Meeting Moulvibazar’s
Khasis
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| A bundle of betel leaf, ready for sale. |
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| Khasis in Ishachora Punjee sorting the betel |
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In part by circumstance,
in part by design, from their betel gardens in the hills beyond Kulaura the
wary Khasi have most often kept mainstream society at a distance. But increasingly
they are discovering the need to engage, to protect their rights and build a
better future. At the same time, the community’s self-confidence is growing
through a process of rediscovering their written language and history.
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.jpg) |
| Through the trees: a home on the hilltop of Kukijuri Punjee, Kulaura, Moulvibazar. |
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| Henry Talang and his wife. |
Apart from the stars, the night’s leafy
darkness had only been broken by a chain of orange-tinted lights and the glow
of distant lower towns on the plains. The lights were spaced along the far hill
and marked the Indian border. Which towns of Moulvibazar District were glowing
was not certain: was that Robi Bazar or Kamalganj? Was that Kulaura? On the
other side, the villagers said, one town-glow marked Tripura’s Kailashahar, the
other Dharmanagar. The oxygen was unadulterated, the silence almost magical in
this land of the seven huts. It’d seemed a shame to sleep.
Eyes opened as the rooster crowed. Dawn
had arrived in Kukijuri. In the village of the Khasis perched on jungle
hilltop, as it should be, activity begins with first light. Yards are being
swept, clothes washed and hung to dry. Henry Talang wanders over from the main
house. I suspect there’ll soon be tea.
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| Montri Joseph Konglah and his wife. |
Talang, 30, is the Montri’s second son. Montri
is the title for the leader of a Khasi village. By tradition he chooses his
successor from among his sons – whichever he deems most capable; or in the case
of no sons he might choose a son-in-law. But there’s flexibility. A Montri can
hold his title until death or retire. Villagers sometimes elect a new Montri
and there are also punjees – what Khasi villages are called – run by committee.
In Kukijuri though, it looks as though Talang is next in line. He’s already responsible
for much of the punjee’s affairs, which is probably the reason he often carries
a look of tension.
Nothing in a punjee can happen without
the Montri’s approval. As a visitor it was natural to go to his house first.
It’s why I was invited to stay there. The Montri’s house isn’t hard to find. It’s
usually the highest house in the punjee.
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| Kukijui Punjee. |
“Bengali tourists don’t come here,”
current Montri, Joseph Konglah, 65, said on the previous evening. “Only
foreigners come. About eight years ago some Spaniards came. A French couple
stayed here once.”
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| The road to Kukijuri. |
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| Chopped wood stacked and ready. |
Talang promised that after breakfast we could
walk in the hills. The goal was to reach even more remote punjees. But before
that, in first morning light it was as well to consider Kukijuri – the surprise
of finding such a well-established village high on a hill was not diminished
but refreshed. Most houses were brick – and every brick was carted in, through
the tea gardens, along the muddy path that follows the gully and merges in
narrow spaces with the stream. Every brick was hauled up the hillside by hand, along
the same path I’d taken.
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| Isolated Kukijuri is home to 47 families. |
On the ridgeline is a basic iron gate to
mark entry to the punjee. Inside, among the houses of the 47 families are two
churches – Kukijuri is 80% Catholic and 20% Presbyterian – and a primary
school. As is customary for the Khasis the surrounding areas are betel gardens:
well-tended, semi-cleared areas of forest. The betel vines grow on taller trees
and do best with a good dose of sunlight. Betel leaf and areca nut are the main
cash crops.
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| A pig greets Kukijuri's morning. |
At the back of the Montri’s house the
pigs have started shuffling about in their pens. They’re hungry and grunting.
Wood’s been chopped and stacked high ready for winter. It’s neat and orderly.
A few villagers are disappearing into
the forest. They’ve set off along winding, rough paths that lead into the
valleys. They’ve each got soap and a towel, ready to bathe in a stream.
But most prefer to wait for water to
reach them. It’s carried up in buckets, very often by tea garden labourers. The
gardens are some miles off but the labourers are keen to earn extra, early
morning cash. Each bucket will fetch ten taka on one of Kukijuri’s verandas.
Water fees: it’s in the nature of a hilltop Khasi economy.
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| The Montri's front yard, Kukijuri. |
The day in Kukijuri began with the
rooster crowing – as though he was inviting sunlight into the hills. Of course
with each sunrise starts the way to the future. And yet that dawn also felt untarnished
and ancient, as though finding inner strength requires a reconnection with the
past.
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| Betel leaf collecting baskets outside a home in Kukijuri Punjee. |
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%2Bpalms%2Bnear%2BIshachora%2BPunjee.jpg) |
| Betel nut plantation. Harvest is in December. |
When U
Blei of the old belief first thought to create the world, did he plan for
his Khasi to settle in these hills? He is U
Blei, she is Ka Blei and they are
Ki Blei: God belongs to every gender
and number. God was known too as the designer-creator U
Blei Nongthaw Nogbuh, before
Christianity. He still is in parts of Meghalaya and by a few Khasis in
Bangladesh who follow the old religion.
There’s a myth of how Khasis came to the
world. It was a time when the Earth was verdant and splendid – but empty. The
Earth petitioned the creator to send a custodian. A heavenly assembly was
called and it was decided that of the Khyndai-trep,
the sixteen “huts” residing in
heaven, seven should be sent to remain on Earth as guardians. That must’ve been
the time when those hills first filled with that cheerful greeting “Khublei!”
still to be encountered in abundance.
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| Kukijuri Punjee is 80% Catholic, 20% Presbyterian. |
The Khasis call themselves Ki Hynñiew trep: the seven
huts. In Moulvibazar they also call themselves the Khasi – not Khasia as many
Bengalis prefer.
Those first days were of peace and
prosperity – God promised to stay with the seven huts; and he planted a giant
tree to act as ladder between heaven and Earth. As long as this tree remained
the people of the seven huts could go up and down as they pleased; but if it
was felled sin and suffering would emerge. God gave three commandments: earn
righteousness through labour, know mankind to know God, and know your maternal
and paternal kin. While Khasi society has no caste, according to the last of
these Khasi may not marry from the same clan.[1]
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| A church in Kukijuri. |
Unfortunately the evil one persuaded
brothers U Sormok and U Sorphim to cut down the giant tree –
convincing them it would block all sunlight and suffocate Earthly life. With
the tree fallen the Earth became bright, ironically good for betel vines, but God’s
promise was broken.[2]
There are over one million Khasis. Most
live India’s Meghalaya. Kukijuri is one of 38 punjees in Kulaura, of an
estimated 94 in greater Sylhet. The Montri suggests the Khasi population of
Bangladesh might reach 35,000.
It is thought the Khasi have been in the
region for a long time – longer than most of the other ethnic minorities of
Bangladesh. The Khasi language is of the Austroasiatic family thought to have
originated in India, passed through the Brahmaputra Valley and into Southeast
Asia. Khasi is related to Mon, Vietnamese and Khmer, and to the Munda languages
of central India.
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| Busy with the betel harvest. Ishachora Punjee. |
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| Henry Talang crossing a bridge on the way to Belwa Punjee. |
Downhill isn’t difficult except that the
knees start to shake. There’s a half-hour walk and five bamboo bridges to cross
to reach Belwa Punjee. At a much lower altitude, like Kukijuri it’s spread
across a ridgeline. Home to 65 families, Belwa is much younger: a 25-year-old punjee
that formerly fell within Konglah’s jurisdiction.
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| Five bridges to cross on the way to Belwa. |
But for the last 18 months Belwa has had
its own 35-year-old Montri, chosen by the punjee committee. He takes advice
from Kukijuri. He’s invited us into his home. As is usual in a Khasi house we
are offered tea and biscuits, and a little later, a sample of the rice wine
called kyat. “The best thing about
our punjee,” says the young Montri, “are the betel gardens. In newer areas the
betel grows well.”
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| A home in Belwa Punjee. |
Yet betel cultivation often brings the Khasis
in that area into conflict with mainstream society. There are attempts by
influential locals to secure access to hillside land and resources. Forestry
officials seek illegal payment. Instances of punjees being attacked and betel
vines cut are not uncommon – and a betel vine takes three years to regrow.
Part of the problem is that there is no
clarity of land tenure. There is not even consensus among government officials.
Local forest officers claim jurisdiction; the Deputy Commissioner says they
have none. This does not help the Khasi when forest officers come knocking.
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| Belwa betel vines. |
The Montri of Ishachora Punjee nearer to
the tea gardens put it this way: “The Forest Department officials are very
pleasant. We drink tea together... and then they want money or trees. If we
refuse they make false cases.” Honesty is highly prized in Khasi culture. They
don’t bargain. They don’t lie. One wonders how much the cultural gap
exacerbates these difficulties.
On behalf of Kukijuri, Talang says he is
currently involved in seven cases – and the expense of pursuing justice
involving lawyers and trips to Dhaka’s High Court is a drain on punjee
finances. In Belwa too, the new Montri singles out forestry cases. “The
Montri’s work is very tough,” he says, “There’s much to do – the cases are the
worst.”
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| New houses in Belwa Punjee. |
Indeed a Montri’s responsibilities are
many. He mediates disputes, ensures the sick are attended to and maintains the
punjee’s accounts recording betel leaf sales. He also leases land to each family
– Khasis traditionally practice collective property rights. According to the
Bangladesh District Gazetteer, Sylhet, of 1970, the Montri “pokes his nose in
every business.”[3]
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| A few houses in 25-year-old Belwa Punjee. |
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| Raksham at the IPDS office in Kulaura. |
Joyanto Lawrence Raksham, 38, is a Mandi
(Garo) who, as project coordinator for local NGO, Indigenous People’s
Development Services (IPDS), has been working with the punjees of Kulaura for
six years. As a student he had Khasi friends and assumed punjees would not be
dissimilar to Mandi villages. “But I saw it was not like ours,” he says, “The
Khasis live in a tight community; Mandi villages are not like that. Khasis are
united and uncompromising. Their sense of nationalism is strong. Whereas Mandis
will readily speak Bangla, even to each other, Khasis don’t – and I couldn’t
understand a word!”
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| IPDS training for Khasis, Monipuris, Tripuris, Mandis etc. |
While the Mandi once had a similar – nokma – governance system it has
declined in importance and Raksham needed to adjust to the Montri way of
getting things done. He noted that Khasi villages tended to be located in
isolated areas away from Bengali villages and towns – and juxtaposed to their
hospitality he soon understood Khasis are by nature reserved and wary of
outsiders. “It took time to win their trust,” he says.
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| The Montri's family in Ishachora, wearing traditional diek kiang. |
Yet perhaps because of their isolation
and self-sufficiency, Khasis have been able to preserve more of their
self-identity through the conversion to Christianity and into the modern era.
Punjees at their best are free of crime and serious internal conflict. While
matrilineal traditions are changing – in Kukijuri males now commonly inherit an
equal property share – women have a high status. “Though the eldest earning
male member is the manager of the family” reads the Gazetteer, “his wife
exercises greater influence.” Marriages and divorces are straightforward and common
with no stigma attached. It’s even possible for Khasi couples to raise a family
without the formal acknowledgement of marriage.
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| Raksham has crossed many bamboo bridges. |
It’s unsurprising that such liberties
and localised harmony invoke a sense of protectiveness. Nonetheless, nowadays
Raksham can understand some Khasi language and he is often considered as an
honorary Montri. Khasis share their problems with him.
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| Dulukchara school. |
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| The new church under construction in Dulukchara Punjee. |
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| Dulukchara's new church. |
From Belwa, Talang and I backtrack some
way before heading along a new path to reach 14-year-old Dulukchara Punjee. “We
don’t have a Montri,” says Rosebell Khasi, inviting us into his home, “This is
a committee punjee.” Rosebell’s father was the previous Montri before he
retired; his son is a committee member.
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| Parrot and betel basket. |
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| Henry Talang. Tea in Dulukchara. |
Dulukchara is home to 25 families – 5
Catholic, 15 Presbyterian and the remainder followers of the old religion.
There’s a new church under construction and a primary school of 30 students funded
by Norwegian missionary aid.
“Our punjee was really poor but for the
last five years the betel grew well,” says Rosebell.
%2Bwith%2BHenry%2BTalang%2B(right).jpg) |
| Rosebell Khasi (left). Dulukchara Punjee. |
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| Dulukchara Punjee. |
By mid-afternoon Talang and I have
completed the strenuous climb back to Kukijuri. In the meantime the bazaar has
arrived. Shoes, clothes, utensils... every imaginable item is carted up the
hill by Bengali traders to be sold door to door.
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| The Dulukchara road. |
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| Students at Kukijuri primary school with sole teacher Probin Areng. |
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| Teacher Probin Areng believes in education. |
I am invited to the primary school a few
hundred yards along the ridge from the Montri’s house. It consists of one long
room with a large blackboard at one end and a smaller one at the other. There
are several long tables and benches, also mats to sit on.
Teacher Probin Areng, 56, is undoubtedly
grateful for the two blackboards and seating options. As the only teacher, he
instructs classes KG to 5 simultaneously, to cover the ages of the school’s 46
students. Areng is Mandi – he decided to move to Kukijuri in recent years after
buying a betel garden nearby, and has brought the teaching experience of a long
career, including fourteen years at Laxmipur Mission High School in the plains.
It’s hardly unusual for a Khasi punjee
to have a
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| Betel leaf sorting, Kukijuri. |
resident Mandi teacher. Not too many years ago for lack of qualified
Khasis all the local teachers were Mandi. It’s a circumstance that hasn’t
changed much. “At first they didn’t want to study,” Areng says of his
experience, “I had to drag them to school! They were scared.”
Yet, he’s a teacher with high hopes.
“Education is the key to the future,” he says, “Earlier people did not take
care about education – things are changing but it will take time.”
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| Kukijuri homes. |
It’s not only a matter of keeping
students enthusiastic – each month in the presence of the Montri, Areng meets
their guardians. “I tell parents to give love and support, to ask their
children what they learnt and how school is going – to take an interest.”
“I like to see my students succeed,” he
says. “Fourteen are at college, twenty-seven at high school. I have former
students working with the church and NGOs. I’m really pleased.”
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| Probin Areng with the 'big blackboard' at his school. |
But for Kukijuri’s families enrolling
children beyond class 5 isn’t straightforward. The nearest schooling options
for higher grades, Haiderganj and Laxmipur, are each several kilometres away,
entailing the additional expense of boarding hostels. For university the most
common choices are Sylhet or Dhaka. Of the few who complete university, most
don’t return.
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| Everything must be carried by hand to punjees such as Dulukchara. |
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| A betel vine. Kukijuri. |
Cecelia Lamarong 32, and Monica Khonglah,
30, are welcome exceptions. Khasis with tertiary qualifications from Dhaka,
these two confident and articulate pioneers teach at the Laxmipur Mission High
School – Areng’s former stomping ground. Indeed, as former students they number
among his successes.
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| A class at Laxmipur Mission High School. |
“To go from one culture to another is
difficult,” says Khonglah of her university days in Dhaka a decade ago. “The
adjustment is hard. Dhaka is a big city – the houses are different. Things move
very quickly and everybody speaks Bangla. We come from the punjee!”
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| Khonglah and Lamarong. Khasi pioneers. |
She mentions the shock of seeing women
wearing burqas for the first time. “Women in Dhaka are also free,” she says,
“but we were used to the punjee where even at night there is no risk to women
walking about.”
“When we studied there,” says Lamarong,
“there were only thirteen Khasis living in Dhaka.”
One advantage of having Khasi teachers
is that when students have difficulties they are better placed to help. “If
they don’t understand in Bangla,” says Khonglah, “we can explain in Khasi.” “We
understand what’s different for them,” adds Lamarong.
Another innovation has been the
inclusion of Khasi language classes. While previously the Khasi language,
written in Latin script, was sometimes taught informally through churches,
classes are now held for eighty students after their other classes are done. “At
first they didn’t like it,” says Khonglah, “But I teach songs, poetry and
rhymes and they perform them at school.”
The Khasi language was once endangered
but has experienced a revival. In particular the written form is not
well-entrenched in Bangladesh, given that books needed to be imported from
India. But last year Caritas started publishing texts for PG to class 2
locally.
A similar initiative has been running in
Ishachora Punjee since 2008. With funding from Oxfam, IPDS opened a Khasi
language centre that introduces 30 students to their native language, including
its written form, each morning before school.
Like Areng, Khonglah and Lamarong
believe education is a means to secure a better future. “Don’t rely on the
betel garden,” Lamarong tells her students, “Do something else as well.”
“Besides,” says Khonglah, “there’s
climate change – less rain – a problem for betel cultivation.”
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| Monica Khonglah and Cecelia Lamarong believe education can bring a better future to the Khasi community. |
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| An ingenious "tap". Ishachora Punjee. |
In recent decades Christian attitudes
have shifted towards recognising the inherent value of local cultures. The new
approach has encouraged the Khasis, despite in many ways having maintained their
separate identity, to re-engage with their past. And that is, of course, to
know themselves better.
It’s not only the written language and
literature being revived. Since 2008 Bangladeshi Khasis have recommenced
celebrating an important pre-Christian festival Shad Suk Mynsiem, which
symbolises spring and thanksgiving for the land. This has generated renewed
pride in Khasi clothes, song and dance. “We used to sing English and Bangla
songs,” says Khonglah, “We thought we didn’t need our traditions. But now we
understand it’s our culture. We started Shad Suk Mynsiem again and now I really
feel it.”
Together with strengthened efforts in modern
education and better attempts to connect with mainstream society – such as by
pursuing their rights through the courts, renewed cultural awareness can only
be an asset, allowing coming generations of Khasis to more fully and
confidently contribute, to bring to the fore the wealth of their cultural
experience and unique history. Despite the contemporary challenges it’s easy to
be optimistic that Khasis will be able to realise their full potential not only
as Khasis but as Bangladeshis. In the process, the life of the nation is sure
to be enriched.
There’s another Khasi myth which says that
brother and sister – the moon and sun – once danced together. Everybody said it
was sinful, being from the same family. From shame the sun hid herself in a
cave and the Earth descended into darkness. People tried every means to coax
the sun out, and ultimately they deployed a rooster as messenger. It was with
the rooster’s crowing that the sunlight came again.
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| Ishachora Punjee. |
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| Areca (betel nut) palms, Kukijuri. |
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| Kukijuri residents. |
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| Neat and tidy: Ishachora's Montri's veranda. |
[1] Sen Soumen, “Khasi-Jainitia Folklore”, Context, Discourse and
History, p.71
[3] SNH Rizvi, ed., “Bangladesh District Gazetteer Sylhet”, Dacca 1970,
p. 104
