Rih Dil Titi
Total Page:16
File Type:pdf, Size:1020Kb
Rih Dil Titi “There! That’s the lake!” exclaimed my mother, pointing her finger towards the mirroring body of water laid flat across the plains of Tiau valley. It was an uncharacteristic of her to make any display of excitement. It had been an awfully long drive and we were all weary of the dusty Mizoram roads. We were returning from a friend’s wedding in Sialhawk, a small sleepy village in the east not far from Champhai, the district capital bordering Myanmar. And in the excitement of our celebration of young love, tradition and inspired speeches of eternal bonds, we had decided to take the scenic route to Rihkhawdar before returning back to Keitum. Yes, we were on our way to see Rih dil- the lake that symbolised love, life, death and the afterlife. I was excited because the place held within it the secrets and legends of everything that would meet a young man’s fancy. The scenic part was definitely accurate, but truth be told we were miles out of our way home and we had underestimated the distance; it appeared I had also overestimated my zeal for long drives. We stopped at Champhai, which is one of the few places in Mizoram where we find plains which are used for rice cultivation. The place is known to be hammered down by Chhura, a mythical figure in the Mizo folklore who is often attributed to many of the unnatural places found in Mizoram. We drove in excitement at the only long straight road sandwiched between the rice fields before ascending up again at the steep and winding mountain roads. This had been a really remote area with little or no sign of touristic activities although the place is beautiful and play an important cultural and historic significance for the Mizos. The roads are neglected and became more and more dangerous towards the Myanmar border, part of the reason why it didn’t attract loads of tourism. Being the only one capable of driving, our destination coming into view was definitely a welcome sight. “What a view! It is so inviting,” I was determined to take a dip and immerse myself in the waters. “I can’t wait to get down there. “ “Back in the old days, the place was covered with thick and lush forests, and was much more unnerving: even for the most courageous Pasalthas1 to venture out there”. I had inadvertently slipped in this bit of fun fact in our conversation much to my sister’s chagrin. She was of the opinion that I exploited every opportunity to break into a history lesson and remind her of our roots. I suppose on some level I do fear that we will forget our past and our stories. The fact that she pointed out her annoyance in between selfies and Instagram stories convinced me of the need to continue with my narration. Perhaps some of the factoids I dropped in our conversation would make her social media posts a little more educational. “It must have been the perfect hunting ground then,” I continued while reminiscing about my Grandfather’s stories about the hunting expeditions and tales of Pasalthas and their hunt for honour. The special hunting expedition for elephants called ‘Sai ram chhuah’ came to mind as there were other tales about how elephants, in their dying hours, would dip and wade in the lake making it their final resting place. “Is this where they would go for ‘Sai ram chhuah”? I asked my Mom. My mind immediately went to thoughts of how there were supposedly plans to drain the lake in hopes that there would be a treasure trove of ivory underwater. A train of thought is a funny thing and I often surprise myself with where I end up. As my mother began to answer my question, my mind wondered to the 1 Warrior or hunter. possible ecological implications of such an expedition and how the face of our history might have been irrevocably changed if these rumours had been true and were carried out. I was brought back to the conversation at hand when I heard my mother explain, “Our ancestors believed that places deemed to be unnatural or monstrous in form like colossal trees, rocks and lakes were the abode of Huais2, not many would hunt or dare go near the lake.” There was a moment of pause as I showed an increase attentiveness by directing my gaze towards her. “But now that the Good News has driven away all the demons, we don’t have to fear for anything, except for your safety,” she continued, “if you ever have any thought of swimming in the water”. “It just occurred to me that tales of the hunting stories and myths are closely associated with the lake and that they had to come here for the special hunting expeditions as well”. “I’m not sure about this, they must have come here as well but I believe elephants roamed around and about more towards the plains of the Brahmaputra valley, the terrain in these parts doesn’t suit much to them elephants” . “That makes sense then.” “What does?” “Well, the coming of the British, annexation…” Before I could finish, my sister with her renewed interest in mythical beings asked,” How come there were no lasi(s)3 here?” “They dwell at the steep edge of the cliffs at Tan mountain.” “I know that, I am asking why don’t they dwell here too”? “You won’t expect to find any pasaltha to seduce here,” I replied with a wink, “Don’t you think”? “You speak as if the men attracted the lasis, perhaps it must have been that men hunt in the mountains in the hope to chance upon a lasi. Who knows who tried to seduce the other?” I was taken aback. Although these stories are passed down as folklore through oral narratives, often told by mothers and grandmothers and often became favourite bed-time stories; it was the men who originally told these stories and my sister could have been correct. Indeed, a Pasaltha imbibed all the virtuous characteristics of a woman didn’t he? He is quiet, he is keen, cautious and patient, submitting himself to the forest in order to conceive the kill, encompassing the qualities that were to a female in the Mizo society. But narratives of virtue are controlled by men in our society and while women are entrusted with the duty of passing these stories on, they never seem to be the protagonist in them. “Let’s try not to seduce one another with our opinions, we can keep that to ourselves.” This vantage point, which is on the outskirt of Rihkhawdar village; is where we could see the lake in its entirety for the first time. Heart-shaped, as it is famously known for with rice field on its bank towards the south and an open green grass on the north. We can see few cottages on the edge of 2 Spirits or demons 3 Fairy like creatures who are known to seduce hunters in exchange for hunting. the grass where it meets the tree line. Following the tree line down towards the west, we can also see the Tiau river as the reflection illuminates with its curves hitting the Sun’s rays. Rihkhawdar is the second village after crossing the border and is the farthest point our vehicle could take us. From here we need to set on foot down towards the lake which seemed a rather lovely walk and we all look forward to it. As we make our move lazily down the lake, I was drawn by the sheer excitement I had by the thought of coming here without really knowing how difficult and tiring it really was. I felt I was pulled here somehow and I knew something awaits, and I am ready for it although I don’t really know what and how to expect. “Let the thing unfold itself”, I thought to myself. But before I let my mind wander and become a boring companion that I often was, I turn to my Mother and asked, “So Mom, what do you think of the place?” “Well, isn’t it strange that the place, dreaded by our ancestors, believing it to be the abode of the evil spirits…” She paused and I understood what she meant. She is the one who had accompanied me and my sister here. This was at best a hunting ground for men, and here we are. “But isn’t Rihlake much more than that? It is believed that all the dead souls enter the next life through Rihlake”. “That’s true, while there is popular belief that this is the portal for MitthiKhua4, there are other sayings that the lake itself is a MitthiKhua. All these small tress that surround the circumference of the lake are often called Mitthi Pal, or the ‘fence of the dead’. “Yeah, I know”, I jumped in quickly. “Even the birds (or Rih-ar) found here are also called MitthiAr5 , should we hunt for the eggs?” “Why would you want to get stuck here?” My Mom playfully replied. The place is indeed a trove for myths and folklores that reinvents itself again and again. Spirits lurking in and hovering about the waters have made their presence known long before the belief that the dead spirits make their way to the afterlife through the lake. While the term ’rih artui phur ang’ has become a general phrase to indicate one who is unable to make progress or unable to move forward, the etymology dates back to a story where a hunting party stumbled across these eggs and decided to take with them only to find themselves unable to make progress.