemic. The common belief, found in the folktales of these indigenous communities, is the interdependent connection between ‘Nature’ and ‘Man’, both defending each other, has its resonance in the deepening awareness, in recent years, having implications for the earth’s fragile ecology and human survival. The nature-human relationship, the central agent of Adi folk narratives, forms an important motif in the works of Dai. As a repository of the cultural ethos of the Adi community, Dai’s Legends of Pensam (2006), already referred to, keenly captures a Shaman’s role and significance in the event of a mishap or affliction: Togum travelled far and wide in search of famous Shamans…then someone said that they should think about performing a special ceremony, rarely performed these days, in case it was the spirit of a snake that had coiled around the body of their son (21).

The Shaman’s role as a rhapsodist and a presiding-priest emerges in occasions of festive celebrations such as Solung and Mopin (the festival of harvest) and other community gatherings, with one Shaman engaged in the task of presiding over the rituals and the other leading the ponung/popir dancers to a performative journey ‘where myth and memory would be reborn’ (Dai, 2006, 50). The rhapsodist verily differs from the presiding-haman in their merit of performing spiritual sacraments. While the Shaman specifically designated to perform the rituals, makes offerings of the yield (symbolically through sacrifice of cattle), the rhapsodist (also nyiib/miri) prepares for an oral journey to pronounce the blessings of the creator and ancestors upon the community. The dancers accompanying the Shaman in this rhythmic journey are expected to maintain certain taboos, violation of which may trigger ill fate or omen: ‘They have not slept for many nights. If they close their eyes for a minute, if their souls stray, if they miss a step, then the journey will be over before its time and they will return to the present overwhelmed with a sorrow that will haunt them to an early death’ (Dai, 2006, 50). The songs of the rhapsodist may be regarded as the sole reminiscence of the community’s oral history narrated in a language distinctly different from the modernday Adi/Galo language variety. Adorned in a gale (traditional wraparound), the ‘Miri’ carefully makes rhythmic declarations in ‘Gombe’ and synchronizes the jingle of his sword to the rhythm of his song; recounting creation stories and navigating the dancers through the historical lineage of ancestors, thus, invoking a cultural memory that would momentarily connect the community to a dim past. The Miri’s attire is tied to the purpose of the occasion. As ‘Kine Nane’ (the goddess of paddy) is central to ‘Solung’, the ‘Miri’ adorns himself/herself in ‘gale’ as a symbolic tribute to the goddess. Things change with the shifting signifying centres. The careful ‘ponung bedang’ (oral journey) of the rhapsodist lasts up to three nights viz; the first night of ‘Limir-Libom-Abang’, the second night of ‘Binyat Abang’ and the concluding night of ‘Ekop Abang’. As the Miri begins the ponung journey on the first night, he traces the ancestral lineage and migratory route (Limir-Libom) of the tribe and

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invokes ‘Dadi Botte’ (the god of cattle) to bless the community; this is then followed by invocation of ‘Kine Nane’ (goddess of paddy) on the second night for bountiful yield along with a declaration of the clan names of each ‘ponung’ dancer; on the third and the concluding night known as ‘Ekop Abang’, the ‘Miri’ navigates the dancers and the gathering through two phases—the first stage known as ‘Pago Abang’ that begins with a reiteration of the creation story, as such, the oral painting of creator and creation is presented, followed by oral depiction of the legends of tribe wars; the second phase ‘Apgo Abang’ soon follows where the ‘Miri’ discloses and orally negotiates the ill fates of hunting and pronounces peace and harmony among the communities. This conclusion becomes essential to ward off any form of negative energy that may have resulted from hunting discords. The present-day relevance of these oral narratives rest in their function as cultural repository. The ‘Etor’ festival of the Adis which is specifically meant for the male members of the community revolves around ‘Dadi Botte’ that can extend up to two nights or more. The oral journey so taken by the Shaman (rhapsodist) in this event is shorter than the oral journey taken during ‘Solung’. Similarly, the ‘Miri’ pronounces blessings upon the ‘Dellong’ dancers (male) as he rhythmically traces the history and territory (Limir-Libom) of different clans. In this performative rendition, the Shaman or the rhapsodist becomes the custodian of collective memory and the guardian of a trail not ordinarily accessible to a common man. Memory, here, is not to signify lived experiences of a fragmented time but to transfer a universal ‘way of being’ throughout generations. The role of the rhapsodist has, however, slightly changed in the modern times. With the decline in the number of Shamans, individuals catering to the role of rhapsodist in community gatherings, at times, may function as a Shaman. The mastery of the rhapsodist over the art of storytelling acts as an adhesive that brings the community together, which unfortunately, in the contemporary times is losing its essence to the hegemony of the written order. The surrender of the oral lore to the written has naturally served as the only alternative to retain and preserve the oral songs of the rhapsodist, but the trend of ‘attempting to record’ the oral in order to arbitrarily transpose it to the written limits may affect the very art of narration, its context and ritual significance. In his essay, ‘Historical and cultural contexts to Native American Literature’ (2006), Joy Porter argues that ‘literature informed by oral tradition operates within a different epistemology or way of knowing … urging readers of a book primarily written in English to do much more than recognize a different language’ (44). He is invoking here another way of categorizing meaning. While the indigenous belief systems and ritualistic practices were intrinsic to cultural identity before the colonial invasion of the frontier region, the coming of missionaries, and modernization, the present-day construction of cultural identity has evolved to become intricately complex. With a considerable number of natives following Buddhism, Christianity, Hinduism, etc., the question of faith and cultural identity has been separated. At present, many natives hoist a cultural identity melded to personal faith choices, at the same time, a majority of the indigenous people follow Donyi-Poloism with the Shaman placed at the centre of its belief system.

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Notes 1. The origin of the word Shaman has many derivations. It may be derived from the Tungusic word šaman, meaning ‘one who knows’. It is also argued that its English version might be derived from the Evenki word šamán, a dialect spoken by the Sym Evenki people. It was introduced to Western Europe in the seventeenth century. Further, there is also an argument to liken the word to the Sanskrit word Sraman, a travelling mendicant that is highly contested. 2. Neo-shamanism is practiced by some Westerners as new-age spirituality. It is a romantic notion without any connection to traditional ritual practices performed by indigenous communities.

References Blackburn, S. (2003/2004). Memories of migration: Notes on legends and beads in Arunachal Pradesh, India. European Bulletin of Himalayan Research, 25/26, 15–60. Cameron, E., et al. (2014). Indigeneity and Ontology. Cultural Geographies, 21(1), 19–26. https:// doi.org/10.2307/26168538 Chaudhuri, S. K. (2013). The institutionalization of tribal religion: Recasting the donyi-polo movement in Arunachal Pradesh. Asian Ethnology, 72(2), 259–277. https://www.jstor.org/stable/235 95479. Accessed on 28th November 2020. Chaudhuri, S. K. (2008). Plight of the Igus: Notes on Shamanism among the Idu Mishmis of Arunachal Pradesh, India. European Bulletin of Himalayan Research, 32, 84–108. Claigue, P. Indigenous storytelling: Deconstructing the archetype. Art Link, 1 June. 2019. https://www.artlink.com.au/articles/4758/indigenous-storytelling-deconstructing-the-arc hety/ Accessed on 9 November 2020. Dabi, T. (2017). A priests’ chant: Healing traditions amongst the galo tribe, Arunachal Pradesh, India. Saudi Journal of Humanities and Social Sciences, Scholars Middle East Publishers, 1058– 1061. https://doi.org/10.21276/sjhss.2017.2.11.6 Dai, M. (2006). The legends of pensam. Penguin Books India. Dox, D. (2014). Shamanism. Ecumenica, 7(1–2), 115–119. https://doi.org/10.5325/ecumenical.7. 1-2.0115 Hall, S. (2003). The spectacle of the ‘Other’”. In S. Hall (Ed.), Cultural Representations and Signifying Practices (pp. 223–290). Sage Publications. Kumar, B. B. (1993). Folk-lores & folk-lore motifs (Special Reference to North-East). Omsons Publications. Donald, H. (2001). Shamans: Siberian spirituality and the western imagination. Hambledon and London. Porter, J. (2006). Historical and cultural contexts to Native American literature. Cambridge Online (pp. 39–63). Cambridge University Press. https://doi.org/10.1017/CCOL0521822831.002 Sharma, S. (1994). Tribal identity and the modern world. United Nations UP. Stirn, A., & Van Ham, P. (2000). The seven sisters of India. Mapin Publishing. Syiem, E. (2016). Negotiating the loss: Orality in the indigenous communities of North East India. India International Centre Quarterly, 43(1, Summer), 80–88. https://www.artlink.com.au/articles/4758/indigenous-storytelling-deconstructing-the-archety/. Accessed on 28th May, 2021. https://pasighat.wordpress.com/2011/10/22/the-origin-and-migration-of-adi-tribe-part-i-compen sated-by-the-oral-tradition-of-the-people-in-the-form-of-legends-myths-folklores-and-sayingsetc/. Accessed on 28th May 2021.

Chapter 11

Religion as Culture: Analysing the Mizo Discourse Margaret L. Pachuau

Abstract This article shall expound upon the centrality of religion and folklore in the Mizo community. It shall trace the significance of identity in the colonial and the post-colonial arena while situating the same within the parameters of postcolonial discourse. The article will also concentrate on the significance of folklore in Mizo literature which was located within the pre-colonial dynamics and was therefore of a decidedly pre-Christian sensibility. It shall focus on a rereading of folk literature in terms of the postcolonial parameters which are etched significantly in a Christian locale. It shall especially explore the nuances that are located towards the dynamics of Mizo identity and culture which are at once increasingly central and yet complex, especially in terms of the pre- and postcolonial parameters. Keywords Religion · Folklore · Mizo · Identity · Culture · Christian

Introduction This article shall expound upon the significance of situating the Mizos within the realms of identity in the light of religion and narratives. It shall seek to establish the contribution of the missionaries towards literacy, especially within the parameters of the colonial sensibility. Orality and the concept of folklore have been ingrained significantly within the Mizo paradigm. The written word was introduced to the Mizos only after the advent of Western missionaries in the Lushai hills in 1894. Thus, a sizeable corpus of Mizo literature remains inherently located within the oral parameters and this has created space for rereading as well as a reinterpretation of M. L. Pachuau (B) Department of English and Culture Studies, Mizoram University, Tanhril, PO Box 190, Aizawl, Mizoram 796004, India e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 K. C. Baral (ed.), Cultural Forms and Practices in Northeast India, People, Cultures and Societies: Exploring and Documenting Diversities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-19-9292-6_11

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Mizo narratives. Though Mizo literature is now seeped within the written domains, orality is still not at a peripheral stage, rather it continues to contribute immensely towards building an individuality and a distinctiveness of Mizo narratives, decidedly a pre-Christian sensibility. It shall focus upon a rereading of folk literature in terms of the post-colonial parameters which are etched significantly in a Christian locale.

Identity in the Mizo While recognizing that undoubtedly, the colonized have never been successfully pacified, there has still been a long and rather significant debate towards identity within the Mizo culture. What must be considered within such domains is the aspect of the existence of little or no writing back to the ‘empire’. Mizos have had a culture where colonization has largely been perceived with little or no resistance. This has been attributed to the contribution of the missionaries and more significantly towards the positive inroads that Christianity as a religion has made in the life of a majority of the Mizos. This has been different from the experiences of colonization and resistance theories that have been formulated in this regard, especially in terms of the colonized African and Caribbean cultures. In the Mizo culture, however, colonization has had inroads that are decidedly significant and these have been in terms of a perhaps more positive aspect. In this context, there has been inherently little of what Stuart Hall has acknowledged in terms of ‘…all discourse is place, positioned, situated, and all knowledge is contextual’(Barker et al., 2008, 175). Mizo culture and the literary precepts are significantly focused on the colonial influences in terms of both their religion and culture. The missionary period has been pertinent, because it initiated the development of written culture; a meaningful intervention in an absolutely oral domain. The technologies of writing with the Roman script, printing press, and production of books radically changed the cultural space. The oral could be captured, inscribed, and reproduced thereby offering a different experience in the domain of cultural communication. Gayatri Spivak in her questioning the notion ‘Can the Subaltern Speak?’, had found this debate to be particularly significant in tracing the nature of the subalterns, or those who were categorically deemed to have been left out by history. By that argument the inherently silent subaltern had been considered to be rendered with an inability to ‘resist’ the aspect of colonization. In later interviews, however, including ‘The New Subaltern’, Spivak has expounded upon what she categorizes as the ‘new subaltern subject’. Spivak has also in her later essays reflected upon the term ‘subaltern’ and how it must be ‘rethought’ in the postcolonial contemporary scenario. This may be true because the subaltern is decidedly no longer cut off from the lines of access to what may be deemed as the centre. In the light of the essay, ‘The New Subaltern’, Spivak examines in the latter part of the interview, the context of what she terms as ‘the smallest group among Indian Aboriginals’. She then uses the term Scheduled Tribe and later refers to it more in terms

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of the often-used abbreviation, ST, which incidentally is the group that the Mizos belong to. Christianity had played and still continues to play a predominant role in Mizo literature and it created an enhanced literary ethic. The Mizos, however, are significantly different from the version that Spivak encompasses in a better part of the essay on the new subaltern because even though they belong to the ST category they certainly are not ‘people occupying remnants of varieties of oral culture permeated by dominant Sanskritized literate cultures without benefit of literacy’ (During, 2008, 237). There has been thus an obvious difference here in terms of the postcolonial Mizo sensibility. The resistance ethic has decidedly been secondary to the Mizo ethos and it has thus been under debate especially because Mizos have not ‘embraced’ the residual aspect of Sanskritization as an aspect of colonization. In this regard, Spivak’s statement that ‘the ST communities in India everywhere are not deprived’ (During, 2008, 238) may in many ways seem integral. That the missionary period, which was at its zenith primarily between 1894 and 1919 contributed towards the development of literary and cultural domains of the Mizos, is a predominant case in point. On ll January 1894, two missionaries sent by the Arthington mission, namely J.H. Lorrain and F.W. Savidge reached Sairang, a locality situated on the outskirts of Aizawl, Mizoram. They were the first missionaries to set foot on the land. They learnt comprehensive nuances of the Mizo language, even as they visited different localities within Aizawl. The missionaries then embarked upon the task of spreading literacy amongst the Mizos and they were largely successful especially as the community has been ‘seeped’ in orality before the arrival of the missionaries. In this sense, identity has been in various ways located within what Bhabha has termed as ‘hybrid forms of life’ (2010, 3), intersecting the oral and the written domains. However, the ‘location of culture’ to borrow Bhabha’s term has not been akin to Naipaul’s ‘mimic men’ because there does exist a sense of priority towards the traditional Mizo culture rather than a total imitation or immersion into the colonizer’s sensibility. Beginning from the Chief of Lungleng village, Khamliana, who incidentally became, the first Mizo to write a letter in the Mizo language, till the present time, there has been a sense of embracing both Christian values and placing them in the context of the postcolonial domain while merging culture and Christianity to a certain extent. Which again is different from Naipaul’s people ‘who are vernacular cosmopolitans …revealing hybrid forms of life and art that do not have a prior existence…of any single culture or language’ (ibid). The missionaries transformed the Mizo cultural ethos outside religion in the form of promoting literacy and producing texts through translation. The task of translation of the Bible, from the English to the Mizo was also begun. This factor enhanced the creation of a significant reading public amongst the Mizos, who gradually clamored for more reading material and, in this manner, Mizo literature obtained a significant boost. The missionaries compiled a comprehensive text known as ‘A Grammar and Dictionary of the Lushai Language’, which was published by the Assam government in 1898. As Bhabha further states, ‘the social articulation of difference, from the minority perspective, is a complex, ongoing negotiation that seeks to authorize

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cultural hybridities that emerge in moments of historical transformation’ (ibid). The colonizer’s position is also debatable as reflected in Bhabha’s essay ‘Signs Taken for Wonders…’ that takes into account the activities of Christian missionaries in the context of the colonial period. The Bible becomes the emblem of the ‘English Book’, which Bhabha refers to as ‘signs taken for wonders’ is also regarded to be ‘an insignia of colonial authority and a signifier of colonial desire and discipline’ (Bhabha, 2010, 146). The essay ‘Signs Taken for Wonders: Questions of ambivalence and authority under a tree outside Delhi May 1817’, is reflective of the advent of the missionaries in Mizoram. The initial Mizo response to the Bible seems to have been positive. Baptism and other aspects that were deemed necessary for a Christian too were performed relatively without much ado in the Mizo community. The existence of and response to Christianity by the Mizo were in a way far more encompassing than the incident cited by Bhabha or even in terms of Naipaul’s ‘mimic men’. Naipaul’s hybrid, half-made colonial world has brought about the question of what exactly is the English and whether it has subsequently become a signifier of ‘authority?’ In the realms of the Mizo domain, the colonial presence has always been interlaced between the cultural and the mission. In Bhabha’s location of culture, the Bible has always been ‘the English book’, but for the Mizo, there has been a recognition of the fact that even though the colonials brought Christianity, the community has never merely accepted it because of it being the ‘white man’s religion’. The question of hybridity arises too in this context because, as Bhabha states, ‘hybridity is the revaluation of the assumption of colonial identity through the repetition of discriminatory identity effects’ (2010, 159). Christianity in this perspective has retained in the culture of the Mizos, in a manner that ‘retains the actual semblance of the authoritative symbol but revalues its presence by resisting it as the signifier of Entstellung—after the intervention of difference’ (2010, 164).

Religion and the Mizo In what voice then can the subaltern speak seems to be of predominance. Leela Gandhi’s debate denotes that while Spivak categorically insists that the ‘subaltern cannot speak’ a huge component of ‘postcolonial studies has come to represent a confusing and often unpleasant babel of subaltern voices’ (Gandhi, 1998, 3). However, within the Mizo context, there are hardly any domains that pertain to ‘diaspora’ or similar elements that relate to mixed or globalized cultures. Also, the aspect of hybridity has earlier been focused upon largely because there have been almost no ‘aggressive assertions of cultural identity’ (123) in terms of the Mizo scenario. That the missionaries played a very central role in terms of the promotion of literacy as well as in the creation of a wider reading public amongst the Mizos has been well recognized and established. What most postcolonial thinkers would

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endorse here is that after the impact of colonialism, there could perhaps be a new transformation of social consciousness which ‘exceeds the reified identities and rigid boundaries invoked by national consciousness’ (124). The relationship between the colonizer and the colonized has still been remarkably mutually conductive in that despite the aspects of hybridity too have been largely accommodated within the realms of the societal structure. Gandhi in this perspective stresses on the notion that ‘the discourse of hybridity assists postcolonialism in its search for evidence regarding the mutual transformation of colonizer and colonized’ (132). She differs in perspective from Bhabha’s notion of hybridity in that, she feels that the discourse is not without its limitations by claiming that ‘…celebrations of hybridity generally refer to the destabilizing of colonized culture’ (136). She also warns against the claims that ‘favour ‘hybridity’ as the only ‘enlightened’ response to racial/colonial oppression’ (136). In this context, there are sharp parallels that could be drawn between the African and the Mizo sensibility where colonization had a significant impact. Resistance has been largely applicable in the African context where Christianity too had made significant inroads. In a lucid comparison of music and forms of worship by both African and Mizo Christians, there has been a definite contrast in that, ‘the westernized minority influenced by European culture and Christianity, first rejected African traditional culture, but, with the rise of African nationalism, a cultural revival occurred’ (Muchimba, 2008, 1). This has not been so in the Mizo domains. Mizos still follow the Westernized (read colonized) mode of worship in many ways and cultural revival is not encouraged within the community. Muchimba warns though of the dangers of ‘Christians’ that need to be on guard against reverting to ancestral worship in the ‘name of maintaining their culture and spiritual identity’. Africans have gradually contemplated upon seriously considering the issue of practicing their Christian spirituality in a more contemporary African and Biblically acceptable style (15). Thus, in this context, there has been a sense of contextualizing the Gospel in a relevant African paradigm, related to ‘being an African Christian and not a Christian African’(26). Serious perspectives too have been raised in this context regarding the differences between Western and African Christian modes of worship, having the focus on African ethnomusicology. The Mizo context has been singularly different because contextualizing has not been the inherent point in worship. There has been the ‘consolidation of Western tunes and choral singing’. It has also been observed that ‘Mizos are a singing people. This is perhaps their most outstanding characteristic. Taught by the musical Welsh, Mizos quickly began to compose songs—so many that they wanted to publish a new hymnbook every year’ (Vanlalchhuanawma, 2007, 271). The Mizo hymnbook (Kristian Hlabu) is probably the one book that has undergone the greatest number of revisions as well as reprints. The concept of the colonizer reacting sharply to the colonized sensibility came about when the missionaries began to make statements regarding the songs that had been sung by the pre-Christian Mizo as ‘comipt ballads.’ But, ‘God’s hymns as they call them have become very popular …they have to some extent supplemented their comipt ballads and are sung in the

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zawlbuks’ (Vanlalchhuanawma, 2007, 185). This denotes that there was a deep love for music by the native people and that they were responsive towards diverse genres of music. The concept of song, especially underwent a transformation because Western tunes and songs were gradually incorporated into the Mizo domain and the Mizo oral tradition too gradually gave way to Westernization. The one exceptional resistance to Christian religion and subsequently of the song tradition was the aspect of Puma zai, and Western missionaries such as Lorrain deemed it as ‘satanic opposition’ (183). It was regarded to be part of the revival stirrings in various parts of Mizoram where in 1907, a double-lined refrain of various verses was sung, with the ambiguous appellation Puma at the end of the first line of every refrain. However, this soon died down and, in the process till the present time, there has been a hybrid composition of songs both secular and, otherwise, that reveal an eclectic composition of the Western tunes and Mizo nuances. Identity has been situated in a paradigm where Christianity and Christian Mizos have been able to locate and ‘speak’ within the realms of the Mizo subaltern. Chronologically, the missionary period may be classified as having arisen during the period between 1894 and 1919. This period saw the beginning and development of literary facets that enhanced and facilitated the growth of Mizo literature. With the growth and development of the Mizo alphabet, most Mizos were encouraged to try their hand at enhancing their creative prowess as well. Texts were prepared for the enhancement of education and literacy in effect that the first Mizo primer was released on 22 October 1895. It was entitled ‘Mi-Zo Zir Tir Na Bu’ and it was written by the missionary J.M. Lloyd. Significantly, the first Mizo newspaper known as ‘Laisuih’, was published in the year 1898. The task of translation from the Mizo to English was also underway in great measure during this era. The missionaries began the task of the translation of the Bible, from English to Mizo. They began with the gospel according to St Luke from the New Testament. Later, they translated the Gospel according to St John and the Act of the Apostles, both of which were from the New Testament. After completion of the two texts the missionaries dispatched the entire text to the British and Foreign Bible Society in London and these versions were officially released in the year 1898. The Acts of the Apostles too was published by them in 1899, and thus these translations were the first three texts that were derived in book form in terms of a seminal literature in Mizo. And consequently, the translation of the Bible was the first text that was rendered in terms of Mizo literature. This factor enhanced the creation of a significant reading public, and they gradually clamoured for more reading material and thus Mizo literature obtained a significant boost. The missionaries compiled a comprehensive text in 1898, known as A Grammar and Dictionary of the Lushai Language, that was the first textbook on Mizo grammar and was the first dictionary in the Mizo language in the Lushai-English version. During this time, apart from educational texts, the missionaries encouraged the development of the media. The first Mizo newspaper known as ‘Mizo Chanchin Laishuih’, published in 1898 was a handwritten version and was published by the government. This version was usually sent to the various local Chiefs and it contained aspects that

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were related to government and local politics. Since it was in handwritten format, it is evident that the number of copies of the paper that were circulated was very minimal. The paper contained myriad aspects of life and society of the Mizos. These aspects of information are of value till today for they denote incidents in time that remained central and integral to the life of the Mizos during the missionary period. Apart from creating seminal aspects in terms of the literary fervour, it also provided anecdotes that denote historical information that are still vital. Savidge and Lorrain also published the first Mizo hymnal during this period. Initially, they worked out seven hymns in translation and these were rendered in the handwritten version. Before they left Mizoram, they handed over these hymns to Reverend D.E. Jones, who had been sent in their stead. He continued the work of translating the hymns, along with his helper Raibhajur, from the Khasi hills, and together the duo added another eleven hymns to the corpus. Gradually, the number was increased to 18 hymns altogether, and they published all these in a book in the year l899. It was only a small booklet, which was published by Eureka Press in Kolkata, and it amounted to a total of five hundred copies only. Interestingly enough, a closer scrutiny reveals that there were hymns that were seemingly religious in nature but were actually focused towards an outlook that was predominantly in keeping with the tenets of communal harmony and integration. The Arthington missionaries, Savidge and Lorrain, stayed in Mizoram for a period of 3 years and 6 months only, from ll January 1894 to 13 December 1897. Reverend D.E. Jones then arrived to relieve them in September 1897. He was a Welsh missionary, and initially, he stayed with them for a period of four months, during which he learnt the Mizo language. Later on, another missionary by the name of Edwin Rowlands arrived from the Welsh mission on 31st December 1898. The two missionaries then revised the Gospel according to St Luke, that had earlier been published in the year 1898. The revised version was published in 1905 and later reprinted in the year 1912. The Gospel according to St John was revised upon and the revised versions were published in 1906 and republished later in 1909, 1912 and in 1914. By 1916, the entire New Testament had been translated from English into Mizo. Along with this, the missionaries translated several English hymns into Mizo and these were published in 1903. A thousand copies of the first edition of the hymn book were published in Kolkata. A school was established in the year 1898, by Reverend D.E. Jones. The first Mizo primer known as ‘Mizo Zir Tir Bu’, was prescribed as a text at the foundational level and it contained aspects that were related to the Mizo alphabet. The text authored by Reverend D.E. Jones was entitled ‘Zirtan Bu’ and it was recommended as an academic text from the year 1915, and subsequently, it became a foundational text at the basic school level. Therefore, both these books were incorporated as elementary primers. The ‘Mizo Zir Tir Bu’, had as many as 27 pages, and the subjects included the fundamental aspects of the alphabet along with the various facets related to subjects such as mathematics, geography, science, moral science, and Christianity. A separate compilation on mathematics was also released in the year 1925. It was known as ‘Chhiarkawpna Bu’. In 1907, the missionaries

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published a text entitled ‘India Chanchin’ containing aspects that were related to the advent of the British in India. A text entitled ‘English First Reader’ was also published in the same year, and it was written by D.E. Jones. It was a treatise on moral science and most of its contents were taken from the Bible. Apart from these, there were a number of texts on Christianity which were published during the period ranging from 1900 to 1919. The one text that could perhaps be said to enjoy the widest readership was, ‘Kristian Vanram Kawng Zawh Thu’ (1908), and it was Pastor Chuautera’s translation of The Pilgrim’s Progress. It catered to the moral and ethical sensibilities of the Christian way of life. Another text known as ‘Pathian Lehkhabu Chanchin’ as translated from The Story of the Bible, was published in 1909. It was translated by Pastor Challiana and F.W. Savidge from the text by Charles Foster. This text had a great impact upon the Mizos, especially because it contained minute details about the Bible and most Mizos found that extremely interesting. Eventually, the Bible was translated in its entirety and it was published in the year 1959. Newspapers also found their place in terms of Mizo literature during the missionary period. From the period ranging between 1900 and 1919, the missionaries published two very reflective and insightful monthly newspapers. One of these newspapers was the ‘Mizo leh Vai Chanchinbu’ and the other being ‘Kristian Tlangau’. The former was the first monthly newspaper amongst the Mizos. Religion, in this case, that of Christianity has succeeded in creating in Mizoram, as Homi Bhabha had maintained a community of ‘white but not quite’ people. Foucault’s notion of ‘how we have been trapped into our own history’ becomes a significant case in point here, as the vestiges of the past continue to hang heavy and loom large even within the present context. Religion and power have been intrinsically connected to signify Mizo cultural narratives that underline unique Mizo identity within the post-colonial paradigm. The aspect of culture in terms of being ‘hybridized, alienated and potentially threatening’ has in many ways continued to hold water for the Mizo, even as religion and narratives hold a decisive aspect of power within the community.

References Barker, C. (2008). Cultural studies. Sage Publications. Bhabha, H. K. (2010). The location of culture. Routledge. During, S. (2008). Cultural studies: A critical introduction. Routledge. Gandhi, L. (1998). Postcolonial theory: A critical introduction. Columbia UP. Muchimba, F. (2008). Liberating the African soul. Authentic Publishing. Vanlalchhuanawma. (2007). Christianity and subaltern culture: Revival movement as a cultural response to westernisation in Mizoram. ISPCK. Ashcroft, B., Griffiths, G., & Tiffin, H. (Ed.) The postcolonial studies reader. Routledge, 2008. Print.

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Fanon, F. (2007). Black skin, white masks. Penguin. Print.Foucault, Michel. Fanon, F.(1994). Power. ( J. D. Faubion & R. Hurley, Trans.). The New Press, Print. Fanon, F. (1999). Religion and culture. J. Carrette (Ed.). Routledge. Print. Lewin, T.H. (2007) A fly on the wheel or how i helped to govern India. W.H.Allen & co, 1885Print.

Chapter 12

No Song and No Dance: Invention of Tradition and Lushai Resistance to Cultural Colonialism: 1904–1911 Sajal Nag

Abstract The Christian Missionaries who came to ‘tame’ the Mizos by converting them into Christianity, considered all tribal cultural traits as ‘savage.’ What they abhorred most was the tendency of the tribals to break out on every occasion into song and dance involving free mixing of men and women with unlimited alcohol. On the other hand, the missionaries with their Victorian mindset were disliked most by the local community. The heathen when converted was disciplined in the form of abjuring his traditional way of life. The intervention of the missionaries on the cultural domain of the people was initially ignored but the growing influence of the missionaries alerted the Mizos. As the Mizos saw through the cultural imperialism of the missionaries they started a strong resistance movement by resorting to the song and dance performances as a mode of cultural renewal. Puma Zai, an almost forgotten cultural practice was revived to launch the resistance movement. The fightback was vigorous and powerful that forced the missionaries to accommodate the traditional song and dance performative forms within the Church practice. Keywords Missionaries · Christianity · Savage · Mizos · North East India · Culture · Tribal · Song and Dance Although the ostensible catalyst to Christian missionary activities in the hill areas of North East was the ‘civilising mission’, the real push was the ‘colonial conquest’ of the hill tribes. The East India Company in India was opposed to missionary activities initially, for it feared that their intervention would disturb the peace in the colonies and eventually jeopardize its interest in spite of the fact that the Charter Act of 1813 of the British Parliament removed restrictions on missionary activities in the colonies. However, failing to contain the tribes, who disturbed its frontiers constantly, the East India Company decided to invite and allow Christian missionaries to work among the hill tribes of North East. The rationale put forward was that the missionaries S. Nag (B) Department of History, Assam University, Silchar, Assam 788011, India e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 K. C. Baral (ed.), Cultural Forms and Practices in Northeast India, People, Cultures and Societies: Exploring and Documenting Diversities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-19-9292-6_12

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through evangelization would ‘civilise’ the ‘savage tribes’ thereby ‘taming’ these ‘unruly’ elements. The fact that Christian missionaries had been able to achieve such a feat in European colonies in South America and Africa provided the stimulus. Even before the missionaries had any idea of the tribes, the colonial administrators and anthropologists had constructed a discourse of North East tribes as ‘primitive’ and ‘savage’ who needed to be humanized and civilized through the intervention of western cultural and civilizational processes that could be brought in by the Christian missions. The tribes also failed to fit into the ethical/moral structure of the European society, for the tribes had no sense of shame being naked, no sense of morality living in perpetual permissiveness, having savage rites hence all their cultural artefacts such as songs and dances were reduced to incompressible non-sense; the tribal was constituted in the image of a perfect heathen waiting to be saved by Christianity. This was a powerful narrative to save the heathen from his blindness. ‘Primitive’,1 as a metaphor reduced tribal communities to a state of cultural abyss. The colonial narrative weaved around the tribes was to look down upon them as ‘uncultured’ and ‘uncivilised’; both words could be used interchangeably. Incidentally, the unperturbed continuation of the British rule in the hills depended on the subjugation of these savages that seemed to be impossible militarily. Christianity therefore seemed to be a better option to conquer these tribes culturally and morally. The idea was once the tribes who belonged to an unorganized and un-institutionalized animist faith, were converted to Christianity, they would not view the white men as hostile trespassers and would then succumb to peaceful co-existence. It was David Scott, a Civil Servant in Assam, (1804–1831) who first sought the assistance of the Christian missionaries in taming the Garos so as to prevent their outrages.2 Francis Jenkins, who was Commissioner of Assam also confirmed that ‘To put an end to their (of tribes) outrages, there could be no other means than a reformation of their feelings and habits through Christian religion’ (Barapujari, xx). The missionaries who came to the region already had an informed idea that they were going to work among the ‘savages’; their task was to ‘civilise’ them and the way to do it was through evangelism. In other words, nakedness, archaic methods of food gathering, belief in animistic faith, kidnapping, raiding, and ‘headhunting’ were already defined as features of savagery and barbarism. The missionaries came with a mindset of superiority with a well-entrenched sense of Eurocentrism to encounter the lowborn savages, the colonized others and the white man’s burden. In their acts and attitudes towards the tribal, they exhibited the attitude of masterfulness rather than empathy.

The Tribal as the Ugly ‘Savage’ The early missionary texts on tribes are full of pejorative and uncharitable references. Rev. E G Phillips referred to some of the tribes as ‘blood-thirsty savages’ (Phillips, 1887, 54). He even found them ‘most desperate and incorrigible’. For others like D

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E Jones ‘detesting excessive labour’ and ‘laughing too much’ were signs of being uncivilized with some tribes. About the Lushai Hills, J M Morris (1930, 1980) wrote: The inhabitants were regarded by the few Europeans then residing in Bengal, as the fiercest and most barbarous of all the tribes within the province, notorious for their headhunting expeditions to the neighbouring plains. The object of these raids was to obtain human skulls with the object to adorn the graves of their ancestors, the belief prevailing that the spirits of the slain would become the slaves of their ancestors in the spirit world (77).

A narrative of savagery was reinforced by derogatory registers as in Lloyd’s (1930) words describing the Mizos1 as ‘lazy, cruel, superstitious and very prone to drunkenness’ (Lloyd, 1930, 24). Thomas Oldham (1856) mentioned the bad qualities of Khasis in similar language that ‘dissoluteness of manners and drunkenness were the most prominent’ (79) features of them. Of the Tangkhul Naga, Pettigrew (1934) wrote disapprovingly of their addiction of Zu (rice beer). Further, in his annual report, he stated that a Meithei was reckoned as ‘a liar’ but the Tangkhul Naga could easily beat the former in the art of lying (Pettigrew, 1934, 35). Another characteristic that the missionaries associated with tribalism was their institution of marriage. They often frowned upon the sexual openness of these tribes but what they strongly disliked beside polygamy was the ease with which tribal men abandoned their married wives. In other words, the absence of divorce laws and the weak institution of the marriage itself were associated with tribal life. The worst feature in the manner of the people and one likely to be a serious obstacle to the missionary is the laxity of their marriage, indeed divorce is so frequent that their unions can hardly be honoured with the name of marriage (Yule, 1894, 612).

These instances speak volumes about the missionaries and their attitude to the local tribes. In the process, the narrative that took shape in the larger colonial discourse was an attitude that undermined all aspects of tribal life. The cultural aspects of the tribes such as song and dance were also considered as heathen rituals. If a tribe has to be civilized, they have to be cleansed of all that they possess, tradition and value.

Song and Dance Culture of the Mizos In most cases of social celebrations among the tribal communities singing and dancing used to be given primacy over individual acts of ritual and ceremony. The missionaries detested the tribal practice of breaking into community singing and dancing in big feasts, where animals were sacrificed, for the celebrations usually resulted in unbridled drunkenness. The missionaries in their efforts tried to discourage such practices. In fact, resistance to missionaries often resulted in return to ‘heathenism’ in organizing elaborate dance and song performances by the tribes. Like most tribal communities, the Lushais2 too had their folk dances and 1 2

Lushai and Mizo are used interchangeably. Mizo is a recent use for Lushai. See Footnote 1.

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songs which they performed whenever they had celebrations and other social events. In fact, songs and dances were the core and integral part of their cultural life. It is said, ‘to sing is another word for being a Mizo and Mizos agree that it is the Zai that makes the Zo and not vice versa. In other words, it is art which makes Mizo possible and not the other way round’ (Thirumal et al., 2019, 68). Besides their daily chores, songs and dances were performed during rituals and various Kuts (festivals). Indeed, songs formed a very special feature of Lushai life (Tonson, 2019, 28). Songs were composed and sung all the time. The theme of songs could comprise of loss of near and dear ones, migration, success in war, capture of slaves, great hunts, etc., in a sense remembering the past. The composers of such songs enjoy some social status whether rich or poor while celebrating Khuangcawi, tong, sa-ai, or ral-ai. The songs were handed down from one generation to the next. Love songs are of special significance to Mizos. When a boy falls in love, he sings a song expressing his feelings to a girl and the girl replies with a song. When chiefs or village elders decided matters of war and peace, they would rather compose a song than explain matters in detail to the village council. Songs were sung both individually as well as by a group. Community songs were accompanied by dances. These songs recorded personal as well as community history. For a people who have no writing culture, the recording of history has been possible only because these songs were sung repeatedly. In fact, songs were the oral mode of recording the past. Most of Mizo history could be easily reconstructed from their songs. It is amazing that songs of twenty generations such as the ‘song of Pu Songthu’ are still remembered. Most villages had a bard whose job was to compose songs on the developments of the village and its inhabitants that reflected the history of the village. It was an institutionalized practice. Unfortunately, with the advent of colonialism, this institution lost its importance and gradually faded away. But the songs that survived in people’s memory help us to record, reconstruct and corroborate the history of the Mizo from the late 1940s. For example, during the British withdrawal, the Lushais were in a dilemma whether to merge with India or Burma or remain independent. Their dilemma and the resolution were composed and campaigned through singing and dancing. India zawm duh chu lal banna Independence duh chu lal lalna

It was a dilemma for the Mizos to decide; joining India would bring an end to the institution of the Chief which majority of the people wanted; if independent would ensure its continuation. The Mizo Union party that was at the centre of this difficult political conundrum was internally divided. The following lines unravel the division: Union le Union a dang mange Union vantlang kan tanrual lain Dawrpuii Union ve che rual elna

(Though both the parties are called Mizo Union, they are different from each other. While the Mizo Union is trying to unite the people, the Dawrpuii (Pachunga) faction speaks ill of others and cause disunity).

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Similarly, while going through the trauma of counter-insurgency measures, the Mizos had recorded their sufferings under the village regrouping scheme. Sukliana of Sialsuk composed the following song (in English version): Pity of pities our villages are grouped Every where in Zoram, hills has lost its beauty Women, children, men gathered from every hill Feel homeless and stranded like the Riakmaw bird In the new place where friends and loved ones gathered I still pine for our old motherland (village) Where the gentle prince (God) who love us also dwelt I dare not contemplate this grief of our land Departed our white skinned mentors Oh God! who succour the poor, I pray thee Set our tottering land on its feet again Silent are the countryside and the churches Where we lived and sang with our near and dear ones Lovely doves yearning for their mates haunt them now And frequented by flock of birds They now lie forlorn O Lord! Forgive us all our sins and trespassers (Which have caused us this uprootedness) Holy Spirit, Zion’s fair flowers Hold me with your powerful hand that bless men Till I reach your sweet and bright heavenly homes When I recall the past Our villages where we lived happily has become deserted Solitary and lonesome I cry ignoring peoples’ remarks I feel lonely and solitude to spend the day alone I will ever remember my village even after a long time

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Just like that I promise to remember my village Oh.! The village of Sialsuk; be not afraid, good bye for now When I am lonely I cry like an infant Days and years passed by [But] I still continue to sing your praise Oh the village of Sialsuk you are too worthy My friends and relatives Come back to your village Our village where we lived and enjoyed Have become deserted Let us mourn by crying together So that our grief and sorrow may pass away Let us rebuild our village Let us ignore the kawr vai So that we may be released from their repression Let us adore our golden village Let us sing a song of happiness To let them know about us.3

The post-regrouping Mizoram witnessed the popularity of choir music that in turn dislodged the traditional hmilim dances in Mizo villages. The hmilims were now isolated and were limited mostly to the older generation who found it difficult to pick up new types of discipline introduced by the Presbyterian Church. The love songs that constitute the emotional outpouring of lovers came under serious stress after 1966, because of night curfews that continued for many years. Nulah-rim was a traditional practice, for Mizo young men who go out in the evening to court girls. It happened with the knowledge of the parents till such courtship resulted in marriages. Because of night curfews, Nulah-rim was not possible resulting in loneliness and frustration. Songs were composed on loneliness and pining of lovers called lung lenna (Goswami, 1979, 184–85). These songs came to be known as ‘kurfew songs.’ The saying that zai (song) makes zo(man) is very significant that Mizos have songs for all occasions; song-making and dancing were the core of Mizo cultural life. This tradition constituted the core of communication and also in contemporary use ‘popular culture.’

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Attack on Mizo Culture The European missionaries associated the songs and dances as aspects of tribal orgies reflecting their savagery. On these occasions, the human body was described while men would sing of women’s breasts; women would tease men for the absence of breasts. There were sexual innuendos and erotic exchanges. The dancers would talk about the intricacies of lovemaking in their songs. The missionaries viewed these as ‘vulgar’ and tried to stop such a practice. The feasts and festivities of the people and other celebrations were considered by missionaries as immoral and un-Christian. Moore (1992) held a view that reinforced the un-Christian ways of the tribes, stating that: All these hill people are demon worshippers, but each tribe has its own demons, and its own ceremonies, preserved in pristine purity, or largely modified by their environment (13).

The missionaries abhorred drinking of Zu (local rice bear) and free intermingling of men and women often leading to sex. They wanted such practices stopped outright. Mizo religious rites and community festivals could not be organized without flowing of Zu. Even the converted Christians continued to observe traditional religious ceremonies in times of crisis and never ceased to use the country liquor that became a concern for the missionaries. Abstinence from Zu was made mandatory for the converts and the Protestant converts were committed to it. The missionary campaign to stop the widespread use of opium—a habit that enjoyed the patronage of the colonial state, (deriving considerable income from the monopoly it had on the trade), had social implications far beyond the Christian community. This had led to the contradiction between the colonial state policy and the evangelical endeavour of the missionaries. A few who were converted to Christianity by the missionaries had to give up drinking but could get into the habit of taking opium; this is called by the missionaries as ‘back sliding.’ The missionaries often opposed the songs and dances of the Mizos on moral grounds. They also opposed to the use of drum and dance in Christian revival programmes. The Mizos did not agree with the missionary views on tribal customs, their hostility towards drinking and betel nut chewing. They resisted attempts to reform and the civilizing process that would erase their traditional cultural identity. Eventually, the missionaries accepted some Mizo cultural practices as part of Christianity thereby leading to overall indigenization of Christianity in North East India.

Loss of Hope for the Missionaries The Lushais considered the white colonials and the missionaries as strange human species for their skin complexion and attires. However, they understood that British administrators and the missionaries were kinsmen, for which the administration refrained from any violent attack on the latter. Initially, the behaviour of the missionaries was a source of amusement for them as they indulged in ridiculing them. One

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of the methods of the early missionary campaign by F. W. Savidge and J. H. Lorrain was to tour around villages, preach and sing hymns on the streets. To see the duo’s activities, with surprise and curiosity the villagers would flock around them. Singing on the street was an odd act for a Mizo, especially in the broad daylight (Glover, 1944, 115). They found it unbelievable that a person, without being drunk that too in broad daylight, could shout (preach) and sing on the street. They could not figure out the God (Jesus) that the missionaries were singing about and praising. They also wondered why the missionaries were carrying their luggage by themselves and did not possess guns like others (Kyles, 1944, 13). As all missionary actions did not fall within Mizo perception of normal human social conduct they thought of the missionaries as stupid people who had run away from their kinsmen (Lawmsanga, 2010, 84–85). There was a song about the two early missionaries: I see two clowns; I know two fools; Two big fools I see; I see them coming along the hills, Aia, I e, u aw, aia e (Chuautera, 1936, 63).

The missionaries were initially addressed as ‘Sap â’ (abnormal/stupid sahib) or ‘Sap vâkvâi’ (wandering sahib). Later on, ‘Sap â became a reverential address instead of stupid, as it came to mean a respectable elder. The missionaries found that the proselytization of the Mizos was ‘hard and often disheartening’ because ‘the Lushais had their vices and their virtues’ (Lloyd, 1930. 24). They were said to be lazy, cruel, superstitious, and prone to drunkenness. They were reluctant to abandon their traditional ways of life. Since the colonial government had entered the hills so recently and the heads of the government were white men, many Lushais took the missionaries as agents of the government (ibid). The missionaries saw that it was essential to destroy this misconception for the spread of the Gospel. This took some time but gradually the prejudice died out. Emphasis on ‘saved through the blood of Jesus’ created curiosity among the Mizos to know the kind of magic that was in such blood (Ibid). In fact, Reverend Jones’ enthusiasm and the fact that on every possible occasion, he spoke of Jesus puzzled many. He preached in the market, in the young men’s dormitory (Zawlbuk), and organized services on Sundays in various places. Hence, it was obvious that the Lushais found him to be a ‘Mad White man’ and that’s what they called him (Lloyd, 1930, 25). Although the number of Christian converts began to increase in the hills, they were facing strong opposition from the Chiefs (Hminga, 1987, 61). There were many cases of persecution of converts by Chiefs. There were hostile reactions from the parents and general public as a whole towards young Mizos abandoning Mizo rituals and cultural practice. In fact, the Chiefs accused Christians of disobeying orders when they observed Sunday as no-work Day. ‘Most Chiefs were hostile to the Christian movement, perhaps because they thought Christians were becoming a disruptive element in the normal village life. It was also possible that they saw Christianity a possible threat to their already limited authority as it involved acknowledgement…

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of Jesus, as Lord’ (Ibid). As the number of Christians and seekers of new faith grew, hostility to Christians also increased. The young preachers were often challenged by village ‘toughs’ (as a practice amongst the Lushais to challenge visitors) to a bout of wrestling. Sometimes, men used to coerce them to drink Zu (rice beer) and this happened to Reverend Jones himself. The Christians were often beaten up during their services and some of them received serious injury (Lalsawma, 1994, 39–42). The Chiefs expelled some Christians at midnight under torrential rain. Some had their beddings soaked in water. The converts were forced to perform impressed labour and fined while husbands were encouraged to batter their Christian wives. Converted women were stripped and paraded naked (Hminga, 1987, 61). Vanchhunga, one of the first evangelists in the North, has a list of five Chiefs who persecuted Christians the most. They were—Vanphunga of Zawngin; Thangkama of Sihfa; Lalzika of Buhban; Dorawta of Saitual; Lalruaia of Lailak. Additional modes of persecution, he mentioned, was that the Chiefs also forbade giving food to Christians, denied them of their privilege of cultivation. In some villages, non-Christians refused to bury Christians, which was a real test when there were two or three Christians in a village. Refusal to bury any one was contrary to the traditional Mizo custom. Usually, the Christian message was communicated through hymns and singing, so the opponents made a counter-attack using songs having dance added to it. It is worth noting that one of the reasons for the slow pace of Christianization was because of the Mission’s dislike of indigenous customs and rituals. The missionaries put all efforts to replace local customs and practices with western ways of life (Nag and Kumar, 2002, 113).

Indigenization of the Church: A Response to Cultural Revivalism The colonization of the Mizos was a turbulent event in the history of the tribe. The advent of missionaries only compounded the disruption of their socio-cultural lives that the colonial state had already initiated. The missionary attempt at conversion actually involved a multi-pronged attack on the tribal society and culture. Firstly, it branded the Mizos as ‘savage.’ Secondly, it subjected every aspect of Mizo social life and rituals to severe denigration; their songs, dances, sexual norms, gender relationship were singled out for criticism. Thirdly, they were encouraged to give up their traditions, which they held dear for time immemorial in order to accept a new faith. An alien-human form was presented to them as their God in preference to their own Pathian, who was neither visible nor imaginable. The Colonial State had already snatched away their political freedom and dislocated their economic life. It made them lose their power and image of a mighty people capable of terrorizing the people of the plains. The missionaries only supplemented it by attacking their cultural life. There was an increasing sense of defencelessness and alienation from such attacks. A British administrator depicted the situation in stating that: ‘The

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advent of the British form of government and control of the tribe, for a time, certainly paralysed people. This was inevitable. Raiding excursions by the Lushai had been countered abruptly by the permanent incursion of a power and a might far beyond the full comprehension of innate Lushai. All through the history of the Lushai there was a strong desire for respect and power of the tribe. The British occupation of the Lushai presented to them a power hitherto unforeseen and unimagined. The world of the Lushai was staggered, bewildered. Within their land, the Lushai people soon found two powerful forces at work. One was the colonial Government in the personality of the Political Officer, later the Superintendent of Lushai hills, and the other was the missionary, who had come into Lushai Hills, on the heels of the British conquest. The former aimed at securing peace, law, and order while the latter aimed at converting the Lushais from their animist beliefs to those of the Christian religion as interpreted from their standpoint. ‘Against these varying contacts the Lushai had no equipment on which to fall back for strength except their traditions and the stories of their grandfathers’ (McCall, 1977, 196–97). Initially, they ignored the missionary propaganda. But soon they followed it up by fierce opposition. When they failed against aggressive proselytization efforts of the missionaries; they started a cultural revivalist movement that gained momentum around 1908. It was at this point the periodic famine resulting from Bamboo flowering and rat proliferation visited the Lushai hills (during 1904–11). The missionaries took advantage of the situation to win the hearts of the Lushais with their philanthropic work. They combined distribution of food items as philanthropic act with evangelical revival festivals. The revivals were organized as prayer meetings to pray together to the Lord seeking blessings in times of distress. In 1906, there was a significant incident that brought unprecedented growth of Christianity in Mizoram. The waves of Christian revival in Wales from where the Christian missionaries had come to Lushai Hills (1904) and Khasi Hills (1905), reached Mizoram through ten Mizo delegates who attended the Presbyterian Assembly held at Mairang (in Khasi hills) in 1906. The delegates from Mizoram brought home the ‘revival’ wave and it came to be known as Harhna or ‘Revival’ of Mizo Christians. The intensity of the ‘revival’ continued for about a fortnight in Aizawl. There were prayer services every night. In their singing, they waved their hands, swayed their bodies, and many kept time with their feet but did not step forward from their place and it was much similar to the ‘Revival’ process in Khasi Hills. D. E. Jones, a Welsh missionary in his correspondence to R. J. Williams noted that the increase of Church members to 86 was because of the impact of the ‘revival’ (Roberts, 1907, 81). Thanga, one of the earliest Mizo Christians who was deeply involved in the revival and the Christianization process of Mizo society claimed that around 300 were converted to Christianity (Tlanghmingthanga, 1994, 22–23) during the revival. While the source of John Hughes Morris claimed that among 400 who supported or were interested in Christianity 89 were baptized within a few months (Morris, 1990, 82). Thus ‘Revival’ wave had spread like wildfire throughout Mizoram. It was witnessed at Khandaih (now Phullen), Muthi, Maite, Sakawrtuichhun, Saihum, and Ngopa in 1906 (Kipgen, 1997, 209); Bunghmun in 1907 or early 1908; Pawlrang in 1908; and Zokhawsang in 1909 (Lalsawma, 1994, 42–44).

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In many villages, the revivalists used to hold open-air meetings. Thus, in the process of Christianization of the Mizo, music played a very prominent role. The Welsh missionaries who were familiar with the famine in their homeland during which they often organized revival meetings followed the same method and organized the same in the aftermath of the famine of 1904. They had successfully organized it in Khasi Hills already. It facilitated the spread of Christianity in two other ways. Firstly, it stopped the cultural revivalism that had swept and almost doomed the cause of Christianity in the Lushai hills on the eve of the famine. Secondly, by the sheer force of its cultural vitality, the Mizo compelled the foreign Church to adapt to the cultural practices of the people. Once the Church accepted it, it did not remain a foreign religion anymore. It was just another version of the indigenous religion, which made people easily grab it. This was the secret of the success of the Church in the Lushai hills in the early twentieth century. Both took place against the backdrop of the periodic famine.

The Physical Resistance to Cultural Colonialism The revival suddenly saw a growing number of Lushais gatherings at the camps. The Lushais saw through the missionary ploy to come to the aid of the famine-afflicted Lushais and then attract them to their religion. This sent a dangerous signal to the nonChristian Lushais. All along the Lushais saw missionaries roaming around the hills, campaigning in favour of a strange God, singing on the streets. The non-Christian Lushais ridiculed them and laughed at their audacity and demeanour. However, they did not resist their entry into their habitat. They saw in their own eyes their kinsmen joining the Christian faith leaving their traditional belief system, surrendering to a foreign God leaving their own community. In fact, whenever any Lushai converted to Christianity, he had to leave the village and community and begin to live in a new village outside the old one and refrain from any of his traditional cultural practices; even wear clothes given by missionaries. In other words, they were forming a new community of Christian Lushais leaving their own kinsmen. As the Christian community grew, the traditional Lushai community grew weaker. Now within the same domain, there were two Lushai communities—one holding on to the history, culture, and identity and the other who practiced the new religion formed a new community. The beleaguered community tried to fight back to stop the exodus to the Christian camp. It was done silently and without any planning. It grew as a spark but soon engulfed the entire Lushai hills. Vanphunga, Chief of Khandaih (now Phullen, Aizawl district) tried hard to stop mass conversion of villagers because it weakened control and authority over his subjects. Moreover, Lalkaichhungi, wife of Vanphunga, also hinted to her husband how Christians could cause the fall of his power (Hluna, 2019, 8). The newly converted Christians were offending the Mizo tradition being irreverent to conventional practices. In the village of Vanphunga, two newly converted Christian women Harkungi and Machepi wore puan¸tial (a kind of loincloth) reserved

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for Thangchhuah nu leh pa, the Mizo elite couples. If a man achieved the status of Thangchhuah his wife attained the status automatically and they became the elite couple. Men wore clothes to cover their upper body, while women fastened the cloth tightly to their waist and covered the lower part of the body in public. The actions of Harkungi and Machepi challenged the existing Mizo custom (ibid). In Mizo custom, puan¸tial represents the status of the elites who aspire a passage to Pialral, the ultimate abode of afterlife, a veritable paradise. In fact, this was a transitional period in that the conflict between tradition and change was apparent. Newly converted Christians started observing Sunday as nowork day (deviating from the village tradition) and abstained from ritual sacrifices such as Kawngpui siam, Fano dawi and other practices (Hluna, 2019, 11). Indeed, Vanphunga made a claim that 70 villagers died of Cholera epidemic due to the disappointment of spirits caused by introduction of the Christian religion (Ibid). He even called a meeting of neighbouring Chiefs, who were also his brothers—Thangkama, Dorawta, Lalzika, Lalruaia, Thawngliana, ¸ and Khawzadala and instructed them to contain the spread of Christianity (Hluna, 2019, 20). Prosecution of Christians happened in many ways by the Chiefs. When Vanphunga refused Christians to his new village Changzawl, a Christian missionary Edwin Rolands came to his village and made him agree that Christians would be allowed to settle at Changzawl and there would not be any discrimination against them in allotment of house sites. Missionaries were concerned about the continued persecution, and reported the matter to the Superintendent of Lushai Hills, H. W. G. Cole. The oral instruction of H. W. G. Cole was not effective; D. E. Jones went to Changzawl, the new village of Vanphunga with his team and confronted a confederation of Chiefs who were also younger brothers of Vanphunga. In the meeting, Thangkama, Chief of Sihfa, after making some fun of the shoes of Jones, asserted that they were lal (Chiefs) with absolute power to do whatever they like with their subjects and Jones can do nothing. D. E. Jones responded in saying that ‘I never knew that you are the lal to do this kind of things; I knew Edward VIII is the lal’, (Vanlalchhuanawma, 2006, 176) and left. Vanphunga even threatened that he would rather abdicate his lalna (Chieftainship) instead of having Christian subjects (Hluna, 2019, 25). D. E. Jones on his return to Aizawl reported the matter to the Superintendent of the Lushai Hills, H. W. G. Cole, who instructed Vanphunga to immediately stop persecution of Christians within a week; otherwise, his Chieftainship will be terminated. The instruction was followed by Cole’s visit to Vanphunga and the persecution ended (ibid). With the approval from colonial administration new villages for Christian converts were established. Abuses were known in some other villages but not extreme as that of Vanphunga. Chinhleia, Chief of Pawlrang village, neither prosecuted nor ill-treated newly converted Christians in his village but reacted when the revival wave reached his village through musical activity. In 1908, in a revival gathering, when the Christians were singing and dancing, he could not bear it and smeared the faces of the converts with cow dung (Lalsawma, 1994, 43).

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Invention of Tradition: Puma Zai as Organized Resistance When physical resistance did not work, the Lushais soon invented another form of resistance. It was planned silently and first experimented in the Phullen village that soon became popular and engulfed the entire Lushai Hills. The Lushais were conscious that the missionaries abhorred their dance and songs. Certain traditional songs and dances were revived and aggressively performed throughout Mizo Hills. The Mizo culture, which was losing ground suddenly found itself revived. It immediately caught the fancy of the people. They participated in it with renewed vigour. It was an attempt by the people to fight back and come on top of the new culture that was being introduced by the combined power of the British and the missionary. Knowing that the missionaries did not like Mizo ways of singing and dancing as it involved drinking alcohol, free mingling of men and women, and sexual innuendoes, it was performed more aggressively in front of the missionaries and the recently converted Christians. This was an attempt to spite the white men and isolate the converts from the mainstream of tribal community. It was a moment of cultural revival that was popularly known as Puma Zai movement. It was believed that Puma Zai was originally a prayer song addressed to God in sacrificial worship by the Biate Hrangkhawl and Sakechep tribes who were early occupants of the northern parts of the Mizo hills. It was a song in praise of God Puma (Zawla, 1994, 45). According to Biate sources, the word Puma came from Pumapa which meant God or the Chief. Literally, it means father (Pa) of the whole world; Puma meaning whole or all (Pa-meaning father; Puma was a derivation from Pumapa).4 In Hrangkhawl, it also has the same meaning as in Biate. Sakechep called Puma Zai style as Biate Hla, one of the songs used to be sung while a bride was conducted into the bridegroom’s house (Tonson, 2019, 124). Another version had it that Puma was a village bard who had composed catchy two-liner songs about the traditional life and culture of the Mizos. It had melody, and humour in colloquial language. It was also participatory. People who were performing it could use their own ideas too and create a new song in the same tune. Thus, common people not only participated in it they used these songs to comment on contemporary events that included the advent of the British, the works of the missionaries and their own situation. The song or chant was completed in two simple lines; the line ending with Puma had the final three syllables of the second line repeated (Lalswama in Tonson, 2019, 39–42). The rise and fall of the cadence were in a regular rhythm but the beat of the syllables in the line varied more or less in length. The very simplicity of the tune and naiveté of the composition made the song easy to repeat. In 1908, Puma Zai, with a new music style dominated Mizo music scene although it was in existence earlier.5 People present used to join the song by clapping. This event reinforced the resistance to Christianity in a unique way. It appears that Puma Zai was reinvented when there was the looming threat of complete loss of Mizo cultural identity. It perhaps helped to rejuvenate the demoralized people and revive the dying spirit to fight back. The song, in the form of a lullaby, was reported to have been composed by a woman called Darpisiaki (also

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known as Denga Nu) in the village of Lalhleia at Ratu which is about 80 kms to the north of Aizawl. Thangzika from Lalhleia village mimicked the song of Darpisiaki but modified the style by removing the words ‘Pu eldawng, dawngruaia’ and sang in a somewhat catchier way that attracted the village youth. The village youth then picked up Thangzika’s style and started to compose new songs in that style. There were no such mockery songs that had been recorded or memorized. The style became so popular that even young men of the village would sing the song on the street. By 1907, the song was popular in Ratu and gradually it spread to neighbouring villages of Bunghmun, Sunhluchhip and other villages. Two young men Thangkunga and Liangkhaia on their trip to Rathu in 1908 encountered an event of Puma Zai being sung at the Zawlbuk of Bunghmun. They memorized the song and sang when they were back to their village that was received with much appreciation. One day, the Chief joined a rice beer party where Puma Zai was sung (Zawla in Tonson, 2019, 324). Thangkunga, one of the young men, who brought the song to the village welcomed him as follow: Lalbawrhsappa, lal hmel¸tha a lo leng e, puma, I vangkhua chung siar zat chu kan tlanglam, kan tlanglam. (Father of Lalbawrhsap, handsome Chief visits us, Puma Your village is big, the number of household families is much as stars in the sky, we are dancing in community).

Sensing that the song in his praise moved Lalzika, another verse was instantly composed. Besides community celebrations, where Puma Zai performance became a necessary event, it gradually assumed ritual significance. One who offered a feast of merit or ai (Public feast) and achieved the status of Thangchhuah in the traditional system was honoured with Puma Zai composed in his honour. The man and his wife would be dressed with Thangchhuah puan (a shawl of Thangchhuah), Thangchhuah diar¸tial (stripe turban worn by Thangchhuah only) and a headdress of Thangchhuah called Thlanthla chang (tail of drongo) and carried by young men on a stretcher to the streets. The procession would be followed by a dance celebration; the dancers would put their left arms round on the person to their left while waving their right hand. Interestingly, even when there was no public feast, the village retained the festive mood and used to get together for singing Puma Zai. Colonial officers, H. W. G. Cole, the Superintendent of Lushai Hills and Col. C. H. Loch, Commandant of North Lushai Military Police Battalion visited the village of Zawngin during one of the Puma Zai sessions during their administrative tour. They were warmly received with Puma Zai and were so much impressed that the Superintendent donated a mithan’s price and exempted the village from impressed labour (Zawla in Tonson, 2019, 58). Other villages were not left behind. Puma Zai and its celebration soon spread to the whole of Mizoram. Its popularity deepened its social and ritual significance; the leader of the Puma Zai performance was granted the title of Thangchhuah; this entitlement spared him of offering a whole animal for sacrifice instead he could offer a few hairs of an animal or feathers for any ritual.

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The singing and dancing however continued even without Zu and the usual feasts that generally accompanied the session. A significant feature of Puma Zai was its relationship with the youth and their sense of ownership. Inclusiveness of Puma Zai became an alternative mode of music in contrast to the existing music culture of the Mizos that was monopolized by the Chiefs, village elites and elders with few exceptions. By the time Puma Zai rose into prominence in Mizo music scene, the colonial administration had been consolidated, and the independent village Chiefs were reduced to mere agents of the colonial government. The Chiefs silently witnessed the loss of their authority to the Christian missionaries. The Chiefs had no more extended control and influence over their subjects; they could no longer expel or punish those who defied the social order as was done by the Christians of Khandiah village. The sweeping changes that challenged social solidarity and tradition figured in the compositions of Puma Zai in the form of humour and satire that became a living testimony of common man’s perception of social change. As a song from the street, with its inclusiveness it embraced all. The following few illustrations would support the argument: Our village water-spring is a good spring Puma, For we espied belladonna taking bath, taking bath Our village blacksmith is an evil blacksmith Puma, For he can’t do a welding properly, iron welding Our village priest is an evil priest Puma For he cant wait sacrificial meat well cooked, well cooked. The BawrSap, (district Superintendent) our handsome Chief shows up Puma We your people as numerous as the stars are dancing, dancing. (Lalswma, 39-42)

There were debates among the Lushais about the spread of the Puma Zai and what it would achieve. There was criticism that the cult had done away with animal sacrifice thereby reducing the role of priests. But what was unanimously agreed that at least the movement would silence forever the Christian hymn and stamp out the new religion (Zawla in Rao, 1987, 269–70). In that sense the cult of Puma Zai was both a reformist and a resistance movement. As a participatory dance Puma Zai was also called Thanglam Zai—Song of Public Dance (ibid). Over a period of time, Puma Zai evolved to an all-encompassing genre. From being composed on common events, to songs of festivals and adulation, it became a mode of social criticism and humour. The songs were not only critical of the missionaries and the converts but also of traditional Mizo institutions and practices. As the society underwent change, the song itself underwent transformation and modification in the hands of Mizo poets such as Hmarawna (Awithangpa). Its basic form also changed. Instead of two liners it became three liners and the name Puma was dropped and the song was renamed as Thanglam Zai. The new name came from the change in its form and its performance. Formerly, one person was dancing in the centre encircled by

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singers who used to stage the dance between drinking bouts. The dance performance goes on repeatedly with repeating the same lines and clapping: Lelgkelhnute Vaiinsawrnaw raw, puma Lengkelhnute vaiinsawrnaw raw, puma Ridawmdawmruai e ruai e (The vais (outsider or non-Mizo) are milking the udders of the goats puma The vais are milking the udders of the goats puma There is a thumping, thumping) Vailenglawng Turirial dung kawingiai e puma Vailenglawng Turirial dung kawingiai e puma Ridawmdawmruai e ruai e (The boats of the vais are meandering along the length of Tuirial puma There is a thumping, there is a thumping) Aw relkansu, puma Zolerahsailianpuirilkansu puma e Ridawmdawmruai e ruai e (O we are washing intestines, puma On the edge of a hill we are washing the intestines of a large elephant, puma e There is a thumping, there is a thumping (Tonson, 2019).

Instead of one person, all the singers became dancers that changed the form of original Puma Zai. Thus, it became a song for public dance.

The Glorious Ramification In a short span of time, Puma Zai spread even to the inaccessible areas of Mizoram. The Chiefs were the most enthusiastic supporters of this movement and helped its prolonged celebration through feasting, dancing and drinking. Although Puma Zai was not religious in nature soon it was incorporated into ritual celebration of Ran lu kima ai—animal head ritual. Through Puma Zai, the Mizo, firstly, rediscovered tradition and was reassured that his culture was unassailable. Secondly, the movement became a challenge to Christianity and paralyzed its propagation. With the advent of Puma Zai, people refused to attend the evangelical sessions of the missionaries. The missionaries were ridiculed and were treated as objects of contempt. Thirdly,

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the Puma Zai movement succeeded in bringing the new converts back to the fold of the community and its tradition. J. M. Lloyd described the situation as: One of the severest tests came in 1908, when there was a sudden resurgence of heathenism. An old Lushai tune was set to new words and became immediately popular. The words were generally in praise of a great village Chief (Chiefs then were persecutors of Christians). It was reputed and by many, to have been sung by a jungle spirit. It spread like wild fire to all parts of the hills. Amazing manifestations of feeling accompanied the singing—almost as though the revival were parodied. Great feasts were held during which the young men and girls danced in ecstasy. These demonstrations were made in every village. The travelling preachers complained that preaching was a burden. The Gospel was losing ground and no one wanted to listen to it. The cause of Christ seemed doomed in Lushai (Llyod, 1930, 24-25).

James Herbert Lorrain, one of the pioneer missionaries in South Lushai hills while writing about Puma Zai in the Dictionary of Lushai language, wrote: Puma Zai, the name of an anti Christian song also known as Thlanglam Zai the avowed purpose of which was to oust Christian hymns. It became unbelievably popular throughout the Lushai country during1908 and was sung everywhere with feasting and communal dancing such as had never been witnessed in the Hills before (Lorrain, 1940, 261).

There was no doubt that Puma Zai movement was perceived as a threat to Christianity. The mountains were on fire with ‘the dizzy speed at which the festival travelled (the song spread like blazing bits of cotton) indicated the directionality and purpose’ (Thirumal et al., 2019, 85). The singing accompanied with frenzied dancing that reinforced the Mizo cultural identity and also reminded them of their ‘tangled situation (Ibid)’ in an altered space. ‘In some ways this altered presence may also be read as an effort to collectively remember who they were at that historical juncture’ (ibid). An early convert and evangelist, Saiathang remarked on the rapid spread of Puma Zai movement that ‘its popularity waned at times only to flare up again with redoubled intensity (Ibid)’. Another such new convert Darhula actually wrote an article in a Christian periodical denigrating the movement. The title of the article was ‘Answer to Puma Zai’ wherein he wrote: My friends ... There have been various kinds of songs in our land which developed but none has created so much problems and misled the people as Puma Zai. This kind of song is becoming popular at an alarming rate, why is this so. Because it is a song of evil. There is an expression which says that the path of good is uphill while the path of evil is an easy road. I believe that this kind of song is not the kind that will either improve or enrich the thoughts of people. In my opinion, this song is the worst possible kind. I think that because of this song our Zo ram has lost its beauty. I believe that young women are so affected by this song that they have lost their sexual inhibitions and followed the path of evil. No not only some of them, I believe it is all of the people. If we were able to talk to our Zo ram I think it will tell us this has made it depressed and embarrassed, this kind of song is sung in all places where Zu is consumed, young women, fathers, mothers young men sing it without any sense of embarrassment, they are so engrossed in the song they are unaware of their children, of our forefathers who could see us now... Nevertheless, it is the Puma Zai which is still a big problem; suppose a wise person from another land were to come for a visit he will be shocked to see the influence that the Puma Zai has on us and he will be tempted in the wrong direction; I am afraid that we will become more evil as time passes; do you not think it is time for us to cease praising it and make efforts to stop it? ...Let us get rid of all

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the undesirable and unwanted practises and rituals of Zo ram and turn our attention to the practices of other lands such as their hardworking nature, their intelligence, and their riches, let us ponder on these; it is better for us to learn from them (Thirumal et al., 2019, 86-87).

But the famine of 1911–12 came as a providential moment for the missionaries. The food shortage, starvation and threats to life weakened the movement. As the crisis intensified people withdrew from festivities in search of more pressing needs of food. Since the missionaries were organizing famine relief, they were no more seen as alien. In fact, people rushed to them for help. The contact with the missionaries was necessitated because they were the link between the administration and the people. Both in the north and south Mizo hills, ‘the salvation (for Christians) from the influence of Puma Zai came ultimately in the form of Mautam (famine) in 1911 and 1912 which effectively put a stop to all public feastings and entertainments’ (Lalsawma, 1994, 51). The missionaries seized upon the opportunity. ‘It is significant to note that this ribald spirit and the popularity of this song [Puma Zai] remained until the time of famine in 1911. It was only then that preaching in the villages began to be a little easier. The rice famine made the people hungry for the word of God’ (Llyod, 55). Post-famine, when people and missionaries got down to their daily lives, a gradual change was noticed in the attitude of the missionaries toward the features of the tribal culture. Although the missions were happy with the growth of Christianity in the hills, they did not forget the near defeat in the face of a cultural revivalist movement. In retrospection, they felt that Christianity as was practised in the West would not perhaps be acceptable to the tribes. Exuberant dance and songs are inseparable part of their culture and any attempt to curb them would only create further hostility. In fact, if such practices were absorbed as part of the Christian culture in this part of the world, it would pave the way for mass acceptability. Acculturation and indigenization were after all not new to Christianity. It had been a part of its history. The indigenization of the Church in Mizo hills was therefore conducted in two ways: (i) by employing more and more tribal evangelists and spreading the network of charitable dispensaries, schools and educational institutions in the interior of the region alongside building new churches; (ii) by accepting tribal feasts, dances and songs as part of the Christian festivals. The revival festivals for example could not be held without the tribal song and dance. The English hymns were too slow for such ecstatic activity. In every Church therefore a separate space was allotted in the central area for dancing, which was between the Communion table and the central Pew. Dancers moved out there and danced in circles to the end of the singing. Once a person started dancing, he or she had to carry on till the end of the song which was repeated from the beginning for many times. Since the performance was in the Churches, it was religious in nature and performed under the supervision of the priests hence it was cleansed of the so-called sexual innuendoes or immorality as was the case in secular tribal dance festivals. A Church historian maintained that ‘…the missionaries and early Christians were almost all opposed to the observance of traditional festivals…because the songs and dances were perceived to be either sexually suggestive or celebrations of war and head-hunting…because of their association

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with old religion… excessive dancing and drinking were involved’ (Downs, 1994, 224). He assessed the change in the following words, ‘In due course, the attitude of both missionaries and local Christians changed towards many of the things that had previously been frowned upon… One example is provided by developments associated with the first great revivals in Mizoram. While the Welsh missionaries strongly opposed the use of drums and dance among the Christians, their use was introduced in the revivals and has remained an important part of Mizo Christianity ever since’ (Ibid). This was very significant as it entailed that a strong institutionalized religion like Christianity ultimately succumbed to local cultural pressure and allowed itself to be adapted to tribal cultural features. It, in fact, was not tribal conversion to Christianity but to use the words of Susan Bayly (1989), Christianity’s conversion to Tribalism.6 Ultimately, it was indigenization of Christianity that made it acceptable. It was confirmed by a Mizo Church historian as well: ‘Underlying this numerical increase was a growing sense of ownership and spontaneity, a process of indigenization. Previously, Christianity was looked upon as something foreign, imported and inculcated into the society by the white people and their native helpers. And it would have taken quite a lot more time for the Chiefs and their councils to accept the new religion had it not been for the public who embraced it in mass conversion beyond their control. But now Christians through their experience of the work of the Holy Spirit gained new confidence that Christianity belonged to them too and not to the ‘Mission’ only and that the Church itself was their own. This sense of ownership as well as of belonging to one another in the Church was a very new thing and became a binding force that gave them strength to grow up in spontaneity and maturity’ (Lalsawma, 1994, 154). Revival as claimed was not matched with the actual record. It was followed by Puma Zai that emerged as song of the youth and came to be very popular after patronized by Chief, Lalzika who could not resist a composer’s flattery. Chief Lalzika was one of the brothers of Vanphunga who took the leading role in persecuting Christians. It is assumable that Lalzika was well aware of his position under the colonial administration and melted easily by the flattery. Thus, community music activity beyond elite rice beer drinking was extended to non-Christian Mizo youth by Puma Zai. Puma Zai culminated into Tlanglam Zai that set a new style for Mizo secular songs and dominated Mizo music scene till the Mautam (famine) of 1911–12. When life returned to normalcy after the famine, community music activity was confined again to the rice beer drinking parties. A new style Chheih Zai appeared in which a number of songs on different themes including World War I were performed. Notes 1. The word ‘primitive’ in its various dictionary meaning suggests an uncomplicated early life of humans; of course, the metaphor assumed a distinct meaning of cultural, economic, and social backwardness in the discipline of Anthropology and colonial ethnography. 2. David Scott is known to have introduced the ‘Non-Regulation System’ in relation to Garos and other tribes of NE. See Barooah, 1970, Choube, 1971).

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3. The first four translated songs are cited in V. Venkata Rao, et al. (eds), A Century of Government and Politics in North East India, Vol.iii, Mizoram. New Delhi: S Chand and Co, 1987, pp.269–70. Also see Goswami, B.B, Mizo Unrest: A Study of Politicisation of Culture. Jaipur: Alekh, 1979, pp.193–94. 4. In Chin-Kuki-Lushai languages, there is no pre-position in parts of speech but post-position. 5. The Puma Zai has an interesting popular history apart from the official one. It is said that a Mizo first heard and picked up Puma Zai from Biate porters of J. W. Edgar, (the Deputy Commissioner of Cachar) who led the expedition of the Cachar Column of the Lushai Expedition in 1871–1872. There were a number of Kuki among the coolies in the expedition and the Kukis were none other but Biate and Hrangkhawl. Interestingly, there is no instance of verses known through these coolies and said to have disappeared soon to be recollected by some Mizo who procured rice from the plain and transported the same on the Tuirial River during the Thingtam ¸ famine in 1880 that he encountered some labourers who used to sing the song. The man with his companions composed songs in the style when they reached back their village. Puma Zai was also known to be acquired through Biate porters of the Surma Valley Battalion of Military Police commanded by W. W. Daly who was sent to Mizoram with Chin-Lushai Expedition of 1889–90 to punish some Mizo Chiefs for their raids on some villages under the British. The force with 400 men arrived at Aizawl on February 4, 1890, and was reinforced by the Northern Column under Colonel Skinner. After the expedition, some 200 men of the Surma Valley Battalion of Military Police were left behind at Aizawl. The military policemen used to milk goat to the amazement of the Mizo which they had not known yet and started to compose songs in the Biate style. There is also a version that Puma Zai was known to the Mizo even before the Lushai Expedition of 1871–72. According to that version, there was a village of a Mizo sub-group called Khawchung which can be identified as Thado near the border to Cachar from whom some Mizo learned the song while collecting rubber in the nearby forests. Songs composed in the tune and style of Puma Zai was not popular immediately. But it was during the Second Vailen of 1889–1890 meaning the British attack on the Mizos that Puma Zai was reinvented. The British came into contact with the Mizos in 1823 and since then there were regular encounters between the two. In all these encounters, it was always the Mizos who got away with raids, attacks, ambushes despite the fact that the British led some very successful expeditions and counterraids. But the Mizos never really faced the threat of complete defeat. But the expedition of 1889 was the final assault by which the Mizos were completely vanquished and the British rule was eventually established in the heart of Lushai hills. 6. Susan Bayly’s work Saints, Goddess and Kings: Christians and Muslims in South Indiana Society 1700–1900, Cambridge, 1989 refers to the situation in the Southern part of India but her observations are equally valid in the context of N E India.

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References Barooah, N. K. (1970). David Scott in North East India. Munishram Manoharlal Bayly, S. (1989). Saints, goddess and kings: Christians and Muslims in South Indian society 1700– 1900. Cambridge Univ. Press. Chaube, S. K. (1971). Hill politics in North East India. Orient Longman Chuautera. (1936). “The Two White Fools,” Missionary Herald, March , p. 63. Downs, F. S. (1994). Christianity and social change. In M. S. Sangma & D. R. Syiemlieh (Eds.), Essays on christianity in North East India. Indus. Glover, D. F. (1944). Set on a hill: The record of fifty years in Lushai country. Carey Press. Goswami, B. B. (1979). Mizo unrest: A study of politicisation of culture. Alekh. Hminga, C. L. (1987). The life and witness of the churches in Mizoram. Baptist Church. Hluna, J.V. (2019). Khandaih Harhna. Aizawl: Dr John V Hluna, 2006 cited in T. Vanlal Remruat Tonson, “History of Mizo Music: Antiquity to Contemporary Times”, unpublished Ph D thesis, Department of History, Mizoram University. Kyles, D. (1944). Lorrain of the Lushais: Romance and realism on the North East frontier of India. Sterling Tract Enterprise. Lalsawma, R. (1994). Four decades of revivals: The Mizo way. In A Gospel Centenary Souvenir. Synod (pp. 39–42). Lawmsanga, B. (2010). A critical study on Christian mission with special reference to presbyterian church of Mizoram. Ph.D. Thesis, University of Birmingham. Letter of D. E. Jones to Williams, dated Aijal April 12, 1906 cited in Mangkhosat Kipgen (1997).Christianity and Mizo Culture, Mizo Theological Conference. Lieut. Y. H. (1894). Notes on the Khasi Hills and people. Journal of Asiatic Society of Bengal, XII(Part II), 612. Lloyd, J. M. (1930). On every high hill. BMP. Lorrain, J. H. (1940). Dictionary of the Lushai language. Asiatic Society. McCall, A.G. (1977). The Lushai chrysalis. Aizawl: Govt. of Mizoram (Indian reprint). Moore, P. H. (1886). “Need of a Native Ministry” in Papers and Discussions of Jubilee Conference of the American Baptist Missionary Union held in Nowgong, Dec. 18–29. Spectrum, Rpt. 1992, p.13. Morris, J. H. (1990). The story of our foreign mission (2nd ed.). Synod Publication Board. Nag, S., & Kumar, S. (2002). Noble Savage to Gentlemen: Discourses of Civilization and Missionary Modernity in North East India. Contemporary India, Journal of Nehru Memorial Museum and Library, New Delhi, 1(4), 113–128. Oldham, T. (1856). Calcutta review, vol. XXVII. Pettigrew, W. (1934). Forty years in Manipur, Assam: An Account of the Works of Rev. and Mrs. William Pettigrew, Reprinted by J.M. Solo and K. Mahangthei (1986). Christian Literature Centre. Phillips, Rev. E. G. (1887) Historical Sketch of the Garo Field. In Papers and Discussions of Jubilee Conference of the American Baptist Missionary Union held in Nowgong, Dec. 18–29, Reprinted on 1992. Guwahati: Spectrum Rao, V. V. et al. (eds). (1987) A century of government and politics in North East India, vol. iii, Mizoram. S Chand and Co. Roberts, J. (1907). The revival in the Khasi Hills. Mrs. John Roberts. Thirumal, P, Laldinpui, K., & Lalrozami, C. (2019). Modern Mizoram, history, culture, poetics. Routledge. Tlanghmingthanga K. Zorimawi. Aizawl: LTL Publications, 1994 cited in T. Vanlal Remruat Tonson, “History of Mizo Music: Antiquity to Contemporary Times”, unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Department of History, Mizoram University, 2019. Tonson, V. R. (2019). History of Mizo music: Antiquity to contemporary times, Unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Department of History, Mizoram University. Vanlalchhuanawma. (2006). Christianity and subaltern culture: Revival movement as a cultural response to westernisation in Mizoram. ISPCK.

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Zawla, K. (1994). cited in Lalsawma “Four Decades of Revivals: The Mizo Way” In A Gospel Centenary Souvenir (pp. 39–42). Synod. Zawla, K. (1987). Mizo Hla. cited in V. Venkata Rao, et al. (Eds.) A century of government and politics in North East India, vol. iii: Mizoram. S Chand and Co. Zawla, K. (2019). Mizo Pi Pute leh an Thlahte Chanchin, p 324; cited in T. Vanlal Remruat Tonson, History of Mizo Music:Antiquity to Contemporary Times, Unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Department of History, Mizoram University.

Chapter 13

Jagoi Raas, the Manipuri Raas Lila Tayenjam Bijoykumar Singh

Abstract Raas Lila of Manipur is one of the eight classical dance forms of India. Unlike other classical dance forms, Manipuri Raas Lila is a dance-drama choreographed to enact Radha-Krishna love romance with deep spiritual intent. Although inspired by Vaishnavite mode of Bhakti, this dance form known as Jagoi Raas has not lost its links with the tradition of folk-dance performance associated with Lai Haraoba. Manipuri Raas Lila is a team performance with its unique costumes, conventions and aesthetics. It is a graceful, fluid dance form that has strong links with the ethnic martial arts culture. While this dance form emphasizes Abhinaya in terms of Natya Sastra, it has also integrated some upper body movements and poses from the ethnic martial arts. Like any other art form, Manipuri Raas Lila has changed over time as it moved out of the temples to secular/commercial proscenium stage. Its transformation from a scared ritualistic dance to a secular dance form is significant in that it also underlines cultural identity and its uniqueness. Keywords Raas Lila · Jagoi Raas · Lai Haraoba · Classical · Secular and Martial art Nestled in the North East corner of India, the state of Manipur has a chequered history. Manipur, a kingdom with a stable territory, was ruled by many powerful kings. In the past, Manipur was known as ‘Poirei Meitei Leipak’ or ‘Kangleipak’. In the first recorded treaty between East India Company and Jai Singh (king of Manipur) in 1762 the kingdom was recorded as ‘Meeckley’1 (Naorem, 2015, may be a typographical error; it is ‘Meckley’ also in most British records). It is said that the name Manipur came into existence after king Jai Singh aka Bhagyachandra and his successors issued coins engraved with ‘Manipureshwar’, or ‘Lord of Manipur’ while Meckley was discarded. Later on, the work Dharani Samhita written in the reign of

T. B. Singh (B) Imphal, India e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 K. C. Baral (ed.), Cultural Forms and Practices in Northeast India, People, Cultures and Societies: Exploring and Documenting Diversities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-19-9292-6_13

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Gambhir Singh (1825–34) popularized the legends of the derivation of Manipur (Kabui, 1991, 2). Today, Manipur is the home to diverse ethnic communities. The largest ethnic group living in Manipur valley call themselves ‘Meitei’ or ‘Meetei’. Over centuries, many groups of people belonging to different races migrated from all directions and settled in the valley. They assimilated into the local population, enriching the language, culture and traditions. Frequent intermarriages with different tribes in the surrounding hills also enriched Meitei cultural life. More often than not the word ‘Manipuri’ is used as a generic term to encompass all the people living in Manipur. In the context of the present essay, the terms ‘Meiteis’ and ‘Manipuris’ are used interchangeably. Modern day Manipur is synonymous with dance and sports in the outside world. Manipur has produced many celebratory international and national sports stars and is a place for many renowned performing artists and authors. Many Manipuri dance forms are known for their gentle and graceful movements that are closely linked to the practice of martial arts. The complementarity between dance forms and martial arts underlines the centrality of the body in cultural expression. Cultural expression is indicative in the way a particular culture evolves over time. Certain forms carry forward the rooted traditions while other forms are adopted from other cultures and synthesized with certain traditional characteristics that define the composite cultural expression. The present-day Manipur is an example of cultural syncretism. It was possible because of the waves of migrants who came to Manipur between thirteenth and fifteenth centuries and got assimilated into the Meitei community and culture. Manipur valley became the site of consolidation of a rich composite culture. The migration from mainland India, in particular, from Bengal and Assam,2 happened during the time of the Islamic rule. Many Brahmins escaped to Manipur, for the valley was safe. There were others as well. Manipur has been traditionally at the cross road of trade that also encouraged migration. Nilkanta Singh (1993), an established Manipuri author and scholar writes: The Manipuris of the valley have, of course, been exposed to various waves of culture from all directions—east, north, south and west. The Aryan Brahmins started arriving from all parts of India, right from 15th Century A.D. and got themselves merged. So is the case with the Chinese, Burmese, Shans and Tais, all of which led to a composite racial group known as the Meities (1993, 62).

It is not only ethnic assimilation but cultural and religious synthesis that underlines Manipur’s cultural history. There are debatable accounts of existence of preVaishnavite Hindu worship in Manipur, with particular reference to the Vishnu (Bishnu) temple at Bishnupur built during the reign of king Kyamba (1467-1508 CE) (source: plaque at temple site, Superintending Archaeologist, Archaeological Survey of India, Aizawl circle) and the story associated with it.3 However, it was in 1704 that King Charairongba was initiated into Vaishnavism. His successor, King Garib Niwaz followed the Gaudiya (Propounded by Shri Chaitanya) Vaishnavism. Later, he was initiated into Ramanandi Vaishnavism. It was his grandson King Bhagyachandra

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who consolidated the Vaishnavite form of Hinduism in Manipur. The consolidation of the new religion brought about a cultural turn in Manipuri society. The spread of Vaishnavism under royal patronage and resistance to it at the initial stage resulted in the suppression of traditional religious practice. It was an unpleasant episode of Manipur’s history. However, the royalty has never totally dissociated from traditional religio-cultural practices. After the installation of the image of Shri Govindaji, king Bhagyachandra cast the bronze image of Lainingthou Sanamahi (Snamahi), the presiding deity of Sanamahi temple in Imphal. Many entries to this effect are found in Cheitharon Kumpaba (Cheitharol Kumbaba), the chronicles of the kings of Manipur. One such example is the installation of the deity of Shri Govinda: The month of Hiyangkei (October/November) began on Thursday... 12 Friday, after the dawn yuthak at about one pung hour which was reckoned as the Mahendra hour of the following Monday Shri Govinda was installed (Parratt, 2009, 9).

There are other entries also: The month of Kalen (April/May) began on Wednesday.... 7 Monday, they cast an image of (lai) Snamahi (ibid, 11). The month of Sachiphu (March/April) began on Saturday. 13 Wednesday, Yipungsi the Jubraj built the main Royal Palace for Ningthem at Kanchipur. On that day (the image of) lai Snamahi was inaugurated (ibid, 12) The month of Hiyangkei (October/November) began on Tuesday. 5 Saturday, Yipungsi Anantasai the Nongthonpa began to inaugurate the pool. On that day all the lais of the land including Shri Govindaji and Snamahi were immersed in the pond. Ningthem, Sija and all the royal ladies, the Ramanti monks along with the Bamons, most of the noble and the brave were made to go down into the pool and immerse themselves in it. Ningthem and Sija sang and danced (ibid, 18)

Traditional Meitei religion is centred on the veneration of multiple deities. Lai Haraoba or the pleasing of deities is the best example of this practice. It is a preHindu festival and an important festival of Manipur. Lai Haraoba has been preserved in its most pristine form; its dance forms and oral literary and poetic traditions are still intact even long after the Meities have become Hindus. Hinduism could not totally erase the pre-Hindu Meitei religion. Meitei religion reached a modus vivendi with Hinduism. This cultural adjustment also gave rise to new forms of art thereby creating an amazing synthesis of artistic, cultural and spiritual modes. The traditional dance forms have a deep spiritual resonance with a strong ritual practice. Traditional dance was performed to please the deities with strict humility and surrender. The practice of dance within the ritual-spiritual frame was not for the sake of dancing and was not meant for entertainment. No eye contact is made between the dancer and the spectator. Only at designated sacred locations dances could be performed; any violation of the decorum of the place would be considered as sacrilege. This tradition is called Sadhan-Bhakti—a kind of devotion to the deity from both dancers and the spectators. The second of the nine forms of bhakti is felt by the dancers that leads to the production of religious ecstasy of bhakti ras (prema

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bhakti) for the spectators could get immersed in. With its grace and fluidity, the performance in its sensuality and spirituality establishes communication between the divine, the dancers and the audience (Singh, K, 1988, 165–166). Extant local dance forms of the pre-Vaishnavite era are highly developed. When Vaishanvism emphasized its goal to experience spiritual ecstasy through Nam Kirtan, any dance form to adopt this objective was not to adopt a new form but to recreate the traditional dance form into a new mode in a different religio-spiritual context. Raas Lila performance became a product of this cultural process. The legend about its beginning goes that king Bhagyachandra conceived of this dance form along with its unique costume and music in a dream. Under successive rulers, new lilas with rhythmic and melodic compositions were introduced. However, some scholars underline the fact that the Raas Lila indeed was drawn on the aesthetic movements of older Lai Haraoba ritual dance. In both Lai Haraoba and Raas Lila dance, the body is central in rhythmic movement with the accompaniment of song and music within a given space, and is employed for the purpose of expressing an idea or emotion. A powerful impulse in dance is to release energy in the rhythmic expressive mode that not only delights spectators but also elevates their feelings. As Judith R Mackrell suggests, ‘A truly universal definition of dance must, therefore, return to the fundamental principle that dance is an art form or activity that utilizes the body and the range of movement of which the body is capable. Unlike the movements performed in everyday living, dance movements are not directly related to work, travel, or survival. Dance may, of course, be made up of movements associated with these activities, as in the work dances common to many cultures, and it may even accompany such activities. But even in the most practical dances, movements that make up the dance are not reducible to those of straightforward labour; rather, they involve some extra qualities such as self-expression, aesthetic pleasure, and entertainment’ (Mackrell, https:// www.britannica.com/art/dance/Social-dance, accessed on 07.02.2021). From eighteenth century onwards, the dance of Raas kept on evolving for over two centuries till it secured its place among the classical dances of the country. Raas Lila is performed in many parts of India. Among them Raas Lila of Vrindavan, Shri Krishna’s play garden is famous. While most forms of Raas Lila come under folk performance category, its Manipuri version is considered as a classical form. The Manipuri version covers Nata Sankritan,4 a Vaishnavite song-dance tradition. The words Raas and Lila are of Sanskrit origin. While Raas (Ras) literally means ‘juice, essence or taste’, an expression of aesthetic flavour, Lila connotes act or play or divine love play. Raas Lila more broadly means ‘Dance of Divine Love’. As it presents the divine love between Shri Krishna and Shrimati Radha along with the Gopikas (Gopis), it takes the form of dance-drama. In Manipur, it is known as Jagoi Raas meaning ‘dance of rasa’. The ultimate objective of Jagoi Raas is aesthetic sublimation. About Raas Swami Krishnananda explained, ‘In the height of divine love, reason stops … But we cannot compare mortal love with divine love, even as the silence of a poverty-stricken wretched person cannot be compared with the silence of the majesty of an emperor who has the whole Earth under his control … The greatest devotees of God are portrayed in the personality of the Gopis, and the

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reaction of God to the devotees is the reaction of Shri Krishna to the Gopis’ (Swami https://www.swami-krishnananda.org/disc/disc_303.html accessed on 19.03.2021). Initially, the performance of Jagoi Raas was confined to the temple precincts mostly as a performance before Shri Govindaji. Only during the twentieth century, it is moved out of the sacred space to secular arena. During his lifetime, Rajarshi Bhagyachandra founded three Raas Lilas, viz., (1) Maha Raas, (2) Kunja Raas and (3) Basanta Raas. His successors added two more, viz., (1) Nitya Raas and (2) Diva Raas. Singh maintans: The present Raas varieties are the sum total of the contributions made by different teachers of succeeding generations who were convinced that the pre-Vaishnavite traditions of dance as in Lai Haraoba, sword and spear dances and the Vaishnavite expressions are complementary and not contradictory (1988,173).

Legend says that Bhagyachandra, the king of Manipur, went into exile in Tekhao (The Ahom kingdom of the time was referred to by the Manipuris as such) because of the political situation in his kingdom. It is through the tribulations of his life till he regained his kingdom, he continued to be devoted to Lord Krishna. It was because of the Lord’s blessings that he could subdue a wild elephant. In his dream, he was instructed to carve out an image of Shri Krishna. He followed the divine instruction and carved out the image of Shri Govindaji from a Jackfruit tree and worshipped him. The deity was installed in 1776 in the temple built for the purpose. It was declared that from the day of consecration, Shri Govindaji would be the symbolic head of the country and the king would carry out his duties to his subjects in the name of the deity (Danisana, 2012, IX). A devout Bhagyachandra could not put his creative mind idle. He sought help and advice of renowned masters of dance, instrumentalists and pundits to create a form of dance that had no parallel. According to Danisana, ‘In the preparatory period of the initiation of Maha Ras, Rajarshi selectively consulted Khumbong Sidhanta Maniram and Bhakti Vyas Thakur’ (2012,162). There were others who were associated with the task. In one version, it is said that Rup Paramananda Thakur, Ram Bairag Thakur, Bhakti Vyas Thakur and Khumbong Sidhanta Maniram were the innovators and consultants to Guru Ngangbam Svarupananda, the first Guru who designed the visual presentation of the Raas Lila. In another version, it is said that Kabo Khumbongba, brother of Khumbong Sidhanta Maniram, is the Guru to whom the responsibility of teaching the dance was entrusted. In spite of the difference in versions, it is presumed that the Gurus are imaginative consultants in the panel of experts who jointly prepared the Maha Raas (Danisana, 2012, 163). Manipuri Raas Lila customarily starts with a Sankirtan known as Naat Sankirtan. The term Sankirtan signifies a form of song or chanting performed in public to praise the divine. It comes from the Sanskrit root ‘kirtan’ that means ‘praising’, ‘celebrating’ or ‘glorifying’. ‘San’ comes from the word ‘samyak’, which has many connotations. Here it may mean either ‘complete’ or ‘together’. In a typical recital, two drummers and many other singer-dancers with cymbals in their hands perform, supplemented by conch blowing. As Nilakanta Singh points out:

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A Nata Sankirtana which starts with the invocation to Krishna Chaitanya, must invariably precede any Raas Leela as the entire Leela is supposed to be conceived by Lord Chaitanya when he identified himself with Radha (1993, 49).

Danisana says: A holy person, a Brahman, standing at the opening of the circle (which is the only passage to enter inside the circle) invokes or prays to the Supreme God who is the Lord of the Sankirtan. At the end of the invocation, the Sankirtan starts with the blowing of conches first, along with the playing of Pung (drums) and Kartal (cymbals) followed by vocal sound. This is understood as ‘Rag Houba’ meaning the beginning of the Rag (2012, 121).

Dance, song and music all combine in a typical Sankirtan. It starts with purvaranga with recitation of slokas. The playing of pung or mridanga is a special feature of Sankirtan. The singers sing according to the boles (notes) of the mridanga. At times, Pung cholom and Kartal cholom are performed during the Sankirtan. Pung cholom means the playing of pung by the dancer himself even while dancing. Kartal cholom refers to the dance in accompaniment of kartals or large cymbals played by the dancer himself. Broadly, Cholom means vigorous and fast dance movements. At times the dancer turns and jumps high in air. Three years after the installation of Shri Govindaji, for the first time Maha Raas in classical tradition was dedicated to Shri Govindaji at Langthabal (Canchipur), on the full moon night of Hiyangei (October-November), in 1779 A.D. It continued for five days in which the chief queen and other members of the royal family took part with the young lady Vimbabati playing the role of Radha. King Bhagyachandra himself played on Pung (Mridanga) while his uncle, Ngoubram Shai (Shah) was the leader of the vocal group (Nilakanta Singh, 1993, 58). According to Danisana: Rajarshi Bhagyachandra designed the Ras Lila dance of Manipur, giving the message of Hari Sankirtana to conform to the teachings of Chaitanya based on the Srimad Bhagavatam, utilizing and adopting all the ingredients of the pre-Vaishnavite Manipuri religion and culture. This is the reason why and how the Manipuri Ras dance seems to be alien to the prevalent Ras Lila dances of India including the Ras Lila of Mathura and Vrindavan, which are regarded as the original places of Shri Krishna’s pastime of Ras Lila (2012, 160).

Manipuri Raas Lila follows certain principles in trying to accomplish performance aesthetic in the form of Bhava and Rasa. Raas Lila literally means ‘dance of rasa’ or ‘Dance of Divine Love’. The dancers project and communicate the meaning of the dance through Abhinaya (histrionic representation). All the dancers have to be well adapted to Angika (physical representation through the movement of hands, fingers, lips, neck and feet), Vacika (communication through speech) though limited, Aharya (representation through costume and make-up) and Sattvika (communication through the entire psychological resources of the dancers). Other than the dancers, nupa pala (male group singers), musicians and sutradhari (female singer) play important roles in Manipuri Raas Lila. Musical instruments that are played in Manipuri Raas Lila are moibung (conch), Meitei pung (mridanga, a typical Manipuri percussion instrument), basi (bansuri or flute) and mandila (small cymbal used by Manipuri women). Later on, during the reign of Maharaj Churachand Singh, esraj, a stringed instrument was introduced.

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Scholars have pointed out that some aspects of Manipuri Raas Lila conform to the Natya Shastra and Abhinaya Darpana traditions. However, it is argued that the steps, gaits and poses of sword and spear dances provide the framework for most of the dance forms of Lai Haraoba, Raas Lila and Sankirtana. As Nilakanta Singh further maintains, ‘Even the basic movements like Chali, Longlei and Uplei (bhrameri), champra okpi and lasing kappi have been demonstrated as having some affinity with the steps and poses of martial arts… It is a matter of sharing a specific vision of beauty born out of movements and steps integrated to a certain ethnic group’ (1993:45–46). Jagoi Raas is an ethnic art form. It is clear that the Manipuri Raas Lila is not just an adaptation of a performance from outside but it has organic links with the traditional performing art forms. It is in this sense, Jagoi Raas is not only unique but also a form that is born out of the synthesis of the folk and the classical elements. Interestingly, the nuanced aesthetics of this form has combined and refined the energy of the martial arts and the suppleness and poise of the classical dance form. Basically, Raas Lila is a group act that follows the pattern of a choreographed dance form. Choreography along with skilful abhinaya adds to the expressive mode wherein love in its playfulness and devotion constitutes the intrinsic theme that has a spiritual intent. The costumes of the Raas Lila performance are typical. There are different costumes assigned to the dancers. Shrimati Radha, Brinda Devi and Gopis wear potloi, inafi, maikhumbi, resham phurit etc. Potloi is a cylindrical costume made of layers of stiff starched cloths covered with a bright coloured silk cloth (either red or green) on which chamaki (bright metal pieces) are sewn. Kumin (decorative brass pieces round in shape with mirrors attached) are also sewn at the bottom of potloi in a traditional round pattern called khoi akoibi. Green coloured potlois are used for Radhika and Brinda Devi. It is tied to the waist of the female performer. Above it, she wears another short skirt like garment called poshwal (poswan). Embellishment on the border of poshwal is done again with kumin. The weight of a potloi is very important. It should neither be too heavy nor too light. Since potloi covers the lower portion of the performer’s body, intricate movements of her legs are not visible. Potloi is so designed that any movement of legs of the performer is correctly transferred to it. In other words, potloi moves in rhythm along with the steps of the performer. All the performers in the three Raas Lilas associated with Govindaji Temple (Maha Raas, Kunja Raas and Basanta Raas) gather up and tie their hair on the top of their heads. Each dancer wears a koktumbi (conical headwear) over the hair. Chubarei or tassel dangling from koktumbi is made to fall on the left side of the head. Then the head is covered with a maikhumbi (semi-transparent white veil). Khwang-goi (Khwang means waist; goi means encircle), a belt on which Kumins are sewn in a pattern, is tied to the waist. Khwang-nap (a flap with similar designs hanging on khwang-goi) is placed on the front. The upper portion of the body is adorned with resham phurit or velvet blouse. The performers of Raas Lilas associated with Govindaji temple cover their chests with a white cloth called thabakyet. In other forms of Raas Lilas, a folded inafi (chadar) is worn across the resham phurit. Then there is Khaon, a strip of cloth embroidered with intricate designs, both ends of which are stitched to a large flap, also decorated with intricate designs. Khaon is

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worn across the upper portion of the body from left shoulder to right waist and the flap is dropped below the waist. Khaon is used by the performers in Raas Lilas associated with Govindaji temple. Shrimati Radha, Brinda Devi and Gopis in Nitya Raas and Diva Raas can wear either koktumbi or another type of headwear called jhapa. But jhapa is not allowed in Govindaji temple. In jhapa, the performers gather up and tie their hair at the back of their heads. Hairpins, each with a handcrafted butterfly or kurak that wobbles at the slightest movement of the head, are used along with many other head ornaments. A veil covers the back of the head leaving the face uncovered. They wear many traditional necklaces like heibi mapan, heiyaithanbi, sandrenbi, marei etc., one after another in a certain order. They also wear different kinds of traditional earrings and rings. On the hand from the top of palm to upper arm they wear khutnam topi (a kind of ornament worn on the top of palm), khuji (bracelet) and khuji thak rattan zoor (a kind of ornament tied to forearm and upper arm). Shri Krishna, the central figure in the Raas Lila, wears angrakha, pheijom, dhara, khaon, khwang-goi and khwang-nap. Angrakha is a kind of shirt used by female dancers taking the role of Shri Krishna. It covers the upper portion of the body. Male dancers may not use it. Pheijom (dhoti) is worn around the lower part of the body. Shri Krishna’s pheijom is made of silk cloth golden-yellow in colour with green borders. Around the waist a colourful dhara or string with beads is worn over pheijom. Two Khaons are worn across the upper part of the body from shoulder to waist, from right to left and left to right, with the flaps hanging below the waist on either side. Shri Krishna also wears Khwang-goi with khwang-nap hanging below the waist in front. The loose folds of Krishna’s pheijom are kept from fluttering wildly or flying off while dancing by Khwang-nap. Pishindrai or two sets of three ornamental chain links of different lengths are tied with threads on the chest and back in such a way that they are placed between armpit and waist on both sides of the body. Shri Krishna’s headgear comprises mukut, chura, cherei and kajenglei. Mukut is made up of (i) nakhum (meaning ear-cover), the black cloth covering the head with flaps partially covering both sides of face close to ears, (ii) koknum (meaning headcover) white border on the front side of the black cloth covering the head, (iii) chubarei (meaning flower at the side of face),the embellishment dangling from koknum, (iv) mukut makhong (meaning base of mukut) the base of the vertical piece in the centre, (v) ukang (meaning dry-wood) the vertical piece made of wood and (vi) chirong or antlers, the ornamental pieces attached to ukang. Chura is the crown of peacock feathers. Cherei or paper-flower is the thin strips of white paper on a string worn at the back of the head. Kajenglei is the circular headdress consisting of numerous brass strips with red tuffs. On the hand, from the top of palm to arm, Shri Krishna wears khutnam topi, khuji popchaobi (a kind of thick bracelet), khuji thak rattan zoor, taan (a plaque worn on arm), tanthak (a kind of ornament worn above taan) and tankha (a kind of ornament worn below taan). On the bridge of foot and around the ankle Shri Krishna wears khong-gi leiteng. It covers up sengao sarik or the string of small metal bells around the ankle. The complete set of costumes for Shri Krishna is called natavaravesh.

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This photo shows the intricate dress paraphernalia of the dancers including Sri Krishna and Srimati Radha and Gopis. (Photograph by Kosygin Leishangthem)

There are five forms of Manipuri Raas Lila. They are: Maha Raas, Kunja Raas, Basanta Raas, Nitya Raas and Diva Raas. These forms show different aspects of Raas in the different seasonal calendars. 1. Maha Raas is performed at the temple of Govindaji at night on the full moon day of Hiyangei, a month according to the traditional Manipuri lunar calendar falling in October–November. It corresponds to Kartika Purnima. This form of Raas is based on the Raas Panchadhyayi of the Srimad Bhagavata Mahapurana. The theme is expressed through songs. The charming full moon arouses Shri Krishna’s desire to enjoy the company of Gopis. He starts playing his flute on the banks of the Kalindi (Yamuna). When the sweet melodies emanating from Shri Krishna’s flute reach the ears of the Gopis, who are madly in love with him; they find it difficult to resist the temptation to be near Him. They stop whatever they are doing. Their feet involuntarily drag them to the Vamshivata where Shri Krishna is waiting for them. On reaching the place, they request Shri Krishna to accept them at the service of his lotus feet. When they start dancing, he senses the ‘Satvik Ahamkar’ (ego or excessive pride) in the minds of the Gopis and disappears stealthily with Shimati Radha. On this she thinks, ‘I’m the special, Shri Krishna loves me more than the others’. Shri Krishna learns of her enormous ego and leaves her too. He reappears when all of them realize their mistakes and dances with them. The climax of Maha Raas is the episode of ‘Krishnaantardhana’ or the sudden disappearance of Shri Krisna from the scene to humble the pride of the Gopis.

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Shri Govindaji representing Lord Krishna participates in the Maha Raas. For this purpose, the deity is taken out of the temple in a grand ceremonial procession to the Raas Mandal after rituals. Vhadra Chakra, a device of a revolving wheel is prepared at the centre of Raas Mandal and the deity is carefully placed there. The Gopis dance around the deity while the deity revolves in all directions. It depicts how the universe is moving around the Godhead at the centre and the Gopis dancing in devotion to be blessed by the Lord. In this representation of Bhakti in the form of desirable love, it becomes a mode of sublime transportation of devotion connecting the divine and the devotee. In the Maha Raas performance at Govindaji temple, when Shri Krishna disappears from the scene, one Gopi recites the dialogue of Shrimati Radha’s lamentation. Then when the Gopis in search of Shri Krishna surround the place, one person already hidden inside the Vhadra Chakra recites a sloka welcoming them. There exists some basic difference between the main Govindaji temple and the other temples including Bijoy Govinda. ‘His Lordship, the deity Govindaji personally appears and eternally enjoys the Ras dance with the Gopis concealing the display of material body movements. But in other temples, a material Krishna replaces the deity to enact the whole Ras dance. So, there is no Krishna Abhisar, in the Govindaji Maha Raas. Krishna Nartan or the solo episodes of Radha and Krishna are present in other temples. Instead, a significantly big Artika is offered in the beginning where the two deities of Radharani and Shri Krishna are properly decorated on the Vhadra Chakra’ (Danisana, 2012, 164–65). Historically, Maha Raas was performed in the precincts of Govindaji temple with the participation of the members of the Royal family. As it is more ritualistic and has certain practices to be followed, very little change has taken place in this form. 2. Kunja Raas is performed at Govindaji temple at night on the full moon day of Mera, a month according to the traditional Manipuri lunar calendar falls in September–October. The ambience and description of the place are expressed through songs. Kunja Raas is not the kind of pastime enjoyed on the banks of river Yamuna or in some other forest but at Kunja, a secret grove confidentially decided by the Gopis to meet. Shri Krishna stealthily slips into the appointed place at night responding to the signal of the Gopis and plays his flute to call them. After their arrival he enjoys dancing with them. They individually adore him and are devoted to him. With his grace Shri Krishna meets each one of them the way each has desired him and finally blesses them. 3. Basanta Raas is performed at Govindaji temple at night on the full moon day of Sajibu, a month according to the traditional Manipuri lunar calendar falls in March–April. The festival celebrates the playing of holi by Shri Krishna. As the myth goes, Shri Krishna was playing holi with Shrimati Radha and the Gopis. At a certain point he gave much attention to Chandravali, a Gopi that angered Shrimati Radha so much that she left the scene. Shri Krishna searched for her and begged for forgiveness. After much cajoling Shrimati Radha forgave him, returned to the place and the couple danced together while the Gopis surrounded them. This story is acted out through dance sequences in Basanta Raas Lila.

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Rajarshi Bhagyachandra with enthusiasm dedicated Basanta Raas, the third of his initiatives to Lord Govindaji. The season of colours is enacted in the Raas. Chandravali, the second in devotional ecstasy to Shrimati Radharani too joined Basanta Raas. The episode of Mana (Shrimati Radharani getting angry with Shri Krishna) signifies the most dangerous discarding of Shri Krishna by Shrimati Radharani and is the most thrilling and enchanting portion of Basanta Raas Lila. Since the deities are always present at the centre of the mandap at Govindaji temple during the performance of Raas Lilas, no dancer playing the role of Shri Krishna is there. ‘As the Gopis could not serve the holiness of Radha-Govinda by touching them, the Brahman Priest (poojari) representing the Gopis will serve the two in the sequence of the song and at the same time the Gopis in pairs will come forward and bow to the Yugalroop in the sense that the roop was served by themselves. Chamor Seva by the Gopis are allowed at the same time’ (Ibochaoba, 2009, 57-58). 4. Nitya Raas was added by Maharaja Chandrakirti (1850–1886). This Raas Lila is not dedicated to Shri Govindaji because one of king’s daughters, princess Sanatombi was in a relationship with Major Maxwell, the then British administrative officer. This relationship was not approved by the Royal family. However, she married and lived with her British husband after leaving the palace. Princess Sanatombi organized the Nitya Raas founded by her father and celebrated it outside the temple premises with herself in the role of Makokchingbi (Vrinda Sakhi, the leader of the Gopis) a major character in the Raas Lila. According to Ibochaoba, ‘Shri Krishna after arriving at the Kunja ordered Vrinda Devi to make the Sajya (Bed) and on receiving the order from the Lord Vrinda Sakhi went around to pluck flowers. She offered the collected flowers and after completing making of the Sajya asked the Lord to call up Gopis along with Shrimati Radha. Through benunad (playing of the flute) Shri Krishna called them and after their arrival played this Ras, which is the Aradhan Sadhan from Shri Madbhagavad. This is the significance of this form of dance’ (2009, 60). Nitya Raas is also known as Nartana Raas because of the inclusion of many items of dance in the enactment. In this form of Raas, Shri Krishna is made to wait for the Gopis in his sajya, which is not there in Govinda Lilamrita. To give a natural effect lifelike puppets of peacocks are dropped from above and made to dance intermittently around the Gopis. Female dancers of Nitya Ras are not allowed to use Koktumbi or the headdress of Shrimati Radha and Gopis for the three dance forms associated with Govindaji temple. They wear jhapa, another type of headwear. Nitya Raas can be performed in any month of the year except Sajibu, a month according to the traditional Manipuri lunar calendar that falls in March-April. 5. Diva Raas was created during the reign of Maharaja Sir Meidingngu Churachand, KCSI, CBE (1891–1941), the royal head during the British Manipur administration. It was around 1940 CE, before World War II, which was generally known as Japan Lan (Japan war) that this Raas Lila was performed. Diva Ras is the youngest of the five Raas Lilas.

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In Diva Raas, Shri Krishna slips away stealthily when all his friends are tending cows and goes in search of Shrimati Radha. He meets her when she comes out to perform Surja Pujah. They go to another place and play Raas stealthily (Ibochaoba, 2009, 63). This Raas Lila is performed during day time hence called Diva Raas. The time of Diva Raas is scheduled ahead of the time of Shri Krishna’s coming back home along with the cows from the pasture in the afternoon. At Govidaji temple fixed timings are there for offering Gwal Aarti (Aarti offered at the time of Shri Krishna’s return from pasture after tending cows) in the afternoon. The timings are different for summer and winter, e.g., 4:45 pm in summer and 3:20 pm in winter. So, the performance of Diva Raas must end before 4:45 pm in summer and 3:20 pm in winter. Diva Raas can be performed on any auspicious day. This form of Raas is performed specially in the spring season. The performance of all forms of Manipuri Raas Lilas except that of Diva Raas, which is performed during day time, start with Natsankirtana at dusk. After Natsankirtana is over, Raas Lila starts and ends at 2:30 am (of the next day). More often than not small boys and girls take the roles of Shri Krishna and Shrimati Radha in Nitya Raas and Diva Raas performed in neighbourhood temples in Manipur. Most of the performers are first timers. Only a limited number of performers are professionals. Raas Lila performance is part of Manipur’s living culture. It underlines deep devotion and spiritual yearning of a community. Kirti Singh makes a significant point that in Manipur, culture is not separated from religion and social traditions. Culture and its philosophy are ingrained in religion that determines ways of life, art forms, music, ritual and even politics. Community welfare remains uppermost in all performance forms where the ritual offering is not meant only for an individual’s well-being but for the well-being of the whole community. The ritual worship of the deities is conducted through song and dance (1988, 3). However, like all cultural forms, Raas Lila has undergone change. In the olden days traditional dancers, singers and artists could survive because of the patronage of kings and dignitaries. In the changing times that is no longer possible. During the colonial period, Manipuri culture came under tremendous stress for the colonial administration circumscribed many rituals and festivities. In the face of colonial repression, the performing arts adjusted to the new realities in their struggle to survive. The modern period did not allow the traditional art forms to continue with the age-old practice as these arts faced consumerist culture and commodification of arts. In these challenging times, the need to project and showcase culture and tradition as well as to stress cultural identity becomes crucial. To earn their livelihood traditional dancers, singers and artists have to bend their ways and try to adapt to new trends. To attract tourists and entertain people, Manipuri Raas Lila, a ritual that once belonged to the temples, has to come out to the public domain. It is also adapted for stage performance. Thus, a performance lasting the duration of the whole night has to be squeezed into ten to fifteen minutes. As Kirti Singh informs: When the British became the rulers of Manipur, they wanted to see Ras by divesting it of time factors. They took it from the main temple to Hapta Bangla (British residency) of Major Maxwell, the Political Agent, where his wife Princess Sanatombi Devi played the role of

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Makok Chingbi (Vrinda Sakhi). The gurus recast its dress and name to meet the need of British officials and called it Natta or Nartta rasa (1988, 177).

He further adds: Today as a result of modern pressures and internal reflections, the gurus in spite of orthodoxy have worked on new productions on the stage, compressed one whole night Ras Lila to 10or 15-minute piece... With movies, T.V. cameras the film producers have started to use Ras dances in some films (1988, 178).

Although the Raas of the temples have moved to the proscenium stage for its commercialization, the dance has not lost its spiritual tenor. The traditional Uparupaka at the Mandop, at Govindajee’s temple is still intact with its spiritual core that is demonstrated through invocation, prostration before the deity and even having tears out of deep devotion. The dancers and the audience become one in their devotion to the deity to whom they surrender for a blessed life. On the other hand, the secularization of this performance happened on the proscenium stage to showcase culture for official programmes and for tourists. The performance based on the importance of the occasion can vary from one and half hours to five hours. For a slice of a cultural presentation, it could be presented for 10−15 min for tourists anywhere. There are performing groups under important Gurus who embrace full commercial production wherein the shows are offered as a package. These changes are culturally significant. Even if the purists may not agree with commercial showcasing of Manipuri Raas Lila it is but inevitable for it cannot be kept away from the wider audience. The seasons no longer hold, nor the ritual significance but the survival of the art form is important.

Notes 1. It seems that ‘Meeckley’ is a typographical error. In his article, Singh has quoted the source as ‘Gangmumei Kabui’s’ ‘Glimpses of Land and People of Ancient Manipur’ in N. Sanajaoba (Ed) Manipur: Past and Present. New Delhi: Mittal, Vol. I. (1988). But in Gangumei Kabui’s History of Manipur: Pre-colonial Period (New Delhi: Akanksha Publishers, 2015, 3rd edition), it is given as ‘Meckley’. 2. Many Brahmins from Bengal, UP and even from Odisha migrated to Manipur when Muslim rulers ransacked the Hindu kingdoms in mainland India. Muslim rulers occupied only a portion of Assam adjoining Bengal for around ten years. They could not penetrate into the interior of Assam. Brahmins in Assam were comparatively safe. Migration of Brahmins from Assam was for other reasons. Some of them were brought to Manipur by the king. 3. There are claims to pre-Vaishnavite Hindu culture in Manipur. One is associated with ArjunChitrangada episode of Mahabharata but there are other claims as well. In this connection a footnote at page 15 of the ‘Gazetteer of Manipur’ compiled by Captain E W Dun, B.S.C. (first published in 1886 by the Superintendent, Government Printing Press, Calcutta under the orders of the Quarter-Master General in India) is found interesting: ‘We have no direct proof of Hinduism having existed in Manipur previous to the 18th century, but there can, I think, be no reasonable doubt that a great Aryan wave of very pure blood passed through Manipur into Burma... the Hinduism of these remote times was probably free from caste

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prejudices, and very different from what it is now: but I think it extremely probable that a tradition of it remained when the new missionaries from Bengal arrived. These latter for their own purpose distorted the history of Manipur; the Burmese invasions put the finishing touches and killed off the old traditions’. 4. Sankirtana means ritual singing, drumming and dancing. This performance form was inscribed on the Representative List of the UNESCO Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity during the eighth session of the UNESCO Intergovernmental Committee meeting in Baku, Azerbaijan, held from Monday, December 2 to Saturday, December 7, 2013 (source: UNESCO).

References Danisana, R. K. (2012). Manipuri dances: A panorama of indian culture. Rajesh Publications. Ibochouba, H. (2009). The pre-world war-II form of ras leela (1st ed.). Published by (L) Haobam Ongbi Shantibala Devi. Kabui, G. (1991). History of manipur. National Publishing House. Kirti Singh, M. (1988). Religion and culture of manipur. Manas. Krishnananda, S. (1985). The rasa panchadhyayi of the srimad bhagavata mahapurana. Retrieved March 19, 2021, from https://www.swami-krishnananda.org/disc/disc_303.html. Mackrell, J., & R on Dance. Retrieved February 7, 2021, from https://www.britannica.com/art/ dance/Social-dance. Parratt, S. N. (2009). The court chronicle of the kings of manipur; the cheitharon kumpaba. Vol. 2. 1764—1843 CE, original text, translation and notes.. Cambridge University Press India Pvt. Ltd., First published 2009 (CK Vol. 2) Singh, E.N. (1993). Fragments of manipuri culture. Omsons Publication Singh, N. N. (2015). Religious syncretism among the meiteis of manipur. International Research Journal of Social Sciences, 4(8), 21–26. Retrieved February 05, 2021, from http://www.isca.in/ IJSS/Archive/v4/i8/4.ISCA-IRJSS-2015-151.pdf#:~:text.

Chapter 14

When (and Where) Ritual is not Romance: Liminality, Gender and Storytelling Among the Khasis Jobeth Ann Warjri

Abstract Using the concept of liminality, this article examines Lapdiang Artimai Syiem’s Ka Noh Ka Likai and Performing Journeys to highlight the role of the storyteller in Khasi culture as one that traverses thresholds between community law on the one hand and individual desire on the other. The paper argues that what accounts for liminality in contemporary storytelling among the Khasis is the gendered experience. Further, the paper shows that by subverting both colonial constructions of the indigene and community law, the gendered/liminal experience calls for a re-assessment of Khasi identity. Keywords Hearth · Khasi community · Liminality · Ritual · Storytelling In the book, From Ritual to Romance (1920), Jessie Laidlay Weston spoke of “vanished” civilisations—the vegetative cults of yore that disappeared with the onset of print culture. The Arthurian legends, Weston wrote, were based on ritualised storytelling that were then reproduced as texts and passed off as Romance Literature; thus, effectively imprisoning the stories’ origins as performance. Weston’s observations would have been prophetic were it not for the existence of communities in the ‘Northeast India’ (far away from Weston’s world) whose lives still rely on the performative expression of indigenous worldviews, especially couched in the telling and re-telling of folktales and myths (Kharmawphlang, 2017). It is acknowledged that these regions have come under colonial rule and have, therefore, had encounters with modernity especially seen in the people’s adoption of Christianity and Western education as modes of belief and communication (Syiem, 2018). However, rather than abandoning the indigenous belief systems altogether the people within these regions have found ways to adapt indigenous beliefs to their understanding of the modern condition such that the rituals of the ‘past’, rather than being ‘lost’ have been re-configured and transformed to suit present contexts. In making such an assertion, J. A. Warjri (B) Department of English, North East Adventist University, Joai, Meghalaya, India e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 K. C. Baral (ed.), Cultural Forms and Practices in Northeast India, People, Cultures and Societies: Exploring and Documenting Diversities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-19-9292-6_14

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I’m making an effort against the grain, challenging colonial narratives that perceive indigenous cultures to be ‘lost’ worlds and, hence, in need of saving or, at least, preservation from the onslaught of print culture (Elwin, 1964). But to deny the effects of modernity within the region would also mean to deny complexities with which the people in these region navigate their changing realities or as Esther Syiem puts it in The Oral Discourse in Khasi Folk Narrative (2018), their ‘liminality’ (73–85). Analysing two performances by Lapdiang Aritmai Syiem, this paper argues what is liminal in the re-telling of myths and folktales within the Khasi gendered experience. Introduced by Arnold van Gennep in his book The Rites of Passage (1960), liminality marks a transitional phase in an individual’s life span from one rite to another. Liminality, Gennep writes, are conditions pertaining to ‘rites of passage’ (Gennep, 25). They are ritual thresholds mediating the separation of the individual from society through one rite (pre-liminal rites) and the re-incorporation of the individual into society through another rite (post-liminal rite) (ibid). What is interesting in Gennep’s understanding of liminality is that all facets of human experience can be regarded as ritual. In Chapter Two of his book, for instance, Gennep uses the idea of the passport as an example of liminality where the possession of a passport enables one to cross over from one country to another thus replicating a rite of passage (Gennep, 15). In an article ‘Liminal to Liminoid, in Play, Flow, and Ritual: An Essay in Comparative Symbology’ (1974), however, Victor Turner extends Gennep’s definition of liminality by including a social dimension to ritual. Turner writes that the liminal stage in ritual is marked by a passage between the social and the asocial, where the usual rules that apply to an individual within the social context are temporarily suspended. According to Turner, the liminal stage in ritual enables the individual to subvert and question what is normally taken for granted as acceptable behaviour within a society, s/he belongs to (Turner, 53–92). Seen in this light, liminality is a useful concept when speaking of ritual and storytelling in the Khasi imaginary through gendered experience. The gendered body, Judith Butler writes in Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (1990), is one that is constantly in a state of ‘becoming’. In its state of becoming, Butler argues, the gendered body and its attendant experiences subvert the processes by which the idea of gender itself is normalised through social and cultural customs or laws (Butler, 33). Therefore, in keeping with Turner’s understanding of liminality, Butler suggests that the performance of gender is one that exists in a protracted, liminal stage. Further, since Butler argues that cultural constructs such as gender are embedded in the performing body (Butler, 128–141), it follows that gendered experiences are not subsets of a generic ‘human’ experience. In other words, all human experiences such as childhood, adolescence, adulthood, motherhood, fatherhood and old age (Gennep, 1960) are forms of gendered experiences and performances. Seen from this perspective, the Khasi context poses a conundrum as both indigenous and Western social systems impose their own forms of masculinist control upon the individual, usually through narratives. Documenting her own experience of liminality, for instance, Gertrude Dondor Lamare writes in ‘Liminality: Unfixed Culture, Unfixed Selves’ (2018):

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Above me was a thick canopy which allowed for small doses of sunshine to come through. I was disoriented and uncomfortable, yearning somewhat for a clean bathroom and some morning tea. My head was heavy from the previous day’s mixture of intoxication and sensorial shock from all that I witnessed. The whole process of going back and forth, constructing and deconstructing meaning, searching for Khasiness within myself and in others around me, nearing and distancing myself from them—tribal collective which supposedly makes me—was immensely exhausting. The entire day was spent being rational in one minute and dismantling one’s sense of reason the other, and diving into a new system of signs the next—what is comprehensibility, what is knowledge anyway? (Lamare https://cultureandca pitalismblog.wordpress.com/2018/11/26/liminality-unfixed-culture-unfixed-selves/)

Having witnessed a Khasi death ritual the previous day, Lamare experiences disorientation and finds herself questioning the received models of behaviour stemming from her Western education as well as the indigenous rites which are supposed to remind her of her ‘Khasiness’. The experience is more than Lamare occupying an in-between space as it alters any preconceived and pre-ordained notions of truth and value judgment: ‘…what is comprehensibility, what is knowledge anyway?’ (ibid) As Lamare leaves the village of Umwang, Assam for Shillong, Meghalaya, we get a sense that the questions she poses deter any one form of resolution: ‘We were the liminal ones after all’, she finally concludes (ibid). But if liminality, as Lamare asserts, influences the modern Khasi condition, then what is the role of storytellers and storytelling in the ritual space? Traditionally, storytelling among the Khasis was meant to teach younger generations of their duties towards the divine and mankind. Social life, centred on the clan, is effectively encoded in the stories where the absence of clan relations can result in doom or tragedy. Usually, it is the mentor uncles (kñi) who, along with clan elders, are responsible for passing on the knowledge of social responsibility to younger generations (Syiem, 2018, 36–47). The focus is on the will of the ‘collective’, with individual voices standing in as tokens through which community-based identity is articulated.1 The kñi, being spokespersons for the clan, symbolise the intervention of communal law where interpersonal relationships are concerned (Butler, 1990). To the extent that nonheterosexual gender roles and sexualities are not recognised in Khasi society, community law thus controls the discourse through which the performing body articulates desire (War and Albert, 2013). With the onset of modernity, however, one finds individual attempts at reinterpreting and subverting narratives that are largely community-centric in nature. The woman storyteller/performer is especially burdened with what is expected of her as a ‘Khasi’ woman and her individuality is expected of a typical modern aspect of performance. It is a delicate balance, as Lapdiang Artimai Syiem notes, between the desire for self-expression and the need to stay true to one’s roots. In a conversation with me on May 2, 2020, she said the following: This is a conflict that constantly plagues me... I remember this scene where I was rehearsing and I had called someone to watch it. I was holding this ‘baby’, I was breastfeeding this ‘baby’, while I was telling the story and I remember having, you know, sitting in this very frontal position having my legs apart and holding the ‘baby’ [...] And the person who was watching actually said, ‘I think you should you know, put your legs together’. And I was wearing my trousers. I was wearing my costume which was these tights and on top of it

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was my jaiñkyrshah. So, the one comment I got was, ‘Khasis don’t breastfeed with their legs open. You put your legs together and sit sideways and that’s a more acceptable form of breastfeeding’. And I was taken aback and I was like, ‘Okay’. That was the first instance that struck me, like, ‘What?’ I’m representing here a woman telling a story who’s a mother, who’s breastfeeding, and yet, in order for my body to be accepted, I have to also comply with the norms of how women would sit in this society if they were breastfeeding (Interview of May 2, 2020).

A professional actor, Lapdiang Artimai Syiem has received her training from the National School of Drama, New Delhi and The Commedia School, Copenhagen, Denmark. Although she is not from a family of performers, she was attracted to the theatre as a profession that allowed her to express her voice and sense of self. She said, I was unsure of who I was. I didn’t know who I was. I felt like I was just another number, just another girl going to college and starting on with her studies…but the theatre space gave me a sense of where I was free to express, not to be embarrassed about who I was. It gave me a voice and I think it was that voice that sparked my interest, then, into professional theatre (Interview of May 2, 2020).

Syiem is one of the new generation Khasi performers who, having travelled extensively both within and outside the country, draws upon various sources and techniques for her performances. Syiem’s performances, usually solo, straddles—as she reveals—the boundaries between what is socially acceptable for a Khasi woman to do and the body as a resistance to roles that society dictates. Interestingly, who controls the narrative also controls the performing body (Butler, 1990). In a performance of the folk narrative of Ka Noh Ka Likai, for instance, Syiem begins by drawing the audience’s attention to the fluid connection between the self and the performing body (Likai). ‘Are you here to still listen to my story? Haven’t you had enough of me already?’ she asks. The ‘me’, here, refers to both Likai (the mythological character) and Syiem (the person who responds to, and re-interprets, the Likai narrative). This dualism in performance is also suggested by the costume and props that Syiem has at her disposal—she wears a pair of tights and a sleeveless top beneath a jaiñkyrshah.2 She also dons a mask in the opening scene of the performance as given in the following picture (Fig. 14.1). The mask in the picture and other hybrid materials connect Syiem and the Likai narrative to a society that has undergone a lot of change from the living-in-the-forest, glorified simple-folk narratives to beloved of the English anthropologists in the early half of the twentieth century (Elwin, 1964; Gurdon, 1914). Neither here nor there, they subvert the notion of an identity that is fixed or one that presupposes an essential property. This is not to say, however, that traditional storytelling among the Khasis is absent in contemporary times. Syiem’s performances replicate the Khasi hearth (lyngwiar dpei) in their resistance to the proscenium arch as a site of performance. Traditionally, located in the central room or kitchen of a house, the hearth is a gathering space of sorts. It symbolises, as Esther Syiem notes in The Oral Discourse in Khasi Folk Narrative (2018), the family as the bedrock of social organisation. The hearth is especially connected to the ritual of storytelling among the Khasis. After a hard day’s work, every one gathers around

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Fig. 14.1 Juban Lamar. Lapdiang Artimai Syiem in a Rehearsal of Ka Noh Ka Likai. Mawkhar. (Shillong, 2017)

the hearth to listen to tales told by elders. More often than not, these tales have a moral underpinning. As mentioned earlier, it is usually the kñi who have a say over what kind of meaning is imparted through the stories. Semantically, therefore, the stories fall within the purview of a masculine voice (Syiem, 2018). By taking on the role of the primary storyteller, Lapdiang Artimai Syiem subverts and exposes this gendered dynamic. We, the audience, are there to witness this overturning of the social order by listening and seeing a story being told from the perspective of a woman. That the space, in Dylan’s Café, Shillong, admits audience participation, again replicates the idea of hearth as an exchange between the storyteller and the listeners. The performance itself addresses the vagaries of marriage (something that is missing from the canonical treatments of the folktale) which enables the largely Khasi female audience to identify with incidents of domestic violence within their society. Thus, the relevance of the Likai narrative in the twenty-first century is articulated through Syiem’s re-interpretation of the narrative, a contemporary social concern. More importantly, in relation to liminality, a new meaning to the folk narrative of Likai emerges while subverting traditional social norms. This aspect of Syiem’s performance to interrogate social meaning behind folk narratives and the reception of these meanings by the audience exposes the role of community in assigning meaning to the performing body. Syiem says: [M]y training is all about the body [being] neutral. As a performer, you know, you reach this form of neutrality. You take on whatever roles you want to take and it depends, it’s up to you how you want to represent those roles. But then I realise in life, when I actually perform

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them, there is that audience interaction. How the audience perceive […] what they accept, what they think is acceptable. These preconceptions of how they view their society to be (Interview of May 2, 2020).

Although, as a performer, Syiem knows her body to be neutral, interactions with the audience politicises the performing body based on social standards set by the community. Recalling one such instance, she says: [A]fter the performance we had a question-[and]-answer round and there was a person in the audience, actually…um…I think he was from the Seng Khasi,3 quite an old man and he said, ‘Yes, […] you told the Khasi stories well and all that but I have to tell you that Khasi women are not warriors’. And suddenly everyone went like, ‘What?’ […] He said, ‘It’s wrong. Khasi women are not warriors. They cannot be warriors because the role of Khasi women is in the house. They’re the custodians of the ancestral property. They’re not out there on the battlefield. It’s the men who are out there. How can you be…how can you call yourself a Khasi warrior?’ (Interview of May 2, 2020)

Syiem was referring to one of her more recent performances, Performing Journeys (2019) which is part of the Welsh-Khasi Cultural Dialogues, a collaboration she had had with the University of South Wales. Through the use of letters, folktales and oral narratives, including archival material in Wales, the performance tells the story of coming of Welsh missionaries to the Khasi Hills and the interaction between the Welshman and the Khasi community. On the 23rd of April 2019, the performance took place at the Khasi National Dorbar Hall in Shillong, Meghalaya in front of a mixed audience. The nationalist implications of the performance were not lost to some members of the audience who, as quoted above, associate nationalism as, primarily, a masculinist endeavour (Syiem, 2020). A section of the performance dramatizes the folk narrative of U Sier Lapalang, a tragic story about a stag who ventures into the Khasi Hills and is killed by Khasi warriors. The story, as my own father likes to remind me, is a warning for parents (prospective and otherwise) on the need to discipline their children. Canonical treatments of the tale suggest that Sier Lapalang’s arrogance stems from a mother who was too permissive in her relationship with her son (Gatphoh, 1932). Syiem’s retelling of the folk narrative, however, dwells upon a more contemporary issue within the Khasi Hills—that of the relationship between Khasis and migrants (played by Rhys ap Trefor). Coming as it does when the insider/outsider debate is hot on the heels of an incident at the Punjabi Line, Shillong, where there were clashes between the Khasi community and the Punjabi Dalits, the performance could not have been more topical. As Syiem contorts her body to take on the role of the Khasi ‘warrior’ ousting the migrant (Trefor as Welshman/Punjabi), the performing body becomes the carrier of both myth and historical event. In a re-assertion of Butler’s thesis, the performing body is the story. Syiem says: When I was in Europe I started to get more comfortable with having a more androgynous body […] In Europe I really started to […] like this identity of being androgynous, of I could be a small boy (an incident actually came to my mind) […] Either looking like male or female. When I came home, I knew that that would be more difficult…I didn’t know if people looked at me as an androgynous body […] Challenges? Yes. Because how do you know you’re going to be accepted in this space that is really dominated by men…I see the

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Fig. 14.2 Helen Davies. Lapdiang Artimai Syiem and Rhys ap Trefor in Performing Journeys. Capel Tabernacl, Cardiff, Wales. 2019

body as just a body […] This…my body can be neutral, you know. Do you always believe the body as a sexualised body? Can it be a neutral body? So, I think that that’s still a battle that I’m struggling [with]… So constantly, in small ways, I am challenging the whole notion of the body as well—the female body, the male body, the grotesque body, the performing body. That’s what I’ve been doing. And slowly, I try to get rid of the jaiñkyrshah but it’s also that one identity. So maybe for me, maybe eventually for me, I will have these so many different identities that I connect to. Maybe I’ll reach there (Interview of May 2, 2020).

As if to admit to this aspect of the performer’s experience, the circle symbolising the hearth in Performing Journeys becomes important (Fig. 14.2). The circle expands in the penultimate moment. The boundaries between storyteller and listeners dissolve and we partake in the re-making of our bodies and, therefore, the re-making of our selves. It is quite a sight, or so, say the British. ∗ ∗ ∗ On the evening of March 24, 2017, I step out of Dylan’s Café after having witnessed Lapdiang Artimai Syiem’s performance of the Noh Ka Likai legend. My thoughts drift to the waterfall in Sohra that marks Likai’s plunge to her death: how similar and yet, how different Syiem’s re-telling of the narrative was. The site itself has been turned into a tourist spot for India’s longest plunge waterfall. These thoughts stir nationalist spume. Is there anyone to tell them—the tourists—that this spot marks the life story of so-and-so who was so anguished at having inadvertently eaten her own child that, as a consequence, she took her own life? That legends such as these speak to us because they confirm, beyond any trace of doubt, that—the Khasis— belong to this land; that this land is theirs and that, conversely, they are nothing

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without this land? We have, certainly, died and killed others for it. But another image hovers at the periphery of my mind. It is the final scene of the cult classic Hedwig and the Angry Inch (2001)—the image of Hedwig handing her wig to Yitzhak before walking naked into a dark lane. And, perhaps, it is this that Syiem’s performances finally convey beyond the stage: that while our existence is rooted in the land, its symbolic manifestations reach beyond the mere fact that we are Khasis. By occupying the thresholds between community laws on the one hand and individual desire on the other, Syiem’s performances raise timely questions about identity: who, after all, is a Khasi? The lessons of the hearth tell us that a true Khasi should adhere to the rules of tip briew tip blei (to know man and know God), tip kur tip kha (to know one’s maternal and paternal relations) and kamai ka hok (to work for righteousness) symbolised by the three hearthstones (ki mawbyrsiew) (Syiem, 2018). But in a society where women are so easily reminded of their place, the embodied liminal experience and narrative reveal these truths and expose the patriarchal leanings of the storyteller. The gendered/liminal experience answers back not only to the colonial constructions of the indigene but also to the hegemonic masculinities present in Khasi culture and society long before colonialism was a reality. This, finally, is the place where ritual is not Romance.

Notes 1. Here, I understand the collective as a construct since the will of the ‘collective’ exists at the expense of women’s voices. In the article ‘Social Cognitive Theory of Gender Development and Differentiation’ (1999), Kay Bussey and Albert Bandura opine that social conditioning enforces heteronormative gendered roles into ‘male’ and ‘female’. In allowing the kñi to have the final say as the voice of the collective, Khasi society idealises the female as silent and submissive (Bussey and Bandura 676–713). 2. Jaiñkyrshah: apron worn by Khasi women. 3. Seng Khasi: apex body of those who practice the indigenous religion.

References Bussey, K., & Bandura, A. (2020). Social cognitive theory of gender development and differentiation. Psychological Review, 106.4(1999), 676–713. Butler, J. (1990). Gender trouble: Feminism and the subversion of identity. Routledge. Elwin, V. (1964). The tribal world of verrier elwin: An autobiography. Oxford University Press. Gatphoh, P. (1932). Ki Khanatang bad U SierLapalang. Mrs. A. D. Dkhar. Gennep, van A. (1960). The rites of passage (M. B. Vizedom & L. Gabrielle Cafee trans). Chicago: University of Chicago Press Gurdon, P. R. T. (1914). The Khasis. Macmillan and Company Ltd. Kharmawphlang, D. L. (2017). Folklore imprints in northeast India.. Don Bosco Publication. Lamare, G. D. Liminality: Unfixed culture, unfixed selves. Retrieved March 20, 2020, from https:// cultureandcapitalismblog.wordpress.com/2018/11/26/liminality-unfixed-culture-unfixed-sel ves/.

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Mitchell, J. C. (2001). Hedwig and the angry inch. Dir. Perf. John Cameron Mitchell and Miriam Shor. Killer Films. Syiem, E. (2018). The oral discourse in Khasi folk narrative. Eastern Book House Publishers Syiem, L. A. (2017). Ka Noh Ka Likai. Dylan’s Café. Performance Syiem, L. A. (2019). perf. Performing Journey. Produced by L. Lewis & D. L. Kharmawphlang. Khasi National Dorbar Hall Syiem, L. A. (2020). Interview. Skype. Turner, V. (1974). Liminal to liminoid, in play, flow, and ritual: An essay in comparative symbology. Rice University Studies, 60.3 (1974): 53–92. Accessed on 22nd March 2020. War, R. J., & Albert, S. (2013). Sexuality and ‘silence’ among the Khasi youth in Meghalaya, northeast India. Culture, Health and Sexuality: An International Journal for Research, Intervention and Care, 15.S3(2013): S351-S364. Accessed on 7th February 2015. Weston, J. L. (1920). From Ritual to Romance. Retrieved April 11, 2020, from http://www.gutenb erg.org/cache/epub/4090/pg4090-images.html.

Chapter 15

Cultural Recovery and Reformation: Tourism and the Hornbill Festival at Kisama Theyiesinuo Keditsu

Abstract The organic nature of cultural forms is often taken for granted. In indigenous cultures there is an organic connection between celebration, ritual, natural environment and way of life. While celebrations in the form of music, dance, food and dress comprise essential yet peripheral aspects of any festival, its ritualistic meaning gives a festival its core significance and makes it an indispensable part of a community’s cultural life. It is this core that colonialism to a lesser degree and missionization more invasively has cut away from our traditional festivals. To the extent that, I contend, traditional festivals had fallen into varying states of atrophy; their hearts having been transplanted into Christian festivals of Christmas, Easter and other significant church events. Within this scenario, I would like to make a case for the Hornbill Festival at Kisama Heritage Complex as a cultural form in the making; beginning as an entirely concocted pastiche of the different festivals of the tribes of Nagaland state but gradually evolving into some semblance of a traditional festival with, if not a spiritual heart, at least one with emotive and affective resonance among the indigenous people of Nagaland. I would like to further argue that the promotion of tourism in and through the Hornbill Festival has led to a resurgence of pride in our indigenous heritage thereby revitalizing celebrations of traditional indigenous festivals. Keywords Tourism · Indigenous festival · Hornbill festival · Cultural life · Ritual The early discursive studies on Nagas were carried out by the British and European administrators and anthropologists (Fürer-Haimendorf, 1939, 1969; Hutton, 1965, 2003a, 2003b; Elwin, 1969; Mills, 1980, 2003; Jacobs, 1990 and followed by Sema, 1992; Sanyü, 1996, 2017; Lotha, 2007, 2013, 2016 with interventions). In fact, the moment and event of these ‘studies’ brought the Nagas and their way of life under the purview of the white colonial orientalist gaze (Sanyü, 1996; Sanyü and Broome, T. Keditsu (B) Kohima College, Kohima, Nagaland 797001, India e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 K. C. Baral (ed.), Cultural Forms and Practices in Northeast India, People, Cultures and Societies: Exploring and Documenting Diversities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-19-9292-6_15

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2017; Lotha, 2007, 2016; Kanungo, 2016; Wouters et al., 2017; Baruah, 2018). As recounted by them, our festivals appear as pure albeit hazy cultural forms. Events ordered by a natural, agrarian cycle, most often to observe harvest, sowing or seedsaving were marked by rituals, rites and celebrations (Hutton, 1965, 2003a, 2003b; Mills, 1980, 2003; Shimray, 1986; Jacobs, 1990). Further, many colonial encounters occurred either during festivals or were marked by festival-like celebrations and feasting during which indigenous Naga subjects were attired in their festive dress, performed dances and songs and feasted to welcome their guests (Fürer-Haimendorf, 1939, 1969; Bower, 2002; Ham & Saul, 2006; Thong & Kath, 2012). To the extent that this form of ‘hospitality’ developed into a kind of cultural staging that became a way to meet outsiders and guests in a state of performance and spectacle. A staging that informs the way the Hornbill Festival and other cultural events and displays are orchestrated. While this was happening on one front, missionization, on the other side was systematically eradicating many authentic cultural gennas or ritualistic festivals, ceremonies and feasts of merit (Eaton, 1984; Longvah, 2017). The journey of Christianity in Nagaland may elucidate this statement. As early as 1842, Christianity came to the Nagas through American Baptist missionaries (Jacobs, 1990; Mills, 2003). It also brought formal education in the form of mission schools (Pruett, 1974). Pruett points out Verrier Elwin’s response to consequences of mission run formal education along with the new Christian culture imposed on and/or received by Naga tribes: The changes wrought by the Baptist mission are both physical and spiritual. One is struck by the physical first. But the alterations of the Nagas’ spirit in the replacement of songs with hymns, zu with tea, of Feasts of Merit with tea parties and ladies’ church groups, clearly imply a radical shift in world view from which the Naga may ultimately suffer…An emphasis on personal salvation has replaced the former sense of group coherence and responsibility (Pruett, 1974, 58).

Trained in Christian theology at Oxford, Elwin later on became a strong spokesperson for preservation of tribal cultures. The outcome of his efforts is broadly reflected in his work: A Philosophy for NEFA (1960). The monotheistic Christian faith equipped with the skill of writing and a book of God’s words seemed to overwhelm the Nagas who are nature worshippers in an oral domain perfectly suited to the Orientalist designation of the heathen. Nagas had to be prepared after shunning all our cultural beliefs and practices only to be initiated into the Christian faith. The ritual-cultural purification cost us a great part of our culture that needed to be caste away in order to become the new Christian. The evangelical Baptist gospel brought by the American missionaries compelled the converted to give up the ‘Naga’ way of life and to adopt to the Christian one (Eaton, 1984, 12–13, 16). Eaton has further elaborated on the issue of deculturation of the Nagas in a systematic way. The story of Rev. E.W. Clark1 is a case in point: By insisting that his tiny band of fifteen followers observe Sunday as a ‘day of rest,’ Clark directly interfered with the rhythm and routine of Naga village life, for nearly all the work in Ao villages-hunting, sowing, harvesting- was done on a communal basis, and any interference with that rhythm naturally undermined a village’s economic functioning, not to mention its ritual solidarity. … (Eaton, 1984, 8).

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Jacobs (1990) also discusses the impact of Christianity brought by the Baptist Church as follows: The Baptists prohibited the drinking of rice beer, condemned sexual freedom and forbade the young men to sleep in the morung. They destroyed house carvings, forbade songs and dances, expected converts to renounce and despise their ‘heathen’ neighbours, and banned Feasts of Merit (because of their apparently reckless celebration of conspicuous consumption) …. Christians were more likely to adopt Western dress and to lose interest in the ornaments which signified their position within traditional society. Catholic missionaries, arriving later, tended to take a more relaxed attitude to rice-beer and traditional songs (ibid, 153).

Where anthropology served to reify and orientalize Naga cultural identity, Christianity almost threatened to obliterate it. This may have been due to the evangelistic and fundamentalist tendencies of the Baptist denomination (Armstrong, 2004, 174). What has emerged in the history of Christianity in Nagaland is the way in which conversion entailed a detachment from traditional ways of life, institutions and material culture. Conversion meant entry into the Church, Sunday school and missionary schools and thus into the linguistic imperialism of English. The Orientalist gaze of the missionaries assigned shame to nakedness and traditional culture and this was learnt and internalized by Naga converts. The two ethnic constructs—head hunter and nakedness—were employed by the colonial anthropologist and missionaries to prove that the Nagas are primitive and condemned to the blindness of the heathen. ‘Head hunting,’ as depicted by the colonial anthropologists contradicts the cultural meaning of ‘head-taking,’ used by Nagas as a ritual act for improving (agricultural) fertility, to gain status or as a form of justice (Tunyi, 2018). Similarly, nakedness and clothing are cultural concepts that were underplayed without looking at other Naga cultural traits. Naga cultural life was brought to comparison with an alien culture that the White man practiced. Such a view resulted in the orientalist gaze of the missionaries who assigned shame to nakedness and traditional culture. A distinction was drawn between the converts who were sufficiently dressed and the non-converts who continued with their traditional practice. Sanyü and Broome (2017) gives a very moving account of his personal encounter with the impact of proselytization: So off I went on my first day to the Khonoma mission school, wearing my new shirt, my shaved head and pigtail, and my best Naga beads and earrings. I felt proud of how I looked. But there was one problem, which I did not realise at the time—I still did not have pants... But I soon learned of my great deficiency, ... Those of us who were not Christian did not wear pants, we were all naked below the waist, having no pants and no shoes. The boys from Christian families all wore pants because of strict Baptist morality. I soon believed too that Christians were always a little neater, their houses a little cleaner, and their parents were a little smarter. The Christians were distinctive and to be emulated. One day, one of the older Christian boys pinched my penis, laughed and asked, ‘Is this a little caterpillar hanging there?’ I went home and in great distress told my brother (45–46).

Despite these severe demands, the Christian population rose from 3 in 1881to 34,000 in 1941 (Jacobs, 1990, 18). Most of the Nagas who united to address the Simon Commission and assert their right to self-determination were products of mission schools. By the time, Zhapu Phizo delivered his Plebiscite speech in 1951,

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Christianity as the ‘sacred core’ was firmly rooted. So much so that Phizo, speaking on behalf of the Nagas says, ‘We do not take Christianity as a foreign religion any more that we consider the light of the sun as foreign origin from outer worlds.’2 After recounting the many ways in which Baptist Christianity proscribed traditional cultural practices, Sanyü and Broome (2017) wryly remark that ‘the Naga are now the most Baptist people in the world!’ (ibid, 14). Christianity thus either transformed or obliterated the indigenous Naga cultural forms it encountered. Such is the hegemonic power of the Church over the Nagas that our transition to Christianity is always celebrated in hyperbolic phrases like ‘From darkness to light’. The patronizing and debilitating impact of Christianity on traditional Naga culture has advanced to a point where Christianity is often conflated with Naga identity (Lotha, 2016; Sanyü and Broome, 2017). Aspects of Naga culture, in particular, festivals, were at odds with Christianity hence were looked down upon and discouraged. The emotive and spiritual succour provided by indigenous gennas or festivals and rites were either rejected or transmuted into Christian ones. In its preparation for the celebration of 150 years of Baptist church in 2022, the ABAM Sesquicentennial celebration committee in its press release on 6th June, 2019 among other things planned to celebrate 2019 as ‘Measure of Christian Identity’, 2020 as ‘Restoration of Relationship’ and the year 2021 as ‘Year of Witnessing’ (Nagaland Post, June 7, 1919). This blanketing of other Naga identities by Christian identity has been articulated by Paige Patterson, the President of Southwestern Baptist Seminary in Texas that ‘[Nagas] were once warriors who settled disputes with headhunting. The Naga people are now a nation of Baptists, thanks to the endeavours of American Baptist Missionaries a century ago’ (Baptist Press, December 17, 2003). The statement of Patterson if examined closely brings forth the narrative that Nagas were rescued from their barbaric state of head-hunting (whereas traditionally Nagas had a different mechanism for dispute settlement or entering into a negotiated treaties as they had one with the British by cutting a black cat in the middle) by the mission and as Baptists they constitute what is called a Baptist ‘nation’. Thus, the present-day Naga ethnic identity and religious identity are one and the geographical identity of the state is also reimagined into a Baptist nation. The reconstituted Naga identity as Christian—Baptist or Catholic—leaves no space at all for the diverse ethnic and cultural identities of those who come under the umbrella term ‘Naga’. From almost a state of total cultural loss, an effort at the level of government was made in 2000, if not to restore but to at least revive some of the traditional cultural practices of different ethnic groups in Nagaland in a modern form of exhibition cum festival called the Hornbill Festival. The Hornbill Festival at Kisama Heritage Complex The Hornbill Festival was created in 2000 by the state government in response to global and national policies that sought to bring development through cultural tourism particularly in the Northeastern states of India (Kikon, 2005; 9th Five Year Plan:7.6.18 & 7.6.19; National Tourism Policy, 2002). The first staging of the Hornbill Festival occurred in the Kohima Local Ground, which is situated in the heart of Kohima Town. In 2003, it was moved to its now permanent location, at Kisama,

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a heritage village constructed as the venue for this festival. It is held on the first ten days of December of every year. It was initially envisioned as ‘one’ event that would showcase and celebrate the myriad aspects of indigenous Naga culture, in the form of architecture, attire, songs and dances. It has since grown into a mega festival and has been branded as ‘Festival of Festivals’. The Hornbill Festival has become a platform for indigenous cultural exhibitions and performances. The audience in mind was both Nagas and the non-Nagas (Sema, 2006). For the first group it was hoped that the festival would serve as a platform for learning about Naga culture, in particular for the youth, who were out of touch with their roots. The latter target group were tourists, who would bring revenue. They were also imagined as cultural ambassadors for Naga culture. The Hornbill Festival thus became a novel site in and through which the hegemony of Christianity could be challenged (Longkumer, 2017; Stockhausen, 2008). The policy of revival in promoting cultural tourism necessitated the construction of a ‘heritage village’ representing traditional architecture, culture and performances. A local tribal public who had faced an incredibly fast and violent entry into modernity met these cultural spectacles with a nostalgic and emotional response (Longkumer, 2017). The demand for ‘authenticity’ also resulted in the enactment of cultural practices that had thus far been strictly proscribed by the Church. In particular, the presence of the local rice beer challenged the power of the Church, vocally and publicly (Stockhausen, 2008). Tourism, through the Hornbill Festival at Kisama Heritage Village has connected us to our indigenous culture ‘lost’ through missionization and conflict. This reconnection has led to a resurgence of pride in our old ways of life. These ‘objectives’ make apparent that the practice of tourism in Nagaland is complex. When cultural revival has been partially met because of the time/space disruption negating all possibilities to return to the old ways of life, what triggered revival more than cultural recovery is the policy of tourism, to attract people from outside to have a glimpse into historical time and shed the misconception of the Naga as barbaric and uncivilized. These twin objectives seem to have been achieved through the resounding success of the festival. Tourism is not simply a cultural commodity that can be negotiated over revenue generation and satisfaction of tourists. In the Nagaland context of Hornbill Festival, I have found out that it is often sidelined by a focus on the hosts and their needs rather than that of our guests. These take the form of a desire to assert a new global Naga identity grounded in our indigenous heritage. Touristic displays also serve a didactic function and are informed by a collective acknowledgement of the cultural loss we as a people have suffered as a result of conversion, conflict and entry into modernity (Adams, 1997, 2006). Kisama thus becomes a mode of cultural reconstruction (Longkumer, 2017). Through a conscious effort to adopt global (western) practices of eating out in restaurants, attending concerts and carnivals, tourism becomes a means of forgetting a painful history of bloodshed and curfews. The Hornbill Festival is the flagship of Nagaland Tourism and Kisama Heritage Complex is its most important and lucrative site. While the ‘official’ narrative of the origin of this festival and its format deserves discussion and consensus, it is worthwhile to mention an alternative source of inspiration. This is significant if

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cultural forms and, in particular, festivals are fuelled by an emotive core. The format of Naga Week, held in 1993, bears great similarity with the first Hornbill Festival at Khuociezie or Kohima Local Ground in 2000. A rich description is provided by Abraham Lotha (2016) and later by Sanyü and Broome (2017) who claims credit for the idea of the festival in his memoir: “In 1993 I had the idea of celebrating a World Indigenous Day in Kohima…The event turned into a festival called ‘Naga Week’ from 1–5 December 1993.” Lotha writes about the ‘Naga Week’: The entire Kohima local ground had been transformed into a model Naga village except that none of the houses looked alike. A huge pavilion was in the middle that represented a traditional morung (bachelors’ dormitory), and surrounding it were model houses representing Naga tribes from throughout Nagaland, Manipur, Arunachal Pradesh and Burma. The model houses displayed examples of customary dress such as shawls, food items and other indigenous artifacts. Some items were for sale while others were for exhibit…many were dressed in their traditional festive attire. Folksongs, war chants and nzaka (a typical Naga chant like loud shout to sign one’s presence, homecoming or victory) echoed from the houses. A euphoric and hopeful spirit filled the air as people went from one house to another taking in all the cultural exhibitions. Towards the southern side of the grounds, immediately behind a row of houses, there was a main, central stage and an arena where various cultural programs were to be performed… Yimchung warriors danced and chanted. The Naga flag was unfurled and the audience erupted into shouts of joy. Konyak warriors beat the log drum. The sounds of nzaka and the chiming of the small bells waving on the warriors’ dresses blended with the log drum rhythm…For the first time in their history, collective Naga tribes had come together at the Naga Week to celebrate a shared cultural heritage and common indigenous identity (Lotha, 198–199).

I read Lotha’s recollection of Naga Week for the first time with a strong sense of déjà vu because it was so similar to my memories of the first Hornbill festival held in the local ground in 2000. With the omission of the explicit participation of Naga tribes in the form of huts and the presence of a hot air balloon, the format of the first Hornbill Festival was almost exactly like the Naga Week described by both Lotha and Sanyü. Festival in Kisama Heritage Village Entry to Kisama Heritage Complex is regulated and supervised by the youth of two villages—KIgwema and PheSAMA—that donated the land for the complex. Incidentally, the name Kisama is derived from part combination of these two villages. As you walk inside, the sound of singing and dancing emanating from the cultural arena, blocked from view by the two storied Bamboo Pavilion, welcomes you. Perhaps, it is the Naga predilection for music or simply a human response to the sublimity inherent in songs that one of my respondents recounted that ‘the sound of singing makes me feel proud and nostalgic…I feel sad to think that I will never hear this in real life, I mean, I don’t think even now people sing like this in villages, life has changed so much’. It was also my personal experience on first entering Kisama that the sound of singing and dancing filled me with a sense of loss, of a time that will never be. I entered the Heritage Complex acutely aware that this space is one of temporal fantasy, even for me as a Naga. The sight of cultural troupes singing and dancing grandly decked in their traditional attire is spectacular. Especially during the

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inaugural programme, after each troupe has performed for a little while, all troupes join together in an unchoreographed but strangely harmonious medley of language, music, dance and costume, all simultaneously performing together. This cultural spectacle is unique as it underlines that music and dance can erase differences on the one hand and on the other this spectacle is also a symbol of triumph in overcoming collective pain and suffering. In the midst of this performative pastiche that is the culmination of the inaugural cultural programme, supposedly meant for tourists, however local people also participate in the festival with gusto and enjoy the celebration. The festival thus blurs the boundary of the ‘official’ and becomes a people’s festival. It is a curious sensation to witness this vast network of gazes. Enough theories exist for why tourists seek these kinds of spectacle. For some, these are ‘pseudoevents’ that provide pleasure and escape from reality (Boorstin, 1964) while acting as a soothing cocoon, to others, the real host culture and environment protect them (Turner & Ash, 1975). Some tourists, according to MacCannell (1999), are like pilgrims weary of their modern existence who are on a quest for authenticity and find meaning in the ‘staged authenticity’ of these performances and displays that are in reality ‘reconstructed ethnicities.’ Urry and Larson (2011, 23) write that ‘tourists not only gaze but also gazed upon by staff and ‘locals.’ Locals gaze upon tourists’ practices, clothes, bodies and cameras and find them amusing, disgusting, curious or attractive. Locals are tourists themselves and in the above case, they come to see the tourists. Thus, Nagas have a ‘touristic reflexivity” (Urry and Larson, 2011, 24) but one that is centred on the primacy of the host and not the tourist/guest. According to late Thomas, Director, Department of Tourism: We [Nagas] are out of touch with our own culture. Not just youngsters but even people of my generation, we don’t know about our traditions. So, to say the Kisama is only for tourists is not accurate. You see, even we learn many things…in fact, I used to encourage the troupe members that they should do research properly and give authentic presentations…You see the tourists will not know anything, for them they will be amazed by you but our own people, they will know whether you are presenting the right one or not (Interview, 2016)

In this sense, it is the gaze of the local as tourist which dictates the quality and authenticity of the cultural display and performance. Urry and Larsen include both the tourist gaze and the gaze of the host as practices within ‘tourism reflexivity [which are] sets of systematic, regularized and evaluative procedures that enable places to monitor, modify and maximize their location within the turbulent global order’ (2011, 24). This is true for us, in the Naga context, that this reflexivity is located within our own local and communal order. For a local like me, going to Kisama each year to witness new cultural troupes is a way to learn about my own tribe as well as others. Within 16 tribes, different groups from different villages are selected each year to represent their tribe. This allows for a variation in attire, song, dialect, cultural performances and food. So, while we are fully aware that everything is staged, we still come to Kisama and consume the cultural displays as signs of a traditional heritage with which we are no longer in touch.

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The Festival Matrix Of the 16 traditional houses erected for each of the 16 recognized tribes, some are modelled on traditional houses of wealthy Angami, Sümi, Chakesang, Lotha and Zeliang tribes’ men with Mithun style horns that adorn roofs of the houses as well as with carved wooden panels in the façade. Others like the Ao, Chang, Khiamniungan, Konyak etc. are in the style of morungs or boys’ dormitory with massive log drums kept inside which were used in olden times to warn villagers of attacks by animals or enemies. While most houses display their textiles and artefacts; sell trinkets, handicrafts and tools, of past years, the Angami, Sümi, Chakhesang, Lotha and Ao huts served their tribal cuisines in their huts. In fact, the quality of the fare along with space and well-made seating areas for visitors to eat has turn these huts into popular eating and drinking joints for locals as well as tourists. More recent Hornbill Festival editions find all tribal houses serving their cuisines. Most houses brew and serve (for sale) rice beer. The pastime is to walk from house to house, stopping in one to have tea, another to eat lunch. If one is interested in watching the cultural performances in the arena, the Chakhesang house is best as it offers an optimal view. While they are not performing in the arena, troupes come back to their respective houses to rest and display themselves for tourists and locals who are walking about. Often the troupes dance or sing in the small compounds outside their houses; sometimes they do so upon the request of visitors. They pose for photos individually, in groups and sometimes with their visitors. As it gets colder, it is not unusual to see them take out sweaters, coats, and pants to wear over their costumes. On the last day of the Hornbill Festival, from around 5 pm, a closing ceremony is held in Kisama. A large pyramid (9 to 10ft high) of firewood is set up in the centre of the arena, around it are arranged smaller pyramids (5 to 6ft). The cultural troupes assemble once again in the arena, with each tribe encircling one of the smaller pyramids, around which they dance and sing. The central pyramid is lit by the Chief Guest gracing the ceremony. Representatives from each tribal troupe carry the fire from this large bonfire to light their own. With the bonfires lit, the troupes continue to sing and dance around them, gradually roaming to other bonfires to join and dance with other troupes (Keditsu, 2010, 2017, 75–76). Variations in this format have come in the following years. Since 2011, the new reigning Miss Nagaland (crowned in a pageant held during the Hornbill Festival) is given the charge of lighting the bonfire. In the past three years, there is only one large bonfire. Yet these minor changes in format do not take away anything from the spectacular and evocative symbolism of people dancing together in unity. Transformation of Indigenous Festivals through Tourism In his study of Balinese culture, Michael Picard looks at how dance forms which were initially invented or modified with the tourists in mind, are then accepted back into traditional repertoire and deemed fit to local indigenous functions/rituals. He writes: International tourism generates a demand for cultural performances by prompting whole societies to stage their culture for foreign audiences. In reply to this demand, the local

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populations construct a representation of their culture, simultaneously based upon their own indigenous system of references and their understanding of tourists’ expectations (Picard, 1990, 44).

The final product of this encounter is a local culture transformed by tourism into a ‘touristic culture, [where] the Balinese are becoming self-conscious spectators of their own culture’ (ibid, 74). The local/host has now come to share the position of the spectator occupied by the tourist, or one can argue, even displace the tourist (Bendix, 1989; Adams, 2006). Transformations in local culture as a result of tourism can be observed in the way the celebration of traditional festivals have changed over the past two decades (2000– 2020). One motive is to turn these festivals into alternate tourist attractions by the tourism department. Though first-hand viewership is most often limited to members of the tribe/village, the media and social networking sites ensure videos and images of these events reach other members of Naga society and outsiders. It is thus in the sphere of representation that identities and hegemonies are asserted and challenged. Negotiations that may be said to have begun in Hornbill festival, between tribal, Christian and global identities continue here. The resurgent pride in tribal and ethnic appearance is visible in time and space. Whereas before, only performers would come dressed in traditional attire and others in western dress, recent festivals have witnessed increasing members turn up in very ‘accurate’ tribal costumes. This is further reinforced by organizing committees who now dictate traditional attire as part of the ‘dress code’ for such events. Committees also employ modern and savvy campaigns, drawing from but increasingly out-matching the publicity campaigns for Hornbill Festival by the government. In a write up published as a complement to the celebration of the Phom festival of Monyu in 2015, Dr. B. Henshet Phom writes: …with the advent of Christianity followed by mass conversion into Christianity, the Phoms did not give much importance to their traditional festival than as they considered their traditional beliefs and practices as devilish and out dated. This wrong understanding and conception led to the loss of many valuable cultures. But today, with the dawn of a new understanding that Christianity can also be adapted to the Phom culture and that Phom traditional values can also be incorporated into the process of modernization, Phoms today are making every effort to rediscover and preserve their rich culture and heritage (‘Significance of The Phom Monyu Festival’, OP-ED, Eastern Mirror, March 29, 2015).

The ravages of history make a return to some kind of untouched traditional past impossible. We are no longer able to access our indigenous cultural forms of old. However, cultural forms are not constant, they are perpetually in the process of being formed and reformed. Colonialism, religion and conflict are just episodes in a series of interventions that now include modernity, globalization, capitalism and what O’Sullivan (2019) calls, ‘The Levelling’. What concerns the indigenous subject is the necessity of agency and power. I hope, I have demonstrated that tourism through the Hornbill Festival at Kisama Heritage Complex is a conduit by which we Nagas have been able to access and recover some of our indigenous heritage that was lost to us. While communities have made great efforts to save some forms if not wholly

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recovering cultural practices of the past, they have indeed created an opportunity for ourselves to relive the past and also provide an opportunity for others (tourists) to understand Nagas better in a cultural language of our own. By placing ourselves in the centre of a narrative of our own making, we the Nagas have co-opted a tourist event into a cultural form.

Notes 1. E.W.Clark, American missionary ventured into the Naga Hills in 1872. Along with the first few converts of Haimong Village, Clark established a new ‘Christian’ village of Molungyimsen. Molung became the base for the Baptist mission work in the Eastern Naga Hills until the mission centre shifted to Impur in 1894. See Pruett, 1974, pp 52. 2. Phizo 1951, http://www.neuenhofer.de/guenter/nagaland/phizo.html

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Keditsu, T. (2017). Re-locating Nagaland: The politics of location and identity in the Hornbill festival, Kisama, Nagaland. In H. Rymbai et al. (Eds.), Politics of location and identity in Northeast India. New Delhi: Om Publications. Kikon, D. (2005). Operation Hornbill Festival 2004. In Gateway to the East: a Symposium on Northeast India and the Look East Policy. Seminar #550. Longkumer, A. (2017). Who sings for the Hornbill? The Performance and Politics of Culture in Nagaland. In J.J.P. Wouters & M. Heneise (Eds.), Nagas in the 21st Century (pp. 107–116). Kohima: The Highlander Books. Longvah, S. (2017). Christian conversion, the rise of Naga consciousness, and Naga nationalist politics. In J.J.P. Wouters & M. Heneise (Eds.), Nagas in the 21st Century (pp. 133–150). Kohima: The Highlander Books. Lotha, A. (2007). History of Naga anthropology (1832–1947). Dimapur: Nagaland Chumpo Museum Press. Lotha, A. (2013). The raging Mithun: Challenges of Naga nationalism. Tromso Norway:Barkweaver Publications. Lotha, A. (2016). The hornbill spirit: Nagas living their nationalism. Dimapur: Heritage Publishing House. MacCannell, D. (1999). The tourist: A new theory of the leisure class. Berkeley: University of California Press. Mills, J. P. (1980). The Lotha Nagas (2nd ed.). Kohima: Directorate of Art and Culture, Government of Nagaland. Mills, J. P. (2003). The Ao Nagas (3rd ed.). Kohima: Directorate of Art and Culture, Government of Nagaland. Ministry of Tourism and Culture. (2002). National tourism policy. http://policies.gov.in/pol_ show_doc.asp?dno=1&pid=delh233 Ministry of Tourism. Annual Report 2004–2005, pdf. Kohima: Government of Nagaland. Nagaland Baptist Church Council (NBCC). (1997). From darkness to light. NBCC. Ninth Five Year Plan, vol. 2, 7.6 Tourism. http://planningcommission.nic.in/plans/planrel/fiveyr/ 9th/vol2/v2c7-6.htm. Oppitz, M., Kaiser, T., von Stockhausen, A., & Wettstein, M. (Eds.). (2008). Naga identities: Changing local cultures in the Northeast of India. Gent: Snoeck Publishers. O’ Sullivan, M. (2019). The levelling: What is after globalization. New York: Public Affairs. Picard, M. (1990). Cultural tourism in Bali: Cultural performances as tourist attraction. Indonesia, 49, 37–74. Pruett, G. E. (1974). Christianity, History, and Culture in Nagaland. Contributions to Indian Sociology, 7, 51–65. Sanyü, V. (1996). A history of Nagas and Nagaland: Dynamics of oral tradition in village formation. New Delhi: Commonwealth Publishers. Sanyü, V., & Broome, R. (2017). A Naga Odyssey: Visier’s long way home. Clayton, Victoria: Monash University Publishing. Sema, P. (1992). British policy and administration in Nagaland 1881–1947. New Delhi: Scholar Publishing House. Sema, K. (2006). Potential of cultural tourism in the northeast. In INTACH, Cultural tourism and the crafts and textiles of the northeast (pp. XI–XV). INTACH. Shimray, R. R. (1986). Origin and culture of Nagas. Delhi: Samsok Publishers. Von Stockhausen, A. (2008). Creating Naga: Identity between Colonial Construction, Political Calculation and Religious Instrumentalisation. In U. Oppitz et al. (Eds.). Naga identities: Changing local cultures in the Northeast of India (pp. 57–80). Gent: Snoeck Publishers. Thong, J. S., & Kath, P. (2012). Glimpses of Naga legacy and culture. Kottayam: Society of Naga Students’ Welfare. Timothy, D. J., & Nyaupane, G. P. (Eds.). (2009). Cultural heritage and tourism in the developing world: A regional perspective. New York: Routledge

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Tunyi, Z. (2018). Exploring Civil Society in Nagaland. In J.J.P. Wouters & Z. Tunyi (Eds.). Democracy in Nagaland: Tribes, traditions and tensions. Kohima: Highlander Books. Turner, L., & Ash, J. (1975). The golden hordes. London: Constable. Urry, J., & Larsen, J. (2011). The tourist gaze 3.0. London: Sage Walton, J. K. (Ed). (2005). Histories of tourism: Representation, identity and conflict. Ontario: Channel View Publications. Wouters, J. J. P., & Heneise, M. (Eds.). (2017). Nagas in the 21st century. Kohima: The Highlander Books.

Chapter 16

Mizo Tlawmngaihna: Then and Now Lalthansangi Ralte

Abstract Tlawmngaihna is a living cultural tradition among the Mizos in spite of the fact that the Mizo community has undergone social transformation in making a choice in adopting Christianity as the new faith. Once become Christian, the Mizos have to abandon their animistic practices and were integrated into Christian theological world view. Obviously, they had to abandon spirit worship, its rituals and move into a space of prayers and commandments aspiring to the grant of the all-compassionate Lord’s mercy. However, Tlawmngaihna meaning ‘service before self’, as a cultural characteristic, continued and got integrated into the Christian concept of ‘fellowship.’ The present paper is an attempt to examine this living tradition in its changing cultural contexts including the Covid-19 pandemic scenario of the present time. Keywords Tlawmngaihna · Social transformation · Christianity · Animistic practices · Cultural characteristics · Changing cultural contexts · Covid-19 One of the ethnic groups of Northeast India, the Mizo, has witnessed different phases of cultural change. Colonial modernity beginning with the latter half of the nineteenth century through the first part of the twentieth century brought about immense change in Mizo society. The most significant change was from orality to literacy that further brought about a new cultural identity. This paper will attempt to bring forth the various practices and cultural forms of the Mizos, some of which are no longer in use. The latter part of the paper will focus on the present-day scenario, following the Covid-19 pandemic and the ways in which the traditional cultural practices were revisited to deal with the challenge. On the face of Covid-19, it is observed that there was a drastic change in Mizo attitude. The study is supported by data collected through survey eliciting information including personal interviews. In the Pre-Christian era, the Mizos followed a particular form of religion (mode of worship) or Sakhua. The L. Ralte (B) Department of English, Govt. J. Thankima, College, Aizawl, Mizoram, India e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 K. C. Baral (ed.), Cultural Forms and Practices in Northeast India, People, Cultures and Societies: Exploring and Documenting Diversities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-19-9292-6_16

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term Sakhua is defined as ‘the belief and worship of one good unseen God, Pathian, dwelling in heaven, who is the creator of all and who blesses and protects all his creations’ (Vanlaltlani, 2009, 51). Saiaithanga, on the other hand, is of the opinion that Sakhua is not the worship of Pathian, nor of the Ramhuai (forest/land dwelling multifarious spirits), but of Khuavang, considered by the ancestors as the one who protects and blesses (Saiaithanga, 1981, 51). This Pre-Christian mode of worship was committed to spirit appeasement; sadawt (priest, one who pierces the sacrificial animal) performed the task of offering sacrificial animals to the Ramhuai. Rev. Liangkhaia, one of the foremost Christian leaders among the Mizos, is of the opinion that Sa refers to one clan and Khua refers to the protector of one’s village (Liangkhaia, 1976, 21). This argument is shared by Zairema who said that Sakhua is the guardian spirit of one’s clan by whom one is identified (Zairema, 1988, 36). T. Vanlaltlani, in her work, wrote that even though some Mizo writers have labeled the pre-Christian Mizo belief system as animism, Mizo Sakhua is more than animism. She said that animism is only one element of Mizo Sakhua (Vanlaltlani, 2009, 53). She further added that Sa and Khua were later identified with Pathian among the Mizos. And so, children took the Sakhua of their fathers and women took the Sakhua of their husbands. It was on 20th March, 1891 that the first British missionary Rev. William Williams of the Welsh Calvinistic Methodist Foreign Mission set foot in Mizoram. He worked in the Khasi and Jaintia Hills and explored the terrain with the aim of religious work in Mizoram (Reid, 1979, 34). After a months’ stay in Mizoram, he returned to Liverpool and appealed to adopt Mizoram as a mission field. Soon after the adoption of Mizoram as a mission field by the General Assembly in 1892, Rev. William Williams died of typhoid (Laldena, 1988, 43). But the Arthington Aborigines Mission sent Rev. J.H. Lorrain and Rev. F.W. Savidge to Mizoram in 1894 (Lalrinawma, 2005, 182). The greatest number of changes in the indigenous Mizo religion, culture and traditions and the outlook and dress style of the Mizos occurred during the period between the dawn of the twentieth century and the Second World War. Amidst the spread of Christianity, the year 1907 saw the spread of the Puma Zai festival, a celebration ‘to commemorate the composition of an exemplary new lyric’ (Thirumal et al., 2018, 62). In the book Modern Mizoram: History, Culture and Poetics, the authors wrote that Puma Zai is a ‘festival memorializing the past where the past is an obligation to respond to a calling and to revive a hope for the future’ (67). The Mizos, a people with a ‘community aesthetic sense’ (ibid), felt great emotional upheaval as a result of the Puma Zai festival. The Church took drastic measures to suppress this upheaval as there were many who left the church to be a part of the festival. Rev. Liangkhaia, who called this festival ‘a power of darkness’, also mentioned the trouble caused by this widely popular festival. As this festival continued till 1911, the Church leaders felt it necessary to curb traditional pre-Christian customs which always included drinking zu (local liquor) (Zairema, 1988, 3–5). Rev. Zairema mentioned that medical and health care work was one of the reasons which helped in the spread of Christianity in Mizoram. As already mentioned, the Mizos were a people who offer sacrifices to appease the spirits as they believed that illnesses and misfortunes were caused by evil spirits. The missionaries equipped with basic medicines were able to cure many

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illnesses of the natives and so the natives became more confident and no longer felt the need to appease the spirits (Zairema, 1988, 24–25). With the spread of Christianity, schools and hospitals were opened; education and health care became very important in strengthening the works of the Church. The change in the theological structure of the world under Christianity changed the world view of the Mizos. In the present time, Christianity is followed by the majority of people in Mizoram. Looking back at the past, and its institutions such as Zawlbuk will give a clear picture of traditional Mizo society. Zawlbuk was a critical institution that ensured handing down of cultural values to younger generations that ultimately shaped their characters as responsible members of the community. Among other things, Zawlbuk education inculcated in each and every youth the value of shared responsibility and respect for tradition. Tlawmngaihna was one of those critical values imbibed by each and every youth of the village. The spirit of Tlawmngaihna that is service before the self was also imparted to the youth by their parents and elders. In the Zawlbuk young boys were taught how to be self-less and sacrifice self-interest for common good. The Val Upa (a bachelor of a certain age who has gained the respect of the society because of his selflessness) would watch the activities of the young people and make a point to reward the selfless ones. When there’s a death nearby, it was always the youth and the Val Upa the first to reach the house of the deceased. The teenage boys and girls would help clear the house in preparation for the funeral. They would rush out to fetch water and firewood to prepare tea and other eatables for the mourners. It was the youth who were sent to inform relatives and friends from nearby villages of the news of the death; this was called Zualko. Nowadays, with the advancement of technology the task of Zualko can easily be done over the phone. The young were very respectful of their elders; this sign of respect was shown especially when one ate and when one worked. The young would eat only after the elders had taken their share of the food and when it was time to work, the young would always try to surpass the elders with their hard work. The youth always considered it embarrassing to sit down and do nothing while an elder was doing some work. In Mizo society since earlier times, the poor and the needy were always helped by the community. It was the youth who’d construct houses for them and help out with physical labour, planting and sowing for them in their fields. It is said that since earlier times, in the Mizo society no one ever died of starvation as there was always someone willing to help others (Lalrinawma, 2005, 133). It has always been the youth who carried out the spirit of Tlawmngaihna in action may it be digging graves, carrying the sick and, at times, the dead; they do all this wilfully, under the supervision of the Val Upa. This spirit of Tlawmngaihna manifests itself in a number of ways: (i) Mi Zawn (carrying the sick/the dead) In earlier times, whenever a sick or dead person was to be carried to or from another village, a messenger would be sent to the next village to inform them of the coming of the dead or the sick. The sick or the dead would be carried till the end of the village border from where the volunteers of the other village are obliged to carry forward. There often ensued a tug-of-war in demonstrating which youth group or youth are/is more committed to the task of community service. This indeed is a show

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of the spirit of ‘tlawmngaihna’ in which each village tried to show that theey were more capable to accomplish the task (Dokhuma, 2008, 258). After the entry of the white man, but before the insurgency of 1966, each village used to have a signal post. In each village there would be a few people who knew this technique of signalling using torch-lights. The signal posts, small huts with windows on all sides, would be located at the highest point of the village. When there was no reply from the signal posts, either due to bad weather or because there was no one at the post, ‘runners’ would be sent to the village under reference to inform them of the sick/the dead person being carried. The signalling seems to be a technique taught to the Mizo by the white man. After the insurgency this kind of signalling was banned and all the torch-lights were confiscated by the soldiers of the Indian Army.1 After news of the whereabouts of the people carrying the sick/the dead was known, the village crier or Tlangau would announce what needed to be done by the men folk of their village. It is worth mentioning that the first private motor vehicle, a Willy Jeep, owned by the MLA of Khawbung constituency, Joe Ngurdawla, came to eastern Mizoram only in the year 1980. This example underlines that this part of Mizoram was still in much need of the ‘runners’ and people would carry the sick/dead to the hospitals on foot till as late as the 1980s. The task of the ‘runner’ was regarded as a duty of the youth who is agile and can run swiftly for hours without making any stops along the way. (ii) Bo Zawn (search for missing people) If and when someone went missing for no apparent reason (khuangcher bo) or drowned or attacked by wild animals, the people of the village would organize search parties for seven days in which all able-bodied men would participate and young women would pack food for them. While the women and older men would stay behind with the family of the missing, the search parties would go in different directions looking for the missing person. If unsuccessful even after three days they would sometimes seek the help of neighbouring villages (Dokhuma, 2008, 260). During these times no one would make excuses even if they were very busy with their own work, though they were not obligated by any law but only by the spirit of ‘tlawmngaihna’. If and when the body of the missing person was found in a very bad state of decay or mutilation, the men would not show any sign of disgust or revulsion in carrying the dead. They just did what needed to be done, took care of the body and brought it safely home. Such is the spirit of tlawmngaihna. Even today when people die in such a manner, they are immediately buried upon reaching home without having a wake. Then the same men take up the task of foot messengers and grave diggers without taking rest even though it may be in the middle of the night. The foot messengers too, do not rest for sleep on their way to deliver the message to other villages. When the message is delivered, they do not stay on and rest but return straight home. This practice of searching for the missing for seven days is done till the present day. If the missing person is still not found after seven days of search, a number of close relatives and tlawmngai (selfless) young men continue to search for the missing person. Since earlier times, young men played a very important role when someone died. Without them the social life would not have been easy as they took up all the difficult

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tasks. This practice is still followed even today. In the pre-Christian period, a death would necessitate the sounding of a gong or ‘Dâr mang’. This pre-Christian practice also prevails today as the Church bell or dar khuang (another type of gong) is sounded on the death of a person and at the time of the funeral. The dar khuang is ‘slung on a pole with the help of a rope and carried on the shoulders of two men, was sounded to announce a death’ (Pachuau, 2014, 201). Nowadays, the church bell is sounded and followed by an announcement of death by the tlangau. When the deceased is brought from far away, the church bell is sounded at the start of the funeral. It was between the years 1985 and 1990 that the task of informing the locality and nearby places of death was taken up by the YMA tlangau. It seems that the announcement of deaths by the tlangau happened only after public address systems could be installed in each area.2 (iii) Khawhar in riah (consoling the bereaved by sleeping over) Joy L. K. Pachuau in her book Being Mizo says, ‘mourning [among the Mizos is] associated with death as ‘collective performance’ that produce social solidarity’ (Pachuau, 185). The Mizos are a people who act collectively; they mourn together and console one another as a collective. Spending the night at the home of the departed had been an important tradition among the Mizo youth for a very long time. In earlier times, the young men who stayed the night helped the family with everyday chores like collecting firewood, fetching water, and with their presence, helped to minimize the loneliness and emptiness of the family. From the night of the burial, they would usually spend seven (as with the duration of the search for the missing person) nights at the home of the bereaved family. During earlier times, the Val upa (the senior bachelor leader) of the Zawlbuk (bachelors’ dormitory) did not allow the young men to stay at night longer than seven nights at the bereaved family for fear of risking the security of the village. So, after seven nights they would return to the Zawlbuk. However, one or two close relatives of the bereaved would be allowed to stay behind. When another death occurred within or at the end of the seven days, they would first spend a night at the Zawlbuk and then proceed to the bereaved family’s house the following night (Dokhuma, 2008, 261). In the capital city of Aizawl, YMA leaders of various localities felt the need to bring about changes with the practice of Khawhar in riah. In the year 2004, the YMA leaders of Chanmari in Aizawl went around and took the opinions of bereaved families regarding the continuation of this practice. Gradually, they did away with this practice stating that bereaved families could always invite the YMA to ‘sleepover’.3 On July 27th 2006, the local Executive Committee of the Zarkawt YMA had a meeting regarding the practice of Khawhar in riah. A resolution was passed stating that the practice of Khawhar in riah would no longer be a requisite; this practice was not straightaway stopped but the Zarkawt YMA was still open to families who wanted to host the ‘sleep-over group’. Bereaved families who wanted to host the ‘sleep-over’ were most welcome to invite the YMA as many members were more than ready to do so; this resolution is followed till the present day. This may be due to multiple reasons, for there is no need to fetch water, collect firewood and do associated chores that are intrinsic to the event.

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(iv) Mitthi in Tlaivar (Night vigil at the house of the deceased) If the hour of death is in the morning and the body of the deceased reaches the home before 9AM then the funeral usually happens at 1PM on the same day; if not, then a vigil or a wake had to be kept throughout the night. The early hours of the night are considered to be the time for the elderly and the parents. It is after 11PM that songs from the Young Christian Fellowship song books are sung. The time after 11PM is considered to be the time for the youth who will keep vigil throughout the night by singing songs to console the bereaved family. Each YMA unit is self-sufficient as they bring their own musical instruments including but not limited to electric guitars and keyboards. Only close families and friends and the YMA members hold a vigil or ‘tlaivar’ at the mitthi in or home of the deceased. At around two in the morning, members of the YMA distribute tea and usually rice porridge or cake to everyone in the household who has kept the vigil. In the early hours of the morning, at around 5AM, the elderly members come to the home of the deceased to ease the youth who had kept vigil throughout the night; after their arrival the youth leave for home and soon the young men go to the graveyard to dig the grave. When a night vigil is held, the funeral ceremony usually happens at 12 noon at the house of the deceased; however, if the deceased is a Pastor or a Church Elder then the funeral is usually held at the Church, circumstances permitting. (iv) Thlan laih (digging of grave) Around 1947/48, in the southern parts of Aizawl, the task of mi zawn (searching for missing person), thlan laih (digging of grave) and khawhar in riah (sleeping over to console the family of the deceased) were taken up by the youth of the locality under the guidance of a Val Upa.4 Today, the task of digging graves is taken up by the YMA, irrespective of the church denomination of the deceased. After the death is announced in the public address system, members of the YMA of the locality come together to dig the grave. In localities like Chanmari, in Aizawl, the caretaker of the graveyard has been responsible for the digging of graves since 2017 and thlan laih is no longer a ‘duty’ of the YMA. The caretaker either digs the grave himself or hires the diggers. (v) Khawhar in len (visiting the bereaved family as a consoling gesture) As mentioned earlier, the Mizos are a people who mourn collectively. Members of the locality, especially neighbours and close friends, usually visit the family of the bereaved often after the funeral service. They usually express their condolences by giving the bereaved family some money and this is called ‘in râl’; depending on the financial status of the person giving and the person given to. The YMA of the locality takes on the task of conducting a ‘mourning period/khawhar in len’ for three evenings after the funeral, usually from 6:30 to 9PM. During this time, the youth of the locality come together and sing. Older members also attend this mourning period and family members and close friends take turns speaking about the life and achievements of the deceased. The male members of the YMA prepare tea and snacks which are

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distributed to the gathering by younger female members of the YMA. On the last and third night, usually a senior-most member of the family would thank the YMA and to all those who have come to console them. Nowadays, the bereaved family would gift a number of ‘puan’ (cloth which was given to them by the mourners) to the YMA. In recent time, young women take on the duty of collecting a cup of rice from each household of the locality for the bereaved family; in some localities an amount of money between 10 and 20 rupees is collected in place of a cup of rice. (vi) Significance of Puan Puan is a Mizo traditional cloth that is worn as a wrap-around. Puan was worn both by men and women in earlier times. In earlier times, a corpse would be wrapped with a puan before it was buried. When people venture out in search of a missing person, it is a requirement to carry at least four or five puan with them to cover the body of the missing person when found. If the missing person is found dead the body would be covered with puan and tied to a long bamboo and carried by two strong young men at the two ends. The persons carrying the dead body would run as fast as they could till they reach a place where they are relieved by others who have heard of their arrival. A true Mizo gentleman would always carry a puan with him when he hears of a death close by. In the present day, even though puan is no longer used to actually wrap the body of the deceased, family and relatives seated near the body would first cover the body with a puan for a short time before arranging it at the side along with the other puans received from mourners and well-wishers (interview with Vanengliana). After Christianity became the religion of the majority, the code of Tlawmngaihna found its resonance in YMA and other such organizations under the Christian mission. The Young Mizo Association was founded on 15th June, 1935 and its motto is ‘Help the needy’. It is the largest non-profit, non-governmental organization of the Mizos. It is a voluntary organization where any Mizo above 14 years of age can become a member. The YMA came into existence with the motto of preserving Mizo tradition and culture. Following the spirit of Tlawmngaihna, it continues to serve the people. Furthermore, as Mizo society increasingly got urbanized, the role of YMA has become more challenging. It plays a major role in the context of eradicating other evils such as taking care of alcohol prohibition and dealing with drug peddling. Other organizations like Mizo Hmeichhe Insuihkhawm Pawl (MHIP) came into being on the 6th of July 1974. It is the largest voluntary women’s organization in Mizoram focusing on social work for the upliftment of women and children. The concept of free labour is still practiced among the Mizos; a very beautiful example of free labour is practiced by members of the MHIP in helping the sick families by working in their fields. Epidemics in Mizoram Because of its remoteness and isolated villages, there was no memory or recorded history of epidemics in Mizoram till 1917. In 1917, Sahdala, a villager from Hrangtuinek was administered with small pox vaccine with a cut in his arm. Hrangtuinek,

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a village of 300 houses in the northern part of Mizoram, had a woman Chief, Khupkhawtlingi, wife of Letzakaia. The villagers in fear of getting the small pox vaccine ran away to the forests and some went into hiding. Some even thought that it was the white man’s black magic whereby poison was put inside the body through the cut in the arm. Sedgwick described the small pox vaccination process of the early twentieth century in the following: A spot, usually on the upper arm, is scraped by a lancelet, so that the outer layers of the epidermis are removed; the spot is then rubbed with an ivory point, quill or tube, carrying the virus. A slight and usually unimportant illness or indisposition follows, and the arm is sore for a time, a characteristic scar remaining (Hough & Sedgwick, 1906, 564).

The vaccination process itself was quite frightening for the natives. There were people who tried to suck out the vaccine thinking that it was poison. Those who were brave enough to get the vaccine soon found out how lucky they were to have taken the vaccine. However, the story did not end with this. The return of seventeen young men from France recruited for the First World War changed the aspiration of the youth. Some of them with the cash in hand wanted to start business. Five men of the village, Rova, Sawia, Khupgina, Kapa and Bawia, went to Manipur to carry out business and during their journey, they came across a person who suffered from smallpox. Rova went to see how exactly a person inflicted with smallpox looked like. Rova was infected with small pox and returned to his village. In April 1919, Rova fell sick and died. His funeral turned disastrous; for relatives mourned his death holding his body ultimately got infected in big numbers. Alas, the dreaded small pox began to spread like wild fire to all corners of the village. The infected were kept in a cave called Khuangzang cave and huts were built for them at Lungzehkawn. The men of Lailawng village, knowing that a person who has recovered from small pox can no longer contract it again, helped those infected and even took charge of collecting and burying the dead. The first known account of small pox vaccination was written by Thanga, a small pox vaccinator in the columns of Mizo leh Vai Chanchinbu (September, 1908), a local newspaper. Thanga exhorted the people on the benefits of the vaccine. He pleaded in favour of Govt’s call for compulsory vaccination and cautioned that there would be no use in offering sacrifices as the only way to prevent it was by taking the vaccine. Trying to win the sentiments of the natives and the Chiefs, he also wrote that if a person got infected and died, it might taint the image of the Chief (1908, 6–7). At this time, there were a few who contracted influenza although mention had not been made much of it. It is said that in a single day as many as twenty-four people died. During these trying times the spirit of tlawmngaihna was not abandoned. The young men were busy collecting corpses, digging graves and organizing funerals. Even the young boys and girls, old enough to collect firewood, were made to collect wood for thlân khâr. Thlân khâr is defined as pieces of wood, bamboo, or stone with which the recess at the bottom of a Mizo grave is closed to prevent the earth from coming into contact with the corpse when the grave is filled in (Lorrain, 1982, 477). There were a few who survived the smallpox epidemic in Hrangtuinek.5

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Written record of the spread of the Spanish flu (influenza) among the Mizos is found in the monthly newspaper Mizo leh Vai Chanchinbu. In January 1919 edition of this newspaper, Dr. C.K. Dalta wrote about the measures to be taken for prevention against influenza, the ‘disease of our times’ (4). He emphasized the importance of personal hygiene, not to cough and sneeze in public and most important of all, to avoid the company of others as this was the fastest way to spread the disease. He mentioned that the patient should stay in an airy room and use clean bed sheets and blankets and try to stay out in the sun for short intervals every day. Regarding the food of the patient, he mentioned that it should be bland and easily digestible and the patient should take medicine as and when necessary. He also wrote that anything which can escalate the spread of the disease like gathering in huge crowds and spitting and sneezing in public should be done away with (4–5). In this edition, Makthanga, the editor of the newspaper also gave a record of the number of lives lost to the flu worldwide as 6,000,000 (8–9). I came across an article in a monthly bulletin of the Adult Education Wing named Meichher (July, 2020) on the Spanish Flu pandemic of 1918–19. The author, Ms. Veronica K Zatluangi, wrote briefly that her grandfather, Vaitaia, died in the winter of 1918 due to this pandemic.6 Cholera epidemic struck Khandaih village in 1905. About 50 grownups and 20 to 70 children died because of this disease. Drinking of unclean water was the main cause of the epidemic among the Mizos in 1909. The May 1909 edition of Mizo leh Vai Chanchinbu gave much importance to health and hygiene. It gave a list of hospitals (12) in Mizoram with the names of the ‘Babu’ (in-charge) of the hospitals. Emphasis was given on drinking clean water, keeping oneself and one’s surroundings clean and giving proper food and clothing to children and infants to decrease illnesses among infants and children.7 In the village of Khandaih, the men in their drunkenness did not heed to the counsel and continued to drink unclean water. This immensely increased the spread of the disease. The Government sent them a doctor and a compounder who pitched their tents on a hill. The young men of the village kept a vigil helping them distribute medicines and they also added disinfectants in the village wells. This was misunderstood by the natives who feared it saying that it was the magic of the vai (foreigner). There were some who even said that it was the result of the Christians who angered the spirits and so decided to migrate to a new village. COVID-19 The year 2020 brought the whole world face to face with the novel corona virus. Focus will be given on how the Mizos, as a people, have carried on their lives in the midst of a pandemic, how the spirit of Tlawmngaihna continues to burn in the hearts of the Mizo people. Till the 5th of July 2020, the total number of Covid-19 cases detected in Mizoram was 186 out of which 53 cases were still active and 133 cases were cured.8 With the spread of the deadly corona virus, educational institutions were closed in Mizoram from 17th March, 2020 onwards. Right away, every locality and village formed their own Local Level Task Force (LLTF) and Village Level Task Force (VLTF) respectively. Announcements of death in the locality were still made by the Tlangau. Important announcements related to lockdown and prescribed rules and regulations were announced by the LLTF/VLTF by the Tlangau. The LLTF/VLTF

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consisted of members comprising of YMA leaders and Church leaders; they take on the task of maintaining discipline and peace in their respective locality/villages and helping the needy. The State of Mizoram implemented the Mizoram Epidemic Diseases (Covid-19) Regulations, 2020 on the basis of the Epidemic Diseases Act of 1897. From the month of May, the Mizoram (Containment and Prevention of Covid-19) Ordinance, 2020 was implemented specially to deal with the Covid-19 pandemic. The State has periodically implemented lockdown/ unlock guidelines as and when necessary. During this pandemic, the State has given high priority to the health and welfare of its people trying to minimize the economic problem of every one. The State of Mizoram announced a state-level lockdown even before the Central Government did so. Guidelines were implemented, following the guidelines laid down by the Government of India, and strictly upheld with the help of the Local Level and Village Level Task Force. A survey was conducted on ten Local Level Task Forces within Aizawl and five Village Level Task Forces outside Aizawl. The survey found that the LLTF and VLTF were formed following the criteria laid down by the State Government. Over and above the criteria laid down by the Government, the Ramhlun North LLTF created the additional posts of Assistant Secretary and Treasurer. The first case of Covid-19 in Mizoram was found in a man who travelled back home to Mizoram from abroad on the 16th of March 2020. Following this case, the Churches in Mizoram accepted the State Government’s request to use church halls as quarantine facilities.9 In some localities like Ramhlun North in Aizawl, the Govt. Middle School was also used as a quarantine facility. Mizos who returned from Chennai reached Mizoram by a special Shramik train on the 15th of May.10 These people were the first group of people to return to Mizoram after the state and countrywide lockdown was exercised. This was followed by the return of thousands of Mizos from various corners of the country like Delhi, Dehradun, Bangalore, Mumbai, Kolkata and many other places. With their return, the Government of Mizoram, along with the combined efforts of the Churches and Local and Village Level Task Forces, had taken on the task of creating quarantine centres. After Covid-19 positive cases escalated, the Task Forces also strengthened their ranks and increased the number of people on duty at the quarantine posts. In a case study of the Local Level Task Force of Ramhlun North in Aizawl, teachers in the locality were assigned the duties at the quarantine centres after Lockdown 4.0 along with the YMA leaders who were on duty since the beginning of Lockdown 1.0. In a case study of five Village Level Task Forces, members took turns on duty with two-hour shifts. The YMA and the Local Council members undertook the role of maintaining the quarantine centres. The YMA of various localities and villages are divided into sections, for example, section Y, section M, and section A. So, the youth of the various sections of the YMA would take turns on duty. In one particular locality, the members of the Church Youth Group (KTP) ¸ volunteered to prepare lunch for the quarantined. The State Government provided food which was distributed by members of the YMA and Church Youth Group. It is usually the youth who took charge of being on duty at the various quarantine centres. But during lockdown, everyone, not just the younger members, had to take turns to be on duty at the quarantine centres. The Government

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distributed money to the various LLTFs and VLTF to be used at the various quarantine centres and for helping people from the poorer section of society. It is often debated that the Mizo spirit of Tlawmngaihna has dwindled over the years. This paper attempts to show that Tlawmngaihna is still in the hearts of the Mizos and it seems to have rekindled in the hearts of the Mizos especially during this pandemic. The LLTF of Ramhlun North recorded that till Lockdown 4.0, they received Rs. 13,86,360/- (Rupees Thirteen Lakhs, eighty-six thousand and three hundred and sixty) as donation from the people of the locality; the locality is inhabited by around 1500 families. The LLTF kept records of families of low income and distributed essential commodities including rice, vegetables and cooking oil to 182 families. The Ramhlun North LLTF distributed vegetables (four kinds) worth Rs. 2.5 lakhs to all the families of the locality on the 31st of March 2020; the vegetables were supplied by the farmers of Serchhip village. As lockdown continued and the Covid-19 positive cases kept increasing, the spirit of camaraderie also increased in the hearts of the people. The Ramhlun North LLTF was given fresh vegetables by the farmers of Bukpui, Khawlian and Kepran villages; the vegetables were again distributed to all the households at no cost. The VLTF of Phuldungsei village also gifted the LLTF of Electric Veng in Aizawl fresh vegetables on 28th April, 2020. The LLTF of Ramhlun North and Electric Veng in return gave a sum of money to the generous VLTFs of Bukpui, Khawlian, Kepran and Phuldungsei, respectively. Generous families of Sialsuk, a village of 490 families, donated more than 10,000/- rupees till lockdown 4.0. The Sialsuk VLTF helped families in need by giving them bags of rice. The youth played a very important role, evenly distributing the vegetables to the entire households. As this virus is said to affect the aged, above the age of fifty, more than the younger members of the society, it becomes obligatory for the youth to venture out during this pandemic. Mitthi in Tlaivar During Covid-19 New rules and protocols had to be made with the situation brought forth by the Covid-19 pandemic. In the current situation, it has become difficult to attend wakes at Khawhar in bereaved family’s home. The Ramhlun North YMA has come up with a ‘Lusûnte hnêmtu Tlaivar Group’, a group which will keep vigil to console the bereaved family. Government protocol underlines that not more than 50 people are allowed to gather at funerals, weddings and homes of the bereaved. For a people who mourn as a collective, it has become necessary for the YMA to take charge in laying down new rules. As it is no longer possible for the youth, both men and women, to attend wakes as and when they see fit, it has become necessary to appoint those who ‘can’ attend wakes. The young men and women gifted with music and song were selected to keep vigil at the mitthi in (house of the dead); with the spirit of tlawmngaihna, the few chosen, without any complaints keep vigil to console the family of the bereaved. It was on the night of May the 9th that this group first took on their role. Since then, at every wake the convener of the group would always first explain how the group was founded by the self-less efforts of a few musicians and singers. The Tlaivar Group usually takes on their role from 11PM till the break of dawn. The group has one female singer who would lead the singing and musicians

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also perform instruments such as guitar, keyboard and harmonica throughout the night. The convener of the group periodically exhorts the members of the group for their tireless efforts and dedication while simultaneously applauding the selflessness of the members and their musical talent.

The picture shows the Tlaivar Group consoling the bereaved family with song and music. Source: author

As written in MARYMA, a weekly newsletter of Ramhlun North YMA, on July 4th, 2020, the family of the deceased has offered gratitude to the Tlaivar Group who had kept them company and consoled them with beautiful songs and sweet music throughout the night. The President of the Ramhlun North YMA also invited other musicians of the locality to be a part of the Tlaivar Group as it is not known for how long social distancing will be continued. The Role of the State in Disease Control The State has played a very important role in disease control during these difficult times.11 The State has prepared Covid Care Centers (CCC) and Dedicated Covid Health Care Center (DCHCC) in various districts where 344 patients were being cared for as on 31st August 2020. These Centers are maintained by doctors and nurses who are helped by volunteers from the YMA and the Local/Village Council. The Government also appointed the younger Assistant Professors of various colleges to be on Covid-19 duty at the various quarantine centres and Covid Care Centers. The women are usually made to work at the office dealing with the paper work. Those appointed cannot decline their orders until and unless they have a healthrelated problem. The Directorate of Information and Public Relations, Government of Mizoram implemented a Standard Operating Procedure (SOP dated 31st July, 2020) for Social Distancing to be maintained at Government and private offices, at markets, shops and other places of business, at shopping malls/complexes, restaurants and

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hotels, and at construction and manufacturing sites. All these places should provide hand sanitizers at their entrance and not more than 3 persons are allowed inside a shop at one time. Restaurants should accommodate only half of their normal capacity at one time. A person is not allowed to enter an office without an appointment and everyone is expected to make use of Information and Communication Technology (ICT) in order to avoid unnecessary trips to offices and make use of online bill payments. The Heads of each Department office should take measures to sanitize the vehicles entering their premises. Every office and shop should also keep a register of the names, localities and telephone numbers of their visitors with the date and the time of their entry and departure. Standard Operating Procedure to be followed if a person is suspected of having contracted the Covid-19 virus. The suspected person should be isolated in a room and should not remove her/his mask before being inspected by the doctor. District helpline or medical facility (hospital/clinic) should be notified promptly. If the person is found infected with the virus, contact tracing should be done right away and the surroundings should be sanitized along with the person infected. As the State prepared to ‘unlock’, SOP (dated 31st July, 2020) for commercial vehicles, two-wheeler taxis, taxis/auto-rickshaws, maxi cabs servicing within and outside the state, city/town buses, institution buses, school buses, and line buses operating within the state was announced. It is also notified that the drivers and conductors should maintain the cleanliness of their vehicles and that all the passengers should wear masks. All drivers and conductors are to register in the Aarogya Setu app. The Mizoram (Containment and Prevention of Covid-19) Ordinance, 2020 declared that spitting in public and wearing masks in an improper manner and sneaking out from quarantine centres are subjected to punishment by law. Mizoram Covid-19 Helpline number is given for a person who has queries regarding Covid-19 or/and is suffering from fever, cough, sore throat and chest problems. All this is published in the 18-page Mizoram Covid-19 Daily Bulletin issue no 136 which is circulated as widely as possible in the soft copy through WhatsApp where one can click on the links to get further information. A consultancy firm in Mizoram, Lailen Consulting, came up with an app Sulhnu which can be downloaded from Google play or Apple Store in one’s smartphone. It is aptly named Sulhnu which means trace or a place frequented by a person. It is a COVID-safe visitor tracking app. Using this app, one can make a QR code to be placed at the entrance of one’s shops, offices and homes, at weddings, funerals, memorial services, at any kind of gathering. And instead of writing down one’s names and localities, visitors can easily scan the QR code from their smartphones and one’s ‘trace’ can be tracked easily. On 31st August, 2020, in an interview on the local cable network LPS, Dr. ZR Thiamsanga, MLA and Vice-Chairman of Ministry of Health and Family Welfare mentioned that the zero-death rate of Covid-19 patients in Mizoram till then was the result of the untiring and united efforts of the state with various Churches and NGOS. He stated that the patients are given free treatment and are made to pay only for their medicine. He also mentioned that since the Mizos are people who love to be in the company of others, the imposition of night curfew and Sunday curfew in Aizawl will definitely reduce the chance of the spread of the Covid-19 virus. He further said that instead of imposing a total lockdown the imposition of a locality

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wise lockdown for the localities where new positive cases are found is enough to reduce the suffering of the poor and the state’s economy. He said that tests can be undertaken in each district and that all these tests are reported to the ICMR. The state of Mizoram accepted its responsibility to ensure the right to health as a fundamental right. On 25th August, 2020, the Directorate of Information and Public Relations of Mizoram posted on their Instagram account that the Health and Family Welfare Department of Mizoram declared that frontline workers, volunteers and task force members who may have contracted Covid-19 will be treated and cared for free of cost. The YMA has ensured that the Govt. policies are implemented effectively. Church and the YMA always worked together in the spirit of tlawmngaihna to help the people. The selfless character of the people exercised through the YMA and the Church greatly helped the state in its attempt to control the pandemic. As evident in modern societies with the collapse of traditional spirit of service to the community and rise of individualism (amplified with greed and selfishness) many communities face aberrations. Even if modernity has changed Mizo life style and outlook, the community spirit of tlawmngaihna is not yet dead. This speaks volumes about the Mizo character. Although spread of Christianity and education led to the arrival of modernity that rendered some traditional institutions redundant, collective and shared responsibility have remained alive among the Mizos through the spirit of tlawmngaihna.

Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

6.

7.

Personal interview with Vanengliana, a 76-year-old male of Ramhlun North on 25/06/2020. Interview with members of the MUP, an elderly group, of Ramhlun North on 15th June, 2020. Interview with Lalhmachhuana, YMA President of Chanmari Aizawl on 28/06/2020. Ka Huang by Ch Da on zalen.co.in/ka-huang-july-13–2014/, accessed on 24/06/2020. From the memorial stones erected to commemorate the many lives lost, it can be seen that 380 people lost their lives in the smallpox epidemic in Hrangtuinek. The narrative on the small pox epidemic of Hrangtuinek is taken from a programme of the Aizawl Radio Youtube channel titled Hrangtuinek Fam Rolung, which was posted on May 23rd, 2020. This narrative tells us how a village of 300 households, comprising of at least a thousand people, would have been extinct had it not been for the self-less spirit of its people, young and old. Sparking my interest, I requested Mrs. Veronica Zaitluangi for a personal interview on 20th August 2020. She told me that her grandfather lived in the village of Hualtu. They were a wealthy family who were the first to open a shop in Hualtu. Pu Vaitaia had four siblings, all of whom had contracted the flu from where, they did not know. It is said that there were many British soldiers who passed through their village of Hualtu and maybe the flu was contracted from them. When Pu Vaitaia’s siblings contracted the flu, they were made to eat and drink the soup of a plant named thingthupui, dysoxylum excelsum. Thingthupui is a plant consumed as food by the natives and after this incident it was consumed as medicine. Anyone who contracted the flu was made to consume this plant and miraculously they were healed. Mr. Vaitaia was the last in his family to contract the flu but tragically there was no more thingthupui to be found. Sadly, he succumbed to his illness and passed away in the winter of 1918. In an interview with Vanengliana, I was told of the cholera epidemic that happened in the village of Khandaih in 1905. I was told that 50 grownups and 20 to 70 children died because

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of this disease. As we have seen in the Mizo leh Vai Chanchinbu, the Mizos were still very much lacking in cleanliness and personal hygiene. 8. Posted by dipr_mizoram instagram on 05/07/2020, accessed on 6th July 2020. 9. dipr_mizoram instagram on 15/05/2020. 10. dipr_mizoram instagram on 15/05/2020, accessed on 6th July, 2020. 11. There are a total of 301 Covid 19 Task Force Quarantine Facilities across Mizoram as on 30th of August 2020. The following is the number of quarantine facilities in the various districts of Mizoram as published in the Covid-19 Mizoram Daily Bulletin—Aizawl—40, Champhai— 7, Hnahthial—22, Khawzawl—26, Kolasib—21, Lawngtlai—23, Lunglei 22, Mamit—25, Saitual—44, Serchhip—33 and Siaha—36.

References Dokhuma, J. (2008). Hmanlai Mizo Kalphung. Mizoram Publication Board. Hough, T., & Sedgwick, W. (1906). The human mechanism: Its physiology and hygiene and the sanitation of its surroundings. Ginn & Company. Laldena. (1988b). Christian mission and colonialism. Vendrame Institute. Lalrinawma, V. S. (2005). Mizo Ethos: Changes and challenges. Mizoram Publication Board. Liangkhaia, R. (1976). Mizo chanchin. Mizo Academy of Letters. Lorrain, J. H. (1982b). Dictionary of the Lushai language. The Asiatic Society. Pachuau, J. L. K. (2014). Being Mizo. Oxford University Press. Reid, R. (1979). The Lushai hills. Firma KLM. Saiaithanga. (1981). Mizo Sakhua. Maranatha Printing Press. Thirumal, P., Laldinpuii, K., & Lalrozami, C. (2018b). Modern Mizoram: History, culture and poetics. Routledge. Vanlaltlani, T. (2009b). Tribal religion: Mizo and Bru. Mizo Theological Association. Zairema. (1988b). Kristian nih hmaa Mizo sakhua. In Mizo Miziaa Pathian thu (pp. 1–38). Synod Publication Board.

Interviews Lalhmachhuana, Y. M. A. President of Chanmari Aizawl on 28th June, 2020. Members of Mizo Upa Pawl (MUP), Ramhlun North, Aizawl on 15th June, 2020. Veronica K. Zatluangi of Upper Republic, Aizawl on 20th August, 2020. Vanengliana of Ramhlun North, Aizawl, 25th June, 2020.

Media Sources Covid-19 Mizoram Daily Bulletin, 136. Department of Information and Public Relations. Govt. of Mizoram @dipr_mizoram on Instagram. Hrangtuinek Fam Rolung/Thawih loh avanga Hrileng Tawrhna nasa ber written by J. Thangkima and aired by Aizawl Radio in the “Pi Pute Sulhnu” programme on March 23rd, 2020, accessed on 15th August, 2020. LPS Special Report—Vanneihthanga Vanchhawng’s interview with Dr. ZR Thiamsanga, MLA and Vice-Chairman of Mizoram Health and Family Welfare on 31st August, 2020 accessed on LPS channel on 31st August, 2020.

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MARYMA, a weekly newsletter of Ramhlun North YMA July 4th, 2020 edition accessed on 05th July, 2020. Mizo leh Vai Chanchinbu. The Assistant Superintendent, N. Lushai Hills, Aijal. September, 1908. Mizo leh Vai Chanchinbu. The Assistant Superintendent, N. Lushai Hills, Aijal. May, 1909. Mizo leh Vai Chanchinbu. The Assistant Superintendent, N. Lushai Hills, Aijal. January 1919. Zalen newspaper/ka-huang/july 13th, 2014 edition accessed on 24th June 2020.

Chapter 17

Dynamics of Popular Culture: Jatra in Assam Namrata Pathak

Abstract The paper examines Jatra as an important medium of popular culture and its changing dynamics in Assam. By tracing its evolution in Assam, especially in South Kamrup, and its subsequent localization in diverse socio-cultural terrains, the paper aims to discuss Jatra’s loaded performative articulations, eclectic and heterogeneous performance culture. There is an attempt to map the journey of Jatra as a cultural form and explore its adaptation to the new theatrical models in a changing atmosphere (one being the Western proscenium stage). The new configurations and reformulations that the form embraced at the crossroads of political injunctions, structural innovations and socio-cultural refashioning make this performance form more than what it supposed to represent. Seeking to capture the hidden layers and nuances that make a performance project like Jatra ‘morally’ conscious with a goal to nourish the audience in the lines of ethics, this paper highlights the periodic changes in the performance culture of Jatra and its social relevance in the context of Assam. Keywords Jatra · South Kamrup · Community movement · People’s art · Popular culture · Performance A popular performance form, Jatra constitutes an integral part of the cultural repertoire of Assam. Jatra focuses on lived experiences and social locations, correlating them in interesting reformulations of historical and socio-cultural manifestations thereby reprogramming the accepted ‘realities’ of time. It is one of the most important performance forms outside the normative and traditional folk repertoires; it engages, impacts and entertains mostly the rural audience. Among many objectives, it emphasizes on the aspects of entertainment and instruction, employing a set of devices to dramatize the plot. The audience identifies with the characters and social issues having links to experiential realities within the ambit of performance. Jatra spreads a collective sense of propriety which is integral to maintaining decorum and N. Pathak (B) Department of English, North-Eastern Hill University, Tura, Meghalaya 794001, India e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 K. C. Baral (ed.), Cultural Forms and Practices in Northeast India, People, Cultures and Societies: Exploring and Documenting Diversities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-19-9292-6_17

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decency in a societal space. The audience is shown the implications of good deeds and also the dark consequences of unjust actions. Most of the Jatra plays trigger a moral awakening in the mass, the result being education of the spectators at many levels. The ethical codes of conduct and the resultant act of mass sensitization quite unique to Jatra help in reconfigurations and reconstitutions of identity, subject-formation, and social space. Like some other states of the country, Jatra documents the ways of life of rural Assam and prescribes standard parameters of living for the people. It is therefore termed as a social binder. It is a rich repository of values, historical data, cultural mores, and indigenous traditions of the land and people. A powerful socializing force, Jatra has been crucial in initiating an interaction or a dialogue for a balanced negotiation between and among actors and audience. This exchange thus renders Jatra quite fruitful as a medium of rhetorical persuasion. It further highlights the intricacies of audience participation, the power of art and its potential to transform. Quite interestingly, a performance form like Jatra makes us brood on the ineffable erasure of boundaries between the make-believe nature of a performance and the real world. The performative potential of everydayness is a key focus of Jatra. There is a valid transference of common ingredients of everyday life to a plane of extraordinariness through enactments. Even though the roots of Jatra as a dramatic form can be traced back to Bengal (initiated through the Bhakti movement of the fifteenth century), the Vaishnavite renaissance that flourished under the Vaishnavite saint Srimanta Sankardeva acted as a catalyst in the gradual development of Jatra in Assam. In Assam, the Vaishnavite renaissance under Sankardeva had a profound impact on Jatra as a performance form. To a certain extent, Sankardeva rendered the term Jatra synonymous with ‘naat’, and it was observed that the term found a place in most of the titles of his plays famously known as ankia naats. The term Jatra can be traced back to its Sanskrit root, ‘ja’, that captures a special kind of mobility and movement significant to ceremonial processions like Bor Jatra (the groom’s journey to the bride’s place), Samadal Jatra (a type of mass rally), Goali Jatra, Manai Jatra (these two are specific to Goalpara district), to name a few. However, it is worth mentioning that the term Jatra was not used in Sanskrit literature prior to fifteenth and sixteenth century. During the Ahom rule, the ankia naats enjoyed the royal patronage, but the Jatras of Assam, especially the ones in South Kamrup were not dependent on any patronage of the rulers (Gogoi, 2013, 336). Jatra as a participatory form boasts of a team of committed and conscious dramatists and producers. Hence, this mode of performance was not subservient to monarchs and kings with an exploitative tendency. Jatra, therefore, permeates with a consciousness that captures the exigencies in terms of social change. With the advent of the Bhakti movement in Bengal in 1753 and a drive to propagate religious consciousness in the mass, Jatra came to prominence as a congenial performance form to spread spiritual messages, the narratives revolving round Lord Krishna and his victories against the dark forces in Mathura. The performers preferred to recreate the time spent by Lord Krishna in Nandagaon and Vrindaban, thus succinctly creating a sacred space for the evocation and re-rendering of the tales

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of the scriptures with religious fervor and sanctimony. The close engagement of the spectators with the songs and dance of Jatra celebrating a spatio-temporal specificity in Lord Krishna’s life provided a just validation for the popularity of Krishna Jatra in Bengal and Odisha. The theme and subject matter of Jatra, however, did not remain static but embraced a kind of diversity at the behest of the British Government and significant changes were seen in the form, content and manner of performance of Jatra. Naturally in Assam, Odisha, West Bengal and Bihar, this dramatic form underwent transformations of certain degree that configure the public space on the lines and demands of the British Government. Such was the significance of Jatra as a means to propagate the ideology of the British administration that the colonizers instructed the playwrights to write extensively on the social restructuring of India as a result of the reformist propaganda of the regime. These plays, therefore, became apt vehicles to carry out the sentiments of the administrators and also, deftly captured the changes that the country went through under the British regime. In the process, colonial propaganda through Jatra was justified. An important change was discerned in the selection of the theme of the performance during this period. Inclusion of a wide range of themes was noticed, one important aspect being the incorporation of profane elements that somewhat diluted the core religiosity at the heart of such performances focusing on social ills. Jatra’s history has been largely impacted by the history of the region (and hence colonization), so it is only fair to briefly outline the different stages. According to Tapati Gupta, ‘One may divide this history into four phases under the following heads: imperial hegemony, mimicry, translation and localization, and adaptation and transformation’ (Gupta, 2010, 157). The first two stages were what led to Jatra’s decline; the latter two its revival (ibid). At this juncture, we come across a thematic variation in Jatra plays which embraced the profane, the irreverent and the irreligious. However, it can be said that along with the religious narratives, a new type emerged that revolved round the relevant socio-political events and context specific occurrences. There were interesting divergences which led to the creation of a colourful fabric with multi-hued threads. The eclectic range of topics included importance of education, abolishment of child marriage, the ills of superstitions, and emancipation of women, to name a few. During the Freedom Movement of India, a prominent mutation of the form was noticed. In West Bengal, Jatra was redesigned by some playwrights (like Utpal Dutta) as a tool to answer back to the colonial rulers. The angst, turbulence and unrest of the mass and the large-scale protests that the nation witnessed at this violent phase stealthily found their way into this dramatic form to such an extent that it became a potent carrier of public sentiments and patriotic zeal. In the nook and corner of the country, Jatra started spreading a powerful message, thus propelling the youth to resist the colonial propaganda, to fight for a free India. Backed by a few intellectuals and patriots, Jatra urged the youth to participate wholeheartedly in the freedom struggle for Swaraj.

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The Historical Trajectory of Jatra, Its Evolution in Assam As mentioned in Charit Puthi, Chihna Yatra as the first Assamese play designed and directed by the Vaishnavite saint Sankardeva; it was a blend of various dramatic forms and arts. Though there was not enough documentation on the performance of Chihna Yatra, it was a known fact that gayan and bayan were extensively used in Chihna Yatra. Chihna Yatra was thought to be either a mime-act or a pantomime. Lack of written proof, however, debars us from taking a stand in this regard. It was said that Sankardeva, in order to keep the requests of his disciples, even acted in the play which he performed after returning from a pilgrimage. In Barpeta district of Assam, Tithiram Bayan introduced Jatra between 1860 and 1865. Later, the commercial Jatra of Murukuchi of Barpeta district was introduced by Jaydev Sarma between 1868 and 1870. In 1910, Pathsala Jatra Party came to prominence under the aegis of Santoram Choudhury. It is noteworthy that in Assam Jatra became a popular form of performing art from the late nineteenth century to the mid-twentieth century distinctly marked by its newly evolved structure, quite different from the mode of ‘journey’ that the term previously entailed. Performed on a special open stage with audience surrounding all the four sides, Jatra unleashed a colourful and vibrant space with larger-than-life male characters flaunting ornate and regal costumes. Initially, women were not allowed to participate and perform in Jatra, their roles were played by male actors adorned in female attires with suitable head gears and proper make up. This restriction was changed when Brajanath Sarma in 1933, for the first time, introduced women in his play Moran Jeeori. This laudable step by Sarma was not only a challenge to the restrictive agendas of an orthodox Assamese society, but was a giant leap towards equal rights and liberation of women from rigid patriarchal control. The names of the first batch of actresses were Sarbeswari Das, Golapi Das, Sailabala Devi, Binada Gogoi, Phuleswari Das and Labanya Das. Apart from this, Brajanath Sarma was credited with the creation of Shila Kalika Opera Party in 1921 that became famous for certain notable Jatra performances. The Jatra of South Kamrup J. Mills in his Report on the Province of Assam clearly demarcated South Kamrup with geographical boundaries. In the North is the Brahmaputra River; the Southern part is surrounded by the Cossiah Hills; the river Kullung divides the region from Nowgong; and in the West lies Habaraghat in Goalpara. Mills’ attempt at designing the cartographic boundaries of the region was, however, at odds with the 1996– 1997 issue of the magazine published by Palashbari Sahitya Sabha that presented a meticulous report by I. Ali on the boundaries of South Kamrup supported by relevant details and maps. The place, Palashbari of South Kamrup, boasted of a rich history of performance arts and diverse dramatic forms, Jatra being one of them. The first Jatra troupe, Palashbari Jatra Party, was formed in the year 1903 by Dhaniram Das. We cannot deny the influence of Calcutta (Kolkata) Jatra culture on South Kamrup as it impacted the lives of the people of Palashbari immensely when a chunk of businessmen mostly timber merchants from Bengal relocated to the region and settled there because of greener pastures. These settlers found a favourable condition of

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living in Palashbari in terms of availability of raw materials and a moderate climate. The formation of the troupe of Jatra in South Kamrup, therefore, leaned heavily and borrowed extensively from the Jatra tradition of West Bengal. South Kamrup became a meeting point of two cultures. It is no wonder that the plays staged initially by Palashbari Jatra Party were in the medium of Bengali. In a way, the first Assamese play was staged by Sadilapur Bandhav Sanmilani Naat Parishad, a Jatra troupe hailing from Sadilapur near Palashbari. Technically, at this point in time most plays with a spiritual and religious motif were translated from Bengali to Assamese. A major intervention at this period was the infusion of Vaishnavite elements in the structure of Jatra. Some artists appropriated the khol-taal, a significant semiotic marker of Vaishnavite culture popularized by Sankardeva that gave a face-lift to the dramatic form of Jatra. The song and dance of the gayan-bayan tradition not only followed the codified dramatic patterns of Vaishnavism, but these also laced the performances with a local flavour. The specificities of the locale or the context added new layers to the performance of Jatra thereby catalysing the creation of a novel form, typically Assamese in look and feel. An interesting feature of Jatra of the old days was a performance called Farce Gaan. Farce Gaan was performed by a boy and a girl during recess or moments of rest of the performers. Naturally, the actors were exhausted after acting at a stretch for longer periods of time. The lengthy nature of the plays and the need to deliver continuous dialogues added to their woe. Farce Gaan was introduced with the purpose of providing some kind of relief to the performers. Also, the entertaining nature of Farce Gaan could help sustain the interest of the audience. In recent times, we seldom come across Farce Gaans, the reason being the short duration of Jatra plays and their tightly-packed, taut structure. Also, the Jatra troupes in the earlier days used to travel by foot. Traversing long distances and the hardships they faced by undertaking a difficult journey in rural areas that were not well connected that used to deplete their energy. The reason behind the creation of long Jatra plays was to avoid such arduous journeys at mid-night as the troupe had to cross dense jungles and uninhabited patches of land to reach the next destination. Travelling at night would increase the risk of encountering wild animals, not to mention the adverse situations the troupe members might land themselves into, including robbery and other kinds of attack by prowlers. That’s why the Jatra plays used to end at dawn so that the troupe could travel risk-free at daylight. The Stage of Jatra The performance space (stage) in Assamese Jatra is unique in the sense that a raised platform of an approximate size of 20 × 20 feet is made of clay used for performance. This space of performance was properly barricaded with bamboo to minimize interference of the rowdy audience and also to protect the performers from physical disturbance of any kind. There was a provision for the audience to sit around the stage. The Namghaar, its precincts or open fields, were preferred for the staging of Jatra. The clay platform used for the purpose was temporary and makeshift in nature. Some are preserved till date in South Kamrup in places like Haropara, Barihat, Rani, Goalhati and Chaygaon. Banana leaves, bamboos and even tarpaulins are used to

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Fig. 17.1 The stage of Jatra in early days (Source: Bhagawati, 1987, p-16)

make a shade in extreme weather conditions. The space for the music party and other items required in the performance are secured and kept in a specific area close to the stage. Long ropes were tied parallel to each other to mark the area free for the exit and entry of performers. However, the preference of the present day Jatra parties is a convertible readymade frame that serves as the stage. It is not time-consuming to install and at the same time it can be dismantled and carried from one spot to another without any hassle. As there was no scope of using artificial light in Jatra in earlier days, the plays were usually staged on broad daylight when there was enough sunshine. In Assam, jor and bhota were used by Jatra troupes as a source of lighting. Inside a hollow bamboo kerosene was poured in and the mouth of the tube was stuffed with a piece of cloth. When set on fire, the cloth kept on burning continuously for few hours. Another source of light popularly used by Jatra troupes is to illumine the stage with ariya which burnt for longer durations. It was made by putting edible mustard oil inside a gourd, a commonly available vegetable in the backyard gardens (baris) of village homes. A person was appointed to pour mustard oil in the hollow from time to time. One major disadvantage of the ariyas and jors was their inability to withstand bad weather conditions, like wind and rain. The flame would blow off at strong wind and dampness in air. Till the beginning of the twenty-first century, menthol lamps (Petromax) or Hassack Lamps were extensively used by the Jatra parties. Pumping these lamps in intermission became a routine affair for the Jatra people. These lamps were kept at the four corners of the stage for proper lighting (Fig. 17.1). An eminent Jatra exponent of Mirza, Rohini Mahanta made a valid point when he linked the uses of different kinds of lighting in Jatra to the new development and demand of the dramatic form: The tradition of use of light in jatra and its phased development can be attributed to the development of jatra, change of time and the change in taste of the audience. This is because we have gradually changed the plots of our jatra plays from being religious to social. Through the plays we began to highlight upon various social evils and traditions. To make everything on stage distinctively visible to the audience, the use of light in jatra thus became compulsory. The traditional lights that were used once now were gradually replaced by the modern lights.

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For a better presentation of the characters and to add an extra bit of dramatic sense to the scenes, fog light also began to be used (Das, 2020, 48).

With the introduction of new modes, techniques and methods of performance, the stage also underwent a change in design, décor and seating arrangement. The clay platforms were slowly replaced by wooden platforms; side wings were used; and a black cloth was designed as the backdrop. Also, the penchant for long, continuous dialogues in Jatra of the previous era modified and shorter dialogues with pauses and breaks were introduced. The musicians, technicians and other people associated with the performance of the play were made to sit on a cloth spread out on ground. Now they are visible to the audience and occupy a prominent space on stage. This is unlike the traditional Jatras of the past when they were allowed to sit only at the rear end of the stage without anyone noticing them. The popularity of Jatra somewhat dwindled with the advent of Western theatre in the later part of the nineteenth century. The rising middle class during that period was seen to be smitten with Western models, and the proscenium stage is one such favoured structure. In Samik Bandhyopadhyay’s words, Jatra was regarded as corrupt and indecorous compared to its Western counterparts on certain grounds: Jatra, complained the middle-class audience, followed neither the classical Sanskrit definitions of drama, nor the newly fashionable Western models. Jatra was two-thirds song; the dialogue, improvised during the performance by illiterate players, had no literary distinction … Jatra used no scenery or permanent stage (Bandyopadhyay, 1971, 238).

During the time of imperial hegemony, the traditional open-air performance of itinerant Jatra companies slowly adapted to the proscenium theatre. This can be called a rigorous translation of an art form into a new mould (Western), a mirroring of Western theatre models, a process that later gave way to an interesting blend. At this juncture, Jatra was localized. This localization not only demanded an appraisal of Jatra’s new surroundings, but it also helped in catalyzing changes that every indigenous form of performance has to embrace in order to evolve. This subtle appropriation was initially coarse. At the initial period, the reinterpretation of the Western stagecraft to enact region specific contents led to a convoluted byproduct, which was raw and rugged in output. However, this hybridization slowly paved the way for the genesis of a different kind of theatre. Mostly, the mobility and acceptability of Jatra in the fringes of the metropolitan cities and rural areas help in pushing it outside the boundaries of urban spaces and also in wholeheartedly accommodating the public stage performances in proscenium stages, even in villages and underdeveloped rural areas. During the late nineteenth century and early twentieth century, Western plays translated into Bengali and Assamese became very popular both for the urban and rural audience. It is said that even the plays of Shakespeare, though infused heavily with local elements, performed in a proscenium arch in front of huge gatherings entered the circle of agrarian communities, their homes and hearts. Kahiganga Natya Parishad of Barihat, a Jatra troupe established in 2011 in South Kamrup, came to limelight of late for experimenting with the structure and mode of presentation of Jatra. The troupe, run by a few well-educated youth, used three

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stages to perform a play. The use of three stages in Jatra, till now, was unprecedented in Assam. The present century saw the emergence of a new improvised form that not only successfully retained the aesthetics of Jatra, but at the same time also incorporated changes to create new patterns of performance. There was no special sound effect in the Jatra performances of old days. Concert parties, occupying the space between the stage and audience, used to play musical instruments and sing songs in the beginning of the performance. These concert parties had manifold functions. Firstly, these concert parties were employed to do away with the monotony of waiting. Before a play started, some restless members of the audience would create a ruckus by breaking decorum of the performance. This risk of undoing the play was ably countered by the songs and music of the concert parties. The songs and music would keep the audience preoccupied. Secondly, these parties not only filled in the empty slot with high voltage musical pieces, but they also provided a yardstick to gauge the technical expertise of the Jatra troupe. A good performance of a concert party would always obliquely point to the quality (either good or inferior) of the yet-to-come visual treat. Sometimes, the musical pieces add to the play-in-performance by creating a meaningful hypertext. Another significant aspect in this regard is the creative intervention of the ustaads that is pivotal in steering the Jatra group in a particular direction. Ustaads are well versed in acting, music and songs. These mentors and teachers used to impart knowledge and are entrusted with the responsibility of grooming and training the members of the Jatra parties. Usually, ustaads were brought from places like Pathshala, Tihu, Barpeta and in the earlier days, from Calcutta, for teaching the basics of acting and to mould the young minds for a fruitful engagement. South Kamrup and a Few Important Interventions Swapan Kumar of Abhijatri Natya Mancha (1996) used ‘Body Moving Light’ for the first time on stage. This new dimension of theatrical lights, the brainchild of Kumar, enabled the troupe to scale new heights in terms of novelty and radical trends. Kumar experimented with white light by placing a variety of coloured papers with different hues in front of it, thus creating a prism of colours in an otherwise bland stage. Swapan Kumar recounted how his journey in the Jatra party was not smooth, and was laced with afflictions and sufferings. His ingenuity lied in the fact that instead of buying lights from the market he took pains to make them, a time-consuming and challenging affair. However, a few members of the audience were averse to the new invention of Kumar and targeted him a number of times. They also went to the length of throwing stones at his control panel much to his chagrin. Needless to say, he was relentless in his pursuits. The lights made by him were easy to carry and easy to pack, quite handy for the troupe. Swapan Kumar’s cousin Milan Kumar was also accredited with the use of top light and spotlight in a performance by Brahmaputra Natya Parishad for the first time. South Kamrup’s first female Jatra artist was Tulsi Das Baishya. Until 1955 the Jatra troupes in South Kamrup did not allow women to act and perform in public. Jatra was a domain of masculine interests. Interestingly, a separate green room was made of banana leaves and planks where male actors transform themselves into women. Make

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Fig. 17.2 A Jatra artist during make up (Source: Das, 2020, p-55)

up, in this regard, was crucial for creating enthralling visuals. From the audience’s side, there would always be a round of applause and an appreciative glance in the form of an endorsement when the artists come on stage. Role-playing in Jatra and the special act of donning on a particular mantle would be rendered incomplete without make up. Tulsi Das Baishya, the first female artist of South Kamrup, provided an interesting snippet from her own kitty in this regard (Fig. 17.2): When we used to act, then we took all the essential make up items from home as in those days there was no provision of a makeup artist in the jatra industry. We used to do the necessary make up all by ourselves before the play began and the makeup then was very simple. Items that we used included mustard oil, glycerine, kajal (kohl), and other local herbs from where we could extract colors as per our need. In addition, after the play was over, we used to remove the make up by using coconut oil. And sometimes if we felt too lazy and sleepy to remove the makeup, we used to sleep with make up on (Das, 2020, 54).

Jatra as a Consciousness Raising Project In the context of the Jatra plays, Sailen Das writes in Jatra of Assam: Journey of People’s Theatre (2020): Initially the plays were very long and there were other performances like Bibek Geet, Chokra Dance Drama in between the plays. If closely observed then it can be found out that the plays of the jatra troupes of yesteryears were divided mainly into five sequences and each sequence was divided into 5–7 scenes. Moreover, the dialogues were quite long enough as well. Lengths of plays were such that a play that began at night usually ended only with the first rays of light at dawn (58).

Bibek Geet is crucial to Jatra plays. The Bibek character (Bibek means conscience), like the sutradhar, not only stitches and conjoins the fragmentary pieces of the

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play together, but he is also portrayed as a torch bearer of justice and truth. The Bibek character maintains equilibrium, a kind of balance in the play and his role is restorative in nature. He is the healer, the provider of succour. He keeps on pointing to the slippages in the discourses and the constant need to bridge the gaps with love and goodwill. The Bibek character links up the scenes and occasionally throws his insights and perspectives on the characters of the play, thereby installing a particular worldview for the audience to take note especially in understanding the nuances and intricacies of the performance. The Bibek character, thus, creates a special momentum and facilitates the progression of the narrative. Therefore, Bibek Geets are lessons on morality, and also consciousness-raising for the audience to stick to the path of righteousness. Moreover, Geets are tools to connect to the audience, to converse with them on the level of empathy and universal values. Such is the impact of these Geets on the spectators that they are provoked to think critically and meaningfully, to correct them if needed and all these transformations take place in the performative space in the course of enactment. Jatra as a Community Movement Raising awareness among the mass has always been one of the aims and ideals of the Jatra troupes. The plays of yesteryears always had a didactic message hidden at heart. Because of the immense popularity of Jatra, on special occasions like Kali Puja, Durga Puja and other events of importance, these plays used to sensitize the masses on socio-political issues that demanded both attention and scrutiny of the public. In earlier times, ranging from dissemination of knowledge to educating the mass on the line of equality and democratic rights, the function of Jatra has been manifold. Jui Jole Umi Umi is one such play that dwells on strong advocacy of Jatra, and also shows how impactful a performance can be in initiating a series of resistance at the grass root level of the society. The play is also crucial in understanding the blurring of the line between the imaginary plane of a performance (the world of illusion) and the real dimension of existence. Peasant uprising, the theme and content of Jui Jole Umi Umi, eventually led to a massive protest in certain areas of Assam where it was enacted. Jui Jole Umi Umi foregrounds the deplorable living conditions of the povertystricken peasants. It generates empathy, a close engagement with the spectators by painting a not-so distant, familiar context: the home front. The play urges the audience to understand the plight of these underdogs, the farmers especially in the time of natural calamities and epidemics. The backdrop of the play is the rigid Zamidari system that was not only a bane for the farmers, but also a source of their turmoil and harassment. The play acutely shows the violation of human rights of those who were ensconced in uncertainties as the farmers. The play is a documentation of the silenced subalterns’ agony at the hands of the Zamiders/Jathedars. The rich Zamidars made a rule that farmers had to pay 10–12 Mon rice against Apura land they took on lease, a rule that was not governed by any conditions (Hamilton, 1978). As per the mentioned agreement, the farmers who cultivated the fields had to pay back even though their crops and fields were gorged by the yearly flood and the crops were bad due to adverse weather conditions. At the farmers’ inability to pay, the Zamidars

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used to encroach upon the lands and take them back forcefully. Also, the Adhiyar system and the Chukani system prevalent at that time were not sympathetic to the needs of the farmers. In the process, the Zamidars ended up owning huge chunks of land and the farmers became poorer. This Jatra play is worth mentioning on the ground that it reinforced the community movement by uniting the farmers to fight against the burden of loans and exploitations. It generated a vox populi of farmers of certain areas in Assam which finally got translated into activism and resistance in the public front. This play is an apt example of how a performance directly affected people’s conditions and lives; the farmers’ class was touched by the convincing message of the play. Farmers of Bhanguripara, Khatiyamari, Rangamati, Dhantula and many other villages started revolting against the oppressive system. It has been said that such was the impact of Jatra on the peasants and common folks that even the social reformer and philosopher Bishnu Rabha used to visit certain rehearsal spots in villages in Assam (in 1945) and encouraged the performers to be earnest in their pursuits. This mission of Rabha was well carried in his popular songs. One such song was a part of Jui Jole Umi Umi: Amar deshor amar mati Rowa amar dhan oi Rowa amar dhan Jaan goleo pran goleo Dhan nidio dhan nidio Nidio amar dhan…

(Plant our crop in our own land. We won’t give away the harvest even at the cost of our lives. Gohain, 1982). Roop Hol Abhishaap by Palli’s Burha Gohain Natya Parishad of South Kamrup throws up many questions on the rights of the oppressed and subjugated women in a patriarchal society. The play is about the restoration of the rights of women in a royal family. These rights though tampered with and twisted by domineering patriarchs at one point, were crucial for emancipation of women, for a woman to find a voice. The play created a sensation in the entire South Kamrup by its unique plotline and treatment of a sensitive issue. The narrative revolved around a king, (who even though previously married) entered in wedlock with a widow. The king also adopted the widow’s son from her first marriage. As time passed, the king’s own son, the prince developed hatred for his father, the reason being his attachment to his adopted son. One day, the prince planned to kill his father. However, the adopted son came to the king’s rescue by shielding him from arrows. As his adopted son succumbed to his injury, the king said to his first wife: ‘Look oh you queen! How wealth makes a man blind. I never thought that my adopted son would love and respect me so much. This is selflessness! My own son regards me as his father only because of my wealth. However, my adopted son accepted me as his father from heart. That is why he died for me’ (Das, 2020, 111–112). This mythological play not only waged a war against

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the injustice and imbalances prevalent in the Assamese society, but it also advocated for widow remarriage, a burning issue then. This play underlines the need to prioritize feminist agenda and female agency. Also, it becomes an imperative for many women to redeem their lost selfhood, both extrinsically and intrinsically. The spaces of women should be reclaimed, the play pointed out, and also, women should earnestly take up this project of selfempowerment. This play when pitted against the historical backdrop of constant erasure and obliteration of feminist moorings gave women in Assam new conditions to re-script themselves. Historically, prior to 1950, a woman was not allowed to perform in plays, and men portrayed the female characters in public staging. Brajanath Sarma in 1933, by allowing women to co-act with men, formulated new idioms of articulations and authenticated their rights. Working towards an idiom for freedom redesigned the precepts for greater acceptability of women on public platforms. Rongamati’s Surya Opera Jatra Party, in 1955 created history in South Kamrup when the female actors for the first time acted on stage along with their male counterparts. Tulsi Das, by portraying the character of Beula in Sati Beula (1955), broke free of the epistemic subjugation in many ways. In her words: The society in which I had grown up was a narrow-minded society. The society then did not allow the women to venture out of the closed doors of the house and participate in anything creative. To break the chains of the society and either to learn dance or song or gain education, there was a need of some medium. Gradually, jatra began playing a strong role in breaking the shackles of the society—like different superstitious beliefs, narrow mindedness, etc.—with which it was bonded together. In other words, jatra became such a voice that began to educate the society on various social evils and wrong doings of the society. It is true that I had paved a new way out for the women of the society by acting on stage, but the platform to perform was provided to me by jatra itself. The jatra stage made every possible attempt to speak on behalf of the oppressed women of those days; and to a certain extent it was successful as well. Jatra was able to create a stir in the society. Apart from holding up righteousness, jatra also inspired the oppressed to move ahead in confidence (Das, 2020, 78-9).

Jatra plays like Osin Deshot Ojan Apun projects the inhumanity meted out to the powerless in the society and also the need for conservation of natural resources. The devastating impact on the planet in the name of development by a chunk of the society needs immediate intervention. The play promotes environment-friendly ways to vouch for a greener and better Earth. It also shows how important it is for all to consume clean and germfree water. Certain Jatra plays in Assam deliver a strong message on social ills like animal sacrifice in the name of appeasing the gods and goddesses; some deliver a message on the ill effects of substance abuse among today’s youth; a few plays touch upon the evil of superstitions and blind beliefs of people; and others foreground the everyday experience of people. Some important Jatra troupes that have been successfully staging issue-based plays in Assam are: Chaturbhuj Opera Party (1913), Jagannath Opera, Rajapukhuri (1927), Khidir Pukhuri Jatra Party (1935), Burha Gohain Natya Dal (1938), Tarapati Jatradal (1943), Amranga Somobai Jatra Parishad (1965), Sri Madhav Natya Parishad (1973), Dhrubajyoti Natya Parishad (2000) and Kahingaya Natya Samaj (2011). Jatra as a performing art has come a long way in its mission to ‘delight and instruct’ in Assam. It is rightly ‘people’s art, as it evolved with the changes in social reality.

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Once considered as performance by illiterate people having no literary distinction (Bandyopadhyay, 1971, 238), Jatra has proved to be a vehicle for social change. From having no scenery like the proscenium theatre, no permanent stage like the opera houses in the cities, Jatra in its crude performance space/stage has emerged as a powerful social institution. As an art form it has no claim to purity or normative discipline. As a performance it adapted to changes and continued to send its message across, as an alternative institution to interrogate power for social equity and wellbeing. In Jatra’s performative articulations, we trace a loaded semantic component, right from a rediscovery of folk narratives to an expression of a cultural identity. The Jatras of present times, though driven by a commercial agenda, have not discarded the primary goal to bring change. Change being an exercise of retrieval of new possibilities makes such performance projects more interesting. However, Jatra is also subject to change with shifting socio-cultural concerns. Needless to say, new experimentations with the aid of cutting-edge technology have provided tangible changes in shaping and refiguring the performance culture of Jatra and its social relevance.

References Bandyopadhyay, S. (1971). After professionalism. The Drama Review: TDR, 15(2), 238–240. JSTOR. www.jstor.org/stable/1144644. Bhagawati, U. C. (1987). Jatrar Pora Bhramyamanoloi. Guwahati : Bani Prakash. Das, S. Jatra of Assam, Journey of People’s Theatre. Mirza : Maliyata Offset Press, 2020. Gohain. H. (1982). Sainik silpi Bishnu Rava. Nalbari: Journal Emporium. Gogoi, L. (2013). Adhunik Asamiya Sahityar Parichay. Guwahati: Banalata. Gupta, T. (2010). From proscenium to paddy fields: Utpal Dutt’s Shakespeare Jatra. In Re-Playing Shakespeare in Asia (pp. 157–174). New Delhi, London : Routledge. Hamilton, F. (1978). An account of Assam. Guwahati : Department of Historical and Antiquarian Studies.

Index

A Abhinaya Darpana, 28, 44 Adbhut Ramayana, 93 Adhiyar system, 225 Agni Purana, 18 Aitarya Brahmana, 27 Ali, I., 218 Amalendu, 19 Ananda Coomaraswamy, 31 Anant Kondali, 51 Angashuddhi, 35 Ankia naats, 216 Ankiya Bhaona, 15, 17–19, 21–24, 29, 30, 36, 37 Ankiya Nat, 30, 36, 87, 91 Antahkarana, 34 Antarikshan, 37 Arambam, 114–117 Arthashastra, 39 Arthington missionaries, 137 Arthurian legends, 177 Artimai, 180, 182 Atharva Veda, 51 Atmanivedana, 32

B Bandyopadhyay, 221, 227 Banikanta Kakati, 16, 23 Barapujari, 142 Bargeet, 15, 18 Bargit, 30, 33 Barthes, Roland, 75 Barua, Hem, 76 Basant, 101 Bathou puja, 117 Beresford, G.W., 124

Bhabha, 133, 135 Bhagabati, 123 Bhagavata Gita, 16 Bhagavata Purana, 15–18, 28, 29, 45, 48, 50 Bhagavata, 32, 33 Bhagavataprasanga, 31 Bhakti movement, 79, 216 Bhakti Vyas Thakur, 167 Bhakti, 28, 29, 31–34, 37 Bhaona, 30, 32 Bharat Bhusan Mohanty, 92 Bharatmuni, 41 Bhasha nataka, 30 Bhattacharya, 60 Bhattashali, 51 Bhuban Chandra Ray, 92 Bhuddhinath Delihial Bhattacharya, 79 Bijoy Gupto, 60 Birinchi Kumar Barua, 87 Bishnu Rabha, 225 Biswas, S., 75 Blackburn, Stuart, 124 Bor Jatra, 216 Brahman, 31 Brajabuli, 15, 18, 30, 31 Brajanath Sarma, 218, 226 Buddhinath Delihial Bhattacharya, 79 Butler, Judith, 178

C Caillois, R., 80 Calinac, 30 Cartesian duality, 75 Chakpa Haraoba, 114 Chakraborty, 100 Challiana, 137

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 K. C. Baral (ed.), Cultural Forms and Practices in Northeast India, People, Cultures and Societies: Exploring and Documenting Diversities, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-19-9292-6

229

230 Chandra bhan, 92 Charit Puthi, 218 Charyageet, 45 Chaudhuri Sarit, 126 Cheitharol Kumbaba, 112 Chellis, 108 Chihnayatra, 16, 17, 24, 29, 31, 218 Choudhuri, 123 Chris, Barker, 132 Chuautera, 148 Chukani system, 225 Civilising mission, 141 Clague, Pauline, 122 Cole, H.W.G., 152, 154

D Dabi Tajen, 126 Dalta, C.K., 206 Danisana, 167 Darhula, 157 Das, S., 221, 223, 225, 226 Debord, G., 80 Deepak Ray, 93, 94 Desmond, 177 Devibhagavata Purana, 58 Dhaniram Das, 218 Dharani Samhita, 163 Dokhuma, 202, 203 Donald, 123 Dorothy, 148 Downs, 159 Dox, Donnalee, 124 Dundes, 34 Durgabar, 22, 51 Durgabari Ramayana, 94 Durgabor, 52 Durgeswar Nath Oja, 45 During, S., 133 Dwija Bangshi Das, 60 Dwijendra Nath Bhakat, 91, 94

E Edward, 100 Ekaharya, 36 Ekasaran naam dhrama, 29 Emilie, Cameron, 100, 122 Eurocentrism, 142

F Felix, 135 Foster, Charles, 137

Index Frank E, 81 From Ritual to Romance, 177 G Garib Niwaz, 164 Gayatri Spivak, 132, 134 Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity, 178 Getrude, D., 179 Gita Govinda, 47 Giti Ramayana, 51 Glover, 148 Goali Jatra, 216 Gogoi, 216 Goswami, M., 31, 146 H Hall, Stuart, 121, 132 Hamilton, 224 Handoo, 95 Harivamsa, 18 Heathenism, 143 Hedwig and the Angry Inch, 184 Hiren Gohain, 21, 215, 225 Hluna, 151, 152 Hminga, 148, 149 Hollander, Julia, 57 Homi Bhabha, 133, 135 Honko, L., 54 J Jaydev, 47 Jenkins, Francis, 142 John, 141, 150 Jones, D.E., 136, 150, 152 Joy L. K. Pachuau, 203 Judith, 178–180 K Kaiser, 59, 63 Kalika Purana, 40, 42, 44 Kaliram Medhi, 18, 22, 24 Kanahari Datta, 60 Kanglei Haraoba, 114 Kapila Vatsyayan, 89 Karuna Bora, 51 Karuna, 40, 48, 51 Kathakali, 44 Kathakata tradition, 39, 40 Ketakadas Khemananda, 60 Khacaka, 35

Index Khumbong Sidhanta Maniram, 167 Kirtana, 29 Kirtanaghosa, 30, 32, 34, 49 Kishore Bhattacharjee, 40 Krittibasi Ramayana, 94 Krittivasa, 94 Kumar Satish, 149 Kumar, B., 126 Kvideland, 95 Kyles, 148 L Lai Haraoba, 112–118, 165, 166 Laldena, 200 Laldinpui, K., 144, 157, 158, 200 Lalrinawma, 200, 201 Lalrozami, C., 144, 157, 158, 200 Lalsawma, 149, 150, 152, 153, 158, 159 Lalswama, 153 Lalswma, 155 Lapdiang Artimai Syiem, 178–181, 183 Lapdiang, 180, 182 Lawmsanga, 148 Liangkhaia, 200 Lieut, 143 Lloyd, J.M., 143, 148, 157, 158 Lorrain, James Herbert, 133, 135, 148, 157, 200, 206 Lushai hills, 131 M Mackrell, Judith R, 166 Madhavadeva, 14, 30, 32, 47 Madhav Kondali, 51 Mahabharata, 28, 40, 43, 45, 50 Mahanta, 30, 33 Mahendra Kandali, 16 Maheswar Neog, 7, 16, 17, 23, 24, 59, 60, 65, 66, 80 Mahim Bora, 23, 91 Malinowski, 34 Mamang Dai, 122, 123, 127 Manai Jatra, 216 Manasa Kavya, 53 Mangalkavyas, 59 Mangalsing, 105 Manipuri raslila, 112 Mankar, 22, 52 Margi-desi, 30 McCall, 150 Mills, J., 218 Milton, 159

231 Mizo, 131 Mohanty, B.B., 90 Mohanty, J.N., 18 Moirang Haraoba, 114 Moore, 147 Morris, 150 Morris, J.M., 143 Moushumi, 79 Muchimba, 135 Mukunda Bhattacharya, 65 Mukundadas Bhattacharya, 60, 61, 64, 66

N Naamghar, 72 Naam-kirtan, 29 Nabin Chandra Sarma, 41 Nabinchandra, 70 Nada (sounds), 29 Nag, 149 Naipaul, 133 Nalini Kanta, 51 Namghaar, 219 Namghar, 29, 30, 33, 35, 36 Namghosa, 30, 32 Nandi, 92 Naorem, 163 Narayan, 22 Narayana Dev, 41, 51, 52, 60, 65 Natyasastra, 28, 41, 44, 92 Navadha bhakti, 32 Neo-Vaishnavism, 28, 70 Neo-Vaishnavite movement, 15, 46 Neo-Vaishnavite, 23, 24, 59 New Testament, 136 Ngangbam Svarupananda, 167 Nilkanta Singh, 164

O Orsini, Francesca, 15 Otojit Kshetrimayum, 112

P Paarviainen, 31, 33 Pachuau, 203 Padma Purana, 16, 41, 42, 51, 53, 58–62, 64, 65 Panchali poets, 22 Paragdhar Chaliha, 80 Parampara, 35 Parratt Saroj, 165 Paul, 100

232 Pettigrew, 143 Phillips, E G, 142 Pitambar Deva Goswami, 24 Pitambar, 22 Popa N, 75 Porter, Joy, 128 Pradip Jyoti Mahanta, 29 Prasanna, 51 Pre-Christian, 203 Pre-Christian era, 199 Pre-Vaishnavite, 164, 166 Puma Zai, 135, 153, 200 Purusartha sadhana, 28 Purusha-prakriti, 36 Purvaranga, 30 R Radha Govind Baruah, 80 Raghunath Choudhari, 80 Ramayana, 18, 28, 29, 40, 45, 50, 51, 86, 87, 89, 90, 93, 95 Ramcharitmanas, 94 Rasa, 36 Reid, 200 Roberts, 150 Robinson, William, 124 Rodney, 112, 114, 116, 117 Rohini Mahanta, 220 Roman script, 132 Rowlands, Edwin, 137 Ryntihlin, J., 179 S Saiaithanga, 200 Sailen Das, 18, 221, 223, 225, 226 Sajal, 149 Saji, 108 Sam Veda, 41 Samadal Jatra, 216 Sampradaya, 14 Sanamahism, 113 Sandra, 179 Sangita Ratnakara, 33 Sankaradeva, 14–19, 21, 23, 24, 29–33, 42, 46, 47, 79, 219 Sankardava, 87 Saraswati, 34 Sarira (body), 29 Sarma, 87 Sastri, 28 Sattra, 24, 29–33, 36, 49 Sattradhikara, 36

Index Sattras, 35 Sattresusamajesu, 31 Sattriya art, 28 Sattriya tradition, 47 Satyendranath Sarma, 24 Savidge, F.W., 133, 137, 148, 200 Scott, David, 142, 148, 159 Sedgwick, 206 Shastric, 30 Shri Chaitanya, 164 Shringy & Sharma, 33 Simon, 133 Singam, 31 Singh M. kirti, 163, 166, 174 Singh, E., 167–169 Skanda Purana, 40 Smith, W.L., 21 Smriti Ratnakara, 41 Spivak, 132, 134 Sravana, 29 Srimanta Sankaradeva, 28, 216 Stirn, A., 125 Stuart, Hall, 125 Sukalpa Bhattacherjee, 65 Sukalpa, 61 Sunitibala, 115, 117 Suresh Awasthi, 86, 92, 95 Surjyasen, 61, 63–66 Susan Bayly, 159 Sutradhara, 30 Svara (musical notes), 29 Svetalana, 29 Svetlana, 59 Swami Krishnananda, 166 Syiem, Esther, 177–179, 180, 184

T Tagore, 92 Tapati Gupta, 217 Terry Eagleton, 82 The East India Company, 141 The Rites of Passage, 178 Thirumal, 144, 157, 158, 200 Thomas Oldham, 143 Tirathnath Sarma, 41 Tlanghmingthanga, 150 Tonson, 144, 153, 154, 156 Tsang, Huen, 41 Tulsidas, 94 Tulsi Das Baishya, 223 Turner, Victor, 32, 178

Index

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U Utpal Dutta, 217 Uttar Ramayana, 86

Venkata Rao, 155 Verrier, 178, 180 Vishnu Purana, 18

V Vaikuntha, 35 Vaishanvism, 166 Vaishnava, 31, 33, 35 Vaishnavism, 14–16, 23, 42, 87, 164 Vaishnavite, 18, 42, 76, 79, 216, 219 Vaisnavite art, 29 Valmiki, 94 van Gennep, Arnold, 178 Van Ham, P., 124 Vanlal, 144, 153, 154 Vanlalchhuanawma, 135, 152 Vanlaltlani, 200 Varnasrama, 29 Vatsyayan, 31 Vedas, 28

W Ward, William, 40 Weston, Jessie Laidlay, 177 Williams, R.J., 150

Y Yakshagana, 89 Yule, 143

Z Zairema, 200 Zakaria, Saymon, 94 Zatluangi, Veronica K, 207 Zawla, 153–155