XIV

XIVThe Origin of Betel and TobaccoLong, long ago two boys lived in a village on the slopes of the hills, who were very fond of one another and were inseparable companions. The name of one was U Riwbha; he was the son of one of the wealthiest men in the country. The other was called U Baduk, who belonged to one of the lowly families; but the difference in station was no barrier to the affection of the children for one another. Every day they sought one another out, and together they roamed abroad in the fields and the forests, learning to know the birds and the flowers; together they learned to swim in the rivers, together they learned to use the bow and arrow, and to play on the flute. They loved the same pastimes and knew the same friends.As they grew up they were not able to spend so much time together. U Riwbha had to overlook his father’s property, which involved many days’ absence from the village; while U Baduk went every day to labour in the fields to earn his own rice and to help his parents, who were poor. But the old friendship remained as firm as ever between the two young men, they trusted one another fully, and the one kept no secrets from the other.In the course of time they took to themselves wives and became the heads of families. U Riwbha’s wife, like himself, belonged to one of the wealthy families, so that by his marriage his influence in the village increased, and he became very rich and prosperous. U Baduk also married into his own class and went to live in a distant village, but he never gathered riches like his friend; nevertheless he was very happy. He had a good and thrifty wife, and side by side they daily toiled in the fields to supply their simple wants as a family.A View in the reputed Region where U Ramhah the Giant committed his Atrocities.A View in the reputed Region where U Ramhah the Giant committed his Atrocities.Thus circumstances kept the two friends apart, for they seldom met. The old regard was not in the least abated by absence, rather the bond seemed to be drawncloser and closer as the years went by. Occasionally U Baduk journeyed to his native village to see his people and friends, and on these occasions nowhere was he made more welcome than in the house of his friend U Riwbha, who insisted upon his spending the greater part of his time with him, and partaking of many sumptuous meals at his house. Thus the two old comrades renewed their intimacy and affection.On his return home from one such visit U Baduk’s wife told him that their neighbours had been talking a great deal and making disparaging remarks about the intimacy between them and their wealthy friend, hinting that no such friendship existed, that it was only U Baduk’s boast that he had rich friends in his own village. If there were such an intimacy as he pretended, why had his rich friend never come to see them when U Baduk was constantly going to visit him? He was vexed to hear this, not so much because they condemned him, but because they were casting aspersions on his best friend, so he determined to invite his friend to pay them a visit.When U Baduk paid his next visit to his village, and had as usual accepted the hospitality of his friend, he ventured to say, “I am always coming to see you and partaking of your hospitality, but you have not been to see me once since I got married.”To this U Riwbha replied, “Very true, my dear friend, very true, but do not take it amiss that I never thought of this before. You know that I have much business on my hands, and have no leisure like many people to take my pleasures; but I have been too remiss towards you, and I must make haste to remedy my fault. Give my greeting to your wife, and tell herthat I will start from here to-morrow to come to pay you both a visit, and to give myself the pleasure of tasting a dish of her curry and rice.”Highly gratified and pleased, U Baduk hastened home to tell his wife of his friend’s projected visit, and urged her to rouse herself and to cook the most savoury meal she was capable of. She too was very pleased to hear that the man they respected and loved so much was coming to see them; but she said, “It has come very suddenly, when I am not prepared; we have neither fish nor rice in the house.”“That is indeed unfortunate,” said the husband, “but we have kind neighbours from whom we have never asked a favour before. You must go out and borrow what is wanted from them, for it would be too great a disgrace not to have food to place before our friend when he comes.”The wife went out as requested by her husband, but although she walked the whole length of the village there was no one who could spare her any rice or fish, and she returned home gloomy and disheartened and told her husband of her ill-success. When U Baduk heard this bad news he was extremely troubled and said, “What sort of a world is this to live in, where a morsel of food cannot be obtained to offer hospitality to a friend? It is better to die than to live.” Whereupon he seized a knife and stabbed himself to death.When the wife saw that her good husband was dead, she was smitten with inconsolable grief, and she cried out, “What is there for me to live for now? It is better that I also should die.” Thereupon she in her turn seized the knife and stabbed herself to death.It happened that a notorious robber called U Nongtuh was wandering through the village that night, and, as it was cold, he bethought himself of sneaking into one of the houses where the family had gone to sleep, to warm himself. He saw that a fire was burning in U Baduk’s house, and that it was very silent within. He determined to enter. “They are hard-working people,” said he to himself, “and will sleep soundly; I can safely sit and warm myself without their knowing anything about me.” So he squatted down comfortably on the hearth, not knowing that the two dead bodies lay on the floor close to him.Before long the warmth made him drowsy, and without thinking U Nongtuh fell asleep, and did not awake until the day was dawning; he jumped up hastily, hoping to escape before the village was astir, but he saw the two dead bodies and was greatly terrified. A great trembling took him, and he began to mutter wildly, “What an unfortunate man I am to have entered this house! The neighbours will say that I killed these people; it will be useless for me to deny it, for I have such an evil reputation nobody will believe me. It is better for me to die by my own hand here than to be caught by the villagers, and be put to death like a murderer.” Whereupon he seized the knife and stabbed himself to death; so there were three victims on the floor, lying dead side by side, all because there was no food in the house to offer hospitality to a friend.The morning advanced, and when the neighbours noticed that no one stirred abroad from U Baduk’s house they flocked there to find out what was the matter. When they saw the three dead bodies they were filled with sadness and compunction, for they remembered howthey had refused to lend them food the night before, to prepare entertainment for their friend.In the course of the day U Riwbha arrived according to the promise made to his friend, and when he was told of the terrible tragedy his sorrow knew no bounds; he sat wailing and mourning by the body of the friend that he loved best, and would not be comforted. “Alas!” he wailed, “that a man should lose such a true friend because the world is become so hard for the poor that to entertain a friend is a greater burden than they can bear.”For many hours he wept and sorrowed, praying to the Great God to show a way of keeping up the customs of hospitality without the poor having to suffer and be crushed, as his own good friend had been crushed.Just about that time the Great God walked abroad to look on the universe, and he saw the sorrow of U Riwbha, and took pity on his tears, and made known that from henceforth He would cause to grow three valuable plants, which were to be used by mankind in future as the means of entertainment, whereby the poor as well as the rich could indulge in the entertainment of friends without being burdened. Immediately three trees which had never been known to mankind before were seen springing up from the ground where the dead bodies lay. They were the Betel, the Pan, and the Tobacco.From that time it became a point of etiquette in Khasi households, rich and poor alike, to offer betel nut and pan or a whiff of tobacco from the hookah to friends when they make calls.XVThe Stag and the SnailOn the day of the animals’ fair at Luri Lura, the stag and the snail met. It was a very hot day, and the animals as they travelled to the fair eagerly sought the shelter of the trees. There was a large Rubber grove in the forest, and thither many of the animals hasted, panting from the great heat, and there laid down their burdens for a while and rested in the cool shades.It was a familiar rendezvous, and many of the animals turned there, as much from habit as from fatigue, glad to meet old acquaintances. On the day which concerns this story there was an unusually large throng, and they chatted together sociably about the different events of their lives and the circumstances of their neighbours.In one corner a group were noisily comparing notes with one another about the length of time it had taken them to travel certain distances. In this group was the stag, who monopolised the conversation, and boasted of his own speed, and the buffalo, trying to be affable, said that they were bound to admit that the stag was now the swiftest animal in the jungle, since the dog had run away to Man, and the entire company nodded in agreement.There was, however, a little grey snail in the grass with her shell on her back, who was very disgusted with the boastings of the animals, especially of the stag, as if swiftness was the only virtue to which an animal ought to aspire. In order to put a stop to their talk, she called out mockingly for them to look at the lather that covered their bodies from over-exertion, and to compare her own cool skin, which had not perspired at all in spite of the journey; consequently, she claimed the honours for good travelling for herself.This was received with much displeasure by the animals, who felt that their dignity had been flouted, for the snail was an insect in their estimation, not fit to be admitted to their august company. The stag began to canter gracefully round the grove to prove his superiority, his fellow animals applauding admiringly; but the little snail was not to be silenced, and to show her contempt she challenged the stag to run a long race with her, declaring that she would beat him.Many of the animals urged the stag not to heed the challenge of the snail, as it was only given to affront him, but he said that unless he would run she would always insult him and call him a coward who had shown fear of a snail. So it was settled that the stag and the snail should run a long race, from the Rubber grove to the top of Mount Shillong, on the animals’ return from Luri Lura.The name of this little grey snail was Ka Mattah. As soon as the animals left the grove she summoned together all her tribe to consider how to proceed so as to beat the stag in the long race. Many of the snail family found fault with her for her foolish challenge, but they were all prepared to help her out of her difficulty,and to save her from the disgrace of defeat. It was decided in the family council that the snails should form themselves into a long line edging the path all the way from the Rubber grove to Mount Shillong, and hide themselves in the grass, so as not to be discovered by the stag. So the snails dispersed and formed themselves into a long line on the edge of the path.As soon as they had sold their wares, the animals hastened to the grove, laughing among themselves as they walked at the foolishness of Ka Mattah in setting herself up against the swiftest of the animals, and they planned how to make her the general laughing-stock of the jungle for her audacity. When they reached the Rubber grove they found Ka Mattah ready for the race, having discarded her cumbersome shell and put herself into a racing attitude on the path, which caused them no little amusement. As soon as the signal was given she dived into the grass and was lost to sight, while the stag cantered towards the mountains. After going some distance, he stopped, thinking that there would be no need to run further, as he imagined that the snail was far behind and likely to have given up the race; so he called out, “Heigh, Mattah, art thou coming?”To his surprise, the voice of the snail answered close beside him saying, “I am here, I am here.” Thereupon he ran on more swiftly, but after running several miles he stopped again and called out as before, “Heigh, Mattah, art thou coming?” And again the voice answered close to his heels, “I am here, I am here”; upon which the stag tore off at a terrific pace through the forest, only stopping at intervals to call out to the snail. As often as he called, the voice answered close tohis feet, “I am here, I am here,” which set him racing with ever-increasing speed. When he reached the Iei Tree Mountain, he was panting and quivering from his great exertions and longed to lie down to rest, but he saw before him the goal to which he was bound, and spurred himself to a last effort. He was so exhausted as he climbed up the slopes of Shillong that he was giddy and faint, and could scarcely move his wearied limbs, and, to his dismay, before he reached the summit, he heard the tormenting voice of the snail calling out from the goal, “I have won, I have won.”Exhausted and defeated, the stag threw himself full length on the ground, and his disappointment and the sickness due to the terrible strain he had put on himself caused him to spit out his gall-bladder. To this day no gall-bladder is to be found in the anatomy of the stag; so he carries in his body the token of the great defeat he sustained through the wiles of Ka Mattah, the little grey snail, and the pathetic look has never gone out of his eyes.XVIThe Leap of Ka Likai“The Leap of Ka Likai” is the name given to a beautiful waterfall on the Khasi Hills, a few miles to the west of Cherrapoonjee, which, at certain points, is visible from great distances, while the roar and the echoes of its waters are to be heard for miles. The view is one of exceptional beauty, and many visitors are attracted to see it. The clear chattering stream is seen emerging from its wild mountain home, dashing over the high precipice into the shadows of a deep gorge, flinging upwards, as it falls, clouds of tremulous spray, which wreathe and coil around majestic rocks, creating countless small rainbows which dance and quiver in a maze of palms and ferns and blossoming shrubs.The place is so remote and so still, as if every sound had been awed into a hush, except the thunderous boom of the torrent with its distant echoes moaning and shrieking like a spirit in anguish, that the whole locality seems weird and uncanny, suggestive of terrible possibilities. This, probably, accounts for the gruesome tradition amongst the Khasis which has been associated with this waterfall from time immemorial. It runs as follows:The Leap of Ka Likai.The Leap of Ka Likai.Once upon a time there lived a young married womancalled Ka Likai, in the village of Rangjirteh, on the hill above the Falls. She and her husband lived very happily together and rejoiced in the possession of a baby girl of great beauty. The young husband died when the child was still a babe, and from that time Ka Likai’s whole heart became wrapped up in the child.She found it very hard to earn enough money to maintain them both, so she was persuaded to marry again, thinking to have her own burden lightened, and to obtain more comforts for her child.The new husband was a selfish and a somewhat brutal man; he was exceedingly jealous of his little step-daughter, because his wife paid her so much attention, and when he found that he had been accepted as a husband by Ka Likai merely for the benefit of the child, he was so mortified that he grew to hate her and determined to do her some mischief.He became sulky in the home and refused to go out to work, but he forced his wife to go every day, and during her absence he bullied and ill-treated the child. One day Ka Likai had to go on a long journey to carry iron ore, and this gave the cruel stepfather the opportunity he sought to carry out his evil purpose, and he killed the child. So depraved had he become and so demoniacal was his hatred, that he determined to inflict even a worse horror upon his wife; he took portions of the body and cooked them against the mother’s return, and waited in silence for her coming.When Ka Likai reached her home in the evening, she was surprised to find her husband in a seemingly kinder mood than he had shown for a long time, having cooked her supper and set it ready for her, with unusual consideration. She noticed the absence of the child,and immediately asked where she was, but the man’s plausible answer that she had just gone out to play dispelled every misgiving, and she sat down to eat without a suspicion of evil.After finishing her supper, she drew forward the betel-nut basket to prepare betel and pan to chew, according to custom after a meal. It happened that one of the hands of the murdered girl had been left by the stepfather in this basket, and the mother at once saw and recognised it. She wildly demanded the meaning of the awful discovery, whereupon the man confessed his crime, and also told her how she herself had eaten of the flesh of her own child.The terrible and overwhelming revelation took away the mother’s reason. She rose distractedly, and, running to the edge of the precipice, threw herself into the abyss. Ever since then the Falls have been called “The Leap of Ka Likai,” and the doleful moans of their echoes are said to be the echoes of Ka Likai’s anguished cries.To this day, when widows with children are contemplating second marriages, they are cautioned to be careful and to use judgement, with the warning, “Remember Ka Likai.”XVIIWhat caused the Shadows on the MoonIn the early ages there lived a family of deities, consisting of a mother and four children—three daughters and one son. They lived very happily for many long years, the children showing great respect to their mother and to one another. Their names were Ka Um (Water), Ka Ding (Fire), and Ka Sngi (the Sun), and the boy was called U Bnai (the Moon). They were all very noble and beautiful to look upon, as became their high destiny, but it was universally agreed that Ka Sngi and U Bnai, the two youngest, possessed greater beauty and loveliness than the two elder sisters. In those days the moon was equal to the sun in brightness and splendour.When U Bnai grew up he began to show somewhat wayward tendencies; he came and went at his own will, without consulting his mother or his sisters, and consorted with companions far beneath him in rank. Sometimes he would absent himself from home for many days, and none of his family knew whither he wandered. His mother often remonstrated with him, as is right for every mother to do, and she and his sisters endeavoured to guide him into more decorous habits,but he was wilful and self-indulgent, thinking that he had a right to more liberty than his women-folk allowed him. By degrees he abandoned himself to a life of pleasure and wild pursuits, paying no heed to the advice and warnings of his elders.Once he followed some of his low associates into the nether regions and spent a long time in that land of goblins and vice. After a while his thoughts came back to his family and his erstwhile radiant home, and a longing to see them came over him, so he quitted the nether regions, and left his evil companions, and returned to his home and his kindred.He had gazed so long on the hideous faces of the inhabitants of the dark world, that he was dazzled by the beauty of his sister Ka Sngi, who came to meet him with smiles and joy for his return. He had also lost the right perception of duty and honour, and, instead of greeting her as his sister, he went to his mother and with unbrotherly wantonness demanded the hand of Ka Sngi in marriage, saying that he had travelled throughout many worlds, and had seen the sons of all nations, but there was no suitor to be found in the whole universe whose beauty could match that of Ka Sngi, except himself. Consequently he said that it behoved his mother to give countenance to his suit and to arrange the marriage.This caused the mother much grief, and she dismissed her son from her presence in dishonour. Ka Sngi, when she heard of his design, was enraged because of his unchaste proposal, and in anger she went forth to seek her brother. When she found him she forgot her usual dignity and decorum, and, lifting a handful of hot ashes, she threw it into U Bnai’s face. The ashesscorched his flesh so deeply that the marks have remained on his face to this day. Ever since then the light of the moon has been pale, marred by dark shadows, and that is the reason he does not show his face in the day-time.XVIIIU Ksuid TynjangThe Ancient Khasis were wont to people all their beautiful hills and forests with innumerable supernatural beings, who were supposed to be working in the world either for good or for evil, and dominating all the events of men’s lives. There wereBleis(gods) of all grades, andKsuids(demons or goblins) without number, andPuris(sprites or fairies), visible and invisible, to be encountered everywhere. The religious observances of the Khasis are mainly intended to fulfil obligations supposed to be imposed upon them by these imaginary beings, who are described as quick to take offence and difficult to appease; hence the many and complicated ceremonies which the Khasi religion demands.One of the most familiar names in ancient lore is that of U Ksuid Tynjang, a deformed and lame demon who haunted the forests and tormented mankind, and for his misdeeds had been doomed to suffer from an incurable and loathsome itching disease, which could only be allayed by the touch of a human hand. All the stories related of this repulsive demon are concerned with his forbidding personality and the tortures he inflicted on the victims he captured purposely to forcethem to rub his body and relieve the terrible itching to which he had been doomed. He used to tickle them to death with his deformed and claw-like hands if they tried to desist from their sickening task.The reputed Haunt of U Ksuid Tynjang.The reputed Haunt of U Ksuid Tynjang.To lure people into his grasp, he used to imitate the human voice and to shout “Kaw-hoit, Kaw-hoit!” the common signal-cry of people who lose their companions or their way—a cry to which all humane travellers quickly respond, for it is considered equivalent to murder to ignore the signal-cry without going to the rescue. In this way U Ksuid Tynjang was able to locate the whereabouts of lonely wanderers, and thither he would direct his unsteady steps, skipping and hobbling through the jungle, until he came up to them and made them his captives.In those days a great fair was periodically held at the foot of the Hills, and to this the Khasis from all overthe country were wont to resort, especially the younger folk, who were fond of pleasure and liked to see the show of fine cloths brought there for sale. It happened that two young sisters from the Hills, Ka Thei and Ka Duh, with their brother, attended one of these fairs in the company of some of their neighbours. It was their first visit to a fair, and they were so taken up with the wonders of it that they forgot all about the time, and walked to and fro, gazing at the strange people and wares, until unconsciously they drifted away from their friends. It was now growing late, and Ka Thei, the eldest sister, anxiously bade the others cling to her that they might retrace their steps and if possible find their companions; but although they walked from one end of the fair to the other, they met nobody they knew. By this they were in great dismay, and they determined to start for home as fast as they could, hoping to overtake their friends on the way. Evidently every one was far ahead, for though they walked very fast and called out at intervals, they saw no signs of a friend and heard no response, and by the time they reached the Shillong forests, when they were yet some miles from home, night closed upon them, and they lost their way in the dense dark jungle. It was hopeless to try and proceed further, for the path could not be traced in the darkness, so the three timid young travellers sat down, footsore and forlorn, crushed down with foreboding and fear.Just then they heard a loud cry in the distance,Kaw-hoit!and they all thought it was the cry of one of their friends signalling to them, and the three shouted back in chorusKaw-hoit!and waited expectantly for some one to appear. To their horror they saw approaching,not a friend as they had expected, but the deformed and diseased figure of a hideousKsuid, upon which they realised that they had responded to the mimic-cry of U Ksuid Tynjang, whom they had often heard described, and against answering whose call they had often been warned.In a few moments he was with them, and peremptorily he ordered them to rub his itching body with their hands. Although they sickened at the contact, they knew better than to disobey, for U Ksuid Tynjang was known to be very cruel, tickling to death those who dared to disobey him.It happened that the young brother escaped being seen by the demon, a fact which Ka Thei hoped might turn to their advantage, for she had an alert and a resourceful mind. She motioned to him to squat down on the ground, and she hastily took off theknup(leaf umbrella) hanging from her shoulders, and covered him with it.Soothed by the touch of the young maidens’ hands, theKsuidbegan to dose. With a little contrivance, Ka Thei succeeded in approaching her brother, quickly stuck some shrubs in theknup, to make it look like the surrounding jungle, and whispered to him to crawl away as soon as the dawn broke, and seek the path to their village to carry the news of their fate to their parents, and bid them offer sacrifices to the god of Shillong, in whose territory they had been captured, for their deliverance. With the help of the shrub-coveredknupthe boy got away at dawn unobserved, and reached his home, whereupon his parents offered sacrifices to U ’Lei Shillong for the deliverance of their daughters.Whenever theKsuidfell asleep the sisters were ableto take turns at their unpleasant task. In order to lighten their lot somewhat, they planned to kindle a fire for the following night, and they collected dry sticks and made ready; when night fell they kindled the fire and felt less afraid. During the night, Ka Duh, in putting some fresh wood on the fire, found a large, heavydao—an axe-knife—of iron which she showed to her sister, who at once took it as an augury that deliverance was forthcoming, and that the god of Shillong was working for them. She at once began to think of a plan whereby thedaomight be useful to break the spell of the demon and to free her sister and herself from his power. She heated the thick blade red-hot while theKsuidslumbered, and, taking it by the handle, she seared his body with the hot iron, so that he died.Such, however, is the tenacity of allKsuidsthat, even when they are killed and die, they do not go out of existence. U Ksuid Tynjang could no longer resume the form of a demon as he had formerly done, but he could assume some other form and remain in his old haunts. The form he chose was that of ajirmi—a creeper of a tough and tenacious nature which entangles the feet of hunters when they run in the chase, and saps the life out of the forest trees, and destroys the plants cultivated by mankind. This plant is known to this day as the Tynjang creeper.XIXWhat makes the LightningIn the early days of the world, when the animals fraternised with mankind, they tried to emulate the manners and customs of men, and they spoke their language.Mankind held a great festival every thirteen moons, where the strongest men and the handsomest youths danced “sword dances” and contested in archery and other noble games, such as befitted their race and their tribe as men of the Hills and the Forests—the oldest and the noblest of all the tribes.The animals used to attend these festivals and enjoyed watching the games and the dances. Some of the younger and more enterprising among them even clamoured for a similar carnival for the animals, to which, after a time, the elders agreed; so it was decided that the animals should appoint a day to hold a great feast.After a period of practising dances and learning games, U Pyrthat, the thunder giant, was sent out with his big drum to summon all the world to the festival. The drum of U Pyrthat was the biggest and the loudest of all drums, and could be heard from the most remote corner of the forest; consequently a very large multitude came together, such as had never before been seen at any festival.The animals were all very smartly arrayed, each one after his or her own taste and fashion, and each one carrying some weapon of warfare or a musical instrument, according to the part he intended to play in the festival. There was much amusement when the squirrel came up, beating on a little drum as he marched; in his wake came the little bird Shakyllia, playing on a flute, followed by the porcupine marching to the rhythm of a pair of small cymbals.Every one was exceedingly merry—they joked and poked fun at one another, in great glee: some of the animals laughed so much on that feast day that they have never been able to laugh since. The mole was there, and on looking up he saw the owl trying to dance, swaying as if she were drunk, and tumbling against all sorts of obstacles, as she could not see where she was going, at which he laughed so heartily that his eyes became narrow slits and have remained so to this day.When the merriment was at its height U Kui, the lynx, arrived on the scene, displaying a very handsome silver sword which he had procured at great expense to make a show at the festival. When he began to dance and to brandish the silver sword, everybody applauded. He really danced very gracefully, but so much approbation turned his head, and he became very uplifted, and began to think himself better than all his neighbours.Just then U Pyrthat, the thunder giant, happened to look round, and he saw the performance of the lynx and admired the beauty of the silver sword, and he asked to have the handling of it for a short time, as a favour, saying that he would like to dance a little, but had brought no instrument except his big drum. This was not at all to U Kui’s liking, for he did not want any onebut himself to handle his fine weapon; but all the animals began to shout as if with one voice, saying “Shame!” for showing such discourtesy to a guest, and especially to the guest by whose kindly offices the assembly had been summoned together; so U Kui was driven to yield up his silver sword.As soon as U Pyrthat got possession of the sword he began to wield it with such rapidity and force that it flashed like leaping flame, till all eyes were dazzled almost to blindness, and at the same time he started to beat on his big drum with such violence that the earth shook and trembled and the animals fled in terror to hide in the jungle.During the confusion U Pyrthat leaped to the sky, taking the lynx’s silver sword with him, and he is frequently seen brandishing it wildly there and beating loudly on his drum. In many countries people call these manifestations “thunder” and “lightning,” but the Ancient Khasis who were present at the festival knew them to be the stolen sword of the lynx.U Kui was very disconsolate, and has never grown reconciled to his loss. It is said of him that he has never wandered far from home since then, in order to live near a mound he is trying to raise, which he hopes will one day reach the sky. He hopes to climb to the top of it, to overtake the giant U Pyrthat, and to seize once more his silver sword.XXThe Prohibited FoodWhen mankind first came to live upon the earth, the Great God saw fit to walk abroad in their midst frequently, and permitted them to hold converse with Him on matters pertaining to their duties and their welfare. At one time the discourse turned on the terrible consequences of disobedience, which caused punishment to fall, not only on the transgressor himself, but upon the entire human race also.The man could not comprehend the mystery and sought for enlightenment from God, and in order to help him to understand, the Great God said unto him, “Do thou retire for seven days to meditate upon this matter; at the end of the seven days I will again visit the earth; seek me then and we will discourse further. In the meantime go into the forest and hew down the giant tree which I point out to thee, and on thy peril beware of cutting down any other trees.” And He pointed out a large tree in the middle of the forest.Thereupon the Great God ascended into heaven, and the man went forth to meditate and to cut down the giant tree, as he had been commanded.At the expiration of seven days the man came to theappointed place and the Great God came to him. He questioned him minutely about his work and his meditations during the week of retirement, but the man had gained no further knowledge nor received any new light. So the Great God, to help him, began to question him. Their discourse was after this manner:“Hast thou cut down the tree as thou wert commanded?”“Behold, its place is empty, I have cut it down.”“Didst thou observe the command in all things? Didst thou abstain from cutting down any of the other trees?”“I abstained from cutting down any other trees; only the one that was pointed out to me have I cut down.”“What are all these trees and shrubs that I see scattered about?”“These were broken and uprooted by the weight of the great tree as it fell.”“Behold, here are some trees that have been cut down with an axe; how did this happen?”“The jungle was so thick I could not reach the giant tree without first cutting a path for myself.”“That is true; therefore learn from this parable, man is so great that, if he falls into transgression, others must suffer with him.”But the man still marvelled, and his mind remained dark. The Great God, in His long-sufferance, told him to ponder further upon the parable of the giant tree. So the Great God walked abroad for a time and man was left alone to ponder. When He returned He found the man still puzzled and unable to comprehend; and once again He questioned him.“What took place in My absence?”“Nothing of importance that I can think of.”“Why didst thou cry out as if in pain?”“It was for a very trivial cause; an ant bit me in my heel.”“And what didst thou do?”“I took a stone and killed the ant and the whole nest of ants.”“This also is a parable; because one ant bit thee the whole nest was destroyed. Man is the ant; if man transgresseth he and all his race must suffer.”Yet the man comprehended not: whereupon the Great God granted him another seven days to retire and to meditate upon the parables of the giant tree and the ant.Again the man came to the appointed place at the end of seven days’ seeking to receive fuller knowledge and understanding. The Great God had not yet appeared, so the man took a walk in the forest to await His coming. As he wandered aimlessly about, he met a stranger carrying a small net in his hand out of which he was eating some food. Now this stranger was a demon, but the man did not know it.“Where art thou going?” asked the stranger affably after the manner of the country.“Just to walk for my pleasure,” replied the man; “what food art thou eating?”“Only some cakes of bread which I find very tasty; take some and eat.” And he passed the net to him.“Thy offer is kindly made, but do not take it amiss that I refuse to accept thy bread, for it is decreed that we shall live on rice alone.”“Even so, but surely to take a morsel to taste would not be wrong.”This time the man did not resist, but accepted a cake of bread and ate it with enjoyment, after which the stranger departed, taking his bag of cakes with him.The man had scarcely swallowed the strange food when he heard the voice of the Great God calling unto him from the skies, saying:“What hast thou done, oh man? Thou knowest the decree that rice was provided to be thy food, yet thou hast unmindfully transgressed and partaken of the strange food of the tempter. Henceforth thou and thy race shall be tormented by the strange being whose food thou hast eaten. By eating his food thou hast given him dominion over thee and over thy race, and to escape from his torments thou and thy race must give of thy substance to appease him and to avert his wrath.”Thus, too late, the man began to understand, and ever since then the days of men have been full of sorrow because man yielded to the tempter’s voice instead of submitting to the decrees of the Great God.XXIThe Cooing of the DovesOf all the birds there are none that keep themselves more separate than the doves. They do not peck at other birds as the crows and the vultures do, but, on restless foot and wing, they quickly withdraw themselves from every presuming neighbour.The Ancient Khasis say that at one time the doves sang like other birds, and the following story tells how they ceased their singing and came to express their feelings in the plaintive “Coo-oo” for which they are noted throughout the world.Once a family of doves lived very happily in the forest, and its youngest member was a beautiful female called Ka Paro. Her parents and all the family were very indulgent to her, and never permitted her to risk the danger of the grain-fields until they had ascertained that there were no hunters or wild beasts likely to attack her; so Ka Paro used to stay in the shelter of her home until they gave a signal that the land was safe and clear.One day, while waiting for the signal, she happened to go up into a tall tree on which there were clusters of luscious red berries growing. As the doves usually subsisted on grain, Ka Paro did not pay much attention to the berries; she sat on a branch, preening her feathers and watching other birds who came to pick them.By and by there came a smart young Jylleit (a jungle bird with gorgeous green and gold feathers) who perched to pick berries upon the very branch on which Ka Paro sat. She had never seen such a beautiful bird, and to please him she sang to him one of her sweetest songs. U Jylleit was quickly attracted by the sweet voice and the gentle manners of the dove, and a pleasant intimacy grew between the two. Ka Paro came to that tree to preen her feathers and to sing every day, while the Jylleit admired her and picked the berries.After a time U Jylleit sent to the dove’s parents to ask her in marriage. Although their young daughter pressed them hard to give their consent, the parents were wise, and did not want to trust the happiness of their pet child to a stranger until they had time to test his worth; they knew too that marriages between alien tribes were scarcely ever a success. So, to test the constancy of the young suitor, they postponed the marriage till the winter, and with that the lovers had to be content. The parents remembered that the berries would be over by the winter, and it remained to be seen whether the Jylleit would be willing to forgo his luxuries and to share the frugal food of the doves, or whether he would fly away to some other forests where berries were to be found. Ka Paro was so much in love that she was very confident of the fidelity of her suitor, but to her sorrow, as soon as the berries were finished, U Jylleit flitted away without even a word of farewell, and she never saw him again.From that time Ka Paro ceased to sing. She could only utter the longing and sorrow that was in her heart in sad and plaintive notes, so the doves are cooing sadly even in their happiest moments.

XIVThe Origin of Betel and TobaccoLong, long ago two boys lived in a village on the slopes of the hills, who were very fond of one another and were inseparable companions. The name of one was U Riwbha; he was the son of one of the wealthiest men in the country. The other was called U Baduk, who belonged to one of the lowly families; but the difference in station was no barrier to the affection of the children for one another. Every day they sought one another out, and together they roamed abroad in the fields and the forests, learning to know the birds and the flowers; together they learned to swim in the rivers, together they learned to use the bow and arrow, and to play on the flute. They loved the same pastimes and knew the same friends.As they grew up they were not able to spend so much time together. U Riwbha had to overlook his father’s property, which involved many days’ absence from the village; while U Baduk went every day to labour in the fields to earn his own rice and to help his parents, who were poor. But the old friendship remained as firm as ever between the two young men, they trusted one another fully, and the one kept no secrets from the other.In the course of time they took to themselves wives and became the heads of families. U Riwbha’s wife, like himself, belonged to one of the wealthy families, so that by his marriage his influence in the village increased, and he became very rich and prosperous. U Baduk also married into his own class and went to live in a distant village, but he never gathered riches like his friend; nevertheless he was very happy. He had a good and thrifty wife, and side by side they daily toiled in the fields to supply their simple wants as a family.A View in the reputed Region where U Ramhah the Giant committed his Atrocities.A View in the reputed Region where U Ramhah the Giant committed his Atrocities.Thus circumstances kept the two friends apart, for they seldom met. The old regard was not in the least abated by absence, rather the bond seemed to be drawncloser and closer as the years went by. Occasionally U Baduk journeyed to his native village to see his people and friends, and on these occasions nowhere was he made more welcome than in the house of his friend U Riwbha, who insisted upon his spending the greater part of his time with him, and partaking of many sumptuous meals at his house. Thus the two old comrades renewed their intimacy and affection.On his return home from one such visit U Baduk’s wife told him that their neighbours had been talking a great deal and making disparaging remarks about the intimacy between them and their wealthy friend, hinting that no such friendship existed, that it was only U Baduk’s boast that he had rich friends in his own village. If there were such an intimacy as he pretended, why had his rich friend never come to see them when U Baduk was constantly going to visit him? He was vexed to hear this, not so much because they condemned him, but because they were casting aspersions on his best friend, so he determined to invite his friend to pay them a visit.When U Baduk paid his next visit to his village, and had as usual accepted the hospitality of his friend, he ventured to say, “I am always coming to see you and partaking of your hospitality, but you have not been to see me once since I got married.”To this U Riwbha replied, “Very true, my dear friend, very true, but do not take it amiss that I never thought of this before. You know that I have much business on my hands, and have no leisure like many people to take my pleasures; but I have been too remiss towards you, and I must make haste to remedy my fault. Give my greeting to your wife, and tell herthat I will start from here to-morrow to come to pay you both a visit, and to give myself the pleasure of tasting a dish of her curry and rice.”Highly gratified and pleased, U Baduk hastened home to tell his wife of his friend’s projected visit, and urged her to rouse herself and to cook the most savoury meal she was capable of. She too was very pleased to hear that the man they respected and loved so much was coming to see them; but she said, “It has come very suddenly, when I am not prepared; we have neither fish nor rice in the house.”“That is indeed unfortunate,” said the husband, “but we have kind neighbours from whom we have never asked a favour before. You must go out and borrow what is wanted from them, for it would be too great a disgrace not to have food to place before our friend when he comes.”The wife went out as requested by her husband, but although she walked the whole length of the village there was no one who could spare her any rice or fish, and she returned home gloomy and disheartened and told her husband of her ill-success. When U Baduk heard this bad news he was extremely troubled and said, “What sort of a world is this to live in, where a morsel of food cannot be obtained to offer hospitality to a friend? It is better to die than to live.” Whereupon he seized a knife and stabbed himself to death.When the wife saw that her good husband was dead, she was smitten with inconsolable grief, and she cried out, “What is there for me to live for now? It is better that I also should die.” Thereupon she in her turn seized the knife and stabbed herself to death.It happened that a notorious robber called U Nongtuh was wandering through the village that night, and, as it was cold, he bethought himself of sneaking into one of the houses where the family had gone to sleep, to warm himself. He saw that a fire was burning in U Baduk’s house, and that it was very silent within. He determined to enter. “They are hard-working people,” said he to himself, “and will sleep soundly; I can safely sit and warm myself without their knowing anything about me.” So he squatted down comfortably on the hearth, not knowing that the two dead bodies lay on the floor close to him.Before long the warmth made him drowsy, and without thinking U Nongtuh fell asleep, and did not awake until the day was dawning; he jumped up hastily, hoping to escape before the village was astir, but he saw the two dead bodies and was greatly terrified. A great trembling took him, and he began to mutter wildly, “What an unfortunate man I am to have entered this house! The neighbours will say that I killed these people; it will be useless for me to deny it, for I have such an evil reputation nobody will believe me. It is better for me to die by my own hand here than to be caught by the villagers, and be put to death like a murderer.” Whereupon he seized the knife and stabbed himself to death; so there were three victims on the floor, lying dead side by side, all because there was no food in the house to offer hospitality to a friend.The morning advanced, and when the neighbours noticed that no one stirred abroad from U Baduk’s house they flocked there to find out what was the matter. When they saw the three dead bodies they were filled with sadness and compunction, for they remembered howthey had refused to lend them food the night before, to prepare entertainment for their friend.In the course of the day U Riwbha arrived according to the promise made to his friend, and when he was told of the terrible tragedy his sorrow knew no bounds; he sat wailing and mourning by the body of the friend that he loved best, and would not be comforted. “Alas!” he wailed, “that a man should lose such a true friend because the world is become so hard for the poor that to entertain a friend is a greater burden than they can bear.”For many hours he wept and sorrowed, praying to the Great God to show a way of keeping up the customs of hospitality without the poor having to suffer and be crushed, as his own good friend had been crushed.Just about that time the Great God walked abroad to look on the universe, and he saw the sorrow of U Riwbha, and took pity on his tears, and made known that from henceforth He would cause to grow three valuable plants, which were to be used by mankind in future as the means of entertainment, whereby the poor as well as the rich could indulge in the entertainment of friends without being burdened. Immediately three trees which had never been known to mankind before were seen springing up from the ground where the dead bodies lay. They were the Betel, the Pan, and the Tobacco.From that time it became a point of etiquette in Khasi households, rich and poor alike, to offer betel nut and pan or a whiff of tobacco from the hookah to friends when they make calls.

XIVThe Origin of Betel and Tobacco

Long, long ago two boys lived in a village on the slopes of the hills, who were very fond of one another and were inseparable companions. The name of one was U Riwbha; he was the son of one of the wealthiest men in the country. The other was called U Baduk, who belonged to one of the lowly families; but the difference in station was no barrier to the affection of the children for one another. Every day they sought one another out, and together they roamed abroad in the fields and the forests, learning to know the birds and the flowers; together they learned to swim in the rivers, together they learned to use the bow and arrow, and to play on the flute. They loved the same pastimes and knew the same friends.As they grew up they were not able to spend so much time together. U Riwbha had to overlook his father’s property, which involved many days’ absence from the village; while U Baduk went every day to labour in the fields to earn his own rice and to help his parents, who were poor. But the old friendship remained as firm as ever between the two young men, they trusted one another fully, and the one kept no secrets from the other.In the course of time they took to themselves wives and became the heads of families. U Riwbha’s wife, like himself, belonged to one of the wealthy families, so that by his marriage his influence in the village increased, and he became very rich and prosperous. U Baduk also married into his own class and went to live in a distant village, but he never gathered riches like his friend; nevertheless he was very happy. He had a good and thrifty wife, and side by side they daily toiled in the fields to supply their simple wants as a family.A View in the reputed Region where U Ramhah the Giant committed his Atrocities.A View in the reputed Region where U Ramhah the Giant committed his Atrocities.Thus circumstances kept the two friends apart, for they seldom met. The old regard was not in the least abated by absence, rather the bond seemed to be drawncloser and closer as the years went by. Occasionally U Baduk journeyed to his native village to see his people and friends, and on these occasions nowhere was he made more welcome than in the house of his friend U Riwbha, who insisted upon his spending the greater part of his time with him, and partaking of many sumptuous meals at his house. Thus the two old comrades renewed their intimacy and affection.On his return home from one such visit U Baduk’s wife told him that their neighbours had been talking a great deal and making disparaging remarks about the intimacy between them and their wealthy friend, hinting that no such friendship existed, that it was only U Baduk’s boast that he had rich friends in his own village. If there were such an intimacy as he pretended, why had his rich friend never come to see them when U Baduk was constantly going to visit him? He was vexed to hear this, not so much because they condemned him, but because they were casting aspersions on his best friend, so he determined to invite his friend to pay them a visit.When U Baduk paid his next visit to his village, and had as usual accepted the hospitality of his friend, he ventured to say, “I am always coming to see you and partaking of your hospitality, but you have not been to see me once since I got married.”To this U Riwbha replied, “Very true, my dear friend, very true, but do not take it amiss that I never thought of this before. You know that I have much business on my hands, and have no leisure like many people to take my pleasures; but I have been too remiss towards you, and I must make haste to remedy my fault. Give my greeting to your wife, and tell herthat I will start from here to-morrow to come to pay you both a visit, and to give myself the pleasure of tasting a dish of her curry and rice.”Highly gratified and pleased, U Baduk hastened home to tell his wife of his friend’s projected visit, and urged her to rouse herself and to cook the most savoury meal she was capable of. She too was very pleased to hear that the man they respected and loved so much was coming to see them; but she said, “It has come very suddenly, when I am not prepared; we have neither fish nor rice in the house.”“That is indeed unfortunate,” said the husband, “but we have kind neighbours from whom we have never asked a favour before. You must go out and borrow what is wanted from them, for it would be too great a disgrace not to have food to place before our friend when he comes.”The wife went out as requested by her husband, but although she walked the whole length of the village there was no one who could spare her any rice or fish, and she returned home gloomy and disheartened and told her husband of her ill-success. When U Baduk heard this bad news he was extremely troubled and said, “What sort of a world is this to live in, where a morsel of food cannot be obtained to offer hospitality to a friend? It is better to die than to live.” Whereupon he seized a knife and stabbed himself to death.When the wife saw that her good husband was dead, she was smitten with inconsolable grief, and she cried out, “What is there for me to live for now? It is better that I also should die.” Thereupon she in her turn seized the knife and stabbed herself to death.It happened that a notorious robber called U Nongtuh was wandering through the village that night, and, as it was cold, he bethought himself of sneaking into one of the houses where the family had gone to sleep, to warm himself. He saw that a fire was burning in U Baduk’s house, and that it was very silent within. He determined to enter. “They are hard-working people,” said he to himself, “and will sleep soundly; I can safely sit and warm myself without their knowing anything about me.” So he squatted down comfortably on the hearth, not knowing that the two dead bodies lay on the floor close to him.Before long the warmth made him drowsy, and without thinking U Nongtuh fell asleep, and did not awake until the day was dawning; he jumped up hastily, hoping to escape before the village was astir, but he saw the two dead bodies and was greatly terrified. A great trembling took him, and he began to mutter wildly, “What an unfortunate man I am to have entered this house! The neighbours will say that I killed these people; it will be useless for me to deny it, for I have such an evil reputation nobody will believe me. It is better for me to die by my own hand here than to be caught by the villagers, and be put to death like a murderer.” Whereupon he seized the knife and stabbed himself to death; so there were three victims on the floor, lying dead side by side, all because there was no food in the house to offer hospitality to a friend.The morning advanced, and when the neighbours noticed that no one stirred abroad from U Baduk’s house they flocked there to find out what was the matter. When they saw the three dead bodies they were filled with sadness and compunction, for they remembered howthey had refused to lend them food the night before, to prepare entertainment for their friend.In the course of the day U Riwbha arrived according to the promise made to his friend, and when he was told of the terrible tragedy his sorrow knew no bounds; he sat wailing and mourning by the body of the friend that he loved best, and would not be comforted. “Alas!” he wailed, “that a man should lose such a true friend because the world is become so hard for the poor that to entertain a friend is a greater burden than they can bear.”For many hours he wept and sorrowed, praying to the Great God to show a way of keeping up the customs of hospitality without the poor having to suffer and be crushed, as his own good friend had been crushed.Just about that time the Great God walked abroad to look on the universe, and he saw the sorrow of U Riwbha, and took pity on his tears, and made known that from henceforth He would cause to grow three valuable plants, which were to be used by mankind in future as the means of entertainment, whereby the poor as well as the rich could indulge in the entertainment of friends without being burdened. Immediately three trees which had never been known to mankind before were seen springing up from the ground where the dead bodies lay. They were the Betel, the Pan, and the Tobacco.From that time it became a point of etiquette in Khasi households, rich and poor alike, to offer betel nut and pan or a whiff of tobacco from the hookah to friends when they make calls.

Long, long ago two boys lived in a village on the slopes of the hills, who were very fond of one another and were inseparable companions. The name of one was U Riwbha; he was the son of one of the wealthiest men in the country. The other was called U Baduk, who belonged to one of the lowly families; but the difference in station was no barrier to the affection of the children for one another. Every day they sought one another out, and together they roamed abroad in the fields and the forests, learning to know the birds and the flowers; together they learned to swim in the rivers, together they learned to use the bow and arrow, and to play on the flute. They loved the same pastimes and knew the same friends.

As they grew up they were not able to spend so much time together. U Riwbha had to overlook his father’s property, which involved many days’ absence from the village; while U Baduk went every day to labour in the fields to earn his own rice and to help his parents, who were poor. But the old friendship remained as firm as ever between the two young men, they trusted one another fully, and the one kept no secrets from the other.

In the course of time they took to themselves wives and became the heads of families. U Riwbha’s wife, like himself, belonged to one of the wealthy families, so that by his marriage his influence in the village increased, and he became very rich and prosperous. U Baduk also married into his own class and went to live in a distant village, but he never gathered riches like his friend; nevertheless he was very happy. He had a good and thrifty wife, and side by side they daily toiled in the fields to supply their simple wants as a family.

A View in the reputed Region where U Ramhah the Giant committed his Atrocities.A View in the reputed Region where U Ramhah the Giant committed his Atrocities.

A View in the reputed Region where U Ramhah the Giant committed his Atrocities.

Thus circumstances kept the two friends apart, for they seldom met. The old regard was not in the least abated by absence, rather the bond seemed to be drawncloser and closer as the years went by. Occasionally U Baduk journeyed to his native village to see his people and friends, and on these occasions nowhere was he made more welcome than in the house of his friend U Riwbha, who insisted upon his spending the greater part of his time with him, and partaking of many sumptuous meals at his house. Thus the two old comrades renewed their intimacy and affection.

On his return home from one such visit U Baduk’s wife told him that their neighbours had been talking a great deal and making disparaging remarks about the intimacy between them and their wealthy friend, hinting that no such friendship existed, that it was only U Baduk’s boast that he had rich friends in his own village. If there were such an intimacy as he pretended, why had his rich friend never come to see them when U Baduk was constantly going to visit him? He was vexed to hear this, not so much because they condemned him, but because they were casting aspersions on his best friend, so he determined to invite his friend to pay them a visit.

When U Baduk paid his next visit to his village, and had as usual accepted the hospitality of his friend, he ventured to say, “I am always coming to see you and partaking of your hospitality, but you have not been to see me once since I got married.”

To this U Riwbha replied, “Very true, my dear friend, very true, but do not take it amiss that I never thought of this before. You know that I have much business on my hands, and have no leisure like many people to take my pleasures; but I have been too remiss towards you, and I must make haste to remedy my fault. Give my greeting to your wife, and tell herthat I will start from here to-morrow to come to pay you both a visit, and to give myself the pleasure of tasting a dish of her curry and rice.”

Highly gratified and pleased, U Baduk hastened home to tell his wife of his friend’s projected visit, and urged her to rouse herself and to cook the most savoury meal she was capable of. She too was very pleased to hear that the man they respected and loved so much was coming to see them; but she said, “It has come very suddenly, when I am not prepared; we have neither fish nor rice in the house.”

“That is indeed unfortunate,” said the husband, “but we have kind neighbours from whom we have never asked a favour before. You must go out and borrow what is wanted from them, for it would be too great a disgrace not to have food to place before our friend when he comes.”

The wife went out as requested by her husband, but although she walked the whole length of the village there was no one who could spare her any rice or fish, and she returned home gloomy and disheartened and told her husband of her ill-success. When U Baduk heard this bad news he was extremely troubled and said, “What sort of a world is this to live in, where a morsel of food cannot be obtained to offer hospitality to a friend? It is better to die than to live.” Whereupon he seized a knife and stabbed himself to death.

When the wife saw that her good husband was dead, she was smitten with inconsolable grief, and she cried out, “What is there for me to live for now? It is better that I also should die.” Thereupon she in her turn seized the knife and stabbed herself to death.

It happened that a notorious robber called U Nongtuh was wandering through the village that night, and, as it was cold, he bethought himself of sneaking into one of the houses where the family had gone to sleep, to warm himself. He saw that a fire was burning in U Baduk’s house, and that it was very silent within. He determined to enter. “They are hard-working people,” said he to himself, “and will sleep soundly; I can safely sit and warm myself without their knowing anything about me.” So he squatted down comfortably on the hearth, not knowing that the two dead bodies lay on the floor close to him.

Before long the warmth made him drowsy, and without thinking U Nongtuh fell asleep, and did not awake until the day was dawning; he jumped up hastily, hoping to escape before the village was astir, but he saw the two dead bodies and was greatly terrified. A great trembling took him, and he began to mutter wildly, “What an unfortunate man I am to have entered this house! The neighbours will say that I killed these people; it will be useless for me to deny it, for I have such an evil reputation nobody will believe me. It is better for me to die by my own hand here than to be caught by the villagers, and be put to death like a murderer.” Whereupon he seized the knife and stabbed himself to death; so there were three victims on the floor, lying dead side by side, all because there was no food in the house to offer hospitality to a friend.

The morning advanced, and when the neighbours noticed that no one stirred abroad from U Baduk’s house they flocked there to find out what was the matter. When they saw the three dead bodies they were filled with sadness and compunction, for they remembered howthey had refused to lend them food the night before, to prepare entertainment for their friend.

In the course of the day U Riwbha arrived according to the promise made to his friend, and when he was told of the terrible tragedy his sorrow knew no bounds; he sat wailing and mourning by the body of the friend that he loved best, and would not be comforted. “Alas!” he wailed, “that a man should lose such a true friend because the world is become so hard for the poor that to entertain a friend is a greater burden than they can bear.”

For many hours he wept and sorrowed, praying to the Great God to show a way of keeping up the customs of hospitality without the poor having to suffer and be crushed, as his own good friend had been crushed.

Just about that time the Great God walked abroad to look on the universe, and he saw the sorrow of U Riwbha, and took pity on his tears, and made known that from henceforth He would cause to grow three valuable plants, which were to be used by mankind in future as the means of entertainment, whereby the poor as well as the rich could indulge in the entertainment of friends without being burdened. Immediately three trees which had never been known to mankind before were seen springing up from the ground where the dead bodies lay. They were the Betel, the Pan, and the Tobacco.

From that time it became a point of etiquette in Khasi households, rich and poor alike, to offer betel nut and pan or a whiff of tobacco from the hookah to friends when they make calls.

XVThe Stag and the SnailOn the day of the animals’ fair at Luri Lura, the stag and the snail met. It was a very hot day, and the animals as they travelled to the fair eagerly sought the shelter of the trees. There was a large Rubber grove in the forest, and thither many of the animals hasted, panting from the great heat, and there laid down their burdens for a while and rested in the cool shades.It was a familiar rendezvous, and many of the animals turned there, as much from habit as from fatigue, glad to meet old acquaintances. On the day which concerns this story there was an unusually large throng, and they chatted together sociably about the different events of their lives and the circumstances of their neighbours.In one corner a group were noisily comparing notes with one another about the length of time it had taken them to travel certain distances. In this group was the stag, who monopolised the conversation, and boasted of his own speed, and the buffalo, trying to be affable, said that they were bound to admit that the stag was now the swiftest animal in the jungle, since the dog had run away to Man, and the entire company nodded in agreement.There was, however, a little grey snail in the grass with her shell on her back, who was very disgusted with the boastings of the animals, especially of the stag, as if swiftness was the only virtue to which an animal ought to aspire. In order to put a stop to their talk, she called out mockingly for them to look at the lather that covered their bodies from over-exertion, and to compare her own cool skin, which had not perspired at all in spite of the journey; consequently, she claimed the honours for good travelling for herself.This was received with much displeasure by the animals, who felt that their dignity had been flouted, for the snail was an insect in their estimation, not fit to be admitted to their august company. The stag began to canter gracefully round the grove to prove his superiority, his fellow animals applauding admiringly; but the little snail was not to be silenced, and to show her contempt she challenged the stag to run a long race with her, declaring that she would beat him.Many of the animals urged the stag not to heed the challenge of the snail, as it was only given to affront him, but he said that unless he would run she would always insult him and call him a coward who had shown fear of a snail. So it was settled that the stag and the snail should run a long race, from the Rubber grove to the top of Mount Shillong, on the animals’ return from Luri Lura.The name of this little grey snail was Ka Mattah. As soon as the animals left the grove she summoned together all her tribe to consider how to proceed so as to beat the stag in the long race. Many of the snail family found fault with her for her foolish challenge, but they were all prepared to help her out of her difficulty,and to save her from the disgrace of defeat. It was decided in the family council that the snails should form themselves into a long line edging the path all the way from the Rubber grove to Mount Shillong, and hide themselves in the grass, so as not to be discovered by the stag. So the snails dispersed and formed themselves into a long line on the edge of the path.As soon as they had sold their wares, the animals hastened to the grove, laughing among themselves as they walked at the foolishness of Ka Mattah in setting herself up against the swiftest of the animals, and they planned how to make her the general laughing-stock of the jungle for her audacity. When they reached the Rubber grove they found Ka Mattah ready for the race, having discarded her cumbersome shell and put herself into a racing attitude on the path, which caused them no little amusement. As soon as the signal was given she dived into the grass and was lost to sight, while the stag cantered towards the mountains. After going some distance, he stopped, thinking that there would be no need to run further, as he imagined that the snail was far behind and likely to have given up the race; so he called out, “Heigh, Mattah, art thou coming?”To his surprise, the voice of the snail answered close beside him saying, “I am here, I am here.” Thereupon he ran on more swiftly, but after running several miles he stopped again and called out as before, “Heigh, Mattah, art thou coming?” And again the voice answered close to his heels, “I am here, I am here”; upon which the stag tore off at a terrific pace through the forest, only stopping at intervals to call out to the snail. As often as he called, the voice answered close tohis feet, “I am here, I am here,” which set him racing with ever-increasing speed. When he reached the Iei Tree Mountain, he was panting and quivering from his great exertions and longed to lie down to rest, but he saw before him the goal to which he was bound, and spurred himself to a last effort. He was so exhausted as he climbed up the slopes of Shillong that he was giddy and faint, and could scarcely move his wearied limbs, and, to his dismay, before he reached the summit, he heard the tormenting voice of the snail calling out from the goal, “I have won, I have won.”Exhausted and defeated, the stag threw himself full length on the ground, and his disappointment and the sickness due to the terrible strain he had put on himself caused him to spit out his gall-bladder. To this day no gall-bladder is to be found in the anatomy of the stag; so he carries in his body the token of the great defeat he sustained through the wiles of Ka Mattah, the little grey snail, and the pathetic look has never gone out of his eyes.

XVThe Stag and the Snail

On the day of the animals’ fair at Luri Lura, the stag and the snail met. It was a very hot day, and the animals as they travelled to the fair eagerly sought the shelter of the trees. There was a large Rubber grove in the forest, and thither many of the animals hasted, panting from the great heat, and there laid down their burdens for a while and rested in the cool shades.It was a familiar rendezvous, and many of the animals turned there, as much from habit as from fatigue, glad to meet old acquaintances. On the day which concerns this story there was an unusually large throng, and they chatted together sociably about the different events of their lives and the circumstances of their neighbours.In one corner a group were noisily comparing notes with one another about the length of time it had taken them to travel certain distances. In this group was the stag, who monopolised the conversation, and boasted of his own speed, and the buffalo, trying to be affable, said that they were bound to admit that the stag was now the swiftest animal in the jungle, since the dog had run away to Man, and the entire company nodded in agreement.There was, however, a little grey snail in the grass with her shell on her back, who was very disgusted with the boastings of the animals, especially of the stag, as if swiftness was the only virtue to which an animal ought to aspire. In order to put a stop to their talk, she called out mockingly for them to look at the lather that covered their bodies from over-exertion, and to compare her own cool skin, which had not perspired at all in spite of the journey; consequently, she claimed the honours for good travelling for herself.This was received with much displeasure by the animals, who felt that their dignity had been flouted, for the snail was an insect in their estimation, not fit to be admitted to their august company. The stag began to canter gracefully round the grove to prove his superiority, his fellow animals applauding admiringly; but the little snail was not to be silenced, and to show her contempt she challenged the stag to run a long race with her, declaring that she would beat him.Many of the animals urged the stag not to heed the challenge of the snail, as it was only given to affront him, but he said that unless he would run she would always insult him and call him a coward who had shown fear of a snail. So it was settled that the stag and the snail should run a long race, from the Rubber grove to the top of Mount Shillong, on the animals’ return from Luri Lura.The name of this little grey snail was Ka Mattah. As soon as the animals left the grove she summoned together all her tribe to consider how to proceed so as to beat the stag in the long race. Many of the snail family found fault with her for her foolish challenge, but they were all prepared to help her out of her difficulty,and to save her from the disgrace of defeat. It was decided in the family council that the snails should form themselves into a long line edging the path all the way from the Rubber grove to Mount Shillong, and hide themselves in the grass, so as not to be discovered by the stag. So the snails dispersed and formed themselves into a long line on the edge of the path.As soon as they had sold their wares, the animals hastened to the grove, laughing among themselves as they walked at the foolishness of Ka Mattah in setting herself up against the swiftest of the animals, and they planned how to make her the general laughing-stock of the jungle for her audacity. When they reached the Rubber grove they found Ka Mattah ready for the race, having discarded her cumbersome shell and put herself into a racing attitude on the path, which caused them no little amusement. As soon as the signal was given she dived into the grass and was lost to sight, while the stag cantered towards the mountains. After going some distance, he stopped, thinking that there would be no need to run further, as he imagined that the snail was far behind and likely to have given up the race; so he called out, “Heigh, Mattah, art thou coming?”To his surprise, the voice of the snail answered close beside him saying, “I am here, I am here.” Thereupon he ran on more swiftly, but after running several miles he stopped again and called out as before, “Heigh, Mattah, art thou coming?” And again the voice answered close to his heels, “I am here, I am here”; upon which the stag tore off at a terrific pace through the forest, only stopping at intervals to call out to the snail. As often as he called, the voice answered close tohis feet, “I am here, I am here,” which set him racing with ever-increasing speed. When he reached the Iei Tree Mountain, he was panting and quivering from his great exertions and longed to lie down to rest, but he saw before him the goal to which he was bound, and spurred himself to a last effort. He was so exhausted as he climbed up the slopes of Shillong that he was giddy and faint, and could scarcely move his wearied limbs, and, to his dismay, before he reached the summit, he heard the tormenting voice of the snail calling out from the goal, “I have won, I have won.”Exhausted and defeated, the stag threw himself full length on the ground, and his disappointment and the sickness due to the terrible strain he had put on himself caused him to spit out his gall-bladder. To this day no gall-bladder is to be found in the anatomy of the stag; so he carries in his body the token of the great defeat he sustained through the wiles of Ka Mattah, the little grey snail, and the pathetic look has never gone out of his eyes.

On the day of the animals’ fair at Luri Lura, the stag and the snail met. It was a very hot day, and the animals as they travelled to the fair eagerly sought the shelter of the trees. There was a large Rubber grove in the forest, and thither many of the animals hasted, panting from the great heat, and there laid down their burdens for a while and rested in the cool shades.

It was a familiar rendezvous, and many of the animals turned there, as much from habit as from fatigue, glad to meet old acquaintances. On the day which concerns this story there was an unusually large throng, and they chatted together sociably about the different events of their lives and the circumstances of their neighbours.

In one corner a group were noisily comparing notes with one another about the length of time it had taken them to travel certain distances. In this group was the stag, who monopolised the conversation, and boasted of his own speed, and the buffalo, trying to be affable, said that they were bound to admit that the stag was now the swiftest animal in the jungle, since the dog had run away to Man, and the entire company nodded in agreement.

There was, however, a little grey snail in the grass with her shell on her back, who was very disgusted with the boastings of the animals, especially of the stag, as if swiftness was the only virtue to which an animal ought to aspire. In order to put a stop to their talk, she called out mockingly for them to look at the lather that covered their bodies from over-exertion, and to compare her own cool skin, which had not perspired at all in spite of the journey; consequently, she claimed the honours for good travelling for herself.

This was received with much displeasure by the animals, who felt that their dignity had been flouted, for the snail was an insect in their estimation, not fit to be admitted to their august company. The stag began to canter gracefully round the grove to prove his superiority, his fellow animals applauding admiringly; but the little snail was not to be silenced, and to show her contempt she challenged the stag to run a long race with her, declaring that she would beat him.

Many of the animals urged the stag not to heed the challenge of the snail, as it was only given to affront him, but he said that unless he would run she would always insult him and call him a coward who had shown fear of a snail. So it was settled that the stag and the snail should run a long race, from the Rubber grove to the top of Mount Shillong, on the animals’ return from Luri Lura.

The name of this little grey snail was Ka Mattah. As soon as the animals left the grove she summoned together all her tribe to consider how to proceed so as to beat the stag in the long race. Many of the snail family found fault with her for her foolish challenge, but they were all prepared to help her out of her difficulty,and to save her from the disgrace of defeat. It was decided in the family council that the snails should form themselves into a long line edging the path all the way from the Rubber grove to Mount Shillong, and hide themselves in the grass, so as not to be discovered by the stag. So the snails dispersed and formed themselves into a long line on the edge of the path.

As soon as they had sold their wares, the animals hastened to the grove, laughing among themselves as they walked at the foolishness of Ka Mattah in setting herself up against the swiftest of the animals, and they planned how to make her the general laughing-stock of the jungle for her audacity. When they reached the Rubber grove they found Ka Mattah ready for the race, having discarded her cumbersome shell and put herself into a racing attitude on the path, which caused them no little amusement. As soon as the signal was given she dived into the grass and was lost to sight, while the stag cantered towards the mountains. After going some distance, he stopped, thinking that there would be no need to run further, as he imagined that the snail was far behind and likely to have given up the race; so he called out, “Heigh, Mattah, art thou coming?”

To his surprise, the voice of the snail answered close beside him saying, “I am here, I am here.” Thereupon he ran on more swiftly, but after running several miles he stopped again and called out as before, “Heigh, Mattah, art thou coming?” And again the voice answered close to his heels, “I am here, I am here”; upon which the stag tore off at a terrific pace through the forest, only stopping at intervals to call out to the snail. As often as he called, the voice answered close tohis feet, “I am here, I am here,” which set him racing with ever-increasing speed. When he reached the Iei Tree Mountain, he was panting and quivering from his great exertions and longed to lie down to rest, but he saw before him the goal to which he was bound, and spurred himself to a last effort. He was so exhausted as he climbed up the slopes of Shillong that he was giddy and faint, and could scarcely move his wearied limbs, and, to his dismay, before he reached the summit, he heard the tormenting voice of the snail calling out from the goal, “I have won, I have won.”

Exhausted and defeated, the stag threw himself full length on the ground, and his disappointment and the sickness due to the terrible strain he had put on himself caused him to spit out his gall-bladder. To this day no gall-bladder is to be found in the anatomy of the stag; so he carries in his body the token of the great defeat he sustained through the wiles of Ka Mattah, the little grey snail, and the pathetic look has never gone out of his eyes.

XVIThe Leap of Ka Likai“The Leap of Ka Likai” is the name given to a beautiful waterfall on the Khasi Hills, a few miles to the west of Cherrapoonjee, which, at certain points, is visible from great distances, while the roar and the echoes of its waters are to be heard for miles. The view is one of exceptional beauty, and many visitors are attracted to see it. The clear chattering stream is seen emerging from its wild mountain home, dashing over the high precipice into the shadows of a deep gorge, flinging upwards, as it falls, clouds of tremulous spray, which wreathe and coil around majestic rocks, creating countless small rainbows which dance and quiver in a maze of palms and ferns and blossoming shrubs.The place is so remote and so still, as if every sound had been awed into a hush, except the thunderous boom of the torrent with its distant echoes moaning and shrieking like a spirit in anguish, that the whole locality seems weird and uncanny, suggestive of terrible possibilities. This, probably, accounts for the gruesome tradition amongst the Khasis which has been associated with this waterfall from time immemorial. It runs as follows:The Leap of Ka Likai.The Leap of Ka Likai.Once upon a time there lived a young married womancalled Ka Likai, in the village of Rangjirteh, on the hill above the Falls. She and her husband lived very happily together and rejoiced in the possession of a baby girl of great beauty. The young husband died when the child was still a babe, and from that time Ka Likai’s whole heart became wrapped up in the child.She found it very hard to earn enough money to maintain them both, so she was persuaded to marry again, thinking to have her own burden lightened, and to obtain more comforts for her child.The new husband was a selfish and a somewhat brutal man; he was exceedingly jealous of his little step-daughter, because his wife paid her so much attention, and when he found that he had been accepted as a husband by Ka Likai merely for the benefit of the child, he was so mortified that he grew to hate her and determined to do her some mischief.He became sulky in the home and refused to go out to work, but he forced his wife to go every day, and during her absence he bullied and ill-treated the child. One day Ka Likai had to go on a long journey to carry iron ore, and this gave the cruel stepfather the opportunity he sought to carry out his evil purpose, and he killed the child. So depraved had he become and so demoniacal was his hatred, that he determined to inflict even a worse horror upon his wife; he took portions of the body and cooked them against the mother’s return, and waited in silence for her coming.When Ka Likai reached her home in the evening, she was surprised to find her husband in a seemingly kinder mood than he had shown for a long time, having cooked her supper and set it ready for her, with unusual consideration. She noticed the absence of the child,and immediately asked where she was, but the man’s plausible answer that she had just gone out to play dispelled every misgiving, and she sat down to eat without a suspicion of evil.After finishing her supper, she drew forward the betel-nut basket to prepare betel and pan to chew, according to custom after a meal. It happened that one of the hands of the murdered girl had been left by the stepfather in this basket, and the mother at once saw and recognised it. She wildly demanded the meaning of the awful discovery, whereupon the man confessed his crime, and also told her how she herself had eaten of the flesh of her own child.The terrible and overwhelming revelation took away the mother’s reason. She rose distractedly, and, running to the edge of the precipice, threw herself into the abyss. Ever since then the Falls have been called “The Leap of Ka Likai,” and the doleful moans of their echoes are said to be the echoes of Ka Likai’s anguished cries.To this day, when widows with children are contemplating second marriages, they are cautioned to be careful and to use judgement, with the warning, “Remember Ka Likai.”

XVIThe Leap of Ka Likai

“The Leap of Ka Likai” is the name given to a beautiful waterfall on the Khasi Hills, a few miles to the west of Cherrapoonjee, which, at certain points, is visible from great distances, while the roar and the echoes of its waters are to be heard for miles. The view is one of exceptional beauty, and many visitors are attracted to see it. The clear chattering stream is seen emerging from its wild mountain home, dashing over the high precipice into the shadows of a deep gorge, flinging upwards, as it falls, clouds of tremulous spray, which wreathe and coil around majestic rocks, creating countless small rainbows which dance and quiver in a maze of palms and ferns and blossoming shrubs.The place is so remote and so still, as if every sound had been awed into a hush, except the thunderous boom of the torrent with its distant echoes moaning and shrieking like a spirit in anguish, that the whole locality seems weird and uncanny, suggestive of terrible possibilities. This, probably, accounts for the gruesome tradition amongst the Khasis which has been associated with this waterfall from time immemorial. It runs as follows:The Leap of Ka Likai.The Leap of Ka Likai.Once upon a time there lived a young married womancalled Ka Likai, in the village of Rangjirteh, on the hill above the Falls. She and her husband lived very happily together and rejoiced in the possession of a baby girl of great beauty. The young husband died when the child was still a babe, and from that time Ka Likai’s whole heart became wrapped up in the child.She found it very hard to earn enough money to maintain them both, so she was persuaded to marry again, thinking to have her own burden lightened, and to obtain more comforts for her child.The new husband was a selfish and a somewhat brutal man; he was exceedingly jealous of his little step-daughter, because his wife paid her so much attention, and when he found that he had been accepted as a husband by Ka Likai merely for the benefit of the child, he was so mortified that he grew to hate her and determined to do her some mischief.He became sulky in the home and refused to go out to work, but he forced his wife to go every day, and during her absence he bullied and ill-treated the child. One day Ka Likai had to go on a long journey to carry iron ore, and this gave the cruel stepfather the opportunity he sought to carry out his evil purpose, and he killed the child. So depraved had he become and so demoniacal was his hatred, that he determined to inflict even a worse horror upon his wife; he took portions of the body and cooked them against the mother’s return, and waited in silence for her coming.When Ka Likai reached her home in the evening, she was surprised to find her husband in a seemingly kinder mood than he had shown for a long time, having cooked her supper and set it ready for her, with unusual consideration. She noticed the absence of the child,and immediately asked where she was, but the man’s plausible answer that she had just gone out to play dispelled every misgiving, and she sat down to eat without a suspicion of evil.After finishing her supper, she drew forward the betel-nut basket to prepare betel and pan to chew, according to custom after a meal. It happened that one of the hands of the murdered girl had been left by the stepfather in this basket, and the mother at once saw and recognised it. She wildly demanded the meaning of the awful discovery, whereupon the man confessed his crime, and also told her how she herself had eaten of the flesh of her own child.The terrible and overwhelming revelation took away the mother’s reason. She rose distractedly, and, running to the edge of the precipice, threw herself into the abyss. Ever since then the Falls have been called “The Leap of Ka Likai,” and the doleful moans of their echoes are said to be the echoes of Ka Likai’s anguished cries.To this day, when widows with children are contemplating second marriages, they are cautioned to be careful and to use judgement, with the warning, “Remember Ka Likai.”

“The Leap of Ka Likai” is the name given to a beautiful waterfall on the Khasi Hills, a few miles to the west of Cherrapoonjee, which, at certain points, is visible from great distances, while the roar and the echoes of its waters are to be heard for miles. The view is one of exceptional beauty, and many visitors are attracted to see it. The clear chattering stream is seen emerging from its wild mountain home, dashing over the high precipice into the shadows of a deep gorge, flinging upwards, as it falls, clouds of tremulous spray, which wreathe and coil around majestic rocks, creating countless small rainbows which dance and quiver in a maze of palms and ferns and blossoming shrubs.

The place is so remote and so still, as if every sound had been awed into a hush, except the thunderous boom of the torrent with its distant echoes moaning and shrieking like a spirit in anguish, that the whole locality seems weird and uncanny, suggestive of terrible possibilities. This, probably, accounts for the gruesome tradition amongst the Khasis which has been associated with this waterfall from time immemorial. It runs as follows:

The Leap of Ka Likai.The Leap of Ka Likai.

The Leap of Ka Likai.

Once upon a time there lived a young married womancalled Ka Likai, in the village of Rangjirteh, on the hill above the Falls. She and her husband lived very happily together and rejoiced in the possession of a baby girl of great beauty. The young husband died when the child was still a babe, and from that time Ka Likai’s whole heart became wrapped up in the child.

She found it very hard to earn enough money to maintain them both, so she was persuaded to marry again, thinking to have her own burden lightened, and to obtain more comforts for her child.

The new husband was a selfish and a somewhat brutal man; he was exceedingly jealous of his little step-daughter, because his wife paid her so much attention, and when he found that he had been accepted as a husband by Ka Likai merely for the benefit of the child, he was so mortified that he grew to hate her and determined to do her some mischief.

He became sulky in the home and refused to go out to work, but he forced his wife to go every day, and during her absence he bullied and ill-treated the child. One day Ka Likai had to go on a long journey to carry iron ore, and this gave the cruel stepfather the opportunity he sought to carry out his evil purpose, and he killed the child. So depraved had he become and so demoniacal was his hatred, that he determined to inflict even a worse horror upon his wife; he took portions of the body and cooked them against the mother’s return, and waited in silence for her coming.

When Ka Likai reached her home in the evening, she was surprised to find her husband in a seemingly kinder mood than he had shown for a long time, having cooked her supper and set it ready for her, with unusual consideration. She noticed the absence of the child,and immediately asked where she was, but the man’s plausible answer that she had just gone out to play dispelled every misgiving, and she sat down to eat without a suspicion of evil.

After finishing her supper, she drew forward the betel-nut basket to prepare betel and pan to chew, according to custom after a meal. It happened that one of the hands of the murdered girl had been left by the stepfather in this basket, and the mother at once saw and recognised it. She wildly demanded the meaning of the awful discovery, whereupon the man confessed his crime, and also told her how she herself had eaten of the flesh of her own child.

The terrible and overwhelming revelation took away the mother’s reason. She rose distractedly, and, running to the edge of the precipice, threw herself into the abyss. Ever since then the Falls have been called “The Leap of Ka Likai,” and the doleful moans of their echoes are said to be the echoes of Ka Likai’s anguished cries.

To this day, when widows with children are contemplating second marriages, they are cautioned to be careful and to use judgement, with the warning, “Remember Ka Likai.”

XVIIWhat caused the Shadows on the MoonIn the early ages there lived a family of deities, consisting of a mother and four children—three daughters and one son. They lived very happily for many long years, the children showing great respect to their mother and to one another. Their names were Ka Um (Water), Ka Ding (Fire), and Ka Sngi (the Sun), and the boy was called U Bnai (the Moon). They were all very noble and beautiful to look upon, as became their high destiny, but it was universally agreed that Ka Sngi and U Bnai, the two youngest, possessed greater beauty and loveliness than the two elder sisters. In those days the moon was equal to the sun in brightness and splendour.When U Bnai grew up he began to show somewhat wayward tendencies; he came and went at his own will, without consulting his mother or his sisters, and consorted with companions far beneath him in rank. Sometimes he would absent himself from home for many days, and none of his family knew whither he wandered. His mother often remonstrated with him, as is right for every mother to do, and she and his sisters endeavoured to guide him into more decorous habits,but he was wilful and self-indulgent, thinking that he had a right to more liberty than his women-folk allowed him. By degrees he abandoned himself to a life of pleasure and wild pursuits, paying no heed to the advice and warnings of his elders.Once he followed some of his low associates into the nether regions and spent a long time in that land of goblins and vice. After a while his thoughts came back to his family and his erstwhile radiant home, and a longing to see them came over him, so he quitted the nether regions, and left his evil companions, and returned to his home and his kindred.He had gazed so long on the hideous faces of the inhabitants of the dark world, that he was dazzled by the beauty of his sister Ka Sngi, who came to meet him with smiles and joy for his return. He had also lost the right perception of duty and honour, and, instead of greeting her as his sister, he went to his mother and with unbrotherly wantonness demanded the hand of Ka Sngi in marriage, saying that he had travelled throughout many worlds, and had seen the sons of all nations, but there was no suitor to be found in the whole universe whose beauty could match that of Ka Sngi, except himself. Consequently he said that it behoved his mother to give countenance to his suit and to arrange the marriage.This caused the mother much grief, and she dismissed her son from her presence in dishonour. Ka Sngi, when she heard of his design, was enraged because of his unchaste proposal, and in anger she went forth to seek her brother. When she found him she forgot her usual dignity and decorum, and, lifting a handful of hot ashes, she threw it into U Bnai’s face. The ashesscorched his flesh so deeply that the marks have remained on his face to this day. Ever since then the light of the moon has been pale, marred by dark shadows, and that is the reason he does not show his face in the day-time.

XVIIWhat caused the Shadows on the Moon

In the early ages there lived a family of deities, consisting of a mother and four children—three daughters and one son. They lived very happily for many long years, the children showing great respect to their mother and to one another. Their names were Ka Um (Water), Ka Ding (Fire), and Ka Sngi (the Sun), and the boy was called U Bnai (the Moon). They were all very noble and beautiful to look upon, as became their high destiny, but it was universally agreed that Ka Sngi and U Bnai, the two youngest, possessed greater beauty and loveliness than the two elder sisters. In those days the moon was equal to the sun in brightness and splendour.When U Bnai grew up he began to show somewhat wayward tendencies; he came and went at his own will, without consulting his mother or his sisters, and consorted with companions far beneath him in rank. Sometimes he would absent himself from home for many days, and none of his family knew whither he wandered. His mother often remonstrated with him, as is right for every mother to do, and she and his sisters endeavoured to guide him into more decorous habits,but he was wilful and self-indulgent, thinking that he had a right to more liberty than his women-folk allowed him. By degrees he abandoned himself to a life of pleasure and wild pursuits, paying no heed to the advice and warnings of his elders.Once he followed some of his low associates into the nether regions and spent a long time in that land of goblins and vice. After a while his thoughts came back to his family and his erstwhile radiant home, and a longing to see them came over him, so he quitted the nether regions, and left his evil companions, and returned to his home and his kindred.He had gazed so long on the hideous faces of the inhabitants of the dark world, that he was dazzled by the beauty of his sister Ka Sngi, who came to meet him with smiles and joy for his return. He had also lost the right perception of duty and honour, and, instead of greeting her as his sister, he went to his mother and with unbrotherly wantonness demanded the hand of Ka Sngi in marriage, saying that he had travelled throughout many worlds, and had seen the sons of all nations, but there was no suitor to be found in the whole universe whose beauty could match that of Ka Sngi, except himself. Consequently he said that it behoved his mother to give countenance to his suit and to arrange the marriage.This caused the mother much grief, and she dismissed her son from her presence in dishonour. Ka Sngi, when she heard of his design, was enraged because of his unchaste proposal, and in anger she went forth to seek her brother. When she found him she forgot her usual dignity and decorum, and, lifting a handful of hot ashes, she threw it into U Bnai’s face. The ashesscorched his flesh so deeply that the marks have remained on his face to this day. Ever since then the light of the moon has been pale, marred by dark shadows, and that is the reason he does not show his face in the day-time.

In the early ages there lived a family of deities, consisting of a mother and four children—three daughters and one son. They lived very happily for many long years, the children showing great respect to their mother and to one another. Their names were Ka Um (Water), Ka Ding (Fire), and Ka Sngi (the Sun), and the boy was called U Bnai (the Moon). They were all very noble and beautiful to look upon, as became their high destiny, but it was universally agreed that Ka Sngi and U Bnai, the two youngest, possessed greater beauty and loveliness than the two elder sisters. In those days the moon was equal to the sun in brightness and splendour.

When U Bnai grew up he began to show somewhat wayward tendencies; he came and went at his own will, without consulting his mother or his sisters, and consorted with companions far beneath him in rank. Sometimes he would absent himself from home for many days, and none of his family knew whither he wandered. His mother often remonstrated with him, as is right for every mother to do, and she and his sisters endeavoured to guide him into more decorous habits,but he was wilful and self-indulgent, thinking that he had a right to more liberty than his women-folk allowed him. By degrees he abandoned himself to a life of pleasure and wild pursuits, paying no heed to the advice and warnings of his elders.

Once he followed some of his low associates into the nether regions and spent a long time in that land of goblins and vice. After a while his thoughts came back to his family and his erstwhile radiant home, and a longing to see them came over him, so he quitted the nether regions, and left his evil companions, and returned to his home and his kindred.

He had gazed so long on the hideous faces of the inhabitants of the dark world, that he was dazzled by the beauty of his sister Ka Sngi, who came to meet him with smiles and joy for his return. He had also lost the right perception of duty and honour, and, instead of greeting her as his sister, he went to his mother and with unbrotherly wantonness demanded the hand of Ka Sngi in marriage, saying that he had travelled throughout many worlds, and had seen the sons of all nations, but there was no suitor to be found in the whole universe whose beauty could match that of Ka Sngi, except himself. Consequently he said that it behoved his mother to give countenance to his suit and to arrange the marriage.

This caused the mother much grief, and she dismissed her son from her presence in dishonour. Ka Sngi, when she heard of his design, was enraged because of his unchaste proposal, and in anger she went forth to seek her brother. When she found him she forgot her usual dignity and decorum, and, lifting a handful of hot ashes, she threw it into U Bnai’s face. The ashesscorched his flesh so deeply that the marks have remained on his face to this day. Ever since then the light of the moon has been pale, marred by dark shadows, and that is the reason he does not show his face in the day-time.

XVIIIU Ksuid TynjangThe Ancient Khasis were wont to people all their beautiful hills and forests with innumerable supernatural beings, who were supposed to be working in the world either for good or for evil, and dominating all the events of men’s lives. There wereBleis(gods) of all grades, andKsuids(demons or goblins) without number, andPuris(sprites or fairies), visible and invisible, to be encountered everywhere. The religious observances of the Khasis are mainly intended to fulfil obligations supposed to be imposed upon them by these imaginary beings, who are described as quick to take offence and difficult to appease; hence the many and complicated ceremonies which the Khasi religion demands.One of the most familiar names in ancient lore is that of U Ksuid Tynjang, a deformed and lame demon who haunted the forests and tormented mankind, and for his misdeeds had been doomed to suffer from an incurable and loathsome itching disease, which could only be allayed by the touch of a human hand. All the stories related of this repulsive demon are concerned with his forbidding personality and the tortures he inflicted on the victims he captured purposely to forcethem to rub his body and relieve the terrible itching to which he had been doomed. He used to tickle them to death with his deformed and claw-like hands if they tried to desist from their sickening task.The reputed Haunt of U Ksuid Tynjang.The reputed Haunt of U Ksuid Tynjang.To lure people into his grasp, he used to imitate the human voice and to shout “Kaw-hoit, Kaw-hoit!” the common signal-cry of people who lose their companions or their way—a cry to which all humane travellers quickly respond, for it is considered equivalent to murder to ignore the signal-cry without going to the rescue. In this way U Ksuid Tynjang was able to locate the whereabouts of lonely wanderers, and thither he would direct his unsteady steps, skipping and hobbling through the jungle, until he came up to them and made them his captives.In those days a great fair was periodically held at the foot of the Hills, and to this the Khasis from all overthe country were wont to resort, especially the younger folk, who were fond of pleasure and liked to see the show of fine cloths brought there for sale. It happened that two young sisters from the Hills, Ka Thei and Ka Duh, with their brother, attended one of these fairs in the company of some of their neighbours. It was their first visit to a fair, and they were so taken up with the wonders of it that they forgot all about the time, and walked to and fro, gazing at the strange people and wares, until unconsciously they drifted away from their friends. It was now growing late, and Ka Thei, the eldest sister, anxiously bade the others cling to her that they might retrace their steps and if possible find their companions; but although they walked from one end of the fair to the other, they met nobody they knew. By this they were in great dismay, and they determined to start for home as fast as they could, hoping to overtake their friends on the way. Evidently every one was far ahead, for though they walked very fast and called out at intervals, they saw no signs of a friend and heard no response, and by the time they reached the Shillong forests, when they were yet some miles from home, night closed upon them, and they lost their way in the dense dark jungle. It was hopeless to try and proceed further, for the path could not be traced in the darkness, so the three timid young travellers sat down, footsore and forlorn, crushed down with foreboding and fear.Just then they heard a loud cry in the distance,Kaw-hoit!and they all thought it was the cry of one of their friends signalling to them, and the three shouted back in chorusKaw-hoit!and waited expectantly for some one to appear. To their horror they saw approaching,not a friend as they had expected, but the deformed and diseased figure of a hideousKsuid, upon which they realised that they had responded to the mimic-cry of U Ksuid Tynjang, whom they had often heard described, and against answering whose call they had often been warned.In a few moments he was with them, and peremptorily he ordered them to rub his itching body with their hands. Although they sickened at the contact, they knew better than to disobey, for U Ksuid Tynjang was known to be very cruel, tickling to death those who dared to disobey him.It happened that the young brother escaped being seen by the demon, a fact which Ka Thei hoped might turn to their advantage, for she had an alert and a resourceful mind. She motioned to him to squat down on the ground, and she hastily took off theknup(leaf umbrella) hanging from her shoulders, and covered him with it.Soothed by the touch of the young maidens’ hands, theKsuidbegan to dose. With a little contrivance, Ka Thei succeeded in approaching her brother, quickly stuck some shrubs in theknup, to make it look like the surrounding jungle, and whispered to him to crawl away as soon as the dawn broke, and seek the path to their village to carry the news of their fate to their parents, and bid them offer sacrifices to the god of Shillong, in whose territory they had been captured, for their deliverance. With the help of the shrub-coveredknupthe boy got away at dawn unobserved, and reached his home, whereupon his parents offered sacrifices to U ’Lei Shillong for the deliverance of their daughters.Whenever theKsuidfell asleep the sisters were ableto take turns at their unpleasant task. In order to lighten their lot somewhat, they planned to kindle a fire for the following night, and they collected dry sticks and made ready; when night fell they kindled the fire and felt less afraid. During the night, Ka Duh, in putting some fresh wood on the fire, found a large, heavydao—an axe-knife—of iron which she showed to her sister, who at once took it as an augury that deliverance was forthcoming, and that the god of Shillong was working for them. She at once began to think of a plan whereby thedaomight be useful to break the spell of the demon and to free her sister and herself from his power. She heated the thick blade red-hot while theKsuidslumbered, and, taking it by the handle, she seared his body with the hot iron, so that he died.Such, however, is the tenacity of allKsuidsthat, even when they are killed and die, they do not go out of existence. U Ksuid Tynjang could no longer resume the form of a demon as he had formerly done, but he could assume some other form and remain in his old haunts. The form he chose was that of ajirmi—a creeper of a tough and tenacious nature which entangles the feet of hunters when they run in the chase, and saps the life out of the forest trees, and destroys the plants cultivated by mankind. This plant is known to this day as the Tynjang creeper.

XVIIIU Ksuid Tynjang

The Ancient Khasis were wont to people all their beautiful hills and forests with innumerable supernatural beings, who were supposed to be working in the world either for good or for evil, and dominating all the events of men’s lives. There wereBleis(gods) of all grades, andKsuids(demons or goblins) without number, andPuris(sprites or fairies), visible and invisible, to be encountered everywhere. The religious observances of the Khasis are mainly intended to fulfil obligations supposed to be imposed upon them by these imaginary beings, who are described as quick to take offence and difficult to appease; hence the many and complicated ceremonies which the Khasi religion demands.One of the most familiar names in ancient lore is that of U Ksuid Tynjang, a deformed and lame demon who haunted the forests and tormented mankind, and for his misdeeds had been doomed to suffer from an incurable and loathsome itching disease, which could only be allayed by the touch of a human hand. All the stories related of this repulsive demon are concerned with his forbidding personality and the tortures he inflicted on the victims he captured purposely to forcethem to rub his body and relieve the terrible itching to which he had been doomed. He used to tickle them to death with his deformed and claw-like hands if they tried to desist from their sickening task.The reputed Haunt of U Ksuid Tynjang.The reputed Haunt of U Ksuid Tynjang.To lure people into his grasp, he used to imitate the human voice and to shout “Kaw-hoit, Kaw-hoit!” the common signal-cry of people who lose their companions or their way—a cry to which all humane travellers quickly respond, for it is considered equivalent to murder to ignore the signal-cry without going to the rescue. In this way U Ksuid Tynjang was able to locate the whereabouts of lonely wanderers, and thither he would direct his unsteady steps, skipping and hobbling through the jungle, until he came up to them and made them his captives.In those days a great fair was periodically held at the foot of the Hills, and to this the Khasis from all overthe country were wont to resort, especially the younger folk, who were fond of pleasure and liked to see the show of fine cloths brought there for sale. It happened that two young sisters from the Hills, Ka Thei and Ka Duh, with their brother, attended one of these fairs in the company of some of their neighbours. It was their first visit to a fair, and they were so taken up with the wonders of it that they forgot all about the time, and walked to and fro, gazing at the strange people and wares, until unconsciously they drifted away from their friends. It was now growing late, and Ka Thei, the eldest sister, anxiously bade the others cling to her that they might retrace their steps and if possible find their companions; but although they walked from one end of the fair to the other, they met nobody they knew. By this they were in great dismay, and they determined to start for home as fast as they could, hoping to overtake their friends on the way. Evidently every one was far ahead, for though they walked very fast and called out at intervals, they saw no signs of a friend and heard no response, and by the time they reached the Shillong forests, when they were yet some miles from home, night closed upon them, and they lost their way in the dense dark jungle. It was hopeless to try and proceed further, for the path could not be traced in the darkness, so the three timid young travellers sat down, footsore and forlorn, crushed down with foreboding and fear.Just then they heard a loud cry in the distance,Kaw-hoit!and they all thought it was the cry of one of their friends signalling to them, and the three shouted back in chorusKaw-hoit!and waited expectantly for some one to appear. To their horror they saw approaching,not a friend as they had expected, but the deformed and diseased figure of a hideousKsuid, upon which they realised that they had responded to the mimic-cry of U Ksuid Tynjang, whom they had often heard described, and against answering whose call they had often been warned.In a few moments he was with them, and peremptorily he ordered them to rub his itching body with their hands. Although they sickened at the contact, they knew better than to disobey, for U Ksuid Tynjang was known to be very cruel, tickling to death those who dared to disobey him.It happened that the young brother escaped being seen by the demon, a fact which Ka Thei hoped might turn to their advantage, for she had an alert and a resourceful mind. She motioned to him to squat down on the ground, and she hastily took off theknup(leaf umbrella) hanging from her shoulders, and covered him with it.Soothed by the touch of the young maidens’ hands, theKsuidbegan to dose. With a little contrivance, Ka Thei succeeded in approaching her brother, quickly stuck some shrubs in theknup, to make it look like the surrounding jungle, and whispered to him to crawl away as soon as the dawn broke, and seek the path to their village to carry the news of their fate to their parents, and bid them offer sacrifices to the god of Shillong, in whose territory they had been captured, for their deliverance. With the help of the shrub-coveredknupthe boy got away at dawn unobserved, and reached his home, whereupon his parents offered sacrifices to U ’Lei Shillong for the deliverance of their daughters.Whenever theKsuidfell asleep the sisters were ableto take turns at their unpleasant task. In order to lighten their lot somewhat, they planned to kindle a fire for the following night, and they collected dry sticks and made ready; when night fell they kindled the fire and felt less afraid. During the night, Ka Duh, in putting some fresh wood on the fire, found a large, heavydao—an axe-knife—of iron which she showed to her sister, who at once took it as an augury that deliverance was forthcoming, and that the god of Shillong was working for them. She at once began to think of a plan whereby thedaomight be useful to break the spell of the demon and to free her sister and herself from his power. She heated the thick blade red-hot while theKsuidslumbered, and, taking it by the handle, she seared his body with the hot iron, so that he died.Such, however, is the tenacity of allKsuidsthat, even when they are killed and die, they do not go out of existence. U Ksuid Tynjang could no longer resume the form of a demon as he had formerly done, but he could assume some other form and remain in his old haunts. The form he chose was that of ajirmi—a creeper of a tough and tenacious nature which entangles the feet of hunters when they run in the chase, and saps the life out of the forest trees, and destroys the plants cultivated by mankind. This plant is known to this day as the Tynjang creeper.

The Ancient Khasis were wont to people all their beautiful hills and forests with innumerable supernatural beings, who were supposed to be working in the world either for good or for evil, and dominating all the events of men’s lives. There wereBleis(gods) of all grades, andKsuids(demons or goblins) without number, andPuris(sprites or fairies), visible and invisible, to be encountered everywhere. The religious observances of the Khasis are mainly intended to fulfil obligations supposed to be imposed upon them by these imaginary beings, who are described as quick to take offence and difficult to appease; hence the many and complicated ceremonies which the Khasi religion demands.

One of the most familiar names in ancient lore is that of U Ksuid Tynjang, a deformed and lame demon who haunted the forests and tormented mankind, and for his misdeeds had been doomed to suffer from an incurable and loathsome itching disease, which could only be allayed by the touch of a human hand. All the stories related of this repulsive demon are concerned with his forbidding personality and the tortures he inflicted on the victims he captured purposely to forcethem to rub his body and relieve the terrible itching to which he had been doomed. He used to tickle them to death with his deformed and claw-like hands if they tried to desist from their sickening task.

The reputed Haunt of U Ksuid Tynjang.The reputed Haunt of U Ksuid Tynjang.

The reputed Haunt of U Ksuid Tynjang.

To lure people into his grasp, he used to imitate the human voice and to shout “Kaw-hoit, Kaw-hoit!” the common signal-cry of people who lose their companions or their way—a cry to which all humane travellers quickly respond, for it is considered equivalent to murder to ignore the signal-cry without going to the rescue. In this way U Ksuid Tynjang was able to locate the whereabouts of lonely wanderers, and thither he would direct his unsteady steps, skipping and hobbling through the jungle, until he came up to them and made them his captives.

In those days a great fair was periodically held at the foot of the Hills, and to this the Khasis from all overthe country were wont to resort, especially the younger folk, who were fond of pleasure and liked to see the show of fine cloths brought there for sale. It happened that two young sisters from the Hills, Ka Thei and Ka Duh, with their brother, attended one of these fairs in the company of some of their neighbours. It was their first visit to a fair, and they were so taken up with the wonders of it that they forgot all about the time, and walked to and fro, gazing at the strange people and wares, until unconsciously they drifted away from their friends. It was now growing late, and Ka Thei, the eldest sister, anxiously bade the others cling to her that they might retrace their steps and if possible find their companions; but although they walked from one end of the fair to the other, they met nobody they knew. By this they were in great dismay, and they determined to start for home as fast as they could, hoping to overtake their friends on the way. Evidently every one was far ahead, for though they walked very fast and called out at intervals, they saw no signs of a friend and heard no response, and by the time they reached the Shillong forests, when they were yet some miles from home, night closed upon them, and they lost their way in the dense dark jungle. It was hopeless to try and proceed further, for the path could not be traced in the darkness, so the three timid young travellers sat down, footsore and forlorn, crushed down with foreboding and fear.

Just then they heard a loud cry in the distance,Kaw-hoit!and they all thought it was the cry of one of their friends signalling to them, and the three shouted back in chorusKaw-hoit!and waited expectantly for some one to appear. To their horror they saw approaching,not a friend as they had expected, but the deformed and diseased figure of a hideousKsuid, upon which they realised that they had responded to the mimic-cry of U Ksuid Tynjang, whom they had often heard described, and against answering whose call they had often been warned.

In a few moments he was with them, and peremptorily he ordered them to rub his itching body with their hands. Although they sickened at the contact, they knew better than to disobey, for U Ksuid Tynjang was known to be very cruel, tickling to death those who dared to disobey him.

It happened that the young brother escaped being seen by the demon, a fact which Ka Thei hoped might turn to their advantage, for she had an alert and a resourceful mind. She motioned to him to squat down on the ground, and she hastily took off theknup(leaf umbrella) hanging from her shoulders, and covered him with it.

Soothed by the touch of the young maidens’ hands, theKsuidbegan to dose. With a little contrivance, Ka Thei succeeded in approaching her brother, quickly stuck some shrubs in theknup, to make it look like the surrounding jungle, and whispered to him to crawl away as soon as the dawn broke, and seek the path to their village to carry the news of their fate to their parents, and bid them offer sacrifices to the god of Shillong, in whose territory they had been captured, for their deliverance. With the help of the shrub-coveredknupthe boy got away at dawn unobserved, and reached his home, whereupon his parents offered sacrifices to U ’Lei Shillong for the deliverance of their daughters.

Whenever theKsuidfell asleep the sisters were ableto take turns at their unpleasant task. In order to lighten their lot somewhat, they planned to kindle a fire for the following night, and they collected dry sticks and made ready; when night fell they kindled the fire and felt less afraid. During the night, Ka Duh, in putting some fresh wood on the fire, found a large, heavydao—an axe-knife—of iron which she showed to her sister, who at once took it as an augury that deliverance was forthcoming, and that the god of Shillong was working for them. She at once began to think of a plan whereby thedaomight be useful to break the spell of the demon and to free her sister and herself from his power. She heated the thick blade red-hot while theKsuidslumbered, and, taking it by the handle, she seared his body with the hot iron, so that he died.

Such, however, is the tenacity of allKsuidsthat, even when they are killed and die, they do not go out of existence. U Ksuid Tynjang could no longer resume the form of a demon as he had formerly done, but he could assume some other form and remain in his old haunts. The form he chose was that of ajirmi—a creeper of a tough and tenacious nature which entangles the feet of hunters when they run in the chase, and saps the life out of the forest trees, and destroys the plants cultivated by mankind. This plant is known to this day as the Tynjang creeper.

XIXWhat makes the LightningIn the early days of the world, when the animals fraternised with mankind, they tried to emulate the manners and customs of men, and they spoke their language.Mankind held a great festival every thirteen moons, where the strongest men and the handsomest youths danced “sword dances” and contested in archery and other noble games, such as befitted their race and their tribe as men of the Hills and the Forests—the oldest and the noblest of all the tribes.The animals used to attend these festivals and enjoyed watching the games and the dances. Some of the younger and more enterprising among them even clamoured for a similar carnival for the animals, to which, after a time, the elders agreed; so it was decided that the animals should appoint a day to hold a great feast.After a period of practising dances and learning games, U Pyrthat, the thunder giant, was sent out with his big drum to summon all the world to the festival. The drum of U Pyrthat was the biggest and the loudest of all drums, and could be heard from the most remote corner of the forest; consequently a very large multitude came together, such as had never before been seen at any festival.The animals were all very smartly arrayed, each one after his or her own taste and fashion, and each one carrying some weapon of warfare or a musical instrument, according to the part he intended to play in the festival. There was much amusement when the squirrel came up, beating on a little drum as he marched; in his wake came the little bird Shakyllia, playing on a flute, followed by the porcupine marching to the rhythm of a pair of small cymbals.Every one was exceedingly merry—they joked and poked fun at one another, in great glee: some of the animals laughed so much on that feast day that they have never been able to laugh since. The mole was there, and on looking up he saw the owl trying to dance, swaying as if she were drunk, and tumbling against all sorts of obstacles, as she could not see where she was going, at which he laughed so heartily that his eyes became narrow slits and have remained so to this day.When the merriment was at its height U Kui, the lynx, arrived on the scene, displaying a very handsome silver sword which he had procured at great expense to make a show at the festival. When he began to dance and to brandish the silver sword, everybody applauded. He really danced very gracefully, but so much approbation turned his head, and he became very uplifted, and began to think himself better than all his neighbours.Just then U Pyrthat, the thunder giant, happened to look round, and he saw the performance of the lynx and admired the beauty of the silver sword, and he asked to have the handling of it for a short time, as a favour, saying that he would like to dance a little, but had brought no instrument except his big drum. This was not at all to U Kui’s liking, for he did not want any onebut himself to handle his fine weapon; but all the animals began to shout as if with one voice, saying “Shame!” for showing such discourtesy to a guest, and especially to the guest by whose kindly offices the assembly had been summoned together; so U Kui was driven to yield up his silver sword.As soon as U Pyrthat got possession of the sword he began to wield it with such rapidity and force that it flashed like leaping flame, till all eyes were dazzled almost to blindness, and at the same time he started to beat on his big drum with such violence that the earth shook and trembled and the animals fled in terror to hide in the jungle.During the confusion U Pyrthat leaped to the sky, taking the lynx’s silver sword with him, and he is frequently seen brandishing it wildly there and beating loudly on his drum. In many countries people call these manifestations “thunder” and “lightning,” but the Ancient Khasis who were present at the festival knew them to be the stolen sword of the lynx.U Kui was very disconsolate, and has never grown reconciled to his loss. It is said of him that he has never wandered far from home since then, in order to live near a mound he is trying to raise, which he hopes will one day reach the sky. He hopes to climb to the top of it, to overtake the giant U Pyrthat, and to seize once more his silver sword.

XIXWhat makes the Lightning

In the early days of the world, when the animals fraternised with mankind, they tried to emulate the manners and customs of men, and they spoke their language.Mankind held a great festival every thirteen moons, where the strongest men and the handsomest youths danced “sword dances” and contested in archery and other noble games, such as befitted their race and their tribe as men of the Hills and the Forests—the oldest and the noblest of all the tribes.The animals used to attend these festivals and enjoyed watching the games and the dances. Some of the younger and more enterprising among them even clamoured for a similar carnival for the animals, to which, after a time, the elders agreed; so it was decided that the animals should appoint a day to hold a great feast.After a period of practising dances and learning games, U Pyrthat, the thunder giant, was sent out with his big drum to summon all the world to the festival. The drum of U Pyrthat was the biggest and the loudest of all drums, and could be heard from the most remote corner of the forest; consequently a very large multitude came together, such as had never before been seen at any festival.The animals were all very smartly arrayed, each one after his or her own taste and fashion, and each one carrying some weapon of warfare or a musical instrument, according to the part he intended to play in the festival. There was much amusement when the squirrel came up, beating on a little drum as he marched; in his wake came the little bird Shakyllia, playing on a flute, followed by the porcupine marching to the rhythm of a pair of small cymbals.Every one was exceedingly merry—they joked and poked fun at one another, in great glee: some of the animals laughed so much on that feast day that they have never been able to laugh since. The mole was there, and on looking up he saw the owl trying to dance, swaying as if she were drunk, and tumbling against all sorts of obstacles, as she could not see where she was going, at which he laughed so heartily that his eyes became narrow slits and have remained so to this day.When the merriment was at its height U Kui, the lynx, arrived on the scene, displaying a very handsome silver sword which he had procured at great expense to make a show at the festival. When he began to dance and to brandish the silver sword, everybody applauded. He really danced very gracefully, but so much approbation turned his head, and he became very uplifted, and began to think himself better than all his neighbours.Just then U Pyrthat, the thunder giant, happened to look round, and he saw the performance of the lynx and admired the beauty of the silver sword, and he asked to have the handling of it for a short time, as a favour, saying that he would like to dance a little, but had brought no instrument except his big drum. This was not at all to U Kui’s liking, for he did not want any onebut himself to handle his fine weapon; but all the animals began to shout as if with one voice, saying “Shame!” for showing such discourtesy to a guest, and especially to the guest by whose kindly offices the assembly had been summoned together; so U Kui was driven to yield up his silver sword.As soon as U Pyrthat got possession of the sword he began to wield it with such rapidity and force that it flashed like leaping flame, till all eyes were dazzled almost to blindness, and at the same time he started to beat on his big drum with such violence that the earth shook and trembled and the animals fled in terror to hide in the jungle.During the confusion U Pyrthat leaped to the sky, taking the lynx’s silver sword with him, and he is frequently seen brandishing it wildly there and beating loudly on his drum. In many countries people call these manifestations “thunder” and “lightning,” but the Ancient Khasis who were present at the festival knew them to be the stolen sword of the lynx.U Kui was very disconsolate, and has never grown reconciled to his loss. It is said of him that he has never wandered far from home since then, in order to live near a mound he is trying to raise, which he hopes will one day reach the sky. He hopes to climb to the top of it, to overtake the giant U Pyrthat, and to seize once more his silver sword.

In the early days of the world, when the animals fraternised with mankind, they tried to emulate the manners and customs of men, and they spoke their language.

Mankind held a great festival every thirteen moons, where the strongest men and the handsomest youths danced “sword dances” and contested in archery and other noble games, such as befitted their race and their tribe as men of the Hills and the Forests—the oldest and the noblest of all the tribes.

The animals used to attend these festivals and enjoyed watching the games and the dances. Some of the younger and more enterprising among them even clamoured for a similar carnival for the animals, to which, after a time, the elders agreed; so it was decided that the animals should appoint a day to hold a great feast.

After a period of practising dances and learning games, U Pyrthat, the thunder giant, was sent out with his big drum to summon all the world to the festival. The drum of U Pyrthat was the biggest and the loudest of all drums, and could be heard from the most remote corner of the forest; consequently a very large multitude came together, such as had never before been seen at any festival.

The animals were all very smartly arrayed, each one after his or her own taste and fashion, and each one carrying some weapon of warfare or a musical instrument, according to the part he intended to play in the festival. There was much amusement when the squirrel came up, beating on a little drum as he marched; in his wake came the little bird Shakyllia, playing on a flute, followed by the porcupine marching to the rhythm of a pair of small cymbals.

Every one was exceedingly merry—they joked and poked fun at one another, in great glee: some of the animals laughed so much on that feast day that they have never been able to laugh since. The mole was there, and on looking up he saw the owl trying to dance, swaying as if she were drunk, and tumbling against all sorts of obstacles, as she could not see where she was going, at which he laughed so heartily that his eyes became narrow slits and have remained so to this day.

When the merriment was at its height U Kui, the lynx, arrived on the scene, displaying a very handsome silver sword which he had procured at great expense to make a show at the festival. When he began to dance and to brandish the silver sword, everybody applauded. He really danced very gracefully, but so much approbation turned his head, and he became very uplifted, and began to think himself better than all his neighbours.

Just then U Pyrthat, the thunder giant, happened to look round, and he saw the performance of the lynx and admired the beauty of the silver sword, and he asked to have the handling of it for a short time, as a favour, saying that he would like to dance a little, but had brought no instrument except his big drum. This was not at all to U Kui’s liking, for he did not want any onebut himself to handle his fine weapon; but all the animals began to shout as if with one voice, saying “Shame!” for showing such discourtesy to a guest, and especially to the guest by whose kindly offices the assembly had been summoned together; so U Kui was driven to yield up his silver sword.

As soon as U Pyrthat got possession of the sword he began to wield it with such rapidity and force that it flashed like leaping flame, till all eyes were dazzled almost to blindness, and at the same time he started to beat on his big drum with such violence that the earth shook and trembled and the animals fled in terror to hide in the jungle.

During the confusion U Pyrthat leaped to the sky, taking the lynx’s silver sword with him, and he is frequently seen brandishing it wildly there and beating loudly on his drum. In many countries people call these manifestations “thunder” and “lightning,” but the Ancient Khasis who were present at the festival knew them to be the stolen sword of the lynx.

U Kui was very disconsolate, and has never grown reconciled to his loss. It is said of him that he has never wandered far from home since then, in order to live near a mound he is trying to raise, which he hopes will one day reach the sky. He hopes to climb to the top of it, to overtake the giant U Pyrthat, and to seize once more his silver sword.

XXThe Prohibited FoodWhen mankind first came to live upon the earth, the Great God saw fit to walk abroad in their midst frequently, and permitted them to hold converse with Him on matters pertaining to their duties and their welfare. At one time the discourse turned on the terrible consequences of disobedience, which caused punishment to fall, not only on the transgressor himself, but upon the entire human race also.The man could not comprehend the mystery and sought for enlightenment from God, and in order to help him to understand, the Great God said unto him, “Do thou retire for seven days to meditate upon this matter; at the end of the seven days I will again visit the earth; seek me then and we will discourse further. In the meantime go into the forest and hew down the giant tree which I point out to thee, and on thy peril beware of cutting down any other trees.” And He pointed out a large tree in the middle of the forest.Thereupon the Great God ascended into heaven, and the man went forth to meditate and to cut down the giant tree, as he had been commanded.At the expiration of seven days the man came to theappointed place and the Great God came to him. He questioned him minutely about his work and his meditations during the week of retirement, but the man had gained no further knowledge nor received any new light. So the Great God, to help him, began to question him. Their discourse was after this manner:“Hast thou cut down the tree as thou wert commanded?”“Behold, its place is empty, I have cut it down.”“Didst thou observe the command in all things? Didst thou abstain from cutting down any of the other trees?”“I abstained from cutting down any other trees; only the one that was pointed out to me have I cut down.”“What are all these trees and shrubs that I see scattered about?”“These were broken and uprooted by the weight of the great tree as it fell.”“Behold, here are some trees that have been cut down with an axe; how did this happen?”“The jungle was so thick I could not reach the giant tree without first cutting a path for myself.”“That is true; therefore learn from this parable, man is so great that, if he falls into transgression, others must suffer with him.”But the man still marvelled, and his mind remained dark. The Great God, in His long-sufferance, told him to ponder further upon the parable of the giant tree. So the Great God walked abroad for a time and man was left alone to ponder. When He returned He found the man still puzzled and unable to comprehend; and once again He questioned him.“What took place in My absence?”“Nothing of importance that I can think of.”“Why didst thou cry out as if in pain?”“It was for a very trivial cause; an ant bit me in my heel.”“And what didst thou do?”“I took a stone and killed the ant and the whole nest of ants.”“This also is a parable; because one ant bit thee the whole nest was destroyed. Man is the ant; if man transgresseth he and all his race must suffer.”Yet the man comprehended not: whereupon the Great God granted him another seven days to retire and to meditate upon the parables of the giant tree and the ant.Again the man came to the appointed place at the end of seven days’ seeking to receive fuller knowledge and understanding. The Great God had not yet appeared, so the man took a walk in the forest to await His coming. As he wandered aimlessly about, he met a stranger carrying a small net in his hand out of which he was eating some food. Now this stranger was a demon, but the man did not know it.“Where art thou going?” asked the stranger affably after the manner of the country.“Just to walk for my pleasure,” replied the man; “what food art thou eating?”“Only some cakes of bread which I find very tasty; take some and eat.” And he passed the net to him.“Thy offer is kindly made, but do not take it amiss that I refuse to accept thy bread, for it is decreed that we shall live on rice alone.”“Even so, but surely to take a morsel to taste would not be wrong.”This time the man did not resist, but accepted a cake of bread and ate it with enjoyment, after which the stranger departed, taking his bag of cakes with him.The man had scarcely swallowed the strange food when he heard the voice of the Great God calling unto him from the skies, saying:“What hast thou done, oh man? Thou knowest the decree that rice was provided to be thy food, yet thou hast unmindfully transgressed and partaken of the strange food of the tempter. Henceforth thou and thy race shall be tormented by the strange being whose food thou hast eaten. By eating his food thou hast given him dominion over thee and over thy race, and to escape from his torments thou and thy race must give of thy substance to appease him and to avert his wrath.”Thus, too late, the man began to understand, and ever since then the days of men have been full of sorrow because man yielded to the tempter’s voice instead of submitting to the decrees of the Great God.

XXThe Prohibited Food

When mankind first came to live upon the earth, the Great God saw fit to walk abroad in their midst frequently, and permitted them to hold converse with Him on matters pertaining to their duties and their welfare. At one time the discourse turned on the terrible consequences of disobedience, which caused punishment to fall, not only on the transgressor himself, but upon the entire human race also.The man could not comprehend the mystery and sought for enlightenment from God, and in order to help him to understand, the Great God said unto him, “Do thou retire for seven days to meditate upon this matter; at the end of the seven days I will again visit the earth; seek me then and we will discourse further. In the meantime go into the forest and hew down the giant tree which I point out to thee, and on thy peril beware of cutting down any other trees.” And He pointed out a large tree in the middle of the forest.Thereupon the Great God ascended into heaven, and the man went forth to meditate and to cut down the giant tree, as he had been commanded.At the expiration of seven days the man came to theappointed place and the Great God came to him. He questioned him minutely about his work and his meditations during the week of retirement, but the man had gained no further knowledge nor received any new light. So the Great God, to help him, began to question him. Their discourse was after this manner:“Hast thou cut down the tree as thou wert commanded?”“Behold, its place is empty, I have cut it down.”“Didst thou observe the command in all things? Didst thou abstain from cutting down any of the other trees?”“I abstained from cutting down any other trees; only the one that was pointed out to me have I cut down.”“What are all these trees and shrubs that I see scattered about?”“These were broken and uprooted by the weight of the great tree as it fell.”“Behold, here are some trees that have been cut down with an axe; how did this happen?”“The jungle was so thick I could not reach the giant tree without first cutting a path for myself.”“That is true; therefore learn from this parable, man is so great that, if he falls into transgression, others must suffer with him.”But the man still marvelled, and his mind remained dark. The Great God, in His long-sufferance, told him to ponder further upon the parable of the giant tree. So the Great God walked abroad for a time and man was left alone to ponder. When He returned He found the man still puzzled and unable to comprehend; and once again He questioned him.“What took place in My absence?”“Nothing of importance that I can think of.”“Why didst thou cry out as if in pain?”“It was for a very trivial cause; an ant bit me in my heel.”“And what didst thou do?”“I took a stone and killed the ant and the whole nest of ants.”“This also is a parable; because one ant bit thee the whole nest was destroyed. Man is the ant; if man transgresseth he and all his race must suffer.”Yet the man comprehended not: whereupon the Great God granted him another seven days to retire and to meditate upon the parables of the giant tree and the ant.Again the man came to the appointed place at the end of seven days’ seeking to receive fuller knowledge and understanding. The Great God had not yet appeared, so the man took a walk in the forest to await His coming. As he wandered aimlessly about, he met a stranger carrying a small net in his hand out of which he was eating some food. Now this stranger was a demon, but the man did not know it.“Where art thou going?” asked the stranger affably after the manner of the country.“Just to walk for my pleasure,” replied the man; “what food art thou eating?”“Only some cakes of bread which I find very tasty; take some and eat.” And he passed the net to him.“Thy offer is kindly made, but do not take it amiss that I refuse to accept thy bread, for it is decreed that we shall live on rice alone.”“Even so, but surely to take a morsel to taste would not be wrong.”This time the man did not resist, but accepted a cake of bread and ate it with enjoyment, after which the stranger departed, taking his bag of cakes with him.The man had scarcely swallowed the strange food when he heard the voice of the Great God calling unto him from the skies, saying:“What hast thou done, oh man? Thou knowest the decree that rice was provided to be thy food, yet thou hast unmindfully transgressed and partaken of the strange food of the tempter. Henceforth thou and thy race shall be tormented by the strange being whose food thou hast eaten. By eating his food thou hast given him dominion over thee and over thy race, and to escape from his torments thou and thy race must give of thy substance to appease him and to avert his wrath.”Thus, too late, the man began to understand, and ever since then the days of men have been full of sorrow because man yielded to the tempter’s voice instead of submitting to the decrees of the Great God.

When mankind first came to live upon the earth, the Great God saw fit to walk abroad in their midst frequently, and permitted them to hold converse with Him on matters pertaining to their duties and their welfare. At one time the discourse turned on the terrible consequences of disobedience, which caused punishment to fall, not only on the transgressor himself, but upon the entire human race also.

The man could not comprehend the mystery and sought for enlightenment from God, and in order to help him to understand, the Great God said unto him, “Do thou retire for seven days to meditate upon this matter; at the end of the seven days I will again visit the earth; seek me then and we will discourse further. In the meantime go into the forest and hew down the giant tree which I point out to thee, and on thy peril beware of cutting down any other trees.” And He pointed out a large tree in the middle of the forest.

Thereupon the Great God ascended into heaven, and the man went forth to meditate and to cut down the giant tree, as he had been commanded.

At the expiration of seven days the man came to theappointed place and the Great God came to him. He questioned him minutely about his work and his meditations during the week of retirement, but the man had gained no further knowledge nor received any new light. So the Great God, to help him, began to question him. Their discourse was after this manner:

“Hast thou cut down the tree as thou wert commanded?”

“Behold, its place is empty, I have cut it down.”

“Didst thou observe the command in all things? Didst thou abstain from cutting down any of the other trees?”

“I abstained from cutting down any other trees; only the one that was pointed out to me have I cut down.”

“What are all these trees and shrubs that I see scattered about?”

“These were broken and uprooted by the weight of the great tree as it fell.”

“Behold, here are some trees that have been cut down with an axe; how did this happen?”

“The jungle was so thick I could not reach the giant tree without first cutting a path for myself.”

“That is true; therefore learn from this parable, man is so great that, if he falls into transgression, others must suffer with him.”

But the man still marvelled, and his mind remained dark. The Great God, in His long-sufferance, told him to ponder further upon the parable of the giant tree. So the Great God walked abroad for a time and man was left alone to ponder. When He returned He found the man still puzzled and unable to comprehend; and once again He questioned him.

“What took place in My absence?”

“Nothing of importance that I can think of.”

“Why didst thou cry out as if in pain?”

“It was for a very trivial cause; an ant bit me in my heel.”

“And what didst thou do?”

“I took a stone and killed the ant and the whole nest of ants.”

“This also is a parable; because one ant bit thee the whole nest was destroyed. Man is the ant; if man transgresseth he and all his race must suffer.”

Yet the man comprehended not: whereupon the Great God granted him another seven days to retire and to meditate upon the parables of the giant tree and the ant.

Again the man came to the appointed place at the end of seven days’ seeking to receive fuller knowledge and understanding. The Great God had not yet appeared, so the man took a walk in the forest to await His coming. As he wandered aimlessly about, he met a stranger carrying a small net in his hand out of which he was eating some food. Now this stranger was a demon, but the man did not know it.

“Where art thou going?” asked the stranger affably after the manner of the country.

“Just to walk for my pleasure,” replied the man; “what food art thou eating?”

“Only some cakes of bread which I find very tasty; take some and eat.” And he passed the net to him.

“Thy offer is kindly made, but do not take it amiss that I refuse to accept thy bread, for it is decreed that we shall live on rice alone.”

“Even so, but surely to take a morsel to taste would not be wrong.”

This time the man did not resist, but accepted a cake of bread and ate it with enjoyment, after which the stranger departed, taking his bag of cakes with him.

The man had scarcely swallowed the strange food when he heard the voice of the Great God calling unto him from the skies, saying:

“What hast thou done, oh man? Thou knowest the decree that rice was provided to be thy food, yet thou hast unmindfully transgressed and partaken of the strange food of the tempter. Henceforth thou and thy race shall be tormented by the strange being whose food thou hast eaten. By eating his food thou hast given him dominion over thee and over thy race, and to escape from his torments thou and thy race must give of thy substance to appease him and to avert his wrath.”

Thus, too late, the man began to understand, and ever since then the days of men have been full of sorrow because man yielded to the tempter’s voice instead of submitting to the decrees of the Great God.

XXIThe Cooing of the DovesOf all the birds there are none that keep themselves more separate than the doves. They do not peck at other birds as the crows and the vultures do, but, on restless foot and wing, they quickly withdraw themselves from every presuming neighbour.The Ancient Khasis say that at one time the doves sang like other birds, and the following story tells how they ceased their singing and came to express their feelings in the plaintive “Coo-oo” for which they are noted throughout the world.Once a family of doves lived very happily in the forest, and its youngest member was a beautiful female called Ka Paro. Her parents and all the family were very indulgent to her, and never permitted her to risk the danger of the grain-fields until they had ascertained that there were no hunters or wild beasts likely to attack her; so Ka Paro used to stay in the shelter of her home until they gave a signal that the land was safe and clear.One day, while waiting for the signal, she happened to go up into a tall tree on which there were clusters of luscious red berries growing. As the doves usually subsisted on grain, Ka Paro did not pay much attention to the berries; she sat on a branch, preening her feathers and watching other birds who came to pick them.By and by there came a smart young Jylleit (a jungle bird with gorgeous green and gold feathers) who perched to pick berries upon the very branch on which Ka Paro sat. She had never seen such a beautiful bird, and to please him she sang to him one of her sweetest songs. U Jylleit was quickly attracted by the sweet voice and the gentle manners of the dove, and a pleasant intimacy grew between the two. Ka Paro came to that tree to preen her feathers and to sing every day, while the Jylleit admired her and picked the berries.After a time U Jylleit sent to the dove’s parents to ask her in marriage. Although their young daughter pressed them hard to give their consent, the parents were wise, and did not want to trust the happiness of their pet child to a stranger until they had time to test his worth; they knew too that marriages between alien tribes were scarcely ever a success. So, to test the constancy of the young suitor, they postponed the marriage till the winter, and with that the lovers had to be content. The parents remembered that the berries would be over by the winter, and it remained to be seen whether the Jylleit would be willing to forgo his luxuries and to share the frugal food of the doves, or whether he would fly away to some other forests where berries were to be found. Ka Paro was so much in love that she was very confident of the fidelity of her suitor, but to her sorrow, as soon as the berries were finished, U Jylleit flitted away without even a word of farewell, and she never saw him again.From that time Ka Paro ceased to sing. She could only utter the longing and sorrow that was in her heart in sad and plaintive notes, so the doves are cooing sadly even in their happiest moments.

XXIThe Cooing of the Doves

Of all the birds there are none that keep themselves more separate than the doves. They do not peck at other birds as the crows and the vultures do, but, on restless foot and wing, they quickly withdraw themselves from every presuming neighbour.The Ancient Khasis say that at one time the doves sang like other birds, and the following story tells how they ceased their singing and came to express their feelings in the plaintive “Coo-oo” for which they are noted throughout the world.Once a family of doves lived very happily in the forest, and its youngest member was a beautiful female called Ka Paro. Her parents and all the family were very indulgent to her, and never permitted her to risk the danger of the grain-fields until they had ascertained that there were no hunters or wild beasts likely to attack her; so Ka Paro used to stay in the shelter of her home until they gave a signal that the land was safe and clear.One day, while waiting for the signal, she happened to go up into a tall tree on which there were clusters of luscious red berries growing. As the doves usually subsisted on grain, Ka Paro did not pay much attention to the berries; she sat on a branch, preening her feathers and watching other birds who came to pick them.By and by there came a smart young Jylleit (a jungle bird with gorgeous green and gold feathers) who perched to pick berries upon the very branch on which Ka Paro sat. She had never seen such a beautiful bird, and to please him she sang to him one of her sweetest songs. U Jylleit was quickly attracted by the sweet voice and the gentle manners of the dove, and a pleasant intimacy grew between the two. Ka Paro came to that tree to preen her feathers and to sing every day, while the Jylleit admired her and picked the berries.After a time U Jylleit sent to the dove’s parents to ask her in marriage. Although their young daughter pressed them hard to give their consent, the parents were wise, and did not want to trust the happiness of their pet child to a stranger until they had time to test his worth; they knew too that marriages between alien tribes were scarcely ever a success. So, to test the constancy of the young suitor, they postponed the marriage till the winter, and with that the lovers had to be content. The parents remembered that the berries would be over by the winter, and it remained to be seen whether the Jylleit would be willing to forgo his luxuries and to share the frugal food of the doves, or whether he would fly away to some other forests where berries were to be found. Ka Paro was so much in love that she was very confident of the fidelity of her suitor, but to her sorrow, as soon as the berries were finished, U Jylleit flitted away without even a word of farewell, and she never saw him again.From that time Ka Paro ceased to sing. She could only utter the longing and sorrow that was in her heart in sad and plaintive notes, so the doves are cooing sadly even in their happiest moments.

Of all the birds there are none that keep themselves more separate than the doves. They do not peck at other birds as the crows and the vultures do, but, on restless foot and wing, they quickly withdraw themselves from every presuming neighbour.

The Ancient Khasis say that at one time the doves sang like other birds, and the following story tells how they ceased their singing and came to express their feelings in the plaintive “Coo-oo” for which they are noted throughout the world.

Once a family of doves lived very happily in the forest, and its youngest member was a beautiful female called Ka Paro. Her parents and all the family were very indulgent to her, and never permitted her to risk the danger of the grain-fields until they had ascertained that there were no hunters or wild beasts likely to attack her; so Ka Paro used to stay in the shelter of her home until they gave a signal that the land was safe and clear.

One day, while waiting for the signal, she happened to go up into a tall tree on which there were clusters of luscious red berries growing. As the doves usually subsisted on grain, Ka Paro did not pay much attention to the berries; she sat on a branch, preening her feathers and watching other birds who came to pick them.

By and by there came a smart young Jylleit (a jungle bird with gorgeous green and gold feathers) who perched to pick berries upon the very branch on which Ka Paro sat. She had never seen such a beautiful bird, and to please him she sang to him one of her sweetest songs. U Jylleit was quickly attracted by the sweet voice and the gentle manners of the dove, and a pleasant intimacy grew between the two. Ka Paro came to that tree to preen her feathers and to sing every day, while the Jylleit admired her and picked the berries.

After a time U Jylleit sent to the dove’s parents to ask her in marriage. Although their young daughter pressed them hard to give their consent, the parents were wise, and did not want to trust the happiness of their pet child to a stranger until they had time to test his worth; they knew too that marriages between alien tribes were scarcely ever a success. So, to test the constancy of the young suitor, they postponed the marriage till the winter, and with that the lovers had to be content. The parents remembered that the berries would be over by the winter, and it remained to be seen whether the Jylleit would be willing to forgo his luxuries and to share the frugal food of the doves, or whether he would fly away to some other forests where berries were to be found. Ka Paro was so much in love that she was very confident of the fidelity of her suitor, but to her sorrow, as soon as the berries were finished, U Jylleit flitted away without even a word of farewell, and she never saw him again.

From that time Ka Paro ceased to sing. She could only utter the longing and sorrow that was in her heart in sad and plaintive notes, so the doves are cooing sadly even in their happiest moments.

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