Original Title Page.

THE MIKIRS

MIKIR MAN.

MIKIR MAN.

Frontispiece

THE MIKIRS

FROM THE PAPERS OF THE LATE
EDWARD STACK
INDIAN CIVIL SERVICE SOMETIME DIRECTOR OF LAND RECORDS AND AGRICULTURE, AND SECRETARY TO THE CHIEF COMMISSIONER, ASSAM
EDITED, ARRANGED, AND SUPPLEMENTED
BY
SIR CHARLES LYALL

(Published under the orders of the Government of Eastern Bengal and Assam)
ILLUSTRATED
LONDON
DAVID NUTT
57, 59, LONG ACRE
1908

PRINTED BY
WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
LONDON AND BECCLES.

To

M. R. L.-J.

In Memoriam

INTRODUCTORY NOTE.

In 1882 Edward Stack, appointed the first Director of the newly-created Department of Land Records and Agriculture in Assam, entered upon his duties in that province, and applied himself with ardour to the study of its people. He had passed just ten years in the Indian Civil Service, which he joined in 1872 at the head of his year. These ten years had been fruitful in varied interest and activity: the strenuous life of a District and Settlement officer in the North-Western Provinces; secretariat employment in his own province and the Government of India; and, just before his translation to Assam, six months spent in travel in Persia.¹ Activity of mind and body, and keen interest in the people and speech of all the countries he lived in, were his strongest characteristics. During the cold season of 1882–83 he spent several months in moving up and down the Brahmaputra Valley, learning, observing, and noting. He acquired a working knowledge of Assamese with surprising rapidity; with this as his foundation and instrument, he attacked the multitude of tribal languages which he found impinging on the Aryan pale. To him more than to any one else, is due the honourable distinction of the Assam Province in the grammars, vocabularies, and phrase-books of nearly all the most important of its multitudinous varieties of Indo-Chinese speech, which have been drawn up by officers and others who have served there. In 1883 the Report on the Census of 1881 in Assam was published; and in this Report, mainly the work of the Chief Commissioner, Sir Charles Elliott, the chapter on Castes and Tribes was written by Edward Stack. Paragraphs 131–136 deal with the Mikirs, and much in these represents the result of his careful personal inquiries among them. His interest in this tribe gradually grew. In 1884 he was called to take up the work of Secretary to the Chief Commissioner, and while thus employed he occupied his leisure in studying Mikir. He became acquainted with a bright young Mikir lad, a convert of the American Baptist Mission at Nowgong, named Sārdokā, to which he was accustomed to add the names of his sponsor at baptism, Perrin Kay. With the help of Mr. Neighbor’s Vocabulary of English and Mikir, with illustrative sentences,² Stack and Sārdokā worked together at the language, correcting and largely supplementing the material contained in their text-book. From this they went on to folk-tales, which were written down, with a careful attention to systematic orthography, by Stack from Sārdokā’s dictation, each day’s work being provided with a series of notes elucidating every difficulty in it. Thus material gathered; and in the course of 1886 Stack had arranged, when relieved at the end of that year of the duties of Secretary by my return to Assam, to put together a complete account of the Mikirs and their language, fully illustrated (as his wont was) by ample variety of phrase and idiom, and a collection of stories in Mikir with commentary and vocabulary. But during the latter half of 1886 his health failed. Partly the moist climate of Assam, and partly, perhaps, unsuspected flaws of constitution, told upon his strong and active frame; and, after some months of gradually increasing weakness, he died at sea on the 12th January, 1887, aged 37, just before the vessel reached Adelaide, in South Australia, where he had planned to spend his furlough.

A few months after his death his papers were sent to me at Shillong, and for some time I hoped, with Sārdokā’s help, to be able to carry out his purpose. But the steadily increasing pressure of other duties prevented this. I left Shillong on a long tour in November, 1887, and soon after my return in the spring of 1888 I was transferred to the post of Commissioner in the Assam Valley, eventually leaving the province in the autumn of 1889 for engrossing work elsewhere, never to return, except for a brief space as Chief Commissioner in 1894. It had become evident from an examination of the materials that to do what Stack had set before him involved much more labour than I could give. It was necessary to learn the language from the beginning, to construct grammar and dictionary, and to retrace the steps which he had trodden in his progress; and this with an aptitude and power of acquisition far inferior to his. Accordingly, on my departure from Assam, the papers were made over to others, with whom they remained until, on the organization under Dr. G. A. Grierson of the Linguistic Survey of Northern India, they were again inquired for, and utilized, so far as the scope of that work admitted, in preparing an account of the Mikir language for insertion in the Survey.³

In 1904, when Sir Bampfylde Fuller had obtained the sanction of the Government of India to his scheme for the preparation of a series of descriptive monographs on the more important tribes and castes of Assam, he proposed to me to undertake an account of the Mikirs, based on Stack’s materials. There were several reasons why I hesitated to accept the task. It was many years since I had left the province, and official work and other studies claimed time and leisure. The materials were themselves in the rough—mere notes and jottings, sufficient for the man who carried the main part of his knowledge in his head, but by no means easy to interpret or set in order for one who had no such knowledge. They dated, too, from twenty years back, and in the interval great changes had occurred in the material development of the tract where the Mikirs live, which is now traversed by the Assam-Bengal Railway. I decided, nevertheless, to make the attempt, and, however imperfectly, to do something to perpetuate the work of a man to whom I was most intimately bound by affection, and whose great powers and attractive personality were the admiration and delight of all who knew him. The present volume is the result.

In addition to Stack’s notes, I received from Assam three sets of replies to ethnographical questions which had been circulated to persons acquainted with the tribe. These were from Mr. W. C. M. Dundas, Subdivisional Officer of North Cachar, and the Rev. P. E. Moore and Mr. Allen of the American Baptist Mission.⁴ These replies, which were not very detailed, while quite independent in origin, agreed closely with Stack’s data, and showed that the lapse of years had not made the latter inapplicable to the present time. In the following pages any information drawn from these sources has been duly acknowledged.

It was explained in the Introduction to Major Gurdon’s Monograph on the Khasis (1907) that the order and arrangement of subjects to be treated in dealing with each tribe had been prescribed by authority; and Stack’s notes had to be brought within this framework. As will be seen, under certain heads not much information is forthcoming; and perhaps the more searching standard of inquiry applied by ethnologists in the present day might demand more exhaustive treatment of some points in this presentment of the Mikir people. This, however, must be left for our successors.

Section I has been expanded by adding numerical data from the last Census (1901), and measurements from Lieut.-Colonel L. A. Waddell’s Tribes of the Brahmaputra Valley (1900). Section II (Domestic Life) is entirely due to Stack. The same is the case with Section III (Laws and Customs), except the Appendix. Section IV (Religion) is wholly Stack’s; reading the careful and minute account which it contains of the funeral ceremonies, one is strongly impressed by the thoroughness which he brought to his investigations. Section V (Folk-lore) contains translations of three of the folk-tales written down in Mikir by Stack, of which the original text, with an interlinear rendering, is given in Section VI. These translations, in both Sections, have been made by me. Stack’s manuscript supplied the Mikir text, which has been faithfully copied, and a number of explanatory notes, but no connected rendering. I have therefore had to depend upon my study of the language in the linguistic materials collected by him, and those contained in Mr. Neighbor’s vocabulary and Sārdokā’s dictionary and phrase-book. I had hoped to have the assistance of Sārdokā himself in revising the translations. He served for many years in the Assam Secretariat after Stack’s death, and helped in the preparation of the specimens of Mikir for the Linguistic Survey in 1902; but in September, 1904, he was transferred as mauzadār, or Revenue collector and administrator, to the important mauza or territorial division in the Mikir Hills called Duār Bagurī, now divided between the districts of Nowgong and Sibsagar; and on the 8th March, 1905, he most unhappily died there of cholera. Other help was not forthcoming. I must, therefore, ask for the indulgence of those better acquainted than I with Mikir in regard to these renderings. Probably they contain many errors of detail; but at least they seem to hang together as a whole, and to be consistent with what I could ascertain elsewhere of the fashion of Mikir speech. The notes are chiefly from Stack. The sketch of the Grammar in Section VI is reproduced (in a somewhat abridged form) from that which I contributed to the Linguistic Survey. Stack himself had drawn up no grammar, though he had put together much illustrative material from which the mechanism of the language could be deduced. The main facts are clear and comparatively simple, though there are not a few idiomatic expressions in the texts of which it is difficult to give a satisfactory account.

For the last Section, that dealing with the probable affinities of the Mikir race, I must take the full responsibility. It is the result of the collation and comparison of materials from many sources, and especially those contained in the three volumes of the Linguistic Survey treating of the Tibeto-Burman family of speech. The authorities on which I have relied are indicated in the text.

In the Bibliography I have entered only those works (so far as known to me) which contribute something to our knowledge of the Mikirs. I have not thought it necessary to specify mere casual allusions to the tribe, or to quote imperfect lists of words which have been superseded by more accurate material.

For the coloured illustrations I have to thank Miss Eirene Scott-O’Connor (now Mrs. Philip Rogers), and for the photographs Major Gurdon and Mr. W. C. M. Dundas; the reproductions are by Messrs. W. Griggs and Sons. The map (by Mr. J. G. Bartholomew) showing the localities inhabited by the Mikirs is taken from the new volumes of the Imperial Gazetteer of India. An explanation of the system adopted for rendering Mikir words will be found on p. 74.

C. J. LYALL.

April, 1908.

1 The record of these travels, under the name Six Months in Persia (two vols.), was published in 1882; “A really clever and trustworthy, readable, book,” was the judgment on it of the late Sir Frederic Goldsmid—the best of all judges. 

2 See Bibliography, No. 7. 

3 See Bibliography, No. 15. 

4 I must apologize for the misdescription of these gentlemen at pp. 44 and 70, as of the American Presbyterian Mission. 

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

       PAGES

Introductory Note        vii–xiii

Section I.

GENERAL.

Numbers and Distribution        1–2

Habitat        2–3

Physical characters        4

Traditions as to origin        4–5

Dress        5–6

Tattooing        6

Jewellery        6

Weapons        6

Section II.

DOMESTIC LIFE.

Occupations        7

Houses        7–9

Furniture        9–10

Manufactures        10

Agriculture and crops        10–11

Lads’ clubs (rīsō-mār)        11–12

Hunting and fishing        12

Food        12–13

Drink        13

Luxuries        14

Section III.

LAWS AND CUSTOMS.

Sections or Divisions        15

Exogamous groups        15–17

Personal names        17

Marriage        17–19

Female chastity        19

Polygamy        19–20

Divorce        20

Words for relationship by blood or marriage        20–21

Inheritance        21

Property in land        21–22

Mikir mauzas        22

Decision of disputes: village councils        22

War        22

Outsiders admitted to tribe        23

Appendix: List of exogamous groups as given by other authorities        23–27

Section IV.

RELIGION.

General character of popular belief in ghosts and spirits, and a future life        28–29

Amulets        30

The gods and their worship        30–34

Divination and magic        34–37

Oaths and imprecations        37

Funeral ceremonies        37–42

Festivities        43

Tabu        43

Section V.

FOLK-LORE AND FOLK-TALES.

Character of Mikir Folk-tales        44–46

Three stories translated:—

1. Story of a Frog        46–48

2. The Orphan and his Uncles        48–55

3. Harata Kuṅwar        55–70

Appendix: The Legend of Creation        70–72

Section VI.

LANGUAGE.

Outline of Mikir grammar        73–87

Mikir text of three stories:—

1. Story of a Frog        88–94

2. The Orphan and his Uncles        95–112

3. Harata Kuṅwar        113–150

Section VII.

AFFINITIES.

The place of the Mikirs in the Tibeto-Burman Family        151–172

Bibliography        173–177

Index        179–183

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

A Mikir Man        Frontispiece

A Group of Mikirs (North Cachar)—1        To face page 5

A Mikir Girl        6

Plan of Mikir House        Page 8

Mikir House: Family Group        To face page 10

A Group of Mikirs (North Cachar)—2        23

A Mikir Boy        56

An Old Mikir Woman        59

Women pounding Paddy        132

Map showing Locality of Mikirs        at end of volume

THE MIKIRS

I.

GENERAL.

Numbers—Habitat—Physical appearance—Traditions as to origin—Affinities—Dress—Tattooing—Ornaments—Weapons.

The Mikirs are one of the most numerous and homogeneous of the many Tibeto-Burman races inhabiting the Province of Assam. In the tables of the Report on the Census of 1901 the number of Mikirs by race is given as 87,046, and that of speakers of the Mikir language as 82,283; but there are curious discrepancies in the details. In no district are the speakers of Mikir identical in number with those returned as Mikir by race; and it is remarkable that in several, more persons are returned as speaking the language than as belonging to the tribe. On the other hand, in the North Cachar Hills none of the 1446 Mikirs by race are shown as speaking Mikir, which is manifestly absurd. The following are the figures:—

District. | Mikirs by race. | Speaking Mikir.
Cachar Plains | 717 | 728
Sylhet | 156 | 166
Kamrup | 10,587 | 8,026
Darrang | 2,646 | 3,108
Nowgong | 35,732 | 34,273
Sibsagar | 22,909 | 22,803
North Cachar | 1,446 | nil.
Khasi and Jaintia Hills | 12,840 | 13,142
Elsewhere | 13 | 37
Total | 87,046 | 82,283

In Kamrup, Nowgong, and Sibsagar it may reasonably be assumed that the Mikirs returned as speaking some other language (probably Assamese) also spoke the speech of their tribe, being bilingual like other non-Aryan races in Assam; and the 809 persons in Darrang, the Khasi and Jaintia Hills, and elsewhere, returned as speaking Mikir, though not as Mikirs by race, must really have belonged to the tribe. Since 1891, when the number of Mikirs was returned as 94,829, there has been a considerable falling-off, due to the terrible ravages of the disease called Kālā-āzār¹ in the Nowgong and Kamrup districts.

The Mikirs inhabit in greatest strength the hills called after them, the isolated mountainous block which fills the triangle between the Brahmaputra on the north, the Dhansiri valley on the east, and the Kopili and Jamuna valleys on the west and south; this tract is now divided between the Nowgong and Sibsagar districts. They are also found in considerable numbers on the northern skirts of the Assam Range, in Nowgong, the Khasi and Jaintia Hills, and Kamrup, and were once numerous, as testified by the local place- and river-names, in North Cachar. They have settled in the plains, and taken to plough cultivation, in Nowgong and Kamrup, and have also established recent settlements of the same kind north of the Brahmaputra in Darrang. The great bulk, however, remain a hill tribe, occupying the forest-clad northern slopes of the central range of Assam, and practising the primitive method of cultivation by axe, fire, and hoe.

In the Mikir Hills there are summits which attain 4,000 feet, but the greater part of the block is of much lower elevation. The rock is chiefly gneiss and granite, with few traces of overlying formations; and the whole is clothed with forest growth, chiefly of bamboo, figs of different species, cinnamon, Artocarpus, nahor (Mesua ferrea), and a few other trees valuable for their timber. The soil is light, and soon exhausted by cropping; it is naturally most fertile in the valleys, where the deepest deposits are found. The Mikir Hills, in 1886 when Mr. Stack wrote, had been very little explored by Europeans, and their interior was almost unknown. To the north, from Koliabor to Kaziranga, they abut on the Brahmaputra, only a narrow strip of country, traversed by the southern Grand Trunk road, intervening between them and the river. This strip has few inhabitants and little cultivation, and is covered with high grass and cotton tree (semal) jungle, the haunt of wild buffalo and rhinoceros. To the east is the great Nāmbar forest, a dense area of high trees occupying the Dhansiri valley from Dimapur to within ten miles of Golaghat. To the south-west is the valley of the Jamuna, now traversed by the railway from Gauhati to Lumding, a region of tall grass and sparse tree jungle. The plain which is formed by the alluvial valley of the Kopili (or Kupli) river and its affluents, the Jamuna and the Diyaung (the latter coming from the North Cachar Hills), next intervenes; and to the west the land rises again in the northern skirts of the Jaintia and Khasi Hills. Here the country is of the same character as in the Mikir Hills, but better known. It consists of a series of plateaus or shelves rising from the level of the valley, composed of gneiss and granite, and covered with a red clay soil, the result of the decomposition of the metamorphic sandstones which overlay the igneous rock. The jungle here also is chiefly of bamboo, with a few patches of valuable forest, chiefly sāl (Shorea robusta), still surviving; but most of the larger timber has been destroyed by the secular practice of axe and fire cultivation.

It is in this hilly country, and in the plains at its base, that the Mikir people are found. The region is continuous, and is distributed, as the figures just given show, between the districts (from east to west) of Sibsagar, Nowgong, North Cachar, the Jaintia and Khasi Hills, and Kamrup. It is malarious and unhealthy for unacclimatized persons, with a very moist climate, and is wanting in the breezy amenities of the higher plateaus of the Khasi and Jaintia Hills; but (save during the recent prevalence of Kālā-āzār) the inhabitants appear to have acquired some degree of immunity against the noxious influences of the locality. Side by side with the Mikirs dwell, in the Mikir Hills, the Rengma Nagas (who are recent immigrants from the eastern side of the Dhansiri); in the Jamuna and Diyaung valleys, the Dīmāsā or Kachāris; in the Jaintia Hills, the Kukis and Syntengs; and in the Khasi Hills and along the Nowgong and Kamrup borders, the Lālungs and a few settlements of Khāsis.

The name Mikir is that given to the race by the Assamese: its origin is unknown. They call themselves Ārlèng, which means man in general.² In features the men resemble Assamese of the lower classes more than most of the Tibeto-Burman races. Their colour is light yellowish brown, and the girls are often fair. The men are as tall as the majority of the hill races of Assam, Colonel L. A. Waddell’s eighteen specimens averaging 1633 millimetres, or 5·354 feet, in height, the tallest being 5·583 feet, and the shortest 5·108. The average is noticeably higher than that of their neighbours the Khasis. The average head measurements in these specimens were—length, 181 millimetres; breadth, 141; cephalic index, 77·9. The nose is broad at the base, and often flat, giving a nasal index of 85·1, and an orbito-nasal of 107·7. The facial hair is scanty, and only a thin moustache is worn. The front of the head is sometimes, but not generally, shorn. The hair is gathered into a knot behind, which hangs over the nape of the neck. The body is muscular, and the men are capable of prolonged exertion. In frontier expeditions in Assam they have frequently served (like the Khasis) as porters, and carry heavy loads, the burden being borne upon the back and secured by a plaited bamboo (or cane) strap passing round the forehead (Mikir, sinàm).

GROUP OF MIKIRS (NORTH CACHAR).

GROUP OF MIKIRS (NORTH CACHAR).

(1)

p. 5

The traditions of the race point to the Eastern portion of the Khasi and Jaintia Hills, bordering on the Kopili (or Kupli) river (where many still remain), as their original abode. They speak of this as Nihàng, in contradistinction to Nilīp, the Duār Bāguri or Nowgong region which they now inhabit. Being harassed by warfare between Khasi (or Synteng) chiefs, they resolved to move into Āhom territory, and sent emissaries to claim protection from the Āhom governor of Rahā (Nowgong District). These unfortunate persons, being unable to make themselves understood, were straightway buried alive in the embankment of a tank which the governor was excavating. The hostilities which ensued were concluded by an embassage to the king himself in Sibsagar, and the Mikirs have ever since been living peacefully in the territory assigned to them. They have dim traditions of a king of their own in the good old days, whom they call Sòt Rēchō, and are said by Mr. Stack to expect his return to earth. His seat is said to have been in Ròng-khàng (or Ròng-hàng), perhaps connected with Ni-hàng (Ròng, village). They had fights with the Dīmāsā or Hill Kachāris, and were led by Thòng Nòkbē and other captains, who established a fort at Diyaung-mukh (the junction of the Diyaung and Kopili rivers), the ruins of which are still to be seen. Along the northern skirts of the Mikir Hills there are remains of old brick buildings and sculptures, which are now ascribed to the Gods. Old men tell historical legends to the young ones, and there are also legendary songs, sung at festivals; but there is no class specially set apart for the preservation of such traditions, and the memory of the race is short. They are a mild and unwarlike people, and are said to have given up the use of arms when they placed themselves under the protection of the Āhom kings.

They claim kinship with no other tribe in Assam, and are, in fact, difficult to group with other branches of the great Tibeto-Burman stock to which they undoubtedly belong. The conclusions as to their affinities which it seems legitimate to draw from their institutions, culture, and language, will be found stated in Section VII. of this Monograph.

In dress the Mikir man imitates the Khasi, to whom he seems to have lived in subjection in former times. On his head he now wears a turban (pohu, poho), but formerly the Khasi cap (phu-tup), of black or red cloth, was more usually worn. On his loins he wears a dhoti (rikòng) of cotton cloth, and sometimes, if wealthy, of silk. His coat is a sleeveless striped jacket (choi), with a long fringe covering the buttocks and coming round in front (choi-āprē). In cold weather he wears a thick wrapper (called in Assamese boṛ kāpoṛ) of ēṛī silk (pē-inkī). The legs are uncovered, and shoes are not worn.

The women wear a petticoat (pīnī), secured round the waist by an ornamental girdle (vànkòk). The petticoat is of white and red striped ēṛī cloth. The upper part of the body is covered with the jī-sō, a wrapper passing under the arms and drawn tight over the breasts. The head is uncovered, and the hair is drawn back and tied in a knot behind. In the funeral dances, however, the head is covered with a black scarf (jī-sō ke-īk).

The men do not tattoo any part of the body. The women, on attaining puberty, usually tattoo a perpendicular line with indigo down the middle of the forehead, the nose, upper lip, and chin; no other part of the body is tattooed.

A characteristic ornament is a large silver tube inserted into the lobe of the ear, which is much distended thereby; this is called kadèngchinrō, and weighs three or four rupees. The ordinary hanging earring (suspended from the outer part of the ear) of gold or silver is called no-rīk. Necklaces (lèk) are worn, of gold or silver and coral beads, as by the Khasis. Rings (ārnàn) and bracelets (roi), of gold and silver, are worn. The feathers of the bhīm-rāj are worn in the turban on festal occasions, as among the Khasis.

The national weapons are the long knife (nòk, nòk-jir), by the English commonly called by the Hindi name dāo, the spear (chir), and the bow (thai, bòp-thailī) made of bamboo, with a string of tough bamboo fibre. In these there is nothing peculiar.

MIKIR GIRL.

MIKIR GIRL.

p. 6

1 This is the official spelling. The real name is Kalā-jwar, pronounced Kŏlā-jŏr (or zŏr), which means “black fever.” 

2 It has been asserted that Ārlèng means properly only a Mikir man, not a man in general, who would be called monīt or munīt. This, however, is opposed to usage as exemplified in the folk-tales collected by Mr. Stack, and to well-established parallels found elsewhere. Thus, in Assam, Māndē (= man) is the national name of the Gāros; Chingphō (= man) is the tribal name of the race so called in the Upper Dehing valley; Boṛo (= man) is the proper designation of the Kachāri race. So, in Chutia Nāgpur, the Mundā people of Rānchi call themselves Hoṛo (= man). Similar cases are found all over the world. In Europe, for example, the name Deutsch for the Germanic race indicates that their ancestors spoke of themselves as “the people” (diot, diota), ignoring the other members of humankind. Munīt is a very recent loan-word from Assamese, and nowhere occurs in the tales. 

II.

DOMESTIC LIFE.

Occupations—Houses—Furniture—Implements and utensils—Manufactures—Agriculture—Rīsō mār, or lads’ clubs—Crops—Hunting—Fishing—Food and Drink.

The Mikir people have always been agriculturists. Their villages, in the hills which are their proper habitat, are set up in clearings in the forest, and are shifted from place to place when the soil has been exhausted by cropping. Their houses are large and substantial, and are strongly put together. The Mikirs are not now (if they ever were¹), as Colonel Dalton relates in his Ethnology of Bengal, in the habit of lodging several families, or even the whole village, in one house. The inhabitants of a house are all of one family, but may often be numerous, as married sons frequently live with their parents.

The Mikir house is built on posts, and the floor is raised several feet above the ground. The material of the super-structure is bamboo, slit and flattened out, and the whole is thatched with san-grass. A moderate elevation, with a flat top, is preferred for building; a slope will be taken if no better site can be found.

Plan of Mikir House.

Plan of Mikir House.

The house is divided lengthwise by a partition called ārpòng, or nòksèk-ārpòng, into kàm, the guests’ or servants’ chamber, and kut, the living-room of the family. Kàm is on the right side as you enter, and the only door into the house leads into it. In kàm a platform or chang, called tibung, raised above the floor the diameter of a bamboo, runs along the outside wall; this may be divided off laterally into rooms for sleeping. In kut, separated off by a partition on the side of the outer wall, is a long, narrow chamber, one bamboo’s diameter lower than the floor, called vō-roi, in which the fowls and goats are kept at night; it has a separate door, called vō-roi-āmehàn. In kut, towards the back, is the fireplace (mēhīp). The space before it is dàm-thàk, where the family sleep, and the bamboo paddy-receptacle stands. Behind the fireplace is dàm-buk, a vacant space, where the grown-up daughter or old woman sleeps. Between the fire and the vō-roi is the rice-pot (sàng-ràngtik), holding the stock of husked rice. Between the fire and the partition (ārpòng) is the kut-āthèngthòr, a space for miscellaneous articles. Above the vō-roi a shelf is raised under the roof, called vō-hārlīp, for pots, etc. Opposite the fireplace is a door leading into kàm.

In kàm, if the house is large, there are two fireplaces. Before the fire the space is called kàm-āthèngthòt, or nòksèk. In the corner of the front wall and the partition (ārpòng) are put the water-chungas (làng-bòng); it is called làng-tēnun. The front door is called hòngthū, the back door pàn, or pàn-hòngthū.

The front veranda is called hòng-kup. The tibung runs out into it, and the part beyond the front wall of the house is called thèng-roi-rai, “the place for bringing (or storing) firewood” (thèng). Beyond the hòng-kup the platform extends unroofed (hòng-plàng). If the house be a large one, a hòng-phārlā, roofed over, for strangers to lodge in, is made on the right side of the hòng-plàng, but disconnected with the thèng-roi-rai; between it and the latter is the ladder to gain access to the platform (dòndòn), usually a tree-trunk with notches cut in it for the feet. The hòng-phārlā may extend also across the front of the house; it is roofed over, but open towards the house. Similarly, at the back of the house is the pàng-hòngkup, or back veranda, and the unroofed pàng beyond. No ladder gives access to this.

Under the house are the pigsties, phàk-roi, and in front is a yard or compound (tikup), usually fenced round.

The furniture of the house is of the simplest description. The floor, or a raised platform of bamboo, serves as a bed. A block of wood (inghoi; Ass. pīrā) is used as a stool to sit on. Baskets of bamboo and cane are employed as cupboards in which to store the household goods, the paddy, and the clothes. These baskets are of various shapes and sizes, and bear many different names. Joints of bamboo (Ass. chungā; Mikir, làng-bòng) are used for holding water, and also as boxes to contain valuables of all kinds.

The Mikirs have few manufactures. Weaving is done by the women of the family on rude wooden looms (pè-theràng), the cotton raised in their fields being previously spun on a wheel (mī-thòngràng). They also raise ēṛī silk (inkī), the cocoon of the Attacus ricini, fed on the castor-oil plant, and weave it into coarse fabrics, chiefly the bor-kāpor, or blanket, used in the cold weather. They dye their thread with indigo (sibū), a small patch of which is grown near every house. The indigo is not derived from Indigofera, but from a species of Strobilanthes, generally identified as S. flaccidifolius. Mr. Stack notes that there are two kinds, bū-thī and bū-jīr; the latter, he says, is trained up poles, and has a longer leaf. The leaves of the plant are bruised in a wooden mortar and mixed with water, and the blue colour develops, as in ordinary indigo, in a few days’ time by chemical change. Besides indigo, they use a red dye, the source of which is probably the same as the Khasi red dye (see Khasi Monograph, p. 60).

Blacksmiths (hēmai) have existed among them from remote times, and they can fashion their own dāos and various kinds of knives. They also make needles (for which old umbrella-ribs are in much request), and hooks for fishing.

They also make their own gold and silver ornaments (necklaces, bracelets, rings, ear-ornaments).

Pottery is made without the wheel, as among the Khasis (Monograph, p. 61). It is thick and durable, and well burnt. There are few potters among them, and the accomplishment is not common.

In all these branches of manufacture the tendency, with the increase of intercourse and the cessation of isolation, is to give up domestic workmanship and rely more upon outside markets.

MIKIR HOUSE: FAMILY GROUP.

MIKIR HOUSE: FAMILY GROUP.

(Jaintia Hills).

p. 10

The main crops are summer rice (maikum), sown with the first rains and reaped in November-December, and cotton (phēlō), also grown in the rains and gathered in the cold weather. The system of jhuming, by which land is prepared for cultivation by cutting down and burning the jungle, is in no respect different from the practice of all hill-tribes in the province. They do not plant out their rice, nor use the plough in cultivating it. There is no irrigation.

Besides these main crops, castor-oil is grown for feeding the ēṛī silkworm; maize (thèngthē), turmeric (thārmit), yams (hèn, Colocasia), red pepper (birik), aubergines (Hindi, baiṅgan; Mikir, hēpī), and ginger (hànsō) are also cultivated in small patches. Another crop is lac, grown on branches of the arhaṛ plant (see Khasi Monograph, p. 47).

When Mr. Stack wrote, the most important institution from the point of view of agriculture was the association or club of the dekas (Ass.), or young men (from twelve to sixteen, eighteen, or twenty years of age) of the village (Mikir, rī-sō-mār); but it is reported that this useful form of co-operation is now falling into desuetude. In former days the village youths (as in Naga-land) used to live together in a house by themselves, called in Mikir māro or teràng (in Assamese, deka-chang).² Now there is no mārō, and the rīsōmār live in the gaoṅbura’s house, in the hòng-phārlā, the place in which strangers are lodged. They send a boy to bring their food from their homes, and all eat together. Each man’s share is brought in a leaf-bundle (àn-bòr) to keep it warm. The gaoṅbura calls the people together, and proposes that, having so many lads in the village, they should start a lads’ club. If agreed to, the union of the rīsōmār is formed, and the lads take up their quarters in his house. The club is organized under regular officers appointed by themselves. The gaoṅbura has general authority over them, but their own chief is the klèng sārpō. Next comes the klèng-dun, then the sodār-kethē, then the sodār-sō or phàndiri, then the sànghō-kerai (“he who fetches the company”), then the bārlòn (“carrier of the measuring-rod”). Other officers are the chèng-brup-pī and chèng-brup-sō (drummers, chief and lieutenant), the phàn-krī (the lad who waits on the klèng sārpō), the motàn ār-ē and motàn ārvī (“the right and left outside strips of the field”), the làngbòng-pō (“carrier of the water-chunga”), ārphèk-pō (“carrier of the broom”), and the chinhàk-pō (“carrier of the basket of tools”). The rīsōmār all work in the fields together, each having his own strip (ā-mo) to till. The village fields are allotted each to one house, and the grown men confine their work to their own fields; but the rīsōmār go the round of all the fields in the village.

Work is enforced by penalties. They used to roast those who shirked their share; now they beat them for failure to work. If the klèng sārpō finds a lad refractory, he reports him to the gaoṅbura.

Villages like having deka clubs. They help greatly in cultivation, practice dancing and singing, and keep alive the village usages and tribal customs. They are in great request at funerals, which are the celebrations in which most spirit is shown.

Hunting, with spears and dogs, is practised. The objects of the chase are deer and wild pig; also the iguana (Ass. gui) and tortoise. The dog barks and follows up the track by scent. They also set traps (ārhàng) for tigers, with a spear placed so as to be discharged from a spring formed by a bent sapling; twice round the tiger’s pug gives the height of his chest, at which the spear is pointed; a rope of creeper stretched across the path releases the spring when the tiger passes that way and comes against it.

Fishing is done with rod and line, but chiefly by means of traps and baskets, as in Assam generally. The trap (ru) is a basket of bamboo, constructed so that the fish can get in but cannot get out, and is fixed in an opening in a fence (ā-ru-pāt) placed in a stone dam built across a stream.

The staple food is rice, which is husked in the usual way, by being pounded with a long pestle in a wooden mortar, and cooked by the women of the family. The flesh of cows is not eaten; there is said to be a dislike even to keep them, but this prejudice is now dying out. Milk is not drunk. Fowls, goats, and pigs are kept for food, but eaten chiefly at sacrifices; eggs are eaten. A delicacy is the chrysalis of the ērī silkworm (Attacus ricini); it is eaten roasted and curried. Children (but not grown folk) cook and eat crabs and rats. In cooking meat, spits (òk-ākròn) are used; the meat is either cut up and skewered, or a large lump is placed whole on the embers; it is thoroughly cooked. Fish is cut into slices and put in the sun to dry, or smoked. Meat also is cut into strips and dried on frames in the sun.

The vegetables are those commonly used by the Assamese. Sugar-cane (nòk) is not much grown. A favourite seasoning is mint (lōpòng-brik).

Men and women eat together, within the house. The right hand is used in eating. Leaf-plates are most used, but platters of pot-metal are also found. No knife is used in eating: the meat is cut up beforehand.

The first meal is cooked and eaten at 7 or 8 a.m., and consists of rice. The evening meal is cooked after the day’s field-work is over, unless there be a cook in the house. At each meal a pinch of the food is put aside for the God (ārnàm).

The national drink is rice-beer (hòr, hòrpō), which is made by each household for itself. The rice is cooked, and well broken up on a mat. It is then mixed with a ferment called thàp (Bengali, bākhar), made of powdered rice with certain kinds of leaves pounded into it, and the whole dried for use as required. After this has been thoroughly mixed with the boiled rice, the latter is heaped up and covered with plantain leaves, and put aside in the house. In three or four days, in the hot weather, fermentation sets in; in the cold weather a longer time is required. It is then put into an earthern jar or kalsī (Beng.) and water added, after which it is emptied into a conical basket, whence it is allowed to strain through a bamboo joint into a pot below. To make hòr (Ass. modh), rice is taken from the basket and warmed with water, which is strained off, and is the modh or hòrpō; the rice is thrown to the pigs. The better and stronger beer is that which was drained off the original conical basket, and is called hòr-ālàng.

Āràk (Hind.) is the spirit distilled from the fermented rice mixed with water. The still is a rude one of earthern pots connected by a bamboo. A stronger stuff is made by distilling hòr-ālàng.

Hòr will keep good for two months if left untouched. It is a common family drink. Gourds are used for keeping it in and carrying it about for use.

Drunkenness is not common in the villages, and the ceremonies and festivities at which beer is drunk are not noisy. The mē or general council, however, when large quantities are consumed, is sometimes noisy.

Opium is used to a large extent by the Mikirs as by other Assamese (Mr. Allen states that nearly all male adults indulge in it). Tobacco is smoked, and also chewed with betel. The bowl of the tobacco-pipe is made of burnt clay or of bamboo root. Betel-nut (kōvē; Khasi, kwai) is largely consumed in the usual way, with lime and pān-leaf (bīthī); and (as among the Khasis) time and distance are computed by the interval required to chew a nut. (The phrase is ingtàt ē-òm-tā ēr, “the time it takes to chew the nut and pān-leaf red”: ingtàt, roll for chewing; ē-, one; òm, chew; ēr, red.)

1 One is tempted to conjecture that this statement is an error based on a confusion between the Miris and the Mikirs in Colonel Dalton’s notebooks. The custom referred to obtains among the Miris. 

2 In the Proceedings of the Asiatic Society of Bengal for 1874, p. 17, there is an illustration and description of a Mikir “bachelors’ house,” or teràng, by Mr. C. Brownlow, a tea-planter in Cachar. The group of Mikirs among whom it was found lived at the head of the Kopili river, looking down on the Cachar valley. 

III.

LAWS AND CUSTOMS.

Internal structure—Sections or divisions—Exogamous groups—Marriage laws—Common names—Marriage ceremony—Female chastity—Polygamy—Divorce—Words for relationship by blood and marriage—Inheritance—Property in land—Decision of disputes—Village council—Relations with neighbouring races—Appendix: Lists of exogamous groups given by other authorities compared with those given by Mr. Stack.

The Mikir people proper—that is, those who continue to live in the hills—are divided into three sections, called Chintòng, Rònghàng, and Āmrī. In the days of the migration eastward from the Kopili region, Āmrī stayed behind, or loitered, and Chintòng and Rònghàng waited for him as they moved from stage to stage. At last, on arriving at the Dhansiri river, Chintòng and Rònghàng resolved to be only two sections in future. The laggard Āmrī afterwards arrived, but was not received back into full fellowship. He has no honour at the general festivals, and in the distribution of rice-beer at feasts he gets no gourd for himself, but has to drink from those of the other two. These are the conditions as they exist in the Mikir Hills and Nowgong (Duār Bāgurī); in Ni-hàng, however (the region of the Kopili), Āmrī is on an equality with the others. The Mikir Hills are chiefly inhabited by the Chintòng section, North Cachar and the hilly parts of Nowgong by the Rònghàng, and the Khasi and Jaintia Hills by Āmrī; but individuals of all three are found dwelling among the others.

These names, however, do not indicate true tribal divisions, supposed to be derived from a common ancestor and united in blood, and are probably in reality local- or place-names. Āmrī, in particular, seems to be a Khasi river-name, and Rònghàng is the legendary site of Sòt Rēchō’s capital. The real tribal exogamous divisions run through all three, and are called kur (a Khasi word: Assamese, phoid). Each of the three sections of the race has within it the same kurs, and the individuals belonging to these kurs, whether in Chintòng, Rònghàng, or Āmrī, observe the same rules of exogamy.

The number and names of the kurs, or exogamous groups, are differently given by different authorities. The differences appear to be partly explained by the fact that one authority has taken for a principal group-name what another has entered as a sub-group under another larger section. In an appendix will be found the grouping according to several different authorities. Here the data given by Mr. Stack, who appears to have relied chiefly on information obtained in Duār Bāgurī, are reproduced.

He found that the people recognized four kurs, called respectively Ingtī, Teràng,¹ Lèkthē, and Timung, under which the smaller groups (also called kur) are ranged thus—

I. Ingtī.

(1) Tārō. (2) Kātār. | (3) Hènsèk. (4) Inglèng.

II. Teràng.

(1) Bē. (2) Krō. | (3) Ingjār.

III. Lèkthe.

(1) Hànsē. (2) Tutsō. | (3) Bòngrun. (4) Kràmsā.

IV. Timung.

(1) Tòkbī. (2) Sèngnār. | (3) Ròngphār.

As already mentioned, these kurs are exogamous: an individual belonging to kur Ingtī must go outside that kur for his wife; and similarly Teràng, Lèkthē, and Timung cannot marry wives drawn from within the kur. The sub-groups are, of course, as parts of the larger groups, also exogamous; and it is easy to perceive how one informant may count as a principal group-division what another may regard as a sub-division. All the kurs are now socially on an equality, and have no scruples as to eating together or intermarriage; their traditional rank is, however, as given above. Ingtī is said to have been in former times the priestly clan (Ass. gōhāiṅ); Teràng also claims this dignity, but is thought to be of lower rank; but in both cases the office has fallen entirely into desuetude. Lèkthē is said to have been the military clan, while Timung represented the rest of the people.

The Mikirs who settled in the plains of Nowgong and took to plough cultivation are called Dumrālī by the Mikirs and Tholuā by the Assamese. They are said to have acted as interpreters to the mission which visited the Āhom king at Sibsāgar. They also have the same kurs as the other three sections of hill Mikirs.

The children are counted to their father’s kur, and cannot marry within it. They may, however, marry their first cousins on the mother’s side, and indeed this appears to have been formerly the most usual match. This absence of matriarchal institutions strongly marks off the Mikirs from the Khasis, from whom they have in other respects borrowed much.

The following are common personal names among the Mikirs:—

MEN. | WOMEN.
Sārdokā. | Karèng.
Mòn. | Kachē.
Dīlī. | Kabàn.
Thērē. | Kamàng.
Kàngthēr. | Ka-èt.
Tāmoi. | Ka-jīr.
Temèn. | Katū.
Burā. | Karē.
Pātōr. | Kasàng.
Lòng. | Kadòm.
Mèn. | Dīmī.
Bī. | Inglē.
Sōterā. |

It is said that no meaning is attached to these names; that is, they are not given because of any meaning which they may possess. (It is evident that many of them have a meaning: e.g. Bī is a goat, Lòng a stone, Pātōr is a village official among the Khasis, Burā is Assamese for “an old man,” Tāmoi is probably the Assamese for the betel-nut (tāmol.) Sōterā may be corrupted from sangtarā, orange.) The prefix Ka- in women’s names is manifestly taken from Khasi usage. There are no surnames, but the name of the kur is used to distinguish one individual from another, as Mòn Lèkthē, Mòn Timung.

The age for marriage is from fourteen to twenty-five for the man, ten to fifteen for the girl; eighteen or nineteen and fifteen are the most usual ages. Child marriage is unknown. If a young man fancies a girl (from meeting her at dances and the like), he sends one or both parents to her father’s house, and if the girl’s parents agree, the lad’s father leaves a betrothal ring or bracelet with the girl (this is called ke-roi-dun); sometimes a gourd of rice beer is taken and accepted, and in that case, if she subsequently marries another, the village council fine her family 25 to 35 rupees; otherwise only the betrothal ring or bracelet is returned. The length of the engagement is uncertain, but the actual marriage does not take place till after puberty. When the marriage day is fixed, both families prepare beer and spirits; if the bridegroom is rich, he provides drink for the whole country-side (hòr-hàk hòr-tibuk). The bridegroom’s party, giving a gourd of beer to each village they pass through, arrive at the bride’s house in the evening. There they sit awhile, and then offer one gourd of beer and one glass bottle of spirits to the bride’s father on the hòng. A colloquy ensues: the bride’s father asks the bridegroom’s why they have come, and why these offerings. He answers, “Your sister (i.e. the wife of the speaker) is becoming old and cannot work, so we have brought our son to marry your daughter.” (The custom formerly was that a boy must marry his first cousin on the mother’s side, and if he did not, the maternal uncle could beat the lad as much as he liked; but now they can do as they please.) The reply follows: “My daughter is unworthy, she does not know weaving and other household work.” “Never mind, we will teach her ourselves.” The bride’s father then asks his wife to enquire of the girl if she will take the lad; without her consent the beer and spirits cannot be accepted. If the wife reports consent, the beer and spirits are drunk by the two fathers. Sometimes they sit the whole night before the girl’s consent is obtained. If any knowing old men are there, they sing in two parties: “We cannot send our daughter to your house!” “We cannot leave our boy to stay with you!” When the question of consent is settled, all eat together. Then the bride prepares the bed inside the house for the bridegroom, in the kàm; in the tibung (see plan²) if there is room: if not, in the thèngthòr; but if the lad is ashamed, he sends one of his garments to take his place in the bed.

What follows depends upon the wealth and standing of the parties. If the wedding is ākejoi—that is, if no payment is to be made for the bride—the girl goes with her husband next day to her new home. Her parents accompany her, and are entertained with food and drink, returning the following day. If the wedding is ākemèn (literally, ripe, pakkā), the lad stays in his father-in-law’s house. He rests one day, and then works for his father-in-law for a year, or two years, or even it may be for life, according to agreement. There is no money payment in any case. If the girl is an heiress or only daughter, the marriage is usually ākemèn; but in the great majority of cases it is ākejoi. The neighbours of both villages assemble at the marriage, and when the bride goes to her husband’s house, the neighbours of the village accompany her and are hospitably entertained.

Before marriage it was reported, when Mr. Stack made his enquiries, that there was little intercourse between the sexes. Seduction rarely occurred, but when it did, the parents of the girl had to give her to the lad in marriage. It was not punished. Old men, however, could remember (1885) when the teràng or “bachelors’ house” used to be the abode not only of the lads, but also of the maids, and illegitimate births were common. The girls used even to work in the fields with the boys; there was not even a matron to look after them!

After marriage adultery is said to be rare. The case is judged by the mē, or village council, who inflict a fine. The guilty pair are tied up and exposed to the scorn of the neighbours until the fine is paid by the man. Adultery was never capitally punished. After the fine is paid, the husband has to take his wife back, unless there are no children, when he might refuse to do so. The fine is not given to the offended husband, but distributed among the elders who compose the mē.

The authorities differ on the question whether more than one wife is allowed. When Mr. Stack wrote, in 1883, the chapter on “Castes and Tribes” in the Report on the Assam Census of 1881, he stated that “polygamy is permitted if a man can afford it.” His subsequent notes of 1885–86, however, record that monogamy is the rule, and no one is allowed to marry two wives. Mr. W. C. M. Dundas, Subdivisional Officer of North Cachar, writing in 1903, says that an Ārlèng may marry only one wife. On the other hand, the Rev. P. E. Moore, who has a long experience of the Mikirs, writing in 1902, says, “Polygamy is not common. A man sometimes takes a second wife. In one instance which came to my notice recently the two wives were married on the same day. The man is usually fined Rs. 12.8 for this irregularity. The father of a boy who is now in my service had six wives, and was not punished at all.”³ Perhaps it may be concluded that monogamy is the general rule, and that cases of polygamy have occurred in consequence of the effect of the example of the Assamese, and the weakening of tribal sanctions.

The young couple live in the bridegroom’s father’s house. The old people often get separate rooms allotted to them as they advance in life, and are supported in idleness.

Widow marriage is allowed. Divorce is rare, but permissible if there is no offspring, or if the girl goes home after marriage and refuses to return to her husband. In that case the husband takes a gourd of beer to her parents and declares himself free. Both parties, after the divorce, can marry again.

[Note by Editor.

The following list of Mikir words for family relationship has some points of interest:—

Grandfather, phu. | Grandmother, phi.
Father, pō. | Mother, pēi, pī.
Husband, pèng-àn. | Wife, pēsō.
(Wedded pair, Pèng-àn-sō, Pēngnàn-sō.)
Wife’s father, hupō, ònghai. | Wife’s mother, nīpī, nihai.
Husband’s father, lòk-hai. |
Father’s brother, punu. | Father’s sister, pīnu.
Mother’s brother, òng, nihu. | Father’s brother’s wife, ni.
Child, common gender, without reference to parents, sō.
Boy, osō. | Girl, osōpī.
Son, sōpō. | Daughter, sōpī.
Grandson, supō. | Granddaughter, supī.
Brother, in general, kòr, kòrtē. | Sister, in general, kòr, kòrtē.
Brother, when speaker is a female, chèklē. |
Elder brother |  | words used by both sexes |  | īk | Elder sister |  | tē, when speaker is a female.
Younger brother | mu | ingjīrpī, when speaker is a male.
| Younger sister, mu.
Brother-in-law: wife’s brother, òng-sō. | Brother’s wife, for male speaker, tēpī; for female speaker, nèng.
Sister’s husband, mē, ingjīr-ārlo; kòrpō. | Wife’s sister, kòrpī.
Son-in-law, osā. |
Nephew, generally, philipō. | Niece, philipī.
Elder brother’s son, īk-āsō. |
Brother’s son, kòr-āsō. |
Sister’s son, osā. |

The remarkable point about these names is that most of them are the same for both sexes, and that the sexes are distinguished only by words indicating gender where this is required. Pō is the index for the male, pī that for the female.

Again, the same word appears to be used in different senses: e.g. òng is maternal uncle, but òng-sō (sō is the syllable indicating a diminutive) is the wife’s brother, the “little uncle;” osā is both nephew (sister’s son) and son-in-law (pointing to the custom of intermarriage of first cousins on the mother’s side). Tē is sister, but tēpī (pī indicates greatness) is brother’s wife. Similarly, kòr is sister (or brother), kòrpī is wife’s sister, kòrpō sister’s husband.

It will be observed that brothers and sisters, and brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law, use different forms of address when speaking of their relationship inter se.

The whole subject seems to demand further investigation, in the light of comparison with the system of family grouping in other allied tribes, and the history and etymology, so far as it is possible to ascertain them, of the words indicating relationship.]

The sons inherit; if there are none, the brothers; after them the deceased’s nearest agnate of his own kur. The wife and daughters get nothing. But if the deceased has no sons or brothers, the widow can retain the property by marrying into her husband’s kur. In any case she retains her personal property, ornaments, clothes, etc. If the widow will not surrender the property, the case has to come before the mē.

The eldest son gets somewhat more than the others on the father’s death. Generally, however, the property is divided beforehand by the father, who often prefers one son to another. The family usually continues to dwell together, the grown-up sons supporting the widowed mother. Adoption is unknown.

Villages have no fixed or recognized boundaries, but are moved from place to place according to the needs of cultivation. Only house-tax is paid, except by Mikirs cultivating land with the plough in the submontane tracts, who are treated in all respects like other Assamese raiyats. In the hills the culturable land, at the first settlement of a village in a new locality, is divided among the householders by the mē, or village council, presided over by the gaoṅbura, the head of each household choosing his own land for cultivation, and any dispute being referred to the mē. Should the dispute not be settled in this manner, the majority prevails, and the dissident households, if they do not acquiesce, may remove elsewhere and set up for themselves as a new community with a gaoṅbura of their own.

The following are the Mikir mauzas, or territorial divisions including a number of villages, in the Nowgong district:—

Duār Bāguri, Duār Bāmuni, Duār Sālŏnā, Ròngkhàng, Duār Āmlā Parbat, Duār Dikhŏru, Duār Kothiatali, Jamunā-pār, Làngphēr, Lumding Mikir. The last two are new mauzas, the opening-out of which is due to the Assam-Bengal Railway, which traverses the tract. Each mauza has a Mikir mauzadār or bikhoyā.

The decision of disputes is the business of the village mē, or council,⁴ presided over by the gaoṅbura (Mikir, sār-thē). The mē is composed of all the male householders. The gaoṅbura is chosen for his personal character by the householders. On election, he repairs, with beer and spirits, to the head gaoṅbura or mauzadar, bringing with him two or three other gaoṅburas. A pig is killed, the company eat and drink together, and the gaoṅbura is declared duly elected. The mē is summoned by the gaoṅbura. It decides all village disputes, and inflicts small fines. It also determines whether the village shall be shifted, and where it shall be removed to. A mē-pī (“great council”) consists of gaoṅburas only, presided over by a mauzadar or head gaoṅbura. Graver matters, such as charges of adultery, witchcraft aimed at life (mājā kechònghoi), tigers in the mauza, questions affecting the mauza at large, the arrangements for the Ròngkēr or annual village festival, and such like, are referred to the mē-pī.

The Mikirs have never been a warlike race, nor are there any traditions of inter-village feuds. Head-hunting has not been practised, but the tribe have often been the victim of raids for this purpose by their neighbours, the Angami Nagas. There are said to have formerly been vendettas between families.

GROUP OF MIKIRS (NORTH CACHAR).

GROUP OF MIKIRS (NORTH CACHAR).

(2)

p. 23

During the Burmese wars in the early part of the last century, the tribe deserted its settlements in the submontane tract, and fled into the higher hills. Many Assamese are reported to have taken refuge with them during this time, and to have become Mikirs. [Mr. Dundas also mentions that in North Cachar outsiders are admitted into the tribe and are enrolled as members of one of the kurs, after purification by one of the Bē-kuru kur (Mr. Stack’s Bē and Krō, sub-kurs of Teràng). In the group opposite, taken from a photograph supplied by Mr. Dundas, the short man is evidently a Khasi, while the man to his left appears to be an Assamese.]

The Mikirs call their Kachārī neighbours Pāròk, the Mikir pronunciation of Bŏrŏ (in the allied dialect of Tipperah boròk means “man”); the Assamese are Āhòm, the Bengalis Bòngnai (Bòngnai-ādin, “British rule”), the Nagas Nākā. The Khasis generally are called Chomàng, the border race of Khasis, adjoining the Kopili or Kupli river, being Chomàng-Kēchē. Kēchē is, no doubt, equivalent to Khāsī, the vowel-change being the same as in Rēchō for Rājā.

APPENDIX.

1. The kurs or exogamous groups of the Mikir race are thus given in the Assam Census Report for 1891 (vol. iii. pp. cii.–ciii):—

Main Subdivisions.

I. Ingti. II. Terang. III. Teràn. IV. Tumung. V. Inghi or Hengse.

I. Subdivisions of Ingti—

1. Inglē. 2. Ingti-Henchek. 3. Ingti-Kiling. | 4. Kāthār. 5. Tārak or Tāro.

II. Subdivisions of Terang—

1. Be-bonghàng (read Be-Ronghàng).

2. Be-Jingthong.

3. Injai.

4. Kro.

5. Kro-bonghàng (read Kro-Ronghàng).

6. Kro-Jingthong.

7. Kro-ghoria.

8. Lilipo-kro.

9. Rongbijiya.

10. Tarang.

11. Teràng.

III. Subdivisions of Teràn—

1. Ai. 2. Kangkàt. 3. Lànglē. | 4. Milik. 5. Tarap.

IV. Subdivisions of Tumung—

1. Benār-pātōr.

2. Chenār.

3. Derā.

4. Keleng.

5. Rongphār.

6. Rongtar⁵-Jungthong.

7. Takki.

8. Tumung-pātōr.

V. Subdivisions of Inghi—

1. Bonrung.

2. Hànchē.

3. Ke-āp.

4. Lekethē.

5. Ronghang-ghoria.

6. Rongpi.

7. Rongchehon.

8. Tuso.

9. Tutab.

An attempt is made in the report to translate some of these names, but it appears very doubtful whether the meanings assigned are correct. So far as they go, the explanations show that some of the names (to which an Assamese form has in some cases been given, as in those ending in ghoria) are designations of offices (e.g. Pātōr, Rongchehon = village watchman), while others are local or place-names.

Under I. Ingti, (1) Inglē is evidently Mr. Stack’s Inglèng; (4) Kāthār is his Kātār, (2) [Ingti]-Henchek is his Hènsèk, and (5) Tāro his Tāro.

Under II. Terang, (1 and 2) Be is Mr. Stack’s Bē, (4, 5, 6, 7) Kro is his Krō, and (3) Injai is probably his Ingjār; the others seem to be either local names (8, Lilipo-kro = Western Krō, Nilīp = west; 9, Rongbijiya = inhabitants of some particular village), or duplicates of the group-name Terang (Nos. 10 and 11).

Mr. Stack had no group named Teràn.

Group IV., Tumung, corresponds to Mr. Stack’s Timung; of the subdivisions, 2, Chenar is probably his Sèngnār, 5, Rongphār agrees with his list, and 7, Takki is probably his Tòkbi. Nos. 1 and 8 are explained as office-holders, No. 3 is a place-name, No. 4 is a river (Kiling), and No. 6 seems to be a duplicate of No. 5.

Group V., Inghi, corresponds to Mr. Stack’s Lèkthē, which occurs as the name of subdivision 4 in the census list; 1, Bonrung, is Mr. Stack’s Bòngrun; 2, Hànchē, is his Hànsē; 8, Tuso, is his Tutsō. His Kràmsā is not found in the census list, but occurs, as will be seen below, in other lists.

2. Mr. Dundas, Subdivisional Officer of North Cachar, writing in March 1903, gives the following groups:—

Main Exogamous Groups.

1. Inghī. II. Timūng. III. Tērŏn. IV. Kāthār. V. Bē. VI. Injāi.

I. Inghī has the following subdivisions:—

1. | Rongpi, | further subdivided into | (a) Rongchāichū, (b) Rongchēhòn, (c) Chinthòng, (d) Lindòk.

2.
Ronghàng

,

further

,,

subdivided

,,

into

,,

(a) Hèmpī, (b) Hèmsō.

3.
Inghī

,

further

,,

subdivided

,,

into

,,

(a) Hèmpī, (b) Hèmsō.

4.
Hànsē

,

further

,,

subdivided

,,

into

,,

(a) Durong, (b) Nongkīrlā, (c) Chinthòng, (d) Kiling.

5.
Lèkthē

,

further

,,

subdivided

,,

into

,,

(a) Keāp, (b) Tereng.

6.
Bòngrung

,

further

,,

subdivided

,,

into

,,

(a) Kràmsā, (b) Rongchehòn, (c) Hèmsō.

7.
Tutsō

,

further

,,

subdivided

,,

into

,,

(a) Mōthō, (b) Rongphu, (c) Ronghing, (d) Rongchitim, (e) Rongchaichu, (f) Rongchehòn.

(Nos. 4, 6, and 7 agree with Mr. Stack’s list under Lèkthē, and Mr. Stack’s Kràmsā appears as a further subdivision of Bòngrung. As regards the others, the names beginning with Rong may be local village names; Chinthong and Ronghang are the names of great sections of the Mikir population, not of exogamous groups; Hèmpi and Hèmsō mean merely “great house” and “little house.”)

II. Timung (Mr. Stack has the same spelling) comprises—

1. | Timung Lindòk, | subdivision | (a) Ròngchāichu.

2.
Ròngphār

,

subdivision

,,

(a) Hèmpī, (b) Hèmsō.

3.
Chinthong

,

subdivision

,,

(a) Seng-ār, (b) Hèmpī, (c) Hèmsō.

4.
Phàngchu

,

subdivision

,,

(a) Juiti, (b) Rongphàng, (c) Hèmpi, (d) Hèmsō.

5.
Phūrā

,

subdivision

,,

(a) Dilī.

6.
Tòkbī

,

subdivision

,,

(a) Tòksīkī.

7. | Kiling |  |
8. | Mējī |  |
9. | Pātōr |  |
10. | Lòngteroi |  |

11.
Yāchī

,

subdivision

,,

(a) Hèmpī, (b) Hèmsō.

12.
Dērā

,

subdivision

,,

(a) Hèmpī, (b) Hèmsō.

13. | Ròngpi |  |

(Here Nos. 2 and 6 correspond with Mr. Stack’s subdivisions, and No. 3 (a), Seng-ār, is his Sengnār; several of the remainder appear to be local names.)

III. Tēròn comprises—

1. | Làngnē, | subdivision | (a) Ròngchāichu.

2.
Kòngkàr

,

subdivision

,,

(a) Dengyā.

3. | Mējī |  |

4.
Milik

,

subdivision

,,

(a) Seràng.

5. | Mēlē |  |
6. | Kiling |  |

(Mr. Stack has none of these names; but Làngnē evidently corresponds to Lànglē in the census list, and Kòngkār to Kangkāt, while Milik is in both.)

IV. Kāthār comprises—

1. | Ingti-Kāthār |  |
2. | Rīsō |  |
3. | Hènsèk |  |
4. | Ingti-Kiling |  |
5. | Ingling, | subdivisions | (a) Hèmpī, (b) Hèmsō.
6. | Ingti-Chinthòng |  |
7. | Tārō |  |

(These names, except Rīsō, which means “young man,” all occur in Mr. Stack’s group Ingti. Nos. 4 and 6 are evidently local subdivisions.)

V. Bē comprises—

1. | Rònghàng |  |
2. | Kiling |  |
3. | Lindòk |  |
4. | Seng-òt |  |
5. | Teràng, | subdivisions | (a) Dili, (b) Rongchaichu.

6.
Kuru

,

subdivisions

,,

(a) Rongchaichu, (b) Nihàng, (c) Nilīp.

(This group corresponds to Mr. Stack’s Teràng; Kuru is his Krō. Subdivisions 1, 2, and 3 are apparently local names.)

VI. Injai comprises—

1. Injai

2. Ing-ār.

(Mr. Stack gives Ing-ār as a subdivision of Teràng; the census list also classes Injai under the same main group. Mr. Dundas notes that the Injai may not take a wife from the Bē (i.e. Teràng) group, from which it may be concluded that they are really a subdivision of that name, or Teràng.)

3. So far the three lists are in general agreement; but the Rev. Mr. Moore, writing in August 1902, gives what at first sight is an entirely different arrangement. He separates the Mikir people into the following five groups:—

I. E-jàng. II. Tung-ē. III. Kròn-ē. IV. Lo-ē. V. Ni-ē.

I. E-jàng he subdivides into—

1. Ròngpi.

2. Rònghàng.

3. Tutso.

4. Hànsē.

5. Bòngrung.

6. Kràmsā.

7. Keāp.

8. Lèkthē.

9. Ròngchēhòn.

II. Tung-ē comprises—

1. Timung.

2. Tòkbi.

3. Timung-Kiling.

4. Timung-Ròngphār.

5. Timung-Sēnār.

6. Timung-Phàngchu.

7. Timung-Juiti.

8. Tòktiphi.

III. Kròn-ē includes—

1. Tēròn. 2. Tēròn-Kòngkàt. | 3. Tēròn-Làngnē.

IV. Lo-ē is divided into—

1. Bē. 2. Krō. 3. Tēràng. | 4. Ingjāi. 5. Ingnār.

V. Ni-ē comprises—

1. Ingti. 2. Inglèng. | 3. Tārō.

Comparing the subdivisions with those given by Mr. Stack, we perceive that five of the nine shown under Mr. Moore’s I. E-jàng (Nos. 3, 4, 5, 7, and 8) are identical with Mr. Stack’s Lèkthē and its subdivisions; the remaining four (Ròngpi, Rònghàng, Ròngchehòn, and Keāp) are all found in the census list of 1891 under Inghi, another name for Lèkthē. Evidently, therefore, E-jàng is the equivalent of Mr. Stack’s Lèkthē and the census Inghi.

Under II. Tung-ē all Mr. Stack’s names classed under Timung appear; of the remainder, some are found in Mr. Dundas’s list, either of subdivisions or smaller sections, under Timung; Tòktiphi is probably Mr. Dundas’s Tòksīkī; and Timung-Kiling is the census “Keleng” (a river-name). It is clear, therefore, that Tung-ē is the same as the Timung (Tumung) of the other lists.

III. Kròn-ē is evidently the small group Teròn or Teràn of Mr. Dundas and the census list, not found in Mr. Stack’s enumeration.

IV. Lo-ē is also clearly the Teràng of the three other lists, which account for all the names given under it.

V. Ni-ē is the equivalent of Mr. Stack’s Ingti, called by the same name in the census list, and Kāthār in Mr. Dundas’s list (the omission of the name Kāthār, or Kātār, from Mr. Moore’s list is somewhat noticeable).

It thus appears that all the four lists in reality agree in a remarkable manner, quite independent as they are in their origin, and that all observers concur in stating that the Mikir people are divided into five (or four) great exogamous groups, whether situated in the Mikir Hills, in North Cachar, or in the Khasi Hills and the hilly country to the south of Nowgong.

1 Other authorities mention a fifth, Teròn, which Mr. Stack may have overlooked because of the similarity of its name to Teràng. 

2 P. 8. 

3 In the story of Harata Kunwar, post, p. 57, a second or co-wife is mentioned (Mikir, pātèng, pāju). 

4 This is an Assamese word, mel. The Mikirs cannot pronounce a final l, and always omit it or change it to i or y in words adopted from Assamese; e.g. hāl, plough, becomes hāy; pitol, brass, pitoi; tāmol, betel-nut, tāmoi. 

5 Qu. Rongphār? 

IV.

RELIGION.

General character of popular belief in ghosts and spirits, and a future life—No idols, temples or shrines—Amulets—The Gods and their worship—Divination and magic—Oaths and imprecations—Funeral ceremonies—Festivities—Taboo.

Beliefs about the Dead.

The Mikirs have borrowed from the Hindu Assamese the ideas and the names of Boikuntho (Vaikunṭha, Vishnu’s Paradise) and Nòròk (Naraka, Hell); but these conceptions do not play much part in their views of a life to come. Better known, and more often mentioned, is Jòm Rēchō (Jam, Yama Rājā), the Lord of Spirits, with whom the dead remain below ground. His abode—the abode of the dead—is Jòm-āròng,¹ and the elaborate ceremonies of the funeral are the means by which the spirit of the dead gains admittance to Jòm’s city. Unless they are duly performed he remains outside.

They speak of having seen the shade (image, ārjàn) of a dead man (nē lā ārjàn thèklòk, “I saw his shade”); a sickly man catches such glimpses in the house, on the road, etc. Phārlō, spirit, is used both of living persons and dead. Tovē nē-phārlō nē lā-ābàng thèk-lòng, “Last night in my spirit I saw him”; where phārlō is the spirit of the sleeping man. When such glimpses are experienced, betel and food are set aside in the house, and after a time thrown away.

On a death occurring, the old women of the village wash and lay out the body. Then one composes a chant, setting forth the parentage and life of the dead: “You will now meet your grand-parents, father, deceased brother, etc., and will stay with them and eat with them.” Then a separate meal of rice and a boiled egg is placed beside the body, and the dead man is invited to eat. This is done twice a day, the meal being cooked separately from the food of the family. After being offered and placed beside the corpse for a time, the food is thrown away. This goes on day by day until the funeral service is held (see below). After that there are no regular offerings, but occasionally a man or woman puts aside from his or her own share of food a portion for the dead, as, for instance, when another funeral reminds them of those who have died before.

There does not appear to be any fear of the dead coming back to trouble the living. Some people, however, it is said, are afraid to pass the burying-place of the dead after dark.

They say that a man called Thī-rèng Vàng-rèng (literally, “Dead-alive come-alive”) in former times used to travel between this world and Jòm Rēchō’s abode; he taught them their funeral ceremonies. At last he did not come back. Everything is different in Jòm-āròng. Thīrèng Vàngrèng saw the people there go out to fish, and gather instead pieces of stick. They asked him why he did not gather them too; he answered that they were not fish, but sticks. They waved over them a lighted brand, and he saw them as fish. So, too, there a crab becomes a tiger, or seems to be a tiger. Men do not stay in Jòm Rēchō’s city for ever, but are born again as children, and this goes on indefinitely (here we seem to have a borrowing from Hinduism). “The Mikirs give the names of their dead relations to children born afterwards, and say that the dead have come back; but they believe that the spirit is with Jòm all the same.”²

A man with unusually keen and alarming eyes is said to be possessed by a demon (hī-ī). The phrase is āhī-ī kedo ārlèng, and, of the eyes, āmèk āhī-ī kedo. But the superstition of the evil eye, as prevalent elsewhere, seems to be unknown, and such a man is not avoided; rather, the hī-ī is supposed to give him cleverness. The same phrase is used in familiar abuse to a child: Āhī-ī kedo osō, “You devil-possessed brat!”

Religion—Divinities.

The Mikirs have no idols, temples, or shrines. Some people, however, have fetishes or amulets, called bòr. These are pieces of stone or metal, by keeping which they become rich. Sometimes, however, a man unwittingly keeps a bòr that brings him ill-luck and loss. A man is said to have got a bòr, bòr kelòng; Bòr do-kòklē, plàng-plē-jī mā? “If you have got a bòr, will you not become rich?” Bòrs are not common; one gets them by chance in river, field, or jungle. Or a man dreams that he can get a bòr in such a place, and finds it there. But these amulets are not objects of worship or propitiation.

The Gods—Ārnàm-ātum—are innumerable, and are worshipped in different ways, at different times, and in different places. The names of some of the most important are given below.

Ārnàm Kethē, in spite of his name, which means “The Great God,” has no definite authority over the other Gods. He is a house-god, and is sacrificed to once in three years, if no occasion (in consequence of trouble) arises meanwhile. His appropriate offering is a pig. The family obtain Ārnàm Kethē by asking him to stay with them, and by castrating a young pig, to be sacrificed three years later. All families have not got Ārnàm Kethē to stay with them, nor does he always come when invited. If a man is sick, and the uchē (diviner) declares that Ārnàm Kethē wishes to join the household, the ceremony is performed, but no offerings are made at the time. After three years—or earlier, if there is any sickness in the family—the pig is killed, and a general feast, with rice, beer, and spirits, given to the village. A booth of leaves is built in the three days before; the first day is devoted to cutting the posts for the booth, and is called phòng-ròng ketèng; the second, to garlanding leaves round the posts, called phòng-ròng ketòm; and on the third day leaves are laid out for the rice, rice-flour (pithāguri, Ass.) is sprinkled about the ground, and plantains and other trees are planted around the booth. All these preparations are done in the early morning before eating. Then follows the ceremony—Ārnàm Kethē kāraklī. First, there is the invocation: “To-day has come, and now we will give you your three-years’ offering; accept it kindly!” Fowls are killed, and then the pig (all animals killed in sacrifice are beheaded with one stroke of a heavy knife delivered from above). The liver, heart, and lights of both are cooked for the god. Then the hoof, ear, and tail of the pig are offered, then pieces of cooked meat. Afterwards the sacrificers eat tekār kethī or tekār-sō, then tekār-pī. Both are pieces of flesh, the first smaller, the latter larger, eaten with rice-beer. Then all the company set to and eat rice and flesh together. Sometimes three or four pigs and forty different kinds of vegetables are consumed at the sacrificial feast. The women get sixfold or ninefold the shares of the men, and carry them home bound up in leaves (àn-bòr and òk-bòr).

Pèng is also a household god. His offering is a goat, sacrificed yearly, in the tikup or space before the house. Some neighbours are invited to the sacrificial feast. Pèng lives in the house, Ārnàm Kethē in heaven. Pèng is also sacrificed to in sickness. Very few houses have not Pèng. Maize, rice, and a gourd of rice-beer are placed for him above the veranda of the house, and the firstfruits of the harvest are offered to him. “But these two gods only come to eat, and families avoid taking them if they can.”

Hèmphū (“head of the house,” “householder”) owns all the Mikir people. Everybody can sacrifice to him at any time, and pray for deliverance from sickness. Mukràng is similar to Hèmphū but slightly lower in dignity. These two gods, the preservers of men, are approached by the sacrifice of a fowl or goat. Hèmphū must be invoked first in every sacrifice, being the peculiar owner of men.

Rèk-ànglòng (“the mountain of the community”) or Inglòng-pī (“great mountain”) is a house-god, but is worshipped in the field, and only men eat the sacrifice, which is a fowl or a goat once a year. He is the god of the hill they live on, the Deus loci, with whom they have to be at peace; but not every family in the village need have him.

Ārnàm pārō (“the hundred god”) is the name of a god who takes a hundred shares of rice, pithāguri, betel-nut, and the red spathe of the plantain tree cut up. He is worshipped with a white goat or a white fowl as the sacrifice. He and Rèk-ànglòng figure particularly in the Ròngkēr, or great annual village festival, celebrated in June at the beginning of the year’s cultivation. (Ārnàm-pārō seems to be a collective name, to include all gods whom it may concern. Kāmākhyā, the Hindu goddess of Nīlāchal above Gauhāti, is mentioned as one of the deities included in Ārnàm-pārō.)

The gods named above are all invoked and propitiated to grant prosperity and avert misfortune, both generally and specially. There are, besides, numerous gods who take their names from the special diseases over which they preside or which they are asked to avert; such are—

Chomàng-āsē (“Khasi fever”), a Khasi god, who lives in the house and is propitiated with a goat; he is comparatively rare. This god appears to be identical with Kēchē-āsē, which is the rheumatism. (Chomàng is the name for the interior Khasis, Kēchē for those immediately in contact with the Mikirs.)

Ājō-āsē (“the night fever”) is the deity of cholera (mā-vur or pòk-āvur). The sacrifice to him is two fowls and many eggs, and is offered at night, on the path outside the village. The whole village subscribes to furnish the offering, and with the eatables are combined a load of cotton, a basket of chillies, an offering of yams, and the image of a gun (because cholera is thought to be a British disease); also sesamum (nèmpō), many bundles consisting of six sticks of a soft wood called chèknàm (perhaps the cotton tree, bombax) tied together, many bundles of the false cane (ingsu), and double wedges of chèknàm wood. The god is invoked: “Don’t come this way, go that way!” The eatables are eaten, and the other articles thrown away. The houses are then beaten with rods of chèknàm and ingsu.

Sō-mēmē (“evil pain”) is the god to whom barren women have recourse.

Recurring sicknesses and troubles are ascribed to Thèng-thòn or Òk-làngno, a devil (hī-ī); he is propitiated with a goat and a pig, or two or three fowls. A man gasping in sickness is being strangled by Thèng-thòn. If, notwithstanding invocations of the gods, sickness grows worse, a sacrifice is offered to Thèng-thòn without summoning the diviner or sàng-kelàng-ābàng.

Mr. Stack gives the following as the names of the chief diseases (besides those already mentioned), the averting of which forms the main object of worship: goitre, phun-kàng (“swollen throat”); phthisis, sī-ī (also cough); stone, ingthàk; diarrhœa, pòk-kàngsī; rheumatism, kēchē-āsē (“Khasi fever”); neuralgia, bàb āsē; small-pox, pī-āmīr (“the Mother’s flowers”); black leprosy, sī-ĭ; white leprosy, āròk; elephantiasis, kèng-tòng (kèng, leg; ingtòng, funnel-shaped basket); dysentery, pòk kāpāvī (“bleeding of belly”).

The house-gods come down in the family; no others would be sacrificed to if the family were uniformly prosperous.

All natural objects of a striking or imposing character have their divinity. The sun (ārnī) and moon (chiklo) are regarded as divine, but are not specially propitiated. But localities of an impressive kind, such as mountains,³ waterfalls, deep pools in rivers, great boulders, have each their ārnàm, who is concerned in the affairs of men and has to be placated by sacrifice. The expression ārnàm do, used of a place, means, generally, to be haunted by something felt as mighty or terrible. All waterfalls (làngsun), in particular, have their ārnàms. In Bāguri mauza there are two great waterfalls in the Diyaung river which are specially venerated as divine; one of these, the Làng-kàngtòng (“Rolling-down water”), can be heard half a day’s journey off. Similarly, there are places where a river goes underground (làng-lut); these also have their ārnàm.⁴ Such local divinities of the jungle are propitiated chiefly to avert mischief from tigers, which are a terrible plague in many parts of the Mikir hills.

There is no worship of trees or animals.

Làm-āphū, “the head or master of words,” is a deity probably of recent origin. He is the god sacrificed to by a man who has a case in court; the sacrifice is one young cock, which should be offered at night, secretly, by the sacrificer alone, in a secret place.

It should be mentioned that, following an ill-sounding idiom of the Assamese, the Mikirs use “Ārnàm” as a common (propitiatory) form of address to human beings (Assamese, dēutā). Pō-ārnàm-pō (“god-father”) to a man, and pē-ārnàm-pī (“god-mother”) to a woman, are the phrases. In one of the stories given in the next Section, the king is addressed as Hèmphū Ārnàm, “Lord God.”

Divination and Magic.

Sickness, if long continued or severe, is frequently attributed to witchcraft (mājā). A man suffering from long sickness is said to be mājā kelòng—“witchcraft has got hold of him.” To discover the author of the spell, or the god or demon who has brought the trouble and must be propitiated, the services of a diviner are necessary. Uchē, feminine uchē-pī (Hindi, ōjhà), is the general name for the cunning in such things. Of these there are two grades—the humbler, whose craft is acquired merely by instruction and practice, and the higher, who works under the inspiration or afflatus of divine powers. The former is the sàng-kelàng ābàng, “the man who looks at rice,” in Assamese, mangalsuā; the latter, invariably a woman, is the lodèt or lodèt-pī. In serious sickness or distress the latter is called in; on ordinary and less important occasions, the former.

The sàng-kelàng ābàng picks out of the pot the unbroken grains of rice (sàng), and places them, by fives and tens, in pentacle or other fashion. He then counts by couples. If in the groups the odd numbers predominate, the omen is good. If there are no odd grains over, it is very bad. Then all are swept together again, and arranged in three or four heaps. Each heap is counted out, a god being named, and if after the counting, again by couples, three single grains remain, the god named is the one to be propitiated. If three grains do not remain, the process is tried over again. Cowries (chobai) are sometimes used instead of rice in the same way. Also, with cowries a handful is taken and spread out, and the number with the slits upwards counted; if they are the majority, the omen is good.⁵

Another mode of divination used by the mangalsuā is to arrange in a circle, equidistant from a point marked on a board (inghoi), as many little heaps of clay as there are gods suspected in the case, each heap being called by the name of its god. An egg is then sharply thrown into the middle of the board at the marked point. When it breaks and the yolk is scattered, that clay heap which receives the largest splash of yolk, or towards which the largest and longest splash points, indicates the god responsible for the affliction.⁶

Another mode is to use the nòk-jīr, which is a long-handled iron dāo with a cross-piece at the handle and two inclined projecting pieces higher up, before the blade, thus:—

nòk-jīr

This is held upright in the hand. It shakes of itself when the charm is recited and the nòk-jīr invoked to become inspired: Nàng uchḗ vàng-phlòt! “Let your spirit (uchḗ) come!” The holder asks whether the sick person will recover, and goes over the names of the possibly responsible gods, and the nòkjīr shakes at the right answer and name. The charm (the Assamese word montro is used) recites the making of the nòkjīr, and ends—“if you tell lies, you will be broken up and made into needles” (—the lowest use to which iron can be put, to sew women’s petticoats!).⁷

The Lodèt is an ordinary woman (not belonging to any particular family or kur), who feels the divine afflatus, and, when it is upon her, yawns continually and calls out the names and the will of the gods. Another lodètpī is summoned in to question her, and ascertain if her possession is really divine; a sàng-kelàng ābàng may also be consulted. If the report is favourable, a purificatory offering of a fowl is made to Hèmphū and Mukràng, the preservers of men, and the woman is accepted as a lodètpī.

She sits by the bewitched person (mājā-kelòng), and the neighbours come in after supper. The lodètpī bathes her hands and feet and face in water in which the tulsi plant (Ocymum sanctum, holy basil) has been steeped, and begins to shake and yawn. A gourd of rice-beer is brought, of which she drinks some, and begins to call out the names of gods, and they descend upon her. She is now inspired, and when questioned indicates, by indirect and riddling answers, the enemy who has bewitched the sufferer, or the gods who must be sacrificed to. When this is ascertained she goes away. The accusation of practising witchcraft is carried before the mē or village assembly. The sacrifice to placate the gods proceeds next day, and is usually costly.

To bewitch a person, it is necessary to have some of his hair, or a piece of his clothes; these are buried with one egg, some bones, and some charcoal. A good lodètpī can produce these things by the power of her inspiration. A white cloth is tied up into the shape of a bag. She conjures the things into it, and on opening the bag next morning they are found inside. When they are thus recovered, the spirit (kārjòng) of the sufferer returns with them, and he gets well.

Charms (pherèm) are much used for medicinal purposes, either alone or in combination with other remedies. For an ordinary stomach-ache (pòk-kesō), a little mud rubbed on the abdomen, with a muttered charm, is the specific. For rheumatism (kēchē-āsē), a castor-oil leaf is struck on the place, and a charm muttered; if this fails, a sacrifice must be offered to the god Kēchē-āsē. The worker of these remedial measures is called kàngtòk ābàng, and the verb is ingtòk. Charms are not, as a rule, carried on the person.

The expression vur kāchethāt, “to kill for oneself (a fowl) for disease,” means to prevent evil by sacrifice after a dream which had previously been followed by mischance.

If a child does not thrive, it is imputed to the sin, or devil (āhī-ī) of the maternal uncle (òng), or, if there is no maternal uncle, of one of the child’s mother’s kur. The family apply to the person held to be responsible, and he gives a brass ring to be hung round the child’s neck, and a rice-ball (àn ādum).

There is no entertaining of friends on recovery from sickness. The sick person is tended by his wife and relations.

Tekerē, Thekerē, means a man who knows a spell or montro, especially one which protects him against tigers (tèkē).

Oaths and Ordeals.

Oaths and imprecations take the place of ordeals. Earth is put on the head, and the man says—“May I be like this dust!” A tiger’s tooth is scraped, and the scrapings drunk in water: “May the tiger eat me!” Similarly, an elephant’s tusk is scraped, and the scrapings drunk: “May the elephant trample me to death!” (Ingnār nē pedòng-nàng!) The copper ring worn by the uchē is dipped in water, and the water drunk, the man saying, “May the tiger catch me!” Another form of oath is Tàmhitni kàngjir āsòntòt nē pàngjir-nàng, “May I be melted like molten copper (or pot-metal)!” Such oaths are used to confirm promises, and also to attest evidence and proclaim innocence of a charge.

Funeral Ceremonies.

The funeral is the most elaborate, costly, and important of all the ceremonies performed by the Mikirs. Such ceremonies are considered obligatory in all cases except that of a child who has been born dead, or who has died before the after-birth has left the mother; such a child is buried without any ceremony. Victims of small-pox or cholera are buried shortly after death, but the funeral service is performed for them later on, the bones being sometimes dug up and duly cremated. When a person is killed by a tiger, if the body or clothes are found, they are buried at a distance from the village, because the tiger is supposed to visit the burial-place. Such persons cannot gain admittance to Jòm-āròng unless there are elaborate funeral ceremonies performed for them. Being killed by a tiger is generally imputed to the victim’s sin. His spirit is believed to dwell in the most dreary of the places where dead men’s spirits go; there is no notion (such as is found among some races in India) that it animates the tiger who killed him. Except in these cases the dead are disposed of by cremation, the burnt bones being afterwards buried.

The elaborateness of the funeral depends on the means of the family. The description which follows applies to a case where the household is well-to-do. In any case the body is kept in the house for one day after death; if a regular service is held, it may lie as long as from a week to twelve days.

The body lies in the kut. The persons occupied with the funeral ceremonies live in the hòng-phārlā; the rest of the family cook and eat in the kàm, but the officiants, male and female, must go across a stream or creek to cook and eat. As already mentioned, the old women of the family wash and lay out the corpse. Then beer is prepared, rice husked and got ready, and a convenient day fixed for the service. If the house has not a big enough hòng (front platform), the neighbours join and build one on to it. From the date of the death, each household in the village gives a man to sleep in the house (in the hòng-phārlā). When it is settled that the beer and rice required can be provided in four or five days, the village lads are summoned about 8 o’clock in the evening. They bring their drum (chèng), and drum up to the tikup (front yard); they drum there awhile, and then, while one keeps time with the drum, dance by pairs, holding in their left hands shields (chòng-kechèngnàn), and in their right hands sticks. They go round twice in a circle; then they all dance round, holding each the other’s hands (this is called chomàng-kàn, “Khasi dance”). After an hour spent in this way they go back to the gaoṅbura’s house to sleep. Early next morning they come without beat of drum, and dance the chomàng-kàn to the drum; they then dance the shield-dance as before (chòng-kechèngnàn) to the drum, and go home. Next night they come as before, but a little later, and go through the same ceremonies. Next morning they proceed as before, and in the usual course they kill a fowl and roast it in pieces on spits in the tikup, and eat it there. The third and last night is that of the kàn-pī (“great dance”).

Meantime, during the day, the rīsōmār have to work at getting ready the tèlē—the stout bamboo to which the corpse is to be slung: the bànjār—a bamboo ornamented with curled shavings (bū) hung in tufts to projecting arms; and the serōsō—shorter bamboo sticks similarly ornamented and tipped with leaves. The men have to go to the therī (village burning-place) and prepare there a chang or platform, with logs for burning the body arranged under it; this chang is built in a peculiar manner, known only to adepts. The uchēpī (a skilled old woman) is summoned to prepare the viaticum for the dead, and the duhuidī, with an assistant, who beat the two drums which have now been hung up in the kàm-āthèngthòt: the duhuidī is one skilled in tolling on these drums. Then comes the girl called obòkpī (not necessarily a maid), that is, the “carrier” of the dead man; but in place of the dead she carries on her back a gourd for holding beer; she must belong to his mother’s kur. Also the nihu, the maternal uncle or other male representative of the mother’s kur, and the ingjīr-ārlo, sister’s husband, or father’s sister’s husband, of the deceased; it is his office to kill the goat for the dead, if they can afford one.

About midnight the villagers, with torches, drums, and the attendant rīsōmār, assemble in the tikup. The neighbouring villages, if so minded, may come too (āròng ārī is the phrase for the contingents as they arrive). Each contingent is welcomed with the drum, and joins in the drumming concert; the lads and girls are dressed in their best, and provided with betel. The chief of the village lads (klèng-sārpo) then calls the other rīsōmār to touch (not taste) the beer, hòr kāchemē.⁸ Then follows the shield-dance, first by the rīsōmār of the village, then by the outside contingents in order of arrival or merit. Then all together take hands and dance in a circle. The young women join in the line, taking hold of the lads’ coats, while the lads take hold of them by the belt (vànkòk); the girls cover their heads and faces with a black scarf (jīsō ke-īk): the petticoat is a red-striped Mikir ēṛī cloth. Near the first cock-crow, seven young men go up on the hòng or house-platform from the dancing, with the duhuidī and his assistant; one lad goes in and dances in the inside of kàm, in the space by the partition-wall (nòksèk), while the six others stand at the door (hòngthū, or inghàp ànghō = “door’s mouth”), and dance there. The six whoop three times together as they dance. After a quarter of an hour they return to the circle of dancers in the tikup. At dawn they go up again, and dance till sunrise. The circle breaks up at daylight, and then follows the shield-dance. Then all the drums go round the circle where they dance ten to twenty times, playing a different tune each time. Then, while they all drum standing, a pig is brought forth, tied up for killing. The rīsōmār in successive parties recount over the tied-up pig the history of the funeral service; this is called phàk āphū kācholàng. Then the pig is killed and cut up for the rīsōmār, and for the men engaged in the funeral service. The latter have to cook and eat their shares of the meat, which is given in leaf-bundles (òk-bòr) or on spits (òk-kròn), beyond the river. The rīsōmār also get their shares in the same way, and cook them in the dancing-ring. A small piece of flesh is cooked by the uchēpī for the dead man, and this is put in the plate of the dead and carried by the ingjīr-ārlo up to the body in the kut, the duhuidī tolling the drum as he goes in; this ceremony is called kāsolē. Meantime the old experienced men, braving the horrid stench, have been performing certain rites⁹ about the body. The remainder of the cooked flesh, with rice, is distributed to the young girls. The rīsōmār then, provided with rice, beer, salt, chillies, and greens from the dead man’s house, disperse to houses in the village to eat, and the officiants go off beyond the river to prepare and eat their food. This part of the ceremony is called rīsō kāchirū, “the lads’ entertainment.”

Then two or three of the rīsōmār take a cock on the road to the burning-place, and kill, cook, and eat it there. A small pig is killed by the other lads where they dance, and the head and one leg are sent to the road-side rīsōmār. The blood is caught in a bamboo-joint, and smeared on the bànjār, which is set up in the road like a maypole; it is a thick bamboo about seven feet long, with sticks projecting on three sides, from which hang tassels of curled bamboo shavings (bànjār ābū) These shavings also are smeared with the blood, so as to look like flowers. Six shorter pieces of bamboo, three feet long, also ornamented with tufts of shavings, are called serōsōs, and these too are smeared with blood: likewise the tèlē for carrying the corpse to the pyre. Six young men, each taking a serōsō, dance round the bànjār.

The uchēpī has now prepared all the food. The obòkpī takes the beer-gourd on her back, and one egg in her hand, and the uchēpī a beer-gourd, and they break the egg and the gourd against the tèlē as it lies upon the house-ladder (dòndòn). The duhuidī tolls the drum, and dancing as before takes place on the hòng and in the kàm, but not with the serōsōs. The uchēpī and the obòkpī then go on to the burning-place. The tèlē is now taken up by the old men into the house, and the corpse tied to it and brought down; all the dead man’s clothes are hung over the bamboo. Then a pair of ducks and another of pigeons are killed by the nihu, and a goat by the ingjīr-ārlo, each previously going thrice round the dancing circle with the sun. The goat is called hòngvàt-ābī; the heads are thrown to the rīsōmār, the rest of the meat kept and cooked later on by those who remain. Preceded by the duhuidī and his assistant tolling the drums, they all march in procession, carrying the bànjār and serōsōs, to the burning-place. The body is untied from the tèlē and placed on the pyre, which is lighted. While the pyre is burning, knowing women sing the kāchārhē—a chant describing the dead man’s life, whither he is going on leaving this earth, how he will see his dead relations, and the messages he has to carry to them. A few of the lads dance while the cremation is proceeding.

The body is thoroughly burnt, and the bones that remain are tied up in a cloth and buried. The tèlē is either laid down whole or cut into three pieces, which are split again into six, and placed in the little house which is then erected over the grave. This is built with the bànjār and the serōsōs, the former being in the middle and the latter used as props for the roof. The food prepared by the uchēpī is now placed on a flat stone over the grave, and the ceremony is at an end.

The company, returning, clean and wash the house, and cook and eat and drink on the hòng. On coming back from the cremation, the nihu gets some money, clothes, salt, and a knife. He shares the salt with his own kur, if any are present. The ingjīr-ārlo next morning has to clean up the dancing ring (ròng-rū kàngrū, or tikup kārkòk).

The ceremonies of the funeral are performed by the neighbours and cunning men and women of the village, and the old people of the family. The wife, children, parents, brothers and sisters of the dead sit beside him and mourn, in spite of corruption, or even sleep beside the decomposing corpse. “It is genuine grief, a national characteristic. Even after the funeral service, they remember and mourn; and the death of another renews their grief.” The mourners continue their lamentation, heedless of the dancing.

If a great man, such as a mauzadar (bikhōyā) or leading gaoṅbura (sārlār, sārthē), dies, in addition to the ceremonial described above, there is another, called Làngtuk (“the well”). A well or pit is dug outside the village, four-square, with sides ten to fifteen feet: it need not be carried down to the water; stairs are made to the bottom. At the corners are planted various trees. A tall upright stone (lòng-chòng) and a broad flat stone (lòng-pàk), supported on short uprights, are brought and set up, as in the Khasi hills. The rīsōmār come and dance there the whole day, with manifold apparatus. The uchēpī sings and places food of different kinds on the flat stone for the dead man; his clothes and umbrella are put upon the tall stone, with flowers. A fowl is killed for the well at the bottom of the pit, and a goat, two ducks, and two pigeons are killed at the top, and their heads thrown to the rīsōmār. Then the people of thirty to forty villages assemble. The uchēpī sings extemporaneously before the memorial stone, and the people dance and eat there until dark. After dark the company go to the house and perform the usual service already described. The làngtuk is very costly, for people have to be fed at two places, and double the quantity of food for an ordinary funeral has to be provided.

Festivities.

The Ròngkēr is the annual compulsory village festival, held at the time of the beginning of cultivation (June), or in some villages during the cold season. Goats and fowls are sacrificed. Ārnàm-pārō gets a goat, and so do the local gods of hills and rivers. A small village will sacrifice two or three goats, a large village ten or twelve. The flesh of the victims is eaten, with rice and rice-beer, but only men can partake of the sacrifice. They must sleep on the hòng apart from their wives that night. The gods are invoked in the following terms: “We live in your district: save us and help us! send no tigers or sickness, prosper our crops and keep us in good health, and year by year we will sacrifice like this. We depend wholly upon you!” There is no music or dancing at the Ròngkēr.

At harvest-home there is no sacrifice, but the whole village help mutually in getting the crops in, and feast together on rice and beer, and dried fish and dried flesh saved up against this celebration, or fresh fish if procurable. No animals are killed, except in some houses a fowl, lest the paddy brought home should decrease; this fowl is eaten. On this occasion there is a little dancing on the hòng, but with this exception music and dancing take place only at funerals.

Occasionally there is a Ròngkēr-pī (“great Ròngkēr”) for the whole mauza, as, for instance, to expel man-eating tigers. Each village, headed by its gaoṅbura, brings its contribution to the great sacrifice, and repairs to the mauzadar’s or bor-gaoṅbura’s house, where the feast is celebrated.

Mr. Stack’s notes do not mention the observance by the Mikirs of general tabus, called in Assamese genna, such as are common among the Naga tribes;¹⁰ but personal tabus of various kinds, entailing separate eating of food and abstinence from commerce of the sexes, have already been indicated. Women during menstruation are said to be unclean and unable to touch the cooking-pots.

1 This name, which means “Jòm or Yama’s town,” is often incorrectly written Chomarong or Chumarong. 

2 Sentences enclosed in quotation marks were so written by Mr. Stack, and are probably the ipsissima verba of his informants. 

3 Sir Joseph Hooker (Himalayan Journals, ed. 1855, vol. ii. p. 182) relates that at the Donkia Pass, one of his servants, a Lepcha, being taken ill, “a Lama of our party offered up prayers to Kinchinjhow for his recovery.” Perching a saddle on a stone, and burning incense before it, “he scattered rice to the winds, invoking Kinchin, Donkia, and all the neighbouring peaks.” 

4 Such worship of objects and places of an impressive character is, of course, common throughout India. Thus, in the Pachmarhi Hills the writer has seen flowers and red lead (sindūr) offered at the brink of a terrible gulf of the kind so common in the plateau. Again, at Balhārpur, in the Chānda district of the Central Provinces, he has seen worship offered to a bastion in a solidly built ruined fort adjoining the village.—(Note by Editor.) 

5 So also among the Khasis; see Khasi Monograph, p. 119, bottom. 

6 This also is evidently borrowed from the Khasis. See Monograph, p. 221. 

7 Compare the Khasi methods of divination by the lime-case (shanam), and the bow (Monograph, p. 119). 

8 Mr. Stack notes that there was some reluctance on the part of his informant to explain what was meant. 

9 Not further explained. 

10 See, however, what is said above as to the Ròngkēr, which agrees with the observances elsewhere known as gennas. 

V.

FOLK-LORE AND FOLK-TALES.

Three Mikir stories—Legend of creation (Mr. Allen).

The Mikirs are fond of telling stories, but the historical material which they contain does not appear to be of very ancient date. Reference has already been made to the deliverance of the Arlengs from slavery to the Khasis, and their contests with the Kacharis under the leadership of Thòng-Nòkbē; also to their early relations with the Ahoms. They have also myths dealing with the creation of the earth and man, one of which has been related by Mr. Allen, of the American Presbyterian Mission, and will be found in the Appendix to this Section; it seems doubtful, however, whether it is a genuine legend, or due to imagination stimulated by questions: the concluding episode strongly resembles the Biblical story of the Tower of Babel. These legends have not been handled by Mr. Stack, and are therefore not reproduced here. The Rev. Mr. Moore notes that “Mikir stories in general do not agree very minutely,” and this appears to be particularly the case in respect of tales of the intervention of the gods in human affairs.

Mr. Stack wrote down, chiefly from the dictation of a Mikir named Sārdokā, who had become a Christian, a number of excellent stories, which well deserve separate publication. Three specimens of these are given here. They correspond in every respect, as will be seen, with the general characteristics of folk-literature all over the world. Folk-tales containing the same incidents, as is well known, are found from Iceland to Japan, from Alaska to Patagonia. The original source of such a tale is now incapable of identification. The same sequence of events and general form recur everywhere; what is distinctive and characteristic is not the progress of incident, but the local dressing, the narrator’s point of view, the colour of his daily life which he lends to the details of the story.

The first of the three specimens is the favourite Indian form of a sequence, well known in Sanskrit literature, but quite as popular in Europe and in general folk-lore. It is given here, because another version of the same narrative has been included by Dr. Grierson in his Linguistic Survey, vol. iii. Part III. p. 223, as found among the Aimol Kukis, a race of Tibeto-Burmans dwelling, far away from the Mikir country, in the hills bordering the valley of Manipur on the east.

The second specimen tells of the adventures of an orphan, the son of a widow, a stock figure in Mikir folk-tales, and abounds in local colour. Here too the incidents in part coincide with those of a folk-tale belonging to a very distant country, the part of Kumaon bordering on Tibet, which will be found in vol. iii, Part I. of the Linguistic Survey, pp. 483, 495, 510, 522.

The third is a remarkably complete and interesting version of the wide-spread folk-tale of the Swan-maidens. It was most probably derived from some Indian source, though, so far as known, no version of the tale in its entirety, as told by Hindus, has yet been published. The name of the hero, Hārātā-Kuṅwar, may be the Indian Sarat-Kumār, and is evidently not Mikir. But all the setting—the colloquies of the six brothers and their father, the attempt on Harata-Kuṅwar’s life, his methods in defeating his treacherous kinsmen, his device for winning his fairy wife, and many other features of the story—seems genuinely local. The narrative is an excellent specimen of Mikir diction, and shows no little skill in composition. In vol. iii. Part II. of the Linguistic Survey, there will be found, at pp. 218–220, a short story, entitled, “How Jesu got a goddess for his wife,” which is identical in motive with this tale of Harata-Kuṅwar. It is current among the Angāmī Nagas, a race much less influenced by Hindu culture than the Mikirs.

The original Mikir text of these tales will be found in the next Section; the English translation here given is as literal as it was possible to make it. In the Linguistic Survey, vol. iii. Part II. pp. 395–403, two other short stories of the same character, both text and translation, have been printed. The second of these, the story of the clever swindler Tèntòn, evidently belongs to the cycle of tales called Tenton-Charit, mentioned, in its Assamese version, as existing in manuscript by Mr. E. A. Gait, at page 68 of his Report on the Progress of Historical Research in Assam, 1897.

1. Story of a Frog.

One day a big black ant went to carry a meal of rice to his uncle. A frog sat down in the road and blocked it. The ant said, “Please make way for me, frog; I want to carry this rice to my uncle.” The frog answered, “You can get by if you creep under me. Every one has to pass under me who goes this way.” The ant said, “My uncle’s rice is tied up in a bundle of leaves; how can I possibly creep under you?” But the frog would not give way, so the ant would not go. In this manner things went on till noon. Then the ant said, “Oh, my uncle will be hungry for his rice and angry with me because he does not get it!” And he crept under the frog. Then the frog sat down flat on the top of the ant. Thereupon the ant gave the frog a sharp bite in the loins. Then the frog, becoming angry, jumped on the ladder of a big old squirrel, and broke it. The old squirrel, becoming angry, cut in two the stem of a gourd.¹ The gourd, becoming angry, fell plump on the back of a wild boar. The wild boar, becoming angry, rooted up a plantain-tree. The plantain-tree, becoming angry, fell upon a sparrow’s² nest and broke it. The sparrow, becoming angry, flew into the ear of a deaf elephant. The deaf elephant, becoming angry, rooted up a rock. The rock, becoming angry, rolled down and killed the Raja’s son.

Then the Raja held a court to try the case. “Who is it that killed my son?” “Oh, the rock rolled down and killed him,” they said. So they summoned the rock. “O rock, rock! why did you roll down and slay my son?” The rock answered, “Oh, Lord God King! how was I to help rolling down and killing him? The deaf elephant uprooted me on a sudden from my place, and then gave me a push. As for me, I have no hands or legs; how then could I withstand him? Your son being in the way where I was rolling down, I rolled upon him and killed him.”

Then the Raja said, “Oh, then that deaf elephant was the cause of all this trouble,” and summoned the elephant. “O elephant, elephant! what did you root up the rock for?” The elephant answered, “Oh! how could I help uprooting it, Lord God? The sparrow flew into my ear, and I lost all control of myself, and so I tore up the rock.”

Then the Raja said, “Oh, then that sparrow was the cause of it all,” and summoned the sparrow. “O sparrow, sparrow! why did you fly into the elephant’s ear?” The sparrow answered, “Oh, Lord, how could I help it? The plantain-stalk fell upon my nest and smashed it, and being very disturbed in mind, I flew into the elephant’s ear.”

Then the Raja said, “Oh! then that plantain-tree was the cause of the trouble,” and called the plantain. “O plantain, plantain! what did you tumble on the sparrow’s nest and smash it for?” The plantain answered, “Oh, how could I help it, Lord God? The wild boar tore me up out of the ground, and I had no root left at all. How was I to go on standing in my place? I have neither hands nor feet.”

“Oh! then that pig was the cause of it all,” the Raja said, and summoned the pig. “O pig, pig! what did you tear up the plantain for?” The pig answered, “How could I help it? As I was feeding quietly by myself, the gourd fell plump on my back. I was in great pain, and therefore tore up the plantain tree.”

Then the king said, “Oh, the gourd caused all this trouble,” and summoned the gourd. “O gourd, gourd! what did you tumble on the wild boar’s back for?” “How was I to help it, Lord God? The squirrel cut through my stem. I have neither hands nor feet, nothing but a stalk; if that is cut through, I cannot but fall. So I was obliged to tumble on the wild boar’s back.”

Then the Raja said, “Oh, that squirrel caused all the mischief,” and summoned the squirrel. “O squirrel, squirrel! what did you cut through the stem of the gourd for?” The squirrel answered, “Oh, how could I help it, Lord God? The frog jumped on my ladder and broke it. Then I had no road to get out, and I had to cut the stalk of the gourd.”

The Raja said, “Oh, then that frog caused the mischief,” and summoned the frog. “O frog, frog! what did you jump on the squirrel’s ladder and break it for?” The frog answered, “How was I to help it? A big black ant bit me sharply in the loins, and with the pain of the bite, not knowing what I was doing, I jumped on the squirrel’s ladder and broke it.”

Again the Raja said, “Oh, it was the ant that caused all the trouble,” and summoned the ant. “O ant, ant! what did you bite the frog in the loins for?” The ant said, “How could I help biting him? In the morning I was carrying my uncle’s rice along the road. The frog sat down and blocked the way. I said, ‘Please make room for me to pass.’ ‘Creep under me,’ said he. I crept under him, and he sat down tight on the top of me. That was why I bit his loins.”

Then said the king, “You are both of you guilty.” They tied the ant fast with a hair from a man’s head; so now his waist is very small. The frog they beat severely with a stinging-nettle,³ so now he is spotty all over.

2. Story of an Orphan and his Uncles.

Once upon a time a widow woman had an only son. His mother had six brothers. One day at evening his uncles said to the orphan, “Nephew, let us go and set up a fish-trap.”⁴ So the orphan went with them. Then the six brothers, his uncles, having built a good weir up-stream, set the trap. The orphan, having put together a few stones down-stream, below his uncle’s trap-weir, set his own trap carelessly in the middle of them, and returned home. The next morning they all came to look at their traps. The uncles’ trap, though very well put together, had not caught so much as a cray-fish; as for the orphan’s trap, it was quite full of fish. Then the uncles said, “Nephew, we will set up our trap here; do you go down-stream and set up your trap again.” Then, after the uncles had set up their trap in the orphan’s trap-weir, the orphan again set up his trap downstream. But again the fish entered it just in the same way; while not one fish had got into the uncles’ trap, the orphan’s trap was quite full of fish. Every morning the uncles continued to take for themselves the place where the orphan’s trap had been. At last the orphan, becoming very tired of continually setting up his trap in a different place, one morning, instead of fixing the trap in the stream, placed it on a clump of grass and left it there. Next morning his uncles came and called to the orphan: “Nephew, let us go and look at the traps.” The orphan answered, “For my part, I have not set up my trap at all; nevertheless I will go with you as your companion.” So saying, he went with them. Then he went to look at his trap, and found that a wood-pigeon had got inside it. He tied this wood-pigeon with a noose and brought it home.

That orphan had one calf; you could not imagine how fat and sleek it was. His uncles, being unable through envy to look at that calf, killed it. Then the orphan, having taken off the calf’s skin, took one leg and secretly hid it in the house of a rich brahman who lived at a distance. Then the orphan said, “Oh! how strongly the house smells of cow’s flesh!” The brahman, becoming angry, said, “May a tiger eat you, you wicked boy!⁵ How should there be any cow’s flesh here? I am a brahman—produce it, if you can: if you cannot, I will take your life.” The orphan said, “Very well, I will make a search.” He began to search in a careless, lounging way; but coming to the place where he had hidden the calf’s leg, he suddenly pulled it out. “See, this is cow’s flesh,” said he; “I told you so.” Then the brahman, fearing lest, if other people came in and saw this, his caste would be destroyed, said to the orphan, “Orphan, my good sir! don’t tell any one. I will give you a cloth-full of money.”⁶ So saying, he gave him a cloth-full of silver, which the orphan took with him to his home. When he arrived there, he said to his mother: “Go and ask my uncles for their basket.” His mother went and called out: “Brothers! your nephew says he wants a basket.” Then the widow’s brothers, having given her a basket, said among themselves, “What does he want to do with the basket? Go and watch.” So they sent the youngest of them, and he went and watched, and saw the orphan measuring the money with the basket. Then the one who had watched returned home and told his brothers: “Where did that nephew of ours get all this money? He is actually measuring the rupees with a basket!” After they had finished measuring the money, the orphan’s mother went and returned the basket. Her brothers said to her, “Send our nephew here.” When the widow reached her house she said to her son, “Your uncles bid me ask you to go and see them; they want to speak to you.” So the orphan went, and his uncles asked him, “Where did you get all that money?” He answered, “It is the price of cow’s flesh; I went a-selling the flesh of my cow which you killed. The people said, ‘There is not enough of it for us,’ and they all bade me to bring more.” His uncles asked him again, “Then if we go selling cow’s flesh, they will take more of it?” The orphan replied, “Certainly they will take more; you have many cows, and if you kill them all and go and sell their flesh, how much money will you bring back!” Then each one of his six uncles killed a cow, and having made the flesh into loads went to sell it. The orphan explained to them, “When you arrive at the village of that rich brahman, offer your meat for sale. Call out in the village as soon as you reach it, ‘Who will take more cow’s flesh?’” So these six brothers, taking up their beef, went on their way, and, arriving at the brahman’s village, they cried, “Who will take more cow’s flesh?” The people answered, “We will take more; bring it here,” and called them in. So when they arrived at the brahman’s house, all the inhabitants of the village, having gathered together, seized those six brothers who had come to sell cow’s flesh, and having tied their hands, beat them soundly, and said, “We are brahmans; do you dare to come here and traffic, offering cow’s flesh for sale?” So saying, they let them go. Then those men who had brought the beef returned homewards, and on the way took counsel together: “Oh, how that orphan has cheated us! Not only has he caused us to kill our cattle; over and above that, he has got us skins that smart all over. As soon as we get home, let us set fire to his house!” So when they reached home, they set fire to the orphan’s house. Then the orphan, having woven two baskets, collected the ashes of his burnt house, and made them into a load, and went to a distant village where the people suffered from sore eyes. In that village there was not a man who had not a pain in his eyes. When they saw the orphan coming with his load of ashes, they asked him “Why have you come hither?” The orphan answered, “Oh! when I heard that your whole village was suffering severely from sore eyes, I came to sell medicine to cure the complaint.” “Oh, that is very good indeed, dear sir,” said they, and all the people of the village collected a load of money, and gave it to the orphan. Then the orphan said, “Do not apply this medicine to your eyes just yet; after I have gone a bit of the way I will call out to you, ‘Apply it’; then rub it in.” So the orphan, having got a load of money in exchange for his ashes, started for home; and when he had got a little bit of the way, the people with sore eyes called out to him, “Shall we not apply the medicine yet?” He answered “Wait a bit!”; and he continued telling them to wait so long as he was near the village. But when he arrived at a distance where he thought they could not catch him, he called out, “Now apply the medicine!” Then the sore-eyed people applied to their eyes the ashes they had bought from the orphan. As soon as the medicine touched them, their eyes began to smart as you cannot imagine! The pain in their eyes became much worse than ever before. They said among themselves, “Oh! how that fellow has cheated us, and gone away! if he comes again, let us bind his hands fast and beat him!”

When the orphan reached home, he sent his mother again to fetch his uncles’ basket. The widow went to her brothers’ house, and, having lent her the basket, those six brothers said among themselves, “Go, young one, watch again; what is he going to do with the basket?” So the youngest went again secretly to watch. Again he saw the orphan measuring money; and again he went back and carried the news to his brothers: “Our nephew has returned, bringing with him much more money than the last time.” Then the six brothers went to the orphan, and asked him, “Where did you get so much more money?” The orphan answered, “It is the price of the ashes of my house that you set fire to. The people in the place where I sold the ashes were crying, ‘It is not enough, bring us as much more again!’ Now, my house was but a little one, and so the ashes were not much. But your houses are big, and if you set fire to them and sell the ashes, how much money will you get for them! It will be more than you can possibly carry.” Then the six brothers, his uncles, said one to another, “Let us too set fire to our houses.” So, having burned down their houses, they gathered together the ashes, and each brother took as heavy a load as he could carry. Then the orphan explained to them: “Take the loads to the village of sore-eyed people, and, when you arrive near it, say, ‘Will any one take ashes?’” So these six brothers went their way, and, when they came near the village of sore eyes, they called out, “Will anyone take ashes?” Then the sore-eyed folk called out, “Bring them here.” So they went into the village. As soon as they got inside, all the people bound them fast with ropes, and rubbed into their eyes the ashes which they themselves had brought, and thrashed them soundly. When the thrashing was over, the six brothers started to return home. On the way they took counsel again together: “Oh, how that villain has deceived us! Not only has he got us smarting skins; he has, over and above that, caused us to burn down our houses and our harvests. Now, immediately we get home, let us make him fast in an iron cage,⁷ and throw him into the river.”

So when they got home they seized the orphan, and having shut him up in an iron cage they took him to the bank of a great pool in a river in the jungle. Then they said, “In a little while we will drown him; now there is no chance for him to escape us, so let us go and eat our rice.” So saying, they went to eat their food. When they had gone away, a certain king’s son, who was hunting deer, came by. When he arrived where the orphan was, he asked him, “What is the reason why you are tied up in that iron cage?” The orphan answered, “My uncles have a daughter, so lovely! You cannot imagine how fair she is. They tell me to marry her, but I always answer that I will not. So my uncles, becoming angry, have shut me up in this cage.” Then the king’s son said, “Oh! then can I get her to wife?” “If you get into this cage and stay there, you will be able to get her,” the orphan answered; “after a while my uncles will come, and will say, ‘Have you nothing more to say?’ If they ask you this, then answer them, ‘All I have to say is that I will take her, uncles.’” “Very good then,” said the prince. Then the orphan said to the king’s son, “If you go into the cage wearing your own fine clothes, they will recognize you at once. So let me out. I will give you my clothes, and then you can enter the cage.” So the king’s son opened the cage and let out the orphan, and the orphan gave his clothes to the prince, while the prince gave his coat, dhoti, necklace, and bracelets in exchange to the orphan, and entered into the cage. Then the orphan made fast the door of the cage, and having dressed himself in the prince’s clothes, necklace, and bracelets, went away to his home. Then the orphan’s uncles returned from eating their rice, and coming up to the cage asked, “Have you anything more to say, nephew?” “All right, uncles, I agree to take her,” answered the king’s son, as the orphan had told him to say. Then they threw him in the iron cage into the deep pool. Thereupon the six brothers, the orphan’s uncles, said one to another, “How much trouble that fellow caused us all! Now, however, he is dead and done with!” Then they returned home.

When they got there, lo! they saw the orphan again, not dead at all, wearing the king’s son’s clothes, necklace, and bracelets, splendidly adorned and decked out as you could not imagine! They said one to another, “The orphan is not dead after all! There he is, decked out and strutting in his finery!” They went up to him and asked, “Nephew, how is it that you arrived here so soon?” The orphan answered, “Oh, uncles, my grandmothers and grandfathers sent me back here in a pālkī very quickly. Immediately I arrived there, my grandparents gave me these fine clothes, this necklace, and these bracelets. Only look at them! They sent word, too, that they wanted you also to be told to come to them; as a token, they sent this gold knife—see!” So saying, he showed it to them. Then his uncles said, “How shall we manage to get there?” “Let each one of you take an iron cage with him to the river bank, and get into it there,” answered the orphan. So each man took a cage to the river bank and got inside. Then the orphan tied each tightly up in his iron cage, and threw the eldest brother in his cage into the deep pool. As he fell, quantities of bubbles came up on the surface of the water. The orphan cried, “Look, uncles! My eldest uncle has drunk so much of the rice-beer which my grandparents have given him, that he is vomiting.” Then he brought the next brother and threw him into the water; and so having cast all his six uncles, one after another, into the stream, the orphan returned to his home. Then his aunts, his uncles’ wives, asked him, “When will your uncles come back again?” “They will not come very soon; have they not just met their parents, after being separated from them for so long a time?” replied the orphan. So after waiting three or four nights his aunts asked the orphan again, “Why have your uncles not come back by this time?” He answered, “They will come very soon.” Then after waiting two or three nights more they asked again, “Why have not your uncles come yet?” Then the orphan spoke clearly, “Put each man’s share of rice in the nòksèk.”⁸ So his aunts cried, “Ah! they are dead and gone!” And understanding this at last, they wept and made lamentation.

So the orphan became rich, and there was no one left to envy him. And having become a great king, he lived a happy life.

Note.—Two incidents in this story, viz. the profit made by the orphan by disposing of the flesh of his slaughtered calf, and his gain by selling the ashes of his burnt house, and the disappointment of his uncles when they endeavoured to imitate him, much resemble the incidents of a folk-tale given as an illustration of the Tibeto-Burman dialects of Rangkas, Dārmā, Chaudāngs, and Byāngs in vol. iii. Part I., of the Linguistic Survey. These dialects are spoken in the northern portion of Kumaon, on the borders of Tibet. In this version the animals slaughtered are goats and sheep, and the profit is made out of their skins, while the ashes of the burnt house are by an accident exchanged for a load of flour. Still, the motif is the same, and the great distance of the country where this tale is current from that of the Mikirs, and the impossibility of inter-communication, make the coincidences interesting.

MIKIR BOY.

MIKIR BOY.

p. 56

OLD MIKIR WOMAN.

OLD MIKIR WOMAN.

p. 59

3. Story of Harata Kunwar

Harata Kunwar was one of six brothers, the youngest of them. From his very birth he spent his time in shooting deer and wild pig, and never laboured in the fields. His elder brothers, the five, did the field work. Then they, the five brothers, took counsel together with their father, saying, “This Harata Kunwar does no field work, but spends his time in hunting. Let us talk the matter over at night.” So that night they talked it over. The father said to his eldest son, “How will you supply me with rice?” He answered, “As for me, I will become a head man of a village, and sit in assembly night and day; from the rice-beer which people will bring me as the head man’s perquisites, I will supply you with good white rice and beer.” “And you, the second son, how will you supply me with rice?” “As for me, I will become a blacksmith; night and day will I spend in forging knives and dāos; with the money produced by these I will furnish you with beer, betel, pān, good white rice, and all kinds of spirit.” “And you, the third son, how will you supply me with rice?” “As for me, I will labour in the fields, and having filled granaries and barns with produce I will give you good beer and good white rice.” “And you, the fourth, how will you provide for me?” “As for me, I will go as a companion to some one, and what that person gives me of rice and beer I will give you.” “And you, the fifth, how will you provide for me?” “As for me, I will become some one’s slave, and will support you with the rice and beer he gives me.” “And you, Harata Kunwar, in what way will you furnish me with rice?” “As for me, I will marry a daughter of the Sun-god, and having become a great king, I will seat you on a throne, on a fine couch, I will cause slaves, male and female, to bathe your arms and legs, and I will give you beer, rice, and spirits.” So they finished their talk. Next day, in the place where they worked at their field, Harata Kunwar not being with them, those five brothers consulted again together with their father. “This Harata Kunwar says he will take to wife the daughter of the Sun-god and become a king, forsooth! Where will he get his kingship? Let us kill him, and let us talk about it again to-night.” That night, after they had eaten and drunk, they consulted together about the way in which the killing was to be done. “Let us build a field-watcher’s hut⁹ for Harata Kunwar, on the border of the jungle let us build it, and make him watch there; then at night let us go and thrust him through with a spear.” Harata Kunwar’s sister-in-law overheard them as they were conspiring together. Next morning, after they had eaten and drunk and gone away to their work in the fields, Harata Kunwar came home from his hunting. His sister-in-law gave him his rice, and after he had eaten and drunk she said, “Let me kill that insect on you, Harata Kunwar.” Then she killed a louse, and as she killed it a tear fell upon Harata Kunwar’s leg. He asked her, “Sister-in-law, are you crying?” And his sister-in-law said, “I am not crying, a raindrop fell upon you.” Again, as she killed a louse, a tear fell the second time. Harata Kunwar asked her again, “You really are crying, sister-in-law; tell me why you are weeping.” So she told him: “My father-in-law and your elder brothers have plotted together to make you watch by night in a jungle hut, and then they will thrust you through there with a spear, they say; that is why I am weeping.” Harata Kunwar said, “You need not be afraid; you have told me: it is well. To-morrow morning you will see what happens. If I am not dead, I will come home to you after they have gone, and I will throw six clods, taken from the worm-castings, on the roof of this house. If you don’t hear the noise of them on the roof, you will know that I am dead.” So in the evening his brothers came home from the field, and his father said, “This night Harata Kunwar must go and watch for us in the jungle hut. Wild pigs are eating up our paddy. There, by the side of the jungle-clearing, we have built for you a watcher’s hut.” So, having eaten and drunk, Harata Kunwar took with him his bow and went. Then having gathered the fruit of the pūroi-sāk,¹⁰ he put the juice of it into the sheath of a plantain-stalk, and having made it like the form of a sleeping man he put some clothes on it and laid it as though sleeping in the hut. He himself hid quietly under the shelter of the rice plants. Then, after their first sleep, his father and brothers awoke one another: “Come! let us go and kill Harata Kunwar.” Then, each one taking with him a spear, they went to Harata Kunwar’s jungle hut. Then the father said, “Go thou, eldest, climb up and thrust him through.” The eldest said, “How should I dare to put my spear through him? he is our brother, our youngest brother, we have one mother and father, and besides, we have sucked both of us at the same breast, the same nipple. Since we are brothers, how should I dare to kill him? I dare not.” “Go, then, you, the second.” The second answered, “Oh! he is not the son of a second wife, own brother he is, our younger brother; how then should I dare to kill him? I dare not.” “Go, then, you, the third.” He answered, “Our thigh is one, our foot is one, our arm is one, our hand is one; we have grown up together, he is our brother. How could I possibly kill him? I cannot.” “Go, then, thou, the fourth.” He said, “We sucked together at one nipple, own brothers are we, no sister has he, how could I venture to kill him? I dare not.” “Go, then, you, the youngest.” “Oh! why do you send me on such an errand? I am the next to him. From childhood it was I who grew up with him together. We ate our rice together from one platter; we drank our beer from the same mug. How should I dare to kill such a one? I dare not!” Then their father became angry. “Then why did you dare to say, ‘We must kill Harata Kunwar’? If you cannot bring yourselves to do it, you will never become men.” So saying, he climbed up the posts of the hut, and thrust his spear through that plantain-sheath, and the juice of the pūroi sāk came dropping out from it. Then he called out, “Harata Kunwar, strong though he be, has got his deserts now at last! Let him marry the Sun-god’s daughter and make himself a king now!” Harata Kunwar overheard all this. “What, what are you saying, my brothers?” he called out. Then, saying “Harata Kunwar has his bow with him!” they ran away in fear, stumbling and falling as they ran. When they got to their own jungle hut, they vomited, and on the night clearing away, with great difficulty in the morning they reached home. Then Harata Kunwar, after they had come, himself came up, and took six clods from the worm-casts and threw them on the roof. So after they had eaten and drunk, his brothers went away to their field. Then Harata Kunwar came in, and his sister-in-law gave him his rice. After eating and drinking, he said, “Sister! I cannot remain here with you; my own brothers, nay, even my own father, aim at my life, and are plotting to kill me. I must therefore go a-wandering. Get ready and give me a store of rice to take with me, bread, and parched grain.” So his sister-in-law prepared food for him, bread and parched rice. And he said to her when he parted: “If I do not come by my death, then when I come here again I will throw six clods from the worm-castings on the roof; then, when you hear them, wash and make ready the stools and benches!” So they wept together, and parted. Then Harata Kunwar, taking his bow with him, went on his way. At last he arrived at his grandmother’s house. “Oh, granny! are you there?” The old woman answered, “Who is there? as for this place, I have neither kin nor helper. Who is come?” Harata Kunwar answered, “It is I, granny.” Then the old woman said, “Why are you come, my dear? I am a poor widow. I have neither house nor field. I live only by begging my food. Why have you come?” Harata Kunwar answered, “I will stay here with you and be your companion.” The old woman said, “You, who are fit to be a king; a great man, how will you be able to live with me here?” Harata Kunwar answered, “Very good, granny; here I will stay.” So he became her companion there. Then his granny the widow said, “Harata Kunwar, spread the paddy out in the sun to dry. I will go and beg paddy in the king’s village. After you have spread out the paddy, if you want to bathe in the river, don’t go up-stream; bathe on the shore close by this house of ours.” So having spread out the paddy, his granny the widow went to the king’s village. Harata Kunwar took charge of the paddy; frequently turning it over, in a very short time he dried it. Then he collected the paddy together and went to bathe in the river. He thought in his own mind, “for what reason did my granny, when she went away, tell me not to go up-stream to bathe? I will go up-stream and see for myself.” So saying, he went up-stream. There he saw shards of broken water-vessels of gold and silver lying. “Oh! that is why granny told me when she went away not to go up-stream. At night I will ask her whose ghāt (watering-place) this is.” So he returned home. Then his granny the widow in the evening also came home again from the king’s village. So at night, after they had eaten and drunk, Harata Kunwar asked her, “Whose ghāt is that up-stream? There are broken pieces of gold and silver water-vessels strewn all about it.” Then the widow said, “I told you when I went away not to go up-stream. You have been disobeying me and have gone up there, I know?” Harata Kunwar answered, “Yes, I did go, granny; now tell me whose ghāt it is.” So his granny the widow told him: “It is the ghāt of the King of the Great Palace. His daughters, six sisters, come to that place to bathe; don’t go there any more.” Then Harata Kunwar considered again by himself: “My granny tells me not to go again, but go I will and see for myself.” So up-stream he went again, and hid himself quietly under the river bank. At midday the six daughters of the King of the Great Palace came to bathe there in the river. Descending beautifully, each one laid aside her clothes and jumped into the water. This did one after the other, and fair it was to see—like the brightness of the moon and sun; there they bathed and frolicked in the water. Then when the day became cool, the eldest sister admonished the rest:11 “O my dears, it is cooking time! time to serve up the food: time to house for the night our fowls and our pigs. Our mother will scold us, our father will scold us, if we stay any longer. Let us go.” So they ended their bathing and playing in the water. One after another they shook out their clothes in the breeze and put them on, and beautifully flew away; but the youngest of them flew away last of all, lovely like the brightness of the moon or the sun. Until they were lost to sight in the heaven Harata Kunwar continued gazing after them till his neck got a crook in it. So they entered heaven, and he saw them no more. And he returned to his house, thinking to himself, “How fair, how lovely! (I will not rest) until I get one of them to be my wife! To-night I will ask granny about it.” So home he came, and after supper Harata Kunwar asked his granny: “Oh, granny! such beautiful, such lovely ones I never saw; how shall I get one to wife? Tell me a plan.” His granny said, “Oh, Harata Kunwar, these are children of the Sun-god, children of a great king; how should you, who are a man’s son, succeed in getting one to wife?” Harata Kunwar said, “Not so, granny: get one to wife I must and will. Show me a plan!” Since he continued to press her with questions, at last she said to him, “If you must and will get one for your wife, then clear a field on the river bank.” “Very good, granny,” said Harata Kunwar, “to-morrow, this very next day, I will go and clear it.” So he remained watching for the dawn to break, until the sun fully rose. Then, taking with him a dāo, he went. From the moment he reached the place he rested not, but cut and hacked down the jungle there, till in a single day he had finished the clearing. Then, having heaped the fallen trees together, he set fire to them, and the fire devoured them there, till there was not a single piece or stock left that was not burnt. Then he dibbled in maize, small millet, sugar cane, plantains; besides these he planted flowers—marvel of Peru, white lilies, marigolds,¹² many kinds of flowers. Then the daughters of the King of the Great Palace came down to bathe in the river; beautifully they descended, fair as never was seen; like the moon, like the sun in splendour, they came right down there. So, having finished bathing and splashing about in the water, they spied Harata Kunwar’s garden plot. They said, “Oh, whose field is this? It is very pretty indeed!” The eldest answered, “It must be our brother-in-law Harata Kunwar’s field.” So they flew away beautifully again to heaven together. Harata Kunwar there pondered in his mind: “Shall I ever succeed in getting her to wife?” And again he asked his grandmother, “Granny, when shall I succeed in getting one to wife?” His granny answered, “Not in that way, grandson. Build for yourself a jungle hut.” So next morning a jungle hut he went to build. In a single day he finished building one, great and big, and came home again. “The jungle-hut is finished, granny,” he said. “Then cut for yourself a flute,” advised his granny. So he cut several flutes for himself, and bored holes in them. Then the time for maize and millet to ripen came. And his granny advised him: “Go and watch in your jungle hut, and play the flute.” As for his field, in a very short time flowers blossomed there as you never saw! Then the daughters of the King of the Great Palace arrived to bathe in the river; flying down beautifully one after another they laid aside their clothes and jumped into the water, and bathed and frolicked. Then the eldest admonished them: “Come, my dears, let us go.” Thereupon Harata Kunwar began to play on his flute so beautifully that you never heard the like. “Oh! this flute-playing is very pretty to hear! Surely it is the man (called) Harata Kunwar. Come, dears, let us go and ask for a few flowers.” So they went. “Harata Kunwar, we would like to pluck for ourselves a few flowers. May we pluck and take some, sir?” “Yes,” said Harata Kunwar, “you can pluck as many as you like.” Then each one plucked some flowers and went away. Gracefully they flew away with the flowers. Until they disappeared in the sky, Harata Kunwar gazed after them, until his eyes became quite sore with gazing. So they returned into heaven. When he could see them no more, Harata Kunwar also returned home. And his granny the widow asked him, “Did you have any talk to-day with the daughters of the King of the Great Palace?” “Yes, we had some talk; they even asked to be allowed to gather some of my flowers.” Then his granny explained a plan: “To-morrow is a lucky day. Go, you, before the Great King’s daughters come down to bathe, and hide yourself as I tell you, and watch by the river. The elder sisters, all five, have got husbands already. As for the youngest, the King of the Winds is asking for her to marry her to his son; already the gourds and chungas of beer (for the wedding-feast) have arrived. Nevertheless, having singled out her petticoat from among the others, while they are all bathing, bring it here to me. I will weave a petticoat just like it in exchange for it; take that one back there and put it down again in the same place where her real petticoat was; her own petticoat let us hide away. Then she will not be able to fly away. If she asks for her petticoat back again, say ‘One or other of you must marry me.’” “Yes, very good indeed, granny,” said Harata Kunwar. From the time that his granny imparted to him that plan, Harata Kunwar’s mind was so cheerful as you could not imagine. All night long he could not close his eyes, but went on thinking continually. So morning dawned. Then, having breakfasted, he went to his field. “Oh, when will it be midday?” he said, as he went on waiting. Then he hid himself quietly under the sand. Then at midday the daughters of the King of the Great Palace came. Gracefully they flew down there, and one after another removed her garments and plunged into the stream. So when they were all in the water, Harata Kunwar rose stealthily and seized the petticoat and striped cloth of that youngest one, and carried them off straightway to his granny the widow. And his granny wove in place of them another petticoat and striped cloth just like them. In a very short time she had done them, and Harata Kunwar ran back again there, and having put the new petticoat and striped cloth in the same place, himself went into his jungle hut and played the flute. Wonderfully he played it there; never was heard such playing.

So when they had had enough of bathing and sporting in the water, the eldest admonished her sisters:13 “O my sisters, let us go! it is time to pound the rice, time to clean it after pounding: time to cook, time to serve up: time to heat the beer, time to squeeze it from the rice-grains.” So having put on her clothes she said again, “Come, let us go and ask for a few flowers.” Then, having plucked some flowers, first the eldest flew up, then the younger sisters also flew up to her gracefully, and last of all the youngest also tried to fly, but found she could not. If she flew she fell back again there; if she got up and tried to fly again, she fell back a second time. Then the eldest said, “Oh! what in the world is the matter?” So the elder sisters also came down again there, and went and said to Harata Kunwar, “O Harata Kunwar, without doubt it is you who have changed our youngest sister’s petticoat; therefore, bring it back!” So they called out, and Harata Kunwar answered, “One or other of you must be my wife.” The daughters of the King of the Great Palace said, “How is it possible that any of us should stay here and be your wife? We have each of us got husbands already.” Harata Kunwar said, “Then I cannot give you the petticoat; one of you must positively marry me.” Then the daughters of the King of the Great Palace said to one another, “Sister! do you marry him.” The eldest answered, “How should I marry him? I have a number of children already.” “Then you, the next, you marry him.” “How can I marry him? I also have four children already.” “You, the third, you marry him, then.” “How can I, when I also have three children already?” “Then you, the fourth, you marry him.” “I also have two children already; how should I marry him?” “You, the fifth, you marry him.” “I cannot marry him; don’t you know that I also have one child already?” “Then you, the youngest, you marry him.” The youngest answered, “As for me, the King of the Winds is asking for me to marry me to his son, the gourds and chungas of beer (for the wedding feast) have arrived already. How can I possibly marry him?” Her eldest sisters said, “Well, but you are not married yet. You must marry him, dear. It is getting dark; we must go. There at home our fowls and our pigs will be calling out for us; besides, our mother and father will be looking out for us. And We will come and visit you from time to time.” Then the youngest one said, “What is to be done, sisters? Well, I will marry him; you go. Our mother and father will be angry.” Then the eldest one said: “Harata Kunwar, you would not listen to our instructions, therefore we are leaving our youngest sister here with you; but be careful not to grieve or trouble her. Do not make her cook or serve up; moreover, touch not her hand or her foot.” So, after giving parting instructions to their youngest sister, they flew away gracefully to heaven again together. The pair who were left behind continued gazing after them till they were lost in the heaven and they could see them no more. Then Harata Kunwar said: “It is getting dark, let us two also go home.” So Harata Kunwar was happy and joyful. Night and day he shot deer and wild pig, and his platform and drying stand¹⁴ (for drying flesh on) were never dry (i.e. without flesh exposed on them to dry).

So one year came to an end. “O Granny, I say to myself, ‘I will go home’; what am I to do?” said Harata Kunwar. “Sure, you have your own house, you have your own field; you can go if you like; nevertheless your wife is not yet entirely at one with you here.” “Nay, but,” said Harata Kunwar, “is it not a whole year (since we were married), granny?” “Nevertheless, you have not come to perfect agreement yet.” “Oh, then,” said Harata Kunwar, “I cannot go yet.” So Harata Kunwar stayed there, working in the field and labouring, and getting barns and granaries stored with the produce to such an extent that the widow’s house was filled up with baskets and barrels full of grain. And God gave Harata Kunwar a child, one son only. Then he asked his grandmother again: “Granny! I keep saying to myself, ‘we will go home to my mother and father.’” The widow answered, “Your wife has not yet thoroughly accommodated herself to you, grandson.” “Not so, granny; she has indeed. Has she not already borne me a son?” “Go, then. You would not listen to the warnings I gave you from time to time. Go together. But your wife has not yet made up her mind to stay with you, I assure you.” So Harata Kunwar said to his wife, “My dear! let us two go together to our home.” His wife answered, “Go. Wherever you take me (I will go too).” Then the morning dawned, and they took their breakfast and started. They went a bit of the way. Now, his child and his wife Harata Kunwar bound firmly to his waist with his turban, and so carried them. And so as they went on they saw a jungle-cock¹⁵ scratching the ground in a wonderful way on the mountain side. Harata Kunwar said, “Oh, jungle-cock, what are you doing there? I am in a hurry to get home; leave the road open to me.” The jungle-cock answered, “I will not leave the road open to you. I say to myself, ‘Harata Kunwar to-day will bring along his wife and child,’ and I am watching the way he is coming.” Harata Kunwar rejoined, “What jest is this? Be careful, lest in a little you have to say, ‘when Harata Kunwar brought his wife and child to his home and field, my life was lost.’” The jungle-cock said, “I don’t say so; to-day (we will see whether) you or I will prevail.” Harata Kunwar said, “Is that true?” “True.” “Do you swear it?” “I swear it.” Then Harata Kunwar, setting an arrow to his bow, shot him.

Then as he went on a little further (he came upon) a cock-pheasant¹⁶ blocking the road, and scratching in a wonderful way on the mountain side. And Harata Kunwar said again, “Oh, cock-pheasant, what are you doing there? I am in a hurry to get home; leave the road free to me.” The cock-pheasant answered, “I won’t leave the road free to you. I say to myself, ‘To-day Harata Kunwar will bring along his wife and child,’ and I am watching here the way he is coming.” Harata Kunwar said, “Oh, don’t be silly, lest you have to say in a little while, ‘when Harata Kunwar brought along his wife and child, I lost my life.’” The cock-pheasant said, “I don’t say so.” Harata Kunwar said again, “Are you in earnest?” “In earnest.” “Do you swear it?” “I swear it.” Then Harata Kunwar set his bow and shot him.

Then, as they went on still further, a wild boar, so big as you never saw or imagined, with his tusks overlapping his mouth, was straddling across the road, and rooting up the earth there on the mountain side in an extraordinary way. And Harata Kunwar said, “Oh, wild boar, what are you doing there? leave me the road open, I want to get home quickly.” The wild boar answered, “I will by no means leave you the road; saying to myself, ‘To-day Harata Kunwar will bring along his wife and child,’ I am watching the road he is coming.” Harata Kunwar said, “Oh, don’t joke! is it true or not?” The wild boar answered, “It is true.” Harata Kunwar said, “Be careful, lest in a little while you have to say, ‘when Harata Kunwar brought along his wife and child, my life was lost.’” The wild boar said, “I don’t say so.” “Are you in earnest?” “Yes.” “Do you swear it?” “I swear it.” “Oh, then——” So saying, Harata Kunwar set his bow and shot him.

Then, when he had nearly arrived at his house, he collected six clods from the worm-casts, and threw them on the roof. Then his sister-in-law said, “Harata Kunwar has come home! Wash the stools and the benches!” Then they washed all the stools and seats and planks and benches. And Harata Kunwar, bringing along with him that wild boar, put it down beside the hedge, and entered the house. And as soon as he arrived, his sister-in-law gave him there beer, bread, and parched rice. His wife was so very beautiful that no one could look her in the face, as one cannot look straight at the brightness of the sun. Then his brothers were perplexed, saying, “What in the world has happened to us this night?” And Harata Kunwar said, “A short time ago I shot a little pig on the road. I just put it down there beside the hedge. Go and get it and scorch it (for cooking).” So his five brothers went, but the boar was so very big that they could not even move it; they could do nothing with it at all. So Harata Kunwar went with them. With one hand he easily lifted it and brought it away; and they scorched it and cut it up. So home they brought it and cooked it and served it up, and joyful, noisy, laughing and jesting, they ate and drank.

Then next morning dawned. Hearing that Harata Kunwar had brought his wife home, all the people of the whole country-side kept coming and going to gaze upon her, in such crowds as you never saw. And Harata Kunwar put away carefully in a bamboo chunga his wife’s own petticoat and striped cloth, with her gold ornaments, her necklace, and her gold drum (Ass. mādolī) worn on the breast, and tied them up in the pitch of the roof. So Harata Kunwar went to pay visits to the people of the village, and the ryots of the country-side came to visit him; and then they went on to gaze upon his wife. And all the women—aunts on mother’s and father’s side, sisters-in-law, elder brothers’ wives—each one said, “Oh! is she not lovely, sister!” Thus they wondered at her. Then Harata Kunwar’s wife answered, “Not so lovely yet as I might be. If I were to put on again my own petticoat, my striped cloth, my necklace and my bracelets, then, indeed, there would be something to see!” Then some old woman said, “Oh, then, give them to her.” And Harata Kunwar’s old father said, “Where in the world did that idiot of a boy put them away? Why did he not give her her own petticoat and striped cloth?” Then Harata Kunwar’s wife explained: “They are there in the roof-pitch where he has tied them up.” So his father untied the bundle and gave it to her. Then she put the things on and arrayed herself. Thereupon she became inconceivably beautiful. “Oh!” they cried, “lovely! beautiful indeed! It is not for nothing that she is called child of the Sun-god!” Thereupon Harata Kunwar’s wife rose up to her full height, and flapped her clothes, and gracefully flew away back to her own place. Then Harata Kunwar, happening to see her from where he was on a distant road, kept continually bending his bow. And his wife said, as she left him: “Wait, wait! hereafter we shall meet again.” So Harata Kunwar, weeping bitterly, sick and sorry at heart, came to his house. Immediately he got there, without eating or drinking, he took his child on his back, and straightway set out for the house of his grandmother the widow woman. Thus he went on till he arrived, and at once on arrival began to weep and wail as you could not imagine. Then his grandmother said: “I told you from the first that your wife was not yet reconciled to her lot with you. How will you get to see her now? How will you be able to reach her in heaven?” This only aggravated his weeping; refusing meat and drink, he followed his grandmother wherever she went, continually dogging her steps, and was like to die of grief. At last his grandmother said, “Harata Kunwar, take a little food, and then I will tell you of a plan.” So he took something to eat, bread and parched rice, and then his grandmother told him her scheme. “To-morrow,” she said, “the son of the King of the Winds will come there to marry your wife. Before that, your father-in-law’s elephant will come here to bathe. Do you go and hide yourself there under the sand. When the elephant (after its bath) is just about to go, hold on tight to its tail, and bind your child firmly to your waist with your turban. If the elephant asks you anything, say that you also are going to the place where your wife is. Then to-morrow, in the evening, you will arrive there. Remain concealed on the river bank. Then male and female slaves will come to draw water there in order to bathe your wife. Call out to them, ‘Give me one draught of water for the child.’ Then, if they give you the water, drop into the water-pot a gold ring. Then she (i.e. your wife) will call for you. Go to her, and when you arrive, put down your child on the ground; then the child will go of itself towards its mother.”

The morning dawned, and Harata Kunwar, after eating and drinking, went to the river bank and hid himself quietly under the sand. Then the elephant came down to bathe in the river, and having bathed, was just about to go away, when Harata Kunwar grasped firmly hold of its tail, and with his turban tied his child securely to his waist. Then the elephant flew up with him to heaven, and put him down on the river bank there. And all the people of the King of the Winds had come to the house of the King of the Great Palace in order to celebrate the marriage of the son of the King of the Winds with Harata Kunwar’s wife. And the King’s slaves, male and female, came to draw water in order to bathe Harata Kunwar’s wife. And Harata Kunwar called out to them for water for his child: “Give me just one draught of water for my son, good mothers!” One after another paid no attention to his request, till at last an old woman came up. So Harata Kunwar called out again: “Give me water, one draught only, good madam, for my child.” So the old woman gave him some water. Making as though he would take hold of the water-jar, Harata Kunwar dropped into it a gold ring. Then they brought the water for Harata Kunwar’s wife’s bath. After washing delicately her arms and her legs, they poured the old woman’s water-jar over her head, and the gold ring fell out. Then Harata Kunwar’s wife asked, “Oh! who is the person whose water-jar has just reached me?” Then one after another they said, “It’s not my water-jar.” Then all called out together, “It is the old woman’s jar.” Then she said to the old woman: “Where did you get hold of this ring? Seize that man and bring him here at once. If you cannot bring him, it will be a matter of your life.” So the old woman, weeping and lamenting, came to Harata Kunwar and called out to him, “Be pleased to come with me! What was the reason why your Honour, under pretence of asking me to give you water, had it in your mind to make me lose my life?” So Harata Kunwar, taking the child on his back, went with her. Immediately on arriving he put the boy down on the ground, and the child ran straight into its mother’s lap and began to suck her breast. Then the King of the Great Palace said: “Why! such a thing as this was never seen! They have got a child big between them already!” So the King of the Winds’ folk were ashamed and disgusted, and returned home sad and sorry. So they celebrated the wedding of Harata Kunwar and the daughter of the King of the Great Palace.

So Harata Kunwar remained there one year, two years, and laboured at tilling the fields, so that he got twelve barns, twelve granaries full of grain. Then said Harata Kunwar to his wife: “My dear! we two, like the sparrow or the dove, should have a nest at least, a roosting-place of our own. Therefore let us go away together. Do you ask father-in-law and mother-in-law.” So at night Harata Kunwar’s wife asked her parents: “O father and mother, your son-in-law says, ‘we two, like a sparrow or a dove, should at least have a nest, a roosting-place of our own. Let us go away together,’ and he bade me ask you about it. What are your commands in the matter?” So the King of the Great Palace said: “My daughter! I have once for all given you away to this man like a bundle of greens, and have nothing more to do with you. Go away together, to-morrow if you like, or to-day if you prefer it.” Then he went on to say, “What do you two desire of me? slaves, male or female? ryots, husbandmen? gold? silver?” So she went and told Harata Kunwar: “My dear! my mother and father say, ‘You may go away together to-day or to-morrow as you please: moreover, slaves, male and female, ryots, husbandmen, gold, silver,—mention whatever you desire’—so they say.” And Harata Kunwar said, “I want nothing at all.” And morning dawned. Then Harata Kunwar went and did obeisance to his father and mother-in-law. And his father-in-law said to him, “What do you desire? slaves—handmaids—ryots—husbandmen—gold—silver?” Harata Kunwar said, “I need nothing.” Then Harata Kunwar and his wife, the wedded pair, and their son started for home, and in due course arrived there. A king he became, a great man, and night and day he lived in happiness and greatness, and his kingdom was great and stable.

APPENDIX.

THE LEGEND OF CREATION.

Condensed from Mr. Allen’s (of the American Presbyterian Mission) replies to ethnographical questions, dated October, 1900.

Long ago the gods Hèmphū and Mukràng took counsel together for the creation of the world. They marked the limits of their work, setting up four great posts to fix the boundaries of things, and fastened them immovably with six of their mother’s hairs. Then they looked for seed to produce the earth, but found none. Then they consulted a hundred other gods, with their wives, making, with themselves and their wives, two hundred and four in all. It was decided to send one of the wives to beg for some earth from the god Hājòng, and Bāmon’s wife was sent on this errand. But Hājòng refused to give any earth from his world from which a rival world might be fashioned, and sent the goddess Bāmonpī away empty-handed. But as she returned she noticed the worm-casts on the road, and carried off one and hid it in her bosom. But even with this piece of warm earth nothing could be done, until the gods sent for Hēlòng Rēchō, the king of the earth-worms, who came and worked up the piece of earth, till in one day it became a heap many feet in diameter; so he continued, till eventually it became this earth of ours. But it was still soft moist earth, on which no one could travel. So they called Kāpràng the blacksmith, who with his bellows produced a wind which dried the mud to solid earth. Then the gods said, “We must cause plants to grow on it.” They searched everywhere for seed, and at last sent to Rèkbēpī in the west, by the great post that marked the place of the setting sun, to ask her for seed. Rèkbēpī came, and herself brought seed and sowed it. (Another version states that Rèkbēpī and Rèk-krōpi, wives of two gods, went to Kānā, beyond the boundaries of this world, and obtained from him the various seeds of trees and plants. As they were returning, the sinàm, or head-strap, which held the baskets on their heads broke, and the winds scattered the seeds on the surface of the earth. This occurred on the bank of the river Kallang, in the south-eastern part of Nowgong. But all the bamboos that grew from these seeds were jointless, and therefore weak: strong winds would break down the entire crop in a single storm. So the goddesses who brought the seed tied round the stems pieces of thread to strengthen them; the threads made scars, until at last all the bamboos we have now are marked with scars at the joints.)

Next came the creation of animals. Hèmphū and Mukràng were the leaders, but they were helped by Pīthē and Pōthē (“great mother” and “great father”). The elephant was first created to be a servant to man. Then the tiger was made, and bidden to eat the wicked; any one killed by a tiger is still thought to have committed some great crime.

Then a great council was held, and it was decided to create a being called ārlèng (man). The first man’s name was Bāmon-pō, and he had created for him two wives, one a Mikir and the other an Assamese. But no offspring was born to the man for a long time. At last the Assamese wife sent her husband to her elder brother, who understood the secrets of nature. He sent Bāmonpō into his garden, and bade him pick an orange for each of his wives, and give it to her to eat, when all would be well. Bāmonpō did so, and went homewards with his two oranges. On the way, becoming hot, he stopped at a river to bathe. While he was in the water, a crow came and carried away one of the oranges. Bāmonpō sadly returned to his home, and gave the one orange left to his Assamese wife, who ate it. But the Mikir wife picked up a piece of the peel and ate it, and in process of time she had a son, whom she named Rām. The Assamese wife also had a son, whom she called Chāputi. He, however, was weak and puny, while Rām was strong and valiant. Rām could pull up trees by the roots, and break them down as he pleased. He could fight and conquer any demon who attacked him, and any man whom he met. But he had no wife. One day while out hunting he became thirsty, and climbed a tree to look for water. He saw a pool, at which he quenched his thirst. As he did so, he noticed in the grass a white thing, which he put in his basket and carried home. It was a large egg. For some days he forgot to look at it, and later on, when he went to see it, he found that the egg was broken, and a beautiful woman had come forth from it. The demons tried to seize her and carry her off, but Rām vanquished them all, and made her his wife. She was very fruitful, and her children multiplied until they were numbered by thousands. Rām’s fame spread throughout the world, till at last he disappeared, and was deified by a race of his descendants, called Hindus. They were a mighty race of men, and in the course of time, becoming dissatisfied with the mastery of the earth, they determined to conquer heaven, and began to build a tower to reach up to the skies. Higher and higher rose the building, till at last the gods and demons feared lest these giants should become the masters of heaven, as they already were of earth. So they confounded their speech, and scattered them to the four corners of the earth. Hence arose all the various tongues of men.

Additional note to p. 45.—A very exact parallel to the story of Harata Kunwar will be found in Mr. S. J. Hickson’s book entitled A Naturalist in North Celebes (London, 1889), pp. 264–6. It is a story current among the Minahassa people of that region, of heavenly nymphs in whose clothes resided their power to fly, and one of whom was captured by a man who made her his wife; other details agree closely with those of the Mikir story.

1 “Gourd”: the word hànthār in the original is explained by Mr. Stack as the name of “a creeper, with a fruit as big as a small pumpkin, with a hard kernel in soft rind; the kernel is the size of a mango-stone; the marrow inside is in two slices; when washed, it loses its bitter taste, and can be fried, oil exuding. It is a favourite dish with the Mikirs.” It is, therefore, not really a gourd, but I am unable to identify the species. 

2 “Sparrow”: vo-ār-bipi, explained as a small bird, the size of a sparrow. In the Aimol version the corresponding word is rendered “bat”; but a bat in Mikir is vo-ārplàk, and a bat has no nest (tār) as the bird has here. 

3 “Stinging-nettle”: tārmē-làngbòng; this is probably not a nettle (urtica), but some other kind of blistering plant found in the Assam jungles; tārmē means a creeper, làngbòng a vessel made of bamboo to hold water. 

4 Fish-trap, rū: a bamboo cage placed in an opening in a weir or dam built of stones or constructed of wattled boughs, so that the fish entering cannot get out. The same word is used later (see note p. 53) for the iron cage (ingchin āru) in which the orphan is confined. 

5 “May a tiger eat you, you wicked boy!” Tekē nàng kòrdutpī ā-osṓ, literally, “You tiger-bitten boy!” pī is a syllable used in abuse, as pō (“father”) is used in the opposite sense, e.g. pō-ārnàm-pō, “My good sir!” literally, “father-god-father;” lower down, addressing a girl, pē (“mother”) is similarly used: “pē-ārnàm-pī,” “dear girl!” 

6 Cloth-full, mànthung: a cloth or wrapper (pē) folded cylindrically into a bag, and tied at the top and bottom with slit bamboo (jingtàk). 

7 “Iron cage”: see note on p. 48 above. 

8 The nòksèk: the part of the house (in kàm: see plan, p. 8) between the fireplace and the middle partition, where the offerings of food for the spirits of the dead are placed. 

9 “A field-watcher’s hut,” hèm-thàp: a small hut, raised high upon posts and thatched over, built in a clearing for cultivation, in which the cultivator passes the night for the purpose of scaring wild pigs and deer away from the crop. 

10 A species of potherb, so-called in Assamese: Bengali pūtikā, Basella lucida. It has red juicy fruit. 

11 Notice the simplicity of life indicated by the occupations the fairy princesses have to attend to on their return to their celestial home. 

12 The exact species of these flowers is not vouched for; those named are common in the house-gardens of Assamese cultivators. 

13 See the note on p. 60. 

14 The flesh of animals killed by hunters is cut into strips and dried in the sun on frames of bamboo, for future use. The frames are called in Mikir ur and ràp. 

15 “Jungle-cock”: Gallus ferrugineus, the wild fowl of Assam jungles. 

16 “Cock-pheasant”: vorèk ālōpō, the dorīk (Ass.) or “derrick,” Gennæus Horsfieldii, the black-breasted kalij pheasant of north-east India. 

VI.

LANGUAGE.

Outline of Mikir grammar—The original text of the three stories translated in Section V., analysed and elucidated.

The language spoken by the Mikirs belongs to the great family of Indo-Chinese speech called Tibeto-Burman, the general characteristics of which have been fully set forth in The Linguistic Survey of India, vol. iii. Mikir itself is treated on pp. 380 ff. of Part II. of that volume, and is described by Dr. Grierson as a member of the Nāgā-Boḍo sub-group, in which it is classed together with Ēmpēo or Kachchā Nāgā, Kabui, and Khoirāo. It is unnecessary here to occupy space with any demonstration of the fact that Mikir is a Tibeto-Burman language, or to cite lists of words in it agreeing with those of other languages of the same great class. In the next section an attempt will be made to examine its affinities with other varieties of Tibeto-Burman speech, and to define more clearly its place in the family; in this the language will be dealt with in its internal structure only, and, as specimens, the original text of the three stories translated in Section V. will be given, with an interlinear rendering and a running commentary.

A grammatical sketch of Mikir was printed at pp. 381–391 of Part II. vol. iii. of the Linguistic Survey. What follows is mainly borrowed from that source, which was the first published attempt to explain systematically the facts and mechanism of the language.

Sounds.

Mikir has no written character of its own. The first publication printed in it, a short catechism issued by a missionary press at Sibsagar in 1875, used the Assamese character; since then, so far as is known, the Roman alphabet has always been employed to express the sounds of the language. Mr. Stack, from whose materials this monograph has been compiled, distinguished the following vowel sounds:—

ā, long a as in father (chiefly in open syllables);

à, the same shortened and pronounced abruptly, as in the German Mann, always in closed syllables;

(N.B. The language does not possess the short Hindī a, representing the u in but.)

ē, the long e in the French scène;

e, the same sound shortened, as in belief;

è, the sharp e in the English men (always in closed syllables);

ī, the long i in machine;

i, the short i in it;

ō, the long o in bone;

o, the same shortened, as in obey;

ò, the sharp abrupt sound in pot (always in closed syllables);

ū, the long u in June;

u, the short u in full.

The diphthongs are—

ai, as in aisle;

ei, almost as in feign, with the i audible;

oi, as in boil;

ui, long ū with i added: no English equivalent.

The consonants used in Mikir are b, ch, d, h, j, k, l, m, n, ng, p, r, s, t, v (all with their value as in English), and the aspirates kh, ph, th (pronounced as in cookhouse, haphazard, anthill). Bh, dh, and g occur only in a few borrowed words, and bh and dh are commonly resolved, as bahār (for Hindī bhār), “a load,” and dohòn (for Ass. dhon), “money.” F, sh, w, y, and z are not used. Ng is never initial, and the g is not separately heard (always as in singer, never as in younger).

Monosyllabic Roots.

The root words of the language, whether nouns, adjectives, pronouns, verbs, or adverbs, are generally monosyllabic; where simple roots have more than one syllable, the additions are formative prefixes, once probably separate words, which have become incorporated. Such are the prefix ke-, ki-, kā-, used to form adjectives, present participles, and verbal nouns; and the prefixes ār- (in ārnī, “sun,” ārlòng, “stone,” ārlèng, “man,” etc.), ing- (in inglòng, “mountain”; inghòn, “pity,” etc.), and te-, ti-, to- (in teràm, “call,” tekàng, “abandon,” tikup, “house-yard,” tovār, “road,” etc.), of which the precise significance is not now traceable. In compound roots, formed by combining monosyllabic elements, the force of each individual syllable is still fully felt; such compounds are exceedingly common.

Words are not inflected, but are located in sense by their position in the sentence or by the addition of particles. These particles may often be omitted where ambiguity is not likely to occur; such omission is particularly frequent as regards the postpositions indicating case, and the tense-affixes of the verb.

Gender.

Gender is not distinguished except for animated beings, and in them either (1) by added words indicating sex (as sō-pō, “boy,” sō-pī, “girl”; āsō-pinsō, “male child”; āsō-pī, “daughter”; chainòng-ālō, “bull”; chainòng-āpī, “cow”), or (2) by the use of different terms (pō, “father,” pē or pei, “mother,” phū, “grandfather,” phī, “grandmother,” etc.).

Number.

The ordinary suffix for the plural is -tum (which is originally a separate word meaning “company,” “followers”); but other words are occasionally employed, as mār, a “mass, quantity, or company”; òng, “many”; and lī, a respectful form used in addressing a number of persons. When -tum is suffixed to a noun, it takes the prefixed ā- of relation, as ārlèng-ātum, “men”; when added to a personal pronoun it does not require this adjunct, as will be explained below (nē, “I,” nē-tum, “we”; nàng, “thou,” nàng-tum, “ye”; lā, “he, she, it,” lā-tum, “they”).

Case.

Case is indicated by position, or by postpositions. The nominative, and, generally speaking, the accusative, have no postpositions, but are ascertained by their position in the sentence, the nominative at the beginning, the accusative following it before the verb. Both, when necessary, can be emphasised by the addition of the particles -kē and -sī, which in some sort play the part of the definite article; but these are not case-postpositions. There is no device (as in Tibetan) for distinguishing the case of the agent with transitive verbs.

The genitive always precedes the noun on which it is dependent. When the word in the genitive is a pronoun of the first or second person, nothing intervenes between them: nē-mèn, “my name”; nàng-pē, “thy clothes.” But when, the pronoun is in the third person, or a noun is in the genitive case, the following noun has ā- prefixed: e.g. lā ā-pō, “his father”; Ārnàm ā-hèm, “God’s house”; hijai-ātum ā-kàm, “the jackals’ work”; ārnī-kàngsàm ā-pòr, “day-becoming-cool time.” This prefixed ā- is really the pronoun of the third person, and means his, her, its, their; the full meaning of the combinations given above is therefore “he, his father”: “God, his house”: “the jackals, their work”: “day becoming cool, its time.” As in many other languages of the Tibeto-Burman family, nouns (especially those denoting personal relations, parts of the body, etc.) are seldom conceived as abstract and self-contained; they most often occur in relation to some other noun, and thus the syllable ā- is more often prefixed to them than not. Especially is this the case with adjectives; these ordinarily follow the noun which they qualify, and almost always have ā- prefixed; e.g. Ārnàm ā-kethē, “God Almighty”: lā ā-kibī ā-bàng, “that younger one.” Sometimes this prefixed ā- is thinned down to ē-, as in hèm-ē-pī, hèm-ē-pō, “widow, widower,” literally “female or male owner of the house”: hijai ē-hur, “a pack of jackals.” Most postpositions (originally nouns joined to the genitive of the qualified word) similarly require ā- before them; and the suffix -tum of the plural, since it means “a company,” also in this manner assumes the form ā-tum. Before ing- the prefix ā- is absorbed, and the result is àng.

The other cases are formed by postpositions. The instrumental is generally indicated by pèn (sometimes with prefixed ā- or ē-, as āpèn, ēpèn, but more often without), or pèn-sī. The dative takes ā-phàn, “to or for,” which is also occasionally used for the accusative. The sign of the dative of purpose is āpòt: pī-āpòt, “what for, why?” kopī-āpòtsī, id. The ablative is formed with pèn or pènsī: nòn-pèn, “from now”; dàk-pèn, “from here”; āpārā (Ass. parā) is also used, generally with pèn as well. The locative has a number of postpositions, according to the position required: -sī is used for “in,” as hèm-sī, “in the house,” ādèt-sī, “in his country”; ārlō is also used for “in, inside.” Lē (properly the conjunctive participle of a verb meaning “arrive, reach to a place”) is often used as a postposition for “at, in.” Other common locative postpositions are ā-thàk, “upon, on,” àngsòng, “above, upon,” ārum, “below,” ābēr, “below,” ālòng “together with” (lòng means “place”), ādun, ādung, “beside, next to” (dun is a verb meaning “to be with, accompany”), ādàk, “between,” àngbòng, “in the middle of,” āphī, “after.”

Adjectives.

Adjectives are regularly formed by prefixing ke-, ki-, or kā- to the root, and do not change for gender, number, or case. Thus, from the root mē, “to be good,” we have kemē, “good”; hēlō, “distance,” kāhēlō, “far off”; dòk, “to have savour,” kedòk, “savoury”; hō, “to be bitter,” kehō, “bitter”; lòk, “to be white,” kelòk, “white”; rī, “to be rich,” kirī, “rich.” Ke- and ki- are generally used with monosyllables, kā- with longer words; kā- with ing- forms kàng.

The form of the adjective is precisely the, same as that of the present participle of the verbal root, used to form the present tense, and also as that of the infinitive or abstract of that root, and the collocation of the sentence alone determines the meaning of the word used. When particles of comparison or other modifying elements are added to the adjective, the prefix kē- etc. is often dropped as unnecessary; thus—

kelòk, “white”; lòk-hik, “whitish.”

kemē, “good”; mē-mū, “better”; mē-nē, “best.”

keding, “tall”; ding-mū, “taller.”

But kàngtui, “high”; kàngtui-mū, “higher”; kàngtui-nē, “highest.”

Comparison is effected by means of the postpositions āpār and āphàn; “his brother is taller than his sister,” ā-tē āpār (or āphàn) ā-kòr ding-mū.

Adjectives commonly follow the noun qualified; when they precede, the construction corresponds to what in Aryan languages would be indicated by the relative pronoun (see below, p. 80).

Numerals.

The cardinal numerals are īsī, one; hīnī, two; kethòm, three; philī, four; phòngō, five; theròk, six; theròk-sī, seven; nērkèp, eight; sirkèp, nine; kèp, ten. It will be seen that seven is six plus one, eight ten minus two, nine ten minus one. From eleven to nineteen krē takes the place of kèp: krē-īsī, eleven; krē-hīnī, twelve; krē-kethòm, thirteen, etc. A score is ingkoi, and from this point onwards the syllable rā is inserted between the multiple of ten and the added units: ingkoi-rā-īsī, twenty-one; ingkoi-rā-hīnī, twenty-two, etc. Thirty, forty, etc. are formed by adding kèp to the multiplier unit: thòm-kèp, philī-kèp, etc. Eighty is theròk-nērkèp, ninety theròk-sērkèp. A hundred is phārō or pārō, a thousand surī.

The numeral follows the noun. In composition hīnī (except with bàng, “person”) is reduced to nī, and kethòm to thòm, as jō-nī jō-thòm, “two or three nights.” Philī and theròk are often contracted to phlī and thròk.

Generic determinatives, as in many other Tibeto-Burman languages, are commonly used with numbers:—

with persons, bàng, as ā-òng-mār kòrtē bàng-theròk, “his uncles, the six brothers”;

with animals, jòn (perhaps an Assamese loan-word), as chelòng jòn-philī, “four buffaloes”;

with trees and things standing up, ròng: thèngpī ròng-theròk “six trees”;

with houses, hum, as hèm hum-theròk-kèp, “sixty houses”;

with flat things, as a mat, a leaf, a knife, pàk: as tār pàk-phòngō, “five mats”; lō pàk-philī, “four leaves”; nōkē pàk-thòm, “three knives”;

with globular things, as an egg, a gourd, a vessel, pum: as vo-tī pum-nī, “two eggs”; bòng pum-theròksī, “seven gourds”;

with parts of the body, and also with rings, bracelets, and other ornaments, hòng: as kèng ē-hòng, “one leg”; roi hòng-nī, “two bracelets.”

One of anything is not formed with īsī, but, if a person is spoken of, īnut (a Khasi loan-word) is used: if anything else, ē- is prefixed to the generic determinative; “one cow,” chainòng ē-jòn; “one tree,” thèngpī ē-ròng; “one book,” puthī ē-pàk; “one egg,” vo-tī ē-pum. This ē- appears to be borrowed from Assamese, where it is shortened from èk.

Ordinals are formed by prefixing bātai to the cardinal, as bātai-kethòm, “third,” bātai philī, “fourth.” They seem to be little used: in the story of Harata Kunwar it will be seen that clumsy periphrases are employed to designate the second, third, fourth, and fifth brother of the family to which the hero belonged. Distributive numeral adverbs are formed by prefixing pur or phòng to the cardinal: pur-thòm or phòng-thòm, “thrice.”

Pronouns.

The following are the personal pronouns:—

1st Person: | nē, I; nē-tum, nē-lī, nē-lī-tum, we, excluding the person addressed: ī-tum, ī-lī, we, including the person addressed;
2nd Person: | nàng, thou; nàng-tum, nàng-lī, nàng-lī-tum, ye;
3rd Person |  | lā, he, she, it; lā-tum, they;
ālàng, he, she; ālàng-lī, ālàng-ātum, ālàng-lī-tum, they.

(The pronoun lā is really a demonstrative, = this, that: it is probable that the original pronoun of the third person was ā.)

These pronouns take the postpositions like nouns. The possessive or genitive prefixes are nē, my, our, excluding the person addressed; ē- or ī-, our, including the person addressed; nàng-, thy, your; ā-, his, her, its, their.

The demonstrative pronouns are—lā, lābàngsō, bàngsō, this; pl. lābàngsō-ātum, these: hālā, hālābàngsō, that; pl. hālā-tum, hālābàngsō-ātum, those. The syllable hā- connotes distance, as dàksī, lādàk, here; hā-dàk, there; hā āhèm che-voi-lo, “he returned home from a distance.”

(There appears once to have been another demonstrative pronoun, pi, pe, pā, still preserved in the compound words pi-nī, “to-day,” penàp, “to-morrow,” pedàp, “this morning,” pāningvē, “to-night.” Instead of pi and pe we also find mi, me, as mi-nī, me-nàp. This survival is important for the purpose of comparison with other Tibeto-Burman languages.)

As in other Tibeto-Burman languages, there is no relative pronoun; its place is taken by descriptive adjectival phrases. Thus “those six brothers who had gone to sell cow’s flesh” is—

lā

Those

chainòng

cow

ā-òk

’s flesh

kejòr-dàm-ā-tum

to sell going (plural)

kòrtē

brothers

bàng-theròk.

persons-six;

“The man whom Tenton had tied with an iron chain” is—

Tèntòn

Tenton

ingchin

iron

ā-nī-pèn

chain-with

ke-kòk

tied-up

ārlèng.

man.

In these constructions, it will be seen, the adjective or qualifying participle precedes the noun.

The interrogative syllable, used to form interrogative pronouns, is ko-: komàt, komàt-sī, who? kopī, pī, what? ko-pu, ko-pu-sī, kolopu, kolopu-sòn, how? ko-àn, ko-ànsī, how many? konàt, konàthu, where? konàm-tu, nàm-tu, nàm-tu-sī, when? Always when the sentence does not contain an interrogative pronoun, and sometimes when it does, the syllable mā at the end marks a question: “Are you afraid,” nàng pherē-dèt mā? Nē (probably an Assamese loan-word) is also used instead of mā: “Will you marry him or not?” do-jī-nē do-dē-nē?

The reflexive pronoun is āmethàng, self; binòng, own; but the most usual way of indicating that the action affects oneself is to prefix the particle che- (chi-, ching-, chēng-, and rarely cho-) to the verbal root: lā hèm che-voi-lo, “he returned home,” i.e. to his own house; ā-òng-mār-ātum che-pu-lo, “his uncles said to one another”; che-hàng-jō, “they asked for themselves.” With initial ing-, che- coalesces to ching: with ār- it unites to form chēr.

Verbs.

The Mikir verb indicates time, past, present, or future, by means of particles prefixed or suffixed to the root. It does not vary for number,¹ gender, or person. There is no separate verb-substantive, though there are several ways of expressing existence, as do, “stay, abide,” used also for “have, possess”; plàng, “become”; làng, “exist, continue (with a sense of incompleteness)”; lē, “arrive, happen,” etc. Great use is made of adjectival or participial forms, and, in narrative, of the conjunctive participle. Compound roots are very extensively used, the principal verb being put first, then the modifying supplements, and last the time-index.

The simple, or indeterminate present is expressed by the participle with ke-, kā-, without any suffix: konàtsī nàng kedo, “where do you live?”; vo kàngjār, “the bird flies”; sārbūrā thī-lòt-sī nē kā-chirū, “the old man having died, I am weeping”; nē-phū ke-sō-kòn, “my head is aching badly.” This tense, as in other languages, is often used historically for the past.

The definite or determinate present is expressed by the same participle with -lo added: lā kopī kànghoi-lo? “What is he doing (now)?”

The habitual present is expressed by the verbal root with -lo: as vo-ātum-kē nē-phū-āthàk ingjār-lo, “the birds fly above our heads.”

The simple or narrative past is formed by the verbal root with -lo or -dèt added: lā pu-lo or pu-dèt, “he said”; nē-phū sō-dèt, “my head was aching”; lā kerī-āphī-sī lòng-lo, “he, after searching, found it.” Sometimes dèt and lo are used together: lā nē ingtòn-dèt-lo, “he abused me.” Dèt may also be used for the present when the state indicated by the verb is one that began in the past and still continues: e.g. “Why are you afraid?” may be rendered kopī āpòtsī nang pherē-dèt, or kopī āpòtsī nàng kāpherē?

The complete past is indicated by the root with tànglo added: lā-āpòtsī ne dām-tànglo, “I went, or had gone, on his account”; telòng lònglē phō-tànglo, “the boat has touched ground.” Tang is a verb meaning “to finish.” There are besides a great number of other particles indicating past time used with particular verbs. Thus, with verbs meaning “to fall,” bup and buk are common: hālā che-koi-bup, “he fell down”; hèm ru-bup, “the house collapsed”; lòng-chòng klī-bup, “the upright memorial stone fell down”; lòng-pàk klō-buk, “the flat memorial stone fell down”; thèng-pī àngsòng-pèn nàng-klō-buk, “he fell down from the top of the tree.” Such particles generally indicate not only past time but abruptness.

A periphrastic past, with the root followed by inghoi-lo, “did,” frequently occurs; this is probably an imitation of Assamese idiom.

Here may be noticed the prefix nàng, used, as the specimens show, with great frequency in narrative. It has the effect of fixing the occurrence to a known place, and may generally be rendered “there.” It is probable that this particle is originally the pronoun of the second person, and that it refers to the knowledge of the person addressed: “as you know,” “as you see.”

The future is represented in two ways: (1) by -po added to the root, to indicate an action beginning now and continuing in the future; as ītum nònkē lābàngsō ākàm āpòtsī pu-po, “we will talk about this affair now;” and (2) by -jī added, for an action which commences later on; as bādu ārlèng-tā thī-jī, “all men will die” (i.e. at some future time). As -po includes the present in the case of continuing action, it may be, and often is, used in a present sense; -jī is restricted to future time.

A compound future may be formed by adding to the root with -jī the words dòkdòk-lo: lā thī-jī dòkdòk-lo, “he is just about to die”; àn chō-jī dòkdòk-lo, “it is near breakfast-time” (rice-eating); àn īk-jī dòkdòk-lo, “the rice is nearly all done.” A doubtful future may be expressed by -jī added to the present participle: konàt chainòng ā-òk-sī dàk-sī kedo-jī, “where should cow’s flesh be here?”

From the above it will be seen that there is much indefiniteness in the indications of time afforded by the Mikir verb: except tàng for the past complete, and -jī for the future, the other suffixes may, according to circumstances, be rendered by the past, present, or future; they may also on occasion be omitted altogether. But the context generally removes all ambiguity.

Conditional phrases are formed by putting -tē or -lē, “if,” at the end of the first member, and the second generally in the future with -jī or -po. Of the conditional future an example is nàng dàm-tē, nàng lā thèk-dàm-jī, “if you go, you will see him.” The conditional past inserts āsòn (“like, supposing that,”) before -tē: dohòn do-āsòn-tē, nē lā nàm-jī, “if I had money, I would buy it.” The conditional pluperfect modifies the second member thus: nàng dàm āsòn-tē, nàng lā lòng-lòk āpòtlo, “if you had gone, you would have got it”; nàng nē thàn āsòn-tē, nē lā klèm tàng-lo, “if you had explained to me, I would have done it.”

The imperative is, for the second person, the bare root, or more usually the root strengthened by the addition of nòn or thā, and dialectically of noi; nòn (= “now”) is the strongest form. The other persons are formed by the addition of nàng (a verb meaning “to be necessary”) to the future in -po or present in -lo: “let us go” is ī-tum dàm-po-nàng; “let us go to the field and plough,” rīt hai-bai dàm-lo-nàng. We may, for the third person, use the causative form of the verb: lā-kē pedàm-nòn, “let him go.”

Participles. The present participle has the form of the adjective, with the prefixed ke- (ki-) or kā-; as kedàm, “going,” kā-chirū, “weeping.” The past participle is the root or the present participle with tàng added: dàm-tàng, “gone,” thèk-tàng, “having seen,” kā-pàngtu-tàng, “fattened.”

Perhaps the most used form of the verb, especially in narrative, is the conjunctive participle, which is either the bare root, or the root with -sī; hèm che-voi-sī thèk-lo, “having returned home, he saw.” When the past is indicated, dèt is used, either with or without -sī, as chō-dèt jun-dèt, sārburā, tòn-ārlo kaibòng pātu-joi-sī, ī-lo, “having finished eating and drinking, the old man, having quietly hidden his club in a basket, lay down”; Tèntòn, dohòn-ālàngbòng lòng-sī, rīt dàm-dē-dèt-sī, kàt-jui-lo, “Tenton, having got the bamboo-joint with the money, without returning to the field, ran away.”

When the phrase in which the conjunctive participle occurs is terminated by an imperative, the suffix is not -sī but -rā: “having eaten your rice, go,” is àn chō-rā dàm-nòn; but “having eaten his rice, he went,” is ān chōdèt-sī dàm-lo. While -sī links together parts of a narrative, -rā links together a string of imperatives.

The infinitive or verbal noun is identical in form with the present participle; kum-kiròt tàngtē kekàn ārkī nàng ārju-lònglo, “he heard (got to hear) there (nàng) the sound (ārkī) of fiddle (kum) scraping (ki-ròt) and dancing (ke-kàn).” All words beginning with ke-, ki-, and kā- may therefore be regarded as (1) adjectives, (2) participles forming tenses of the verb, or (3) verbal nouns; and it will be seen from the analysis of the specimens how clearly this at first sight strange allocation of forms can be made to express the required sense.

In all Tibeto-Burman languages the passive voice is either non-existent or little used; a sentence which in English would be stated passively is turned the other way, and appears in an active form. Thus—“Four trees were uprooted by the wind” would be rendered tomòn thèngpī ròng-philī pi-pur-koi-lo, “the wind uprooted four trees”; “this house has been thrown down by an earthquake” is chiklī-sī lābàngsō āhèm pi-ru-hup-lo, “an earthquake has thrown down this house.” Sometimes a passive may be expressed by a periphrasis, as “I was beaten,” nē kechòk èn-tàng, lit. “I received a beating.” The only unquestionable example of a passive is in the case of past participles, and here the passive is expressed by the simple expedient of putting the participle before instead of after the noun: bàng kevàn āhòr, “the drink brought by people”; mājā kelòng ārlèng, “a man bewitched”; nē ke-pī ā-àn āhòr, “the to-me-given rice and beer.” This construction is exactly parallel to the method (explained above) of expressing the relative phrase by putting the adjective first, instead of after the noun, and is in fact another case of the same idiom. The participle, which may also (as just explained) be regarded as a verbal noun, comes before the subject of the sentence, because the action passes on to the subject, instead of emanating from it, as in an active construction. We are tempted to think that languages which lack what seems to European modes of thought such essential elements as a relative pronoun and a passive voice cannot be capable of any subtlety of expression; yet this phenomenon is common to forms of speech like Tibetan, Burmese, and Chinese, which possess vast literatures dealing with all kinds of subjects, and in which it is possible to render ideas of the greatest complexity and variety. Even in Europe, the clearest and most logical of languages, French, prefers to use the active form of phrase (with on) rather than the passive.

The negative verb is a very interesting and remarkable feature of the language. A separate negative root, formed by prefixing or suffixing a negative particle, and conjugated in the same way as the positive, is indeed a common property of Tibeto-Burman speech; but in Mikir this secondary root is formed in a peculiar manner. The negating syllable -ē is added to the primitive, as un, “can,” un-ē, “cannot”; òng, “be much,” òng-e, “be not much”; ī, “lie down,” ī-ē, “not lie down.” But when the root begins with a consonant or a nexus of consonants, and is monosyllabic, the consonant or nexus is repeated before the added vowel: thèk, “see, be able”; thèk-thē, “not see, be unable”; dàm, “go,” dàm-dē, “not go”; kroi, “believe, obey,” kroi-krē, “disbelieve, disobey”; mèk-pràng, “eye-open, awake,” mèk-pràng-prē, “not awake.” When the verb is of two or more syllables, the last is chosen for reduplication: inghoi, “do,” inghoi-hē, “not do”; ingjinsō, “show mercy,” ingjinsō-sē, “not show mercy”; chini (Ass. loan-word), “recognise,” chini-nē, “not recognise.”

The secondary root thus obtained is treated in construction just like the positive root, and takes the tense-suffixes: pàk-tā pī-vàng-vē-dèt-lo, “anybody to give him (anything) came not.” The time-index is, however, with negative verbs more often dropped as unnecessary, owing to the context showing what the time-relation is.

In the imperative the reduplication is not used; the particle -rī is added to the positive root, with or without nòn as well: thèk-nòn, “see!”; thèk-rī, or thèk-rī-nòn, “see not!”

It may be added that this method of forming the negative by reduplication is also applied to verbal adjectives in ke-, ki-, kā-, which thereupon usually drop the prefix: kesō, “in pain, sick”; sō-sē, “not sick, well”; but kàngjinsō, “merciful”; kàng-jinso-sē, “merciless.”

Besides this organic negative, there is a periphrastic negative formed by adding the word āvē, “is not”: Ārnàm ābàng āvē, kechèng āvē, kāpetàng āvē, “God has no body, no beginning, no end” (lit. “God his body is not, beginning is not, end is not”). The ā in āvē is the usual ā of relation, and may be dropped: ālàm-āvē “without a word”; làm-vē, “word-less, dumb.” Kā- may be prefixed, forming kāvē, used as an adjectival negative: kopai (Ass. kopāl), “fortune,” kopai-kāvē, “unfortunate.” Another negative used separately, in emphatic assertions, is kālī: tovār nàng kepèk-jī kālī, “the way I will by no means yield to you”; nē-thibuk kālī, “it is not my water-jar.”

The causal verb is formed by prefixing the syllable pe-, pī̆-, pā-2 to the root: this is probably the verb pī, meaning “to give”; e.g. chō, “eat,” pechō, “feed”; tàng, “finish,” petàng, “cause to finish, end”; ingrum, “be gathered together,” pàngrum, “collect”; vīrdèt, “be lost,” pī-vīrdèt, “destroy.” This syllable takes precedure of che- in reflexive verbs: ē-chainòng ē-pā-chi-thū-koi-làng, “he has caused us to slaughter all our cows”: here ē- is the pronoun of the first person plural inclusive of the addressee; pā-, the causal prefix; chi-, the reflexive particle, indicating that the cattle slaughtered were their own; thū, a verb, “to kill by cutting”; koi, a particle indicating completeness; làng, the tense-suffix.

Compound verbs meet us at every step in Mikir. Roots are heaped together, and the compound is closed by the tense-suffix. Ordinarily the first root determines the general meaning of the compound, the rest being adverbial supplements of modifying force:—chirū-pī-lèm-lo, “he pretended to weep” (chirū, “weep,” lèm, “seem, appear,” pī-lèm, “cause to seem, pretend”); ke-phlòng-dàm ābàng, “somebody who will go and set fire (to the funeral pile)” (phlòng, “kindle,” dàm, “go”); kroi-dun-lo, “she consented” (kroi, “agree, obey,” dun, “go or be with another”); nē do-dun-jī-mā, “will you stay with me?” (do, “stay,” dun, as above). The texts which follow supply a multitude of other examples.

These adverbial supplements to verbs, inserted between the principal verb and the tense-suffixes, are a very characteristic feature of the language, and their proper use is one of the most difficult things for a learner to master. Certain roots take constant supplements of this kind, and are scarcely ever found without them; thus the verbs thī, “die,” ī, “lie down to sleep,” and jàng, “close the eyes,” are almost invariably followed by lòt; rèng, “to live,” takes èt before verbal suffixes; lòng, “to get,” takes lòk; chingbār, “to be equal (in size, weight, height),” and chingdòn, “to be equal in length,” take chit; inghòn, “to love,” and ingjinsō, “to pity,” both take duk; jòk and thèt, both meaning “to escape, get loose,” take phlòt. The complements for verbs meaning “to fall” have been mentioned above (p. 82). These supplements frequently cause the tense-endings to be dispensed with, in which case the action is understood to be in the narrative past or historic present. No doubt most of them were originally separate verbal roots, but are not now capable of being used separately.

The brief outline given above will, it is hoped, enable the reader to apprehend the general construction of the narratives which follow, and display the language in action; for further analysis reference should be made to the notes appended to the texts.

I.

CHÒNGHŌLOSŌ

FROG

ĀTOMŌ.

STORY.

Ārnī-sī

Day-one

mīsō-ròngpō

a big black ant

ā-òng

(to) his uncle

àn

rice

che-thòn-dàmlo.

to carry went.

Chònghōlosō

a frog

tovār

the way

ingnī-thīp.

sat down and blocked.

Ànsī

Then

mīsō

the ant

pulo:

said:

“Tovār

“The way

nē

for me

pèk-thā,

leave free,

chònghōlosō;

frog;

nē

I

nē-òng

my-uncle

àn

rice

chethòn-dàm-jī.”

carry-go-will.”

Chònghōlosō

The frog

pudèt:

answered:

“Nē-rum

“Under me

nē-lut-thòt-rā

entering (creeping)|

dàm-tē:

go your way:

pàktā

every one

nē-rum-sī

under me

dàm-hòr-lē.”

passes.”

Mīsō

The ant

pudèt:

said:

“Ne-òng

“My uncle’s

ā-àn

rice

bòr

leaf-bundle

do-kòk-lē,

being tied up,

pusī

how

nàng-rum-lē

you-underneath

nàng-kelut-thèk-jī?”

enter, creep, shall I be able?”

Ànsī

So

chònghō-tā

the frog

pèk-pē,

would not give way,

mīsō-tā

the ant

dàm-dē.

could no go.

Ànsī

So

nērlo

day

chitīm-lo.

became middle.

Ànsī

So

mīsō—“Ai,

the ant— “Oh,

nē-òng

my uncle

àn-ingchīr-sī

rice-hunger-in

āning-nē-thī-po”

angry with me will be”

pulo;

said;

chònghōlosō-ārum

the frog-under

lut-thòt-lo.

he entered, crept.

Àn-lo

Then

chònghōlosō

the frog

mīsō-āthàk

the ant-upon

ingnī-dun-chèt-lo.

sat-down-flat.

Lāsī

Thereupon

mīsō-ròngpō

the big black ant

chònghōlosō

the frog’s

ā-mī

loins

kòr-ràk.

bit-severely.

Ànsī

Then

chònghō

the frog

āning-thī-ning-thī

becoming very angry

kārlē-sārpō-ā-dòn

squirrel-big-old’s ladder

chòn-rai.

(on) jumped and broke.

Kārlē-sārpō

The big old squirrel

āningthī-ningthī

becoming very angry

hànthār-ā-kòk

gourd’s stem

ròt-pèt.

cut in two.

Hànthār

The gourd

āningthī-ningthī

becoming very angry

phàk-belèngpī ā-moi

a wild boar’s back (on)

klō-dup.

fell plump.

Phàk-belèngpī

The wild boar

āningthī-ningthī

becoming very angry

lō-bòng

a plantain-tree

thīmur-phàk.

rooted up.

Lōbòng

The plantain-tree

āningthī-ningthī

becoming very angry

vo-ārbīpī

a sparrow

ā-tār

’s nest

sàp-rai.

struck and broke.

Vo-ārbīpī

The sparrow

āningthī-ningthī

becoming very angry

ingnār

an elephant

nō-thòng-pō

deaf-big

ā-nō

’s ear

lut-thòt.

entered.

Ingnār

The elephant

nō-thòng-pō

deaf-big

āningthī-ningthī

becoming very angry

arlòng

a rock

hēlàng-phlut.

tore up suddenly.

Ārlòng

The rock

āningthī-ningthī

becoming very angry

Rēchō-

the King

ā-sō

’s son

kònglòng-pī-bup.

rolling-down killed.

Ànsī

Then

Rēchō

the King

nàng-bisār-lo:

made an enquiry:

“Màt-sī

“Who

nē-pō

my son

pithī-lòtlo?”

has killed?”

“Ai,

“Oh,

arlòng-sī

the rock

kònglòng-bup,”

rolled down on him,”

pulo.

they said.

Ànsī

Then

ārlòng

the rock

ārju-dàmlo:

he summoned to answer:

“O ārlòng,

“O rock,

ārlòng!

rock!

pī-āpòt

for what reason

nàng

you

nē-sō

my son

kònglòng-bup?”

did roll down upon?”

Ārlòng

The rock

pudèt:

said:

“Chē!

“Oh!

Hèmphū-ārnàm-rēchō,

Lord-God-King,

pī

how

nē

I

kònglòng-bup-bē-jī?

to roll down-not was I?

Ingnār

The elephant

nō-thòngpō-sī

big-deaf

nē

me

hēlàng-phlut-lē

torn up suddenly having,

nē

me

doi-phit-lo;

pushed out;

nē-kē

as for me,

nē-rī āvē,

(to) me hands are not,

nē-kèng āvē,

(to) me legs are not,

kolo-pu-sī

how then

chēr-chàk-thèk-jī?

withstand could I?

Nàng-sōpō

Your honourable son

nē

my

kekònglòng ā-tovār

rolling down-path

dokòksī,

being-in,

nē

I

kònglòng-bup-lo-tē.”

rolled down upon him accordingly.”

Ànsī

Then

Rēchō

the king

pulo:

said:

“Mai!

“Oh!

lā

that

ingnār

elephant

nō-thòng-pō

deaf-big

lā-ànsèt bòn-hē”—

that so much (trouble) caused”—

pusi,

saying,

ingnār

elephant

nō-thòng-pō

deaf-big

ārju-dàm-lo.

summoned.

“O ingnār

“O elephant,

ingnār!

elephant!

kopi-āpòt

for what reason

nàng

you

ārlòng

the rock

hēlàng-phlut?”

tore up suddenly?”

Ingnār

The elephant

pudèt:

answered:

“Chē!

“Oh,

pī

how

nē

I

hēlàng-phlut-phlē-jī,

was to help tearing it up,

Hèmphū ārnàm?

Lord God?

Vo-ārbīpī

The sparrow

nē-nō

my ear

nē-kelut-thòt-sī,

having entered into,

nē ā-bīdī

my wits

thèk-thē-dèt-lo-lē,

having lost control of me,

lā-hēlo

therefore

nē

I

ārlòng

the rock

hēlàng-phlut.”

tore up suddenly.”

Ànsī

Then

Rēchō

the King

pudèt—“Mai!

said—“Oh!

lā

that

vo-ārbīpī

sparrow

lā-ànpin

that so much

bòn-hē”

(trouble) caused”

pu,

saying,

ārju-dàmlo.

summoned.

“O vo-ārbīpī

“O sparrow,

voārbīpī!

sparrow!

ingnār ā-nō

elephant’s ear

kopi-āpòt

for what reason

nàng lut-thòt?”

did you enter?”

Voārbīpī

The sparrow

thàkdèt—

answered—

“Chē!

“Oh!

Hèmphū!

Lord!

pī

how

nē

I

lut-lē-jī?

was I not to enter?

lōbòng

the plantain-stalk

nē-tār

my nest

kesàp-rai-lē,

falling on having broken,

lā-hēlo

therefore

nē-ning

my mind

oi-òng,

being very disturbed,

nē

I

ingnār ā-nō

elephant’s ear

lut-thòt.”

entered.”

Ànsī

Then

Rēchō

the King

pu—“Mai!

said—“Oh!

lā lōbòng

that plantain-stalk,

lāpu

it seems;

ànpin bòn-hē”—

so much (trouble) caused”—

pusi

saying

ārju-dàm-lo.

he summoned.

“O lōbòng

“O plantain,

lōbòng!

plantain!

nàng

you

kopi-āpòt

for what reason

vo-ārbīpī

the sparrow’s

ā-tār

nest

sàp-rai?”

fell upon and broke?”

Lōbòng

The plantain

pudèt—“Chē!

said—“Oh!

pī

how

nē

I

sàp-rai-rē-jī,

was not to fall and break,

Hèmphū

Lord|

ārnàm?

God?

Phàk-belèng-pī-sī

The wild boar

nē

me

kāthīmur-phàk-le:

rooted me up suddenly:

nē

I

thīmur-phàk-lo-tē

having been rooted up,

nē

I

ingkur

root

kāve-dèt-lo-lē:

none had at all:

kopu-si

how

nē

I

kārjàp thèk-jī-làng?

standing-up was to be able to continue?

Thàngbàk

Any

nē-rī

to me-hand

nē-kèng

to me-leg being,

lē-kedo

existing,

kālī-dèt-lē.”

not-at-all there is.”

“Mai!

“Oh!

lā phàk

that pig,

pu

it seems,

àn-pin bon-hē,”

all the (trouble) caused,”

pu

saying

Rēchō pulo.

the King said.

Ànsī phāk-āphàn

So the pig (accus.)

ārju-dàm-lo.

he summoned.

“O phàk phàk!

“O pig, pig!

pī-āpòt nàng

for what reason you

lōbòng

the plantain

thīmur-phàk”?

rooted up”?

Phàk

The pig

pudèt

answered

“Pī

“How

nē

I

thīmur-phàk-phē-jī?

could help rooting it up?

Nē

(as) I

chōpàn-vèk,

was feeding, grazing,

mamàtsī

suddenly,

hànthār

the gourd

nē-moi

my back (on)

keklō-dàp-lē:

came tumbling down:

lā-hēlo

therefore

kesō-òng

being in great pain

nē

I

lōbòng thīmur-phàk.”

the plantain rooted up.”

Ànsī

So

Rēchō—

the king—

“Mai!

“Oh!

hànthār

the gourd,

pu

then,

àn-pin bòn-hē”

all this (trouble) caused,”

pusi

saying

hànthār

the gourd

ārju-dàm-lo.

summoned.

“O hànthār hànthār!

“O gourd, gourd!

pī-āpòt

for what

phàk-belèng-pī

reason the wild boar

ā-moi

’s back (on)

nàng

you

klō-dup?”

fell-plump?”

“Pī

“How

nē

I

klō-dup-dē-jī,

could help falling?

Hèmphū

Lord

Ārnàm?

God?

Kārlē-sī

The squirrel

nē-kòk

my stem (to me)

nē-keròt-pèt-lē,

having cut through,

nē-kē

I

thàngbàk

at all

nē-rī, nē-kèng

to me hand, to me foot

lē-kedo kālī-dèt,

there-not-existing,

nē-kòk

my stem,

īsī-pèt

one-only,

àn-hēlo,

so much having,

lā-lē

that if

nē ròt-pèt-lo-tē,

to me is cut through,

nē

I

klō-nàng-po.

must necessarily fall.

Phàk-belèng-pī

The wild boar

ā-moi

’s back (on)

keklō-nàng-dup.”

falling became necessary.”

Ànsī

So

Rēchō

the King

pu-lē-lo—“Mai!

said again—“Oh!

lā kārlē

that squirrel

pu

then

àn-pin

so much

bònhē”

(trouble) caused”

pusi

saying

kārlē

the squirrel

ārju-dàm-lo.

summoned.

“O kārlē

“O squirrel,

kārlē!

squirrel!

kopī-āpòt

for what reason

nàng

did you

hànthār

the gourd

ā-kòk

’s stem

ròt-pèt?”

cut through?”

Kārlē

The squirrel

pudèt—

said—

“Chē!

“Oh,

pī nē

how I was

ròt-rē-jī,

not to cut it,

Hèmphū

Lord

Ārnàm?

God?

Chònghōlosō-sī

The frog

nē-dòn

my ladder

chòn-rai-lē.

(on) jumping broke.

Lāsī

Therefore

nē

to me

tovār

a road

āvē-dèt-lo:

did not remain:

nē

I

hànthār

the gourd ‘s

ā-kòk

stem

ròt-pèt.”

had to cut.”

Rēchō

The King

pudèt—

said—

“Mai!

“Oh!

lā chònghō

that frog,

lā-pu

it seems,

àn-pin

so much (trouble)

bòn-hē”

caused”

pusi

saying

ārju-dàm-lo.

he summoned.

“O chònghōlosō

“O frog,

chònghōlosō!

frog!

kopī-āpòt

for what reason

nàng

you

kārlē ā-dòn

the squirrel’s ladder

chòn-rai?”

jumping on broke?”

Chònghō

The frog

thàkdèt—

answered—

“Pī

“How

nē

I

chòn-rai-rē-jī?

was to help jumping on and breaking?

Mīsō-ròng-pō-sī

The big black ant

nē-mī

my loins,

nē-kē

even me,

kòr-ràk-lē:

bit hard:

lā kesō-òng-sī

that pain-great-from

nē

I

kārlē-ādòn-bō-pō

squirrel’s ladder (honorific)

nē

I

chini-nē-dèt-si chòn-rai-tē.”

not knowingly jumped upon and broke.”

Rēchō

The King

pu-lē-lo—

said again—

“Mai!

“Oh!

mīsō

the ant,

pu

then,

àn-pin

caused all the

bòn-hē”

trouble”

pusi

saying

ārju-dàm-lo.

summoned.

“O mīsō

“O ant,

mīsō!

ant!

pī-āpòt

what-for

nàng

did you

chònghōlosō-ā-mī

the frog’s loins

kòr-ràk?”

bite severely?”

Mīsō

The ant

pudèt—

said—

“Pī

“How

nē

I

kòr-ràk-rē-jī?

was to help biting him?

Ādàp

In the morning

nē-òng

to my uncle

àn

rice

che-thòn-dàm-lo:

I was going along carrying:

Chònghō

the frog

tovār

the road

ingnī-thīp.

sitting down blocked.

Lā-lo

Thereupon

nē

I

‘tovār

‘road

nē

to me

pèk-thā’

free-leave’

pulo:

said:

‘nē-rum-lē lut-nòn’

‘me underneath creep’

pu.

he said.

Nē

I

lut-thòt-lo:

crept under him:

chònghō

the frog

nē-thàk nē ingnī-thīp;

on the top of me sat down tight;

lāsī

therefore

nē

I

ā-mī

his loins

kòr-ràk.”

bit-severely.”

Ànsī

Then

Rēchō

the King

pulo—“Nàng

said—“You

bàng-hīnī

persons-two

kelèt-dèt.”

guilty-are.”

Mīsō-kē

The ant

chujèng-pèn

hair of head-with

kòk-chèk-lo:

they tied-firmly:

nòn

now

ā-vàm chèng-jàn.

his-waist is very slender.

Chònghō-ke

The frog

tārmē-làng-bòng-pèn

a blistering creeper-with

sàp-phràt-phràt;

they soundly thrashed;

lāsī

therefore

nòn

now

phròk-se-nòk-tòk.

he is speckled all over.

NOTES.

This simple and direct narrative, easy of analysis, affords an excellent illustration of the mechanism of Mikir speech. First, we observe that the indication of time is put at the beginning of the sentence: ārnī-sī, “one day”; ādàp, “in the morning.” Then follows the subject, then the object, and last the verb, with all its qualifications. The most frequent conjunction is ànsī, “and, so,” which appears to be made up of àn, the particle indicating quantity, and sī, the particle indicating locality, used also for the conjunctive participle; the meaning would then be—“so much having passed (what follows comes next).” Àn-kē, àn-lē and àn-lo have the same force.

For the tenses we find the usual suffixes, -lo, -dèt, for the narrative past, -po for the present-future, and -jī for the future. In the narrative a much-used auxiliary is -lē, which means “having arrived.” The passage is remarkable for the number of cases in which, no ambiguity being possible, the tense-particle is omitted, and the past is expressed by the bare root, without, or more commonly with, an adverbial supplement. Thus, we have pulo, pudèt, and pu for “said”; ingnī-thīp, “he sat down and blocked,” kòr-ràk, “bit severely,” chòn-rai, “jumped upon and broke,” ròt-pèt, “cut in two,” klō-dup, “fell plump,” thīmur-phàk, “rooted up,” sàp-rai, “struck and broke,” lut-thòt, “entered,” hēlàng-phlut, “tore up suddenly,” pī-bup, “killed by tumbling on him,” chò-pàn-vèk, “was feeding, grazing,” sàp-phràt-phràt, “beat soundly.” Then, we notice that the great majority of these cases are examples of roots qualified by the addition of a particle which, while not used separately by itself, gives energy and definiteness to the verbal root; this method of heightening the force of verbs is a great characteristic of Mikir diction, and is at once the chief beauty and the chief difficulty (to a foreigner) of the language. The adverbial particles so used are very numerous, but they are appropriated to particular verbal roots, and if they were wrongly applied the result would be nonsense. Thus, the particle lòt is used with three verbs only, thī, “die,” ī, “lie down,” and jàng “close the eyes,” and always precedes the verbal suffixes with these roots: it cannot be used with any other. Thòt, again, always occurs with lut, “to enter,” jòk and vār, “to throw.” Bup conveys the idea of a sudden blow or fall, and is used with verbs of falling or striking. Dàp and dup seem to have much the same force. Pèt, koi, klip are particles used to indicate completeness; lut-pèt-lo, “all have gone in,” ròt-pèt-lo, “he cut through,” chō-koi-lo, “he ate up,” thū-koi-lo, “he killed them all,” chō-klip-lo, “he devoured them.” Several of these auxiliary particles seem to be onomatopoetic.

Much resembling the use of these particles are the cases in which verbal roots are combined together to form a single expression. Thus, in our story, thòn-dàm-lo “he carrying went”; do-kòk-lē “remaining tied-up”; ingnī-dun-chèt-lo “he sat down suddenly (chèt) when the ant was passing (dun)” (dun means “to be with,” and is constantly used as an auxiliary, but can also be employed alone in the sense “to go with”); ārju-dàm-lo “he summoned to answer”; nē klō-nàng-po “I must necessarily fall” (nàng, verb of necessity).

The story gives a number of examples of the remarkable Mikir negative verb: pèk-pē, “did not give way (pèk)”; dàm-dē, “did not go”; pī nē kònglòng-bup-bē-jī, “how was I not to roll down upon him and smash him?” where the negative syllable bē borrows the initial consonant of the qualifying particle bup; similarly, hēlàng-phlut-phlē “not suddenly root up”; sàp-raī-rē “not strike and break”; chòn-rai-rē “not jump upon and break”; chini-nē-dèt-sī “not knowing” (where chini is a loan-word from Assamese).

As regards vocabulary, thā in nē-pèk-thā is the imperative particle: another such particle (rarely occurring) is tē in nē lut-thòt-rā dàm-tē; rā is used as the suffix of the conjunctive participle in a string of imperatives. Hòr in dàm-hòr-lē indicates plurality: “every one has to pass under me”; other such particles are jō and jàm. Tā in chònghō-tā and mīsō-tā gives definiteness and emphasis; so also kē in nē-kē, &c. Sārpō in kārlē sārpō means “big chief”: pō is a syllable added to give honour and dignity. Notice intensiveness indicated by reduplication in āningthī-ningthī, “very angry”; ning-thī, angry, is made up of ning, mind, and thī to be vexed (also to die). Hànthār: see note on p. 46. Ròt-pèt means to cut down a slender stem or twig by drawing a knife across it: pī-pèt to cut down a thick trunk of a tree; ròt is used for drawing a bow across a fiddle in kum-kiròt “fiddle-scraping.” Belèng means a shovel or tray for winnowing rice; phàk-belèng-pī is a wild pig, because he roots about in the earth with his snout like a shovel; -pī is a syllable used to form augmentatives, as -sō indicates a diminutive. Bisār, to hold a judicial inquiry, is Assamese. Hèmphū, “owner,” the God Mikirs belong to. Vo-ārbīpī, “a small bird, the size of a sparrow” (not the sparrow itself, which in Mikir is vo-puru). Nē chōpàn-vèk, “I was grazing”; chōpàn is used of feeding for animals only; vèk (or vèk-vèk) is a particle indicating continuance. Mamàtsī is used of some sudden and unpleasant interruption: klèm-vèk-vèk mamàtsī thī-lo, “he died suddenly as he was working”; nē àn chō-vèk mamàtsī nē chòk-dèt, “he beat me while I was eating.” Notice, finally, nòn, the particle most often used to indicate a strong imperative, here in its original sense of “now”; in this meaning it is usually emphasised by adding kē or lē, nònkē, nònlē.

II.

JÀNGRĒSŌ

THE ORPHAN

PÈN

AND

Ā-ÒNG-ĀTUM

HIS UNCLES

ATOMŌ.

’ STORY.

Hākō

Once on a time

inut

one

āhèm-ēpī

widow

āsōpō

a son

inut-pèt

only one

do;

had;

lā

she

āchèklē-mār

(woman’s) brothers (plural)

kòrtē

brothers

bàng-theròk

persons-six

do.

had.

Ànsī

Now

ārnī-sī

one day

ārnī-kàngsàm

in the cool of the day (evening)

ā-òngmār-ātum

his maternal uncles

vàng-sī

having come

jàngrēsō-āphàn

the orphan (accus.)

nàng-hànglo—

called-to—

“Osā́!

“Nephew!

rū

fish-trap

cho-dū-dàm-nàng.”

set up-go-let-us.”

Ànsī

So

jàngrēsō-tā

the orphan

dun-lo.

went with them.

Ànsī

Then

āòng-mār

his uncles,

kòrtē bàng-theròk-kē

the brothers persons-six,

làng-thàk-sī

up-stream

pàt

a dam

mē-sèn-sī

having well built

rū

the trap

dū-lo.

set up.

Jàngrēsō-kē

The orphan

ā-òngmār-ātum

his uncles

ā-rū-pàt

’ trap-dam

ā-bēr-sī

below

ārlòng

stones

dū-ī

having set up

phàng-ō-phàng-ā-sī

carelessly, disorderly,

rū

trap

dū-lo,

set up,

ànsī

and

hèm

home

nàng-che-voi-lo.

returned.

Ànsī

Then

lātum

they

ādàp

in the morning

rū

the trap-their

che-vàt-dàm-lo.

went to inspect.

Ā-òngmār-ātum

His uncles

ā-rū-pàt

’ trap-dam

àn

so very

kepàt-pemē-tā,

well-built though,

chikung-chikàng-tā

one cray-fish even

che-vār-thòt-thē;

had not thrown itself into it;

jàngrēsō ā-rū

the orphan’s trap

pukē,

as for,

òk

fish

kejàng

holding, entering

ā-rū

his trap

tèngsèt.

was quite full

Ànsī

Then

ā-òngmār-ātum

his uncles

pulo—

said—

“Osā́!

“Nephew!

nētum

we

dàk

here

rū

trap

pàt-po,

will build,

nànglī-kē

do you

làng-bēr-lē

down-stream

pàt-dàm-thu-nòn.”

go and set your dam again.”

Ànsī

So

jàngrēsō

the orphan’s

ā-rū-pàt

trap-dam (in)

ā-òng-mār-ātum

his uncles

ā-rū

their trap

dū-sī,

having set up,

jàngrēsō-kē

the orphan

làngbērsī

down stream

pàt-dàm-thu-lo;

again built his dam;

bònta

but

òk

the fish

kejàng

holding

lāpu-thàk-thàk,

just that same way,

ā-òngmār-ātum

the uncles

ā-rū-kē

’ trap

òk-ējòn-nàt-tā

one single fish even

jàng-thòt-thē,

did not hold,

jàngrēsō

the orphan’s

ā-rū-kē

trap

òk

fish

kejàng

holding

plèngsèt-plèngsèt.

was quite full.

Ànsī

So

ādàp-vàng-tā

morning-every

jàngrēsō

the orphan’s

ā-rū-pàt

trap-dam

ā-òng-ātum

his uncles

che-rai-vēr-lo.

took for themselves continually.

Lāsī

Therefore

ādàp-vàng

every morning

ālòng

a place

kāprèk

different (in)

rū-pàt

trap-set-up

selèt-òng-sī,

becoming very weary,

ādàp-īsī-kē

morning one

rū

the trap

dū-tekàng-kē-dètsī,

not setting up at all,

bàp

grass

ā-phàng-āthàk

clump upon

bī

placing

tekàng-kòk.

he left it.

Ànsī

So

ādàp

morning

lē-lō,

arrived,

ā-òngmār-ātum

his uncles

vàng-sī

having come

jàngrēsō-āphàn

to the orphan

nàng-hàng-lo:

called out:

“Osā́,

“Nephew!

rū chevàt-dàm-lē-lo-nàng.”

our traps let us go again and visit.”

Ànsī

Then

jàngrēsō

the orphan

pulo:

said:

“Nēlī-kē

“As for me,

rū-tā

a trap

dū-tekàng-kē;

I have not even set up;

dā

come,

bòntā,

nevertheless,

nànglītum-ārī

(as) your companion

nàng-dun-jī,”

I will go with you,”

pusī dun-lo.

so saying he went with them.

Ànsī

Then

ā-rū

his trap

che-làng-dàmlo.

he went to look at.

Vo-thung

A wood-pigeon

lut-thòt

having entered

thèk-dàm-lo.

he found.

Ànsī

So

lābàngsō

that

ā-vo-thung

wood pigeon

ārī

his cord (with)

chekòksī

having tied up

hèm

home

che-vàn-lo.

he bought.

Lābàngsō

That

ā-jàngrēsō

orphan

chainòng-āsō-tā

a cow’s child (a calf)

ē-jòn do,

also one had,

lā

it

kàngtu

fat

pukē

so very,

māthā-thèk-thē jādi-thèk-thē,

as could not be imagined (doublet)

nei-bòt àn-pin.

very sleek so greatly.

Ànkē

Now

ā-òngmār-ātum

his uncles

làng-un-ē-sī

to look at-being unable (through envy)

lābàngsō

that

ā-chainòng-āsō

calf

thū-pèt-lo.

killed (entirely).

Ànsī

Then

jàngrēsō

the orphan

lābàngsō

that

ā-chainòng-āsō

calf’s

ā-rèng

skin

lumsī

having taken off,

ākèng-ēhòng

leg one

hā

to a distance

bāmòn

a brahman

kirī-pō

rich-big’s

ā-hèm

house (to)

pòn-sī

taking,

pātu-dàm-joi-lo.

hid it quietly.

Ànsī

Then

jàngrēsō:

the orphan (said):

“Mai!

“Oh!

hèm-tā

the house

chainòng-ā-òk

cow’s flesh (of)

āngnim-hai-òng-hē!”

smells strongly!”

Ànkē

Then

bāmòn-pō

the big brahman,

āningthī-sī

becoming angry,

pulo:

said:

“Tèkē nàng-kòrdut-pī ā-osṓ!

“Tiger-bitten boy!

konàt

where

āchainòng-ā-òksī

cow’s flesh

dàk-lē

here

ke-do-jī?

should be?

Nē-kē

I

bāmòn-lē.

am a brahman.

Nàng

You

peklàng

produce, show,

thèk-sēr-mā-sī:

must be able to:

thèkthē-lē

you cannot-if,

nàng-pràn

your life

nàng-èn-jī.”

I will take here.”

Ànsī

Then

jàngrēsō

the orphan

pulo—

said—

“Dei,

“Very well,

tàngtē

then

nē

I

ri-po,”

will search,”

pu-sī

saying

ri-lo.

he searched:

Ri-phàng-ō-phàng-ā-sī,

searching carelessly,

ālàng

he

kāpātu-ālòng

hiding-place (to)

dàm-si

going

chainòng-āsō

the calf’s

ā-kèng

leg

vung-dàm-phlut

pull out suddenly

inghoi-lo:

did:

“Làng-nòn,

“See-now,

chainòng

cow’s

ā-òk

flesh

do,”

there is,”

pu—

saying—

“nē

“I

nàng pu-lo-hē!”

told you so!”

Ànsī

Then

bāmòn pō—

the big brahman—

“Bàng-kāprèk-ātum

“people other (plur.)

vàng-thèk-dun-tē,

come-see-together-if,

nē-jàt

my-caste

vīrdèt-jī”

will be destroyed”

pu,

saying,

pherē-sī

fearing

jàngrēsō-āphàn

the orphan-to

pulo:

said:

“Jàngrēsō,

“Orphan,

pō-ārnàm-pō!

my good sir!

pàk-tà

any one

thàn-ri-nòn!

do not tell!

dohòn

money

màntung-īsī

a cloth-full-one

nàng

you

pī-po”—

I will give,”

pusī

saying

dohòn

money

màntung-īsī

a cloth-full

pīlo.

gave.

Ànsī

Then

jàngrēsō

the orphan

lābàngsō

that

ādohòn

money

pòn-sī

taking with him

hèm

home

che-voi-lo.

returned.

Hèm

House

che-lē-lo,

his he arrived,

ànsī

and

ā-pei

his mother (to)

che-pu-lo:

said:

“nē-òng-ātum

“my uncles’

ā-tòn

basket

hàng-dàm-thā.”

go-ask-for.”

Ànsī

So

ā-pei

his mother

dàm-sī

going

hàng-dàm-lo:

asked for it:

“Īk-mār-lī!

“Brothers!

nànglī

your

osā́

nephew

kipu,

says,

‘tòn tànghō.’”

‘a basket I want’”

Ànsī

So

tòn nàng-lō-lo.

a basket they sent.

Ànsī

Then

hèm-ēpi

the widow’s

ā-īk-mār-ātum

brothers

tòn pīsī

the basket having given

che-pu-lo—

said among themselves—

“Tòn

“The basket

pī

what

kànghoi-ī-jī-nē?

is to do with?

làng-dun-tòn-thā—

go and peep (imper.)—

pusi

saying

ākībī-abàng

their youngest one

toi-dun-lo;

they sent

ànsī

and

lā

he

nàng-làng-dun-tòn-lo,

there went and watched,

ànkē

and

hotòn-pèn

the basket-with

dohòn

money

ketèng

measuring

nàng-thèk-dun-lo.

there he saw.

Ànsī

Then

nàng-kelàng-dun-tòn-ābàng

there-the-one-who-had-watched-person

hèm

house

che-voi-sī,

his having returned to,

ā-īk-mār

his brothers

thàn-dàm-lo—

informed—

“Lā

“That

e-osā́

our-nephew

konàt-tòng

wherever

kelòng-dàm-lo-nē?

get-did he (all this money)?

hotòn-pèn

with a basket

dohòn

money

ketèng

measure

chinàm

really

sai-sē.”

he has to.”

Ànsī

So

dohòn

the money

tèng-tàng-dèt

measuring-finished-having

jàngrēsō

the orphans

ā-pei-tā

mother

tòn

the basket

thòn-dàm-lo,

returned,

ànkē

and

āchèklē-mār

her brothers

nàng-pu-dun-lo

there said to her

“Osā́

“Nephew

nàng-toi-thā.”

here send.”

Ànsī

So

hèm-ēpī

the widow

hèm

home

nàng-che-lē-sī

having arrived

āsōpō-āphàn che-pulo—

her son to said—

“Nàng òng-ātum kipu

“Your uncles say

‘Vàng-thā-tu tànghō

‘Come here, we want you,

pō.’”

father.’”

Ànsī

So

jàngrēsō-tā

the orphan

dàmlo.

went.

Ànkē

And

ā-òng-ātum

his uncles

nàng

there

ārju-lo—

asked—

“Konàt

“Where

ādohòn-sī

all this money

nànglī

you

kelòng-dàm?”

obtained?”

Ànsī

And

jàngrēsō

the orphan

pulo:

said:

“Chainòng-ā-òk

“Cow’s flesh (of)

ā-nàm:

price (it is):

nànglī-tum-nē-kithū-pī-pèt

(by) you my killed-entirely

ā-chainòng

cow’s

ā-òk-sī

flesh

nēlī kejòr-dàm;

I went a-selling;

chetàngtē

it not being sufficient,

chehàng-jō

together they asked

‘àn-pin làng?’”

‘is there only so much?’”

Ànsī

Then

āòng-mār

his uncles

ārju-thu-lē-lo:

asked again:

“Tàngtē

“Then

chainòng-ā-òk

cow’s flesh

jòr-dàm-tē

go a-selling if (we),

lā-tum

they

ènjī-làng-mā?”

will taking-go on?”

Ànsī

And

jàngrēsō

the orphan

pulo—

said—

“En-jī làng-tē;

“They will go on taking certainly;

nànglī-tum-kē

you

chainòng-do-ō-pārā

cows having many because,

lālē thū-koi-rā

therefore killing them all

ā-òk

their flesh

jòr-dàm-tē,

if you go selling

ko-ànsī

how much

dohòn

money

kevàn-jī?”

you will bring?”

Ànsī

So

ā-òngmār

his uncles

kòrtē-bāng-theròk

brothers the six

ābàng-phu

each one

ējòn

one

chainòng

cow

thū-sī

having killed,

ā-òk

its flesh

bahār

load

pòn-sī

having taken,

jòr-dàm-lo,

went to sell it,

ànsī

and

jàngrēsō

the orphan

thàn-dun-lo—

explained to them—

“Nànglī-tum

“You

hālā

that (distant)

bāmòn

brahman

kirī-pō

rich-big’s

ā-ròng-lē

village in

jòr-dàm-nòn:

go and sell:

lā-ròng

that village (at) when

lē-lo-tē

you arrive,

‘chainòng ā-òk

‘cow’s flesh

èn-jī-làng-mā’

will (any one) go on taking?’

pu-rā

saying

ārju-nòn.”

ask.”

Ànsī

So

lātum

these

kòrtē-bàng-theròk

brothers six

chainòng

cow’s

ā-òk

flesh

pònsī dàmlo,

taking went,

hā

that

bāmòn-āròng

Brahman’s village

lē-sī,

having arrived,

“Chainòng-ā-òk

“Cow’s flesh

èn-jī làng mā?”

will (any one) take more?”

pu

saying

ārju-lo.

asked.

Ànsī

And

“èn-jī-làng,

“we will take more,

vàn-nòn,”

bring it here,”

pu

saying

nàng-hàng-lo.

they called out.

Ànsī

So

bāmòn-pō

the big brahman’s

ā-hèm

house

lē-lo.

they reached.

Ànsī

Then

bāmòn-pō

the big brahman’s

ròng-īsī

village-whole

āsànghō

inhabitants,

che-pàngrum-pèt-sī,

having collected all together,

lā

those

chainòng-ā-òk

cow’s flesh

kejòr-dàm-ātum

bringing to sell-people,

kòrtē

the

bàng-theròk,

six brothers,

nèp-sī,

having seized,

ā-rī

their hands

kòk-krei-sī,

tied firmly having,

jāsemèt

severely

chòk-sī

having beaten,

pulo:

said:

“Nētum

“We

bāmòn-lē:

brahmans are:

‘chainòng-āòk

‘cow’s flesh

èn-jī mā?’

will any one take?’

pu

saying,

nàng

you

nàng-kātirvā-hai?”

here-solicit a customer dare?”

pu-sī

saying

lō-lo.

let them go.

Lā

These

chainòng-ā-òk

cow’s-flesh

kevàn-ātum-tā

bringing persons

hèm

home

che-voi-lo,

their own went,

ànsī

and

tovār

on the way

chingvai-pòn-lo:

took counsel together:

“Mai!

“Oh!

àn-lē ālàng

how much that

jangrēsō

orphan

ē-kechōbei!

us has cheated!

ē-chainòng ē-haidi

our cattle (doublet)

ē-pā-chi-thū-koi-làng;

he has caused us to kill all;

āphu-thàk-tā

over and above that

ē-rèng ē-hu

our skin (doublet)

ē-kā-pesō.

to us he has caused to smart.

Āpòt-kē

Therefore

kelē-pèn

immediately on arriving

ā-hèm

his house

mē-kei-dàm-po-nàng.”

fire-set-to let-us-go.”

Ànsī

So

hèm

home

che-lē-lo

they arrived,

ànkē

and

jàng-rēsō

the orphan’s

ā-hèm

house

mē-kei-dàm-dut

fire-setting

inghoi-lo.

did.

Ànsī

Then

jàngrēsō

the orphan

ātum

baskets-two

hīnī

having woven,

chibū-sī hèm mē-kechō

house-fire-eaten, devoured (of)

āphēlō

ashes

hum-sī

having collected

bahār

a load

pòn-lo,

took,

ànsī

and

hā

that (distant)

mèk-kesō

sore-eyed

āròng

(people’s) village

lē-lo.

went to.

Lābàngsō

That

āròng

village (of)

ārlèng

men,

ābàng-phu-tā

each one of them,

āmèk-kesō-ābàng

sore-eyed folk

àngsē.

were only.

Ànkē

So

phēlō

ashes (of)

ā-bahār-pèn

a load-with

jàngrēsō

the orphan

lātum nàng-thèksī

they having seen,

nàng-ārju-lo—

called out to him—

“Nàng

“Thou

kopī

what for

kevàng lādāk?”

comest thou hither?”

Jàngrēsō

The orphan

thàk-dèt—

answered—

“Ai

“Oh!

nàngtum

your

āròng

village

mèk-kesō

sore eyes

ā-vur

disease

do-tàng-pu

has finished getting, thus

ārju-lòngsī

having got to hear,

nē

I

mèk-kesō

(for) sore-eyed people

ā-bàp

medicine

nàng-kejòr.”

here am selling.”

Ànsī

Then

lātum

they

pulo—

said—

“Ai! tàngtē

“Oh! then (that)

mē-òng-chòt-lo,

is very good indeed,

pō-ārnàm-pō!”

my good sir!”

pusi

so saying

ròng-īsī

the whole village

āsànghō

inhabitants

dohòn

money

chi-rung-sī

having collected,

dohòn-bahār-īsī

of money load one

jàngrēsō

to the orphan

nàng-pīlo.

there-gave.

Ànsī

Then

jàngrēsō

the orphan

pulo:

said:

“Lābàngso

“That

ā-bàp

medicine

nònkē

immediately

chi-hī-rī-thā:

do not apply (rub) to yourselves:

mō

afterwards

nē

I

tovār

the road

ēbèng

a piece

lēlo-tē,

have gone when,

‘chi-hī-nòn’

‘apply (rub) it’

pu

saying

nē

I

nàng-pupo,

will tell you,

àn-lē

then (and not before)

chi-hī-nòn.”

apply it.”

Ànsī

Then

dohòn-bahār-īsī

money-load-one

phēlō

ashes (of)

ā-nàm

price

jàngrēsō

the orphan

lòng-sī,

having got,

hèm

home

chevoilo.

to his returned.

Ànkē

When

lā

he

tovār

road

mē

a little

nàng-lē-lo,

had gone

mèk-ā-vur-kelòng-ātum

eye disease who had got people

jàngrēsō-āphàn

The orphan-to

‘chi-hī-nòn-tu-mā?’

“shall we apply it now?”

pu hàng-lo.

saying called out.

Jàngrēsō

The orphan

nàng-thàk-dèt

answered

“thā”;

“wait”;

tebòk-hèt

near

tik-kē

so long as,

“thā”

“wait”

pu-bòm-sī

saying having continued,

lā

he

hā hēloving

to a distance

lē-lo;

arrived;

ànkē

and

“nàng-phō-dun-un-ē-lo”

“here reach to me they cannot”

pu

saying

māthā-lo,

he thought,

“bàp chi-hī-nòn”

“the medicine rub in now”

pu

saying,

jàngrēsō

the orphan

nàng-hàng-lo.

there called out.

Ànsī

Then

mèk-kesō-ātum

eyes the sufferers from pain

jàngrēsō-kevàn-āphēlō

orphan-brought-ashes

ā-mèk

on their eyes

che-hī-lo.

rubbed.

Lā

That

bàp

medicine

kāchi-hī-pèn-āpārā,

applying from at once

āmèk

their eyes

ki-krū

smarted

pukē

so much,

māthā-thèk-thē

it cannot be imagined

jādi thèk-thē:

(doublet):

āmèk

their eyes

kesō

sore

tàn-muchòt

more much

che-plàng-lo.

became.

Ànsī

Then

lātum

they

chipulo:

said to one another:

“Mai!

“Oh!

àn-lē

so much

ālàng

he

ē-ke-chōbei

us having cheated

tekàng:

has left:

lā

he

vàng-thu-lo-tē,

comes-again-if,

ā-rī kòk-dòng-rā

his hands tying fast

chòk-nàng.”

let us beat him.”

Jàngrēsō-kē

The orphan

hēm

home

che-lē-sī

having come

āpei-āphàn

his mother-to

“nē-òng-ātum

“my uncles’

āhotòn

basket

èn-dàm-lē-thā”

take-go-again,”

pu

saying

toi-lē-lo.

he sent again.

Ànsī

Then

hèm-ēpī

the widow

ā-īkmār-ātum

her brothers’

ā-hèm

house

hotòn

basket

hàng-dàm-lē-lo.

to ask-went again.

Ànsī

Then

hotòn

the basket

nàng-lō-sī

having sent

lātum

they

kòrtē-bàng-theròk

brothers six said

chi-pu-lē-lo—

again among themselves—

“Dā,

“Go,

ākibī,

youngest,

làng-dun-lē-thā;

watch again;

hotòn

(with) the basket

pi-tòng

what in the world

kànghoi-ī-jī-nē?”

is he going to do?”

Ànsī

Then

ākibī-ābàng

the youngest

nàng-làng-dun-tòn-lē-lo.

went there to watch secretly again.

Jàngrēsō

The orphan

dohòn

the money

ketèng

measuring

nàng-thèk-dun-lē-lo.

there he saw again.

Ànkē

Then

nàng-kelàng-dun-tòn

there watching-secretly

ābàng

person

hèm

home

che-voi-sī

returning

à-īkmār

his brothers (to)

che-thàn-dàm-lē-lo—

explained, related, again—

“Ē-osā

“Our nephew

chu-āphàn-tē

than last time

nòn

now

dohòn

money

kevàn òng-muchòt lē-lo.”

bringing much more has arrived.”

Ànkē

Then

lātum

they

kòrtē-bàng-theròk

the six brothers

jàngrēsō-ālòng

the orphan-near

dàm-sī

going

ārju-dàm-lo—“Konàt

asked—“Where

ādohòn-sī

(all) this money

nànglī

you

lòng-dām-ō-lo?”

have got so much more?”

Ànsī

Then

jàngrēsō

the orphan

nàng-thàk-dun-lo—

there answered them—

“Nànglī-tum-mē-nē

”(By) you fire my

kekei-pidut ā-hēm

applied having house,

ā-phēlō

its ashes

ā-nàm.

price (it is).

Nēlī

I

phēlō

ashes

kejòr-dàm-ālòng

selling-place (in)

‘kedòr-dē’

‘it is not enough’

pu

saying

hàng-jō:

they cried:

‘àn-pin

‘just so much

vàn-thū-thā’

bring again’

pusī

saying

pu.

they said.

Nē-lī

My

hèm-kē

house

bīhèk-sī,

being small,

ā-phēlō

its ashes

òng-ē-dèt;

not much were;

nànglī-tum

Your

āhèm-kē

houses,

thē-dung-pārā,

since they are large,

lālē

therefore

mē

fire

kei-rā

applying

ā-phēlō

the ashes

jòr-dàm-tē,

go selling-if,

dohòn-lē

wealth

nànglī-tum

ye

ko-ànsī

how much

kevàn-jī?

would bring?

Kevàn-sī

To bring it

nànglī-tum

you

un-ē.”

would be unable.”

Ànsī

Then

ā-òngmār

his uncles

kòrtē-bàng-theròk

the six brethren

chi-pulo:

said among themselves:

“Tàngtē

“Then

itum-tā

to our also

ē-hèm

houses

mē

fire

chekei-dàm-po-nàng.”

having applied let us go.”

Ànkē

Then

hèm

houses

mē

fire

chekei-dàm-sī,

their having-set-to,

hèm ā-phēlō

house-ashes

hum-sī

having gathered,

kòrtē

the brothers

ābàng-phu-tā

each individually

bahār-un-tik bahār-un-tik

as much as he could carry

pòn-lo.

took.

Ànsī

Then

jàngrēsō

the orphan

thàn-dun-lē-lo:

explained to them again:

“Hā mèk-kesō-āròng-lē

“To that eye-sore-village up to

pòn-nòn;

take, carry;

hā ròng-ā-kung

that distant village near

lē-lo-tē,

when you arrive,

‘Phēlō

‘Ashes

èn-jī-mā?’

will you take?’

purā-punòn.”

saying say.”

Ànsī

So

lātum

they

kòrtē-bàng-theròk

brothers six

dàmlo.

went.

Hà

That

mèk-kesō-ātum

sore eyed people’s

āròng

village

pàng-lē-lo,

near arrived,

ànsī

and

ārju-lo—“Phēlō

asked—“Ashes

èn-jī-mā?”

will you take?”

Ànsī

Then

mèk-kesō-àtum

the people with sore eyes

“Vàn-thā”

“Bring it here”

pu nàng-hàng-lo;

saying called out;

ànsī

then

lātum

they

dàm-sī

going

ròng

the village

lē-lo;

arrived;

kelē-pèn

immediately they arrived

ārī

their hands

kòk-krei-inghoi-sī,

tying each, all, having done,

lā

those

ālàng-tum-kepòn-āphēlō-pèn

by-them-brought ashes-with

āmèk

their eyes

hī-sī

having rubbed

jāsemèt

severely

chòklo;

they beat them;

ànkē

then

chòk-thèng-dèt,

having been beaten and pummeled,

lātum

those

kòrtē-bàng-theròk

brothers six

hèm

home

nàng-chevoilo.

returned.

Ànkē

Then

tovār

(on) the road

nàng-chèngvai-thu-lē-lo—

they consulted together again—

“Mai!

“Oh!

àn-lē

so much

ālàng

he

ē-kechōbei-rā

us-having-cheated

ē-rèng

our skins

ē-kāpesō,

he has caused to smart,

āphu-thàk-tā

over and above that

ē-hèm

our houses

i-rīt

our fields

ē-pā-che-kei-koi;

us he has caused to set fire to and burn up;

nònkē

now

kelē-pèn

immediately we arrive

ingchin-ārū

iron-of a cage (in)

bèng-rā

having firmly secured

làng

(him) water (into)

jòk-thòt-lo-nāng.”

let us throw him.”

Ànkē

So

kelē-pèn

at once on arriving

jàngrēsō

the orphan

nèp-chèk

seizing

ingchin-ārū-pèn

of iron-a cage-in

bèng-chèk

firmly secure

inghoi-lo,

they did,

ànsī

and

hābīt

in the jungle

làng-bī

a pool

ākethē-pī

very great (deep)

ā-kung

on the bank

bī-dàm-kòk-lo.

putting down they placed.

“Mō-lē

“After a little while

làng

water (in)

nīm-po-nàng;

let us drown him;

nònkē

now

kàt-āthai

run away-power

āvē-lo;

he has not;

āpòtkē

therefore

àn

rice

che-chō-dàm-sī-nàng”

our-eat-go-let-us”

pusī,

saying,

àn che-chō-dàm-lo.

rice-their they went to eat.

Ànkē

Then

ā-òngmār

his uncles

àn

their rice

chechō-dàm-āphī,

had gone to eat after,

konānē

some one or other

rēchō-āsōpō

King’s son

òk

deer

nàng-kehung

there-hunting

vàng-lo,

came,

ànsī

and

jàngrēsō

the orphan

ā-dung

near

nàng-lē-sī,

having arrived,

jàngrēsō-āphàn

the orphan (accus.)

ārju-lo

asked

“Kopī

“What

āpòtsī

on account of

ingchin-ārū-ārlō

iron-cage-inside

nàng-kebèng-chèk-lo?”

you are here firmly secured?”

Ànsī

Then

jàngrēsō

the orphan

pulo:

said:

“Nē-òng-mār-ātum

“My maternal uncles

āsōpī

a daughter,

kemē pu

how fair!

māthā-thèk-thē

as one cannot imagine

àn-pin

so greatly

do.

have.

Lāsī

Her

‘èn-tu’

‘take to wife’

pu

saying

nē-phàn

to me

nē-kipu,

me they say,

bòntā

but

nē-kē

I

‘èn-ē’

‘will not take’

pu

saying

kipusī,

replying,

nē-òng-mār-ātum

my uncles

āning-kithì-sī

becoming very angry

rū

cage (in)

nē-kebèng-chèk-lo.”

me have fastened up.”

Ànsī

Then

rēchō-āsōpō

the King’s son

pulo—“Chē!

said—“Oh!

tàngtē

then

nē

I

èn-lòng-jī-mā?”

(her) take (to wife) shall be able?”

“Lā

“This

rū-ārlō-lē

cage into

nàng

you

nàng-do-tē,

here-get-in-if,

èn-lòng-jī-tē”

you will be able to get her”

pu

saying

jàngrēsō

the orphan

pulo:

said:

“ēlòm-tē

“in a little while

nē-òng-ātum

my uncles

vàng-po,

will come

ànkē—

and—

‘Ànhēlō-mā?’

‘Have you anything to say?’

pu

saying

nàng ārju-lo-tē,

you if they ask,

‘ànhēlō,

‘all right,

èn-po,

I will take her,

òngmār-lī’—purā punòn.”

uncles’—saying reply.”

“Tō,

“Yes,

tàngtē,”

then,”

pu

saying

rēchō-āsōpō

the King’s son

pulo.

said.

Ànsī

Then

jàngrēsō

the orphan

rēchō-āsōpō-āphàn

the King’s son-to

pulo—“Lā

said—“That

nàng-pē

your coat

nàng-rī-pèn

your dhoti-with

mamàtlē

bedecked

nàng

you

rū-ārlo

cage-into

nàng-lut-lo-tē,

here enter-if,

nàng

you

chinī-dèt-po;

they will recognize at once;

āpòtkē

therefore

nē

me

ingpu-nòn:

let out:

nē-pē

my coat

nē-rī

my dhoti

nàng

you

pīpo,

I will give,

ànkē

then

rū-ārlō

cage-into

lut-nòn.”

enter.”

Ànsī

So

rēchō-āsōpō

the King’s son

rū

the cage

ingpu-sī

having opened

jàngrēsō

the orphan

nàng-bār-lo,

there came out,

ànsī

and

jàngrēsō

the orphan

ā-pē

his coat

ā-rī

his dhoti

rēchō-āsōpō

to the king’s son

pīlo,

gave,

lā

that

rēchō-āsōpō

King’s son

ā-pē,

his coat,

ā-rī,

his dhoti,

ā-lèk,

his necklace,

ā-roi,

his bracelets,

jàngrēsō

to the orphan

pī-thū-lo,

gave in exchange,

ànkē

and

rēchō-āsōpō

the King’s son

rū-ārlō

into the cage

lut-lo,

entered,

ànsī

and

jàngrēsō

the orphan

ingkīr-dun-thīp-lo.

the door made fast.

Ànsī

Then

jàngrēsō-tā

the orphan

rēchō-āsōpō

the King’s son’s

ā-pē,

clothes,

ā-rī,

dhoti,

ā-lèk,

necklace,

ā-roi

bracelets,

che-pindèng,

having put on,

āhormu

his things

kedo-àn

all

chepindèng-sī,

having put on,

hā

away

āhèm

to his house

che-dàm-lo.

went.

Ànsī

And

jàngrēsō

the orphan’s

ā-òngmār-tā

uncles also

àn

rice

chō-dàm-pèn

eating-from

nàng-che-voi-lo,

there returned,

rū-ālòng

at the cage’s

nàng-lē-lo,

place arrived

ànsī

and

ārju-lo—

asked—

“àn-hēlō-mā

“have you anything to say,

osā́?”

nephew?”

“Ànhēlō,

“All right,

òngmārlī,

uncles,

èn-po”

I will take,”

pu

saying

jàngrēsō-kethàn-kàng-āsòn-thòt

the orphan (by) instructed according to

rēchō-āsōpō

the King’s son

pulo.

said.

Ànsī

Then

ingchin-ārū-pèn

the iron cage-with

làngbī

deep pool (into)

vār-chuī inghoilo.

throw into water (him) they did.

Ànkē

Then

jàngrēsō-ā-òngmār

the orphan’s uncles

kòrtē-bàng-theròk

brothers six

chi-pu-lo—

said one to the other—

“Àn

“So much

ālàng

he

ī-duk

us-trouble

ē-kànghoi

us-causing

ā-pòt,

on account of,

nòn

now

ànkē

however

ālàng

he

thī-lo”;

is dead”;

ànsī

and

hèm

home

che-voi-lo.

they returned.

Ànkē

Then

jàngrēsō

the orphan

pukē—

as for—

kithī-jī

dead

kālī,

not at all,

rēchō-āsōpō

the King’s son’s

ā-pē,

coat,

ā-rī,

dhoti,

ā-lèk,

necklace,

ā-roi

bracelets

che-pindèng

having put on,

mēsèn

beautifully

kemàt

adorned

māthā-thèk-thē

inconceivably,

jādī-thèk-thē-dèt

unimaginably,

thèk-dàm-thū-lē-lo!

they saw again on arrival!

Ànsī

Then

lātum

they

chi-pu-lē-lo—

said among themselves again—

“Jàngrēsō

“The orphan

thī-lòt-lo

is not dead

kālī!

at all!

Hā-lā-lē,

There he is,

kemàt-lèp-rā kā-pàng-ēlim-kē.”

adorned and strutting in his finery.”

Ànkē

Then

ā-dung

near him

lē-lo,

they went,

jàngrēsō-āphàn

the orphan (accus.)

ārju-thū-lēlo—

asked-again—

“Osā́!

“Nephew!

nàmtu-sī

how

nànglī

you

nàng-kelē-tòng-ròk?”

here arrived so soon?”

Ànsī

Then

jàngrēsō

the orphan

thàk-lēlo—

answered—

“Chē,

“Oh,

òngmārlī,

uncles,

nē-phī-nē-phū-ātum

my grandmothers and grandfathers

dōlā-pèn-sī

a palanquin-with

nē

me

nàng-kāpethòn-dun-kòk-lē;

here-caused to be escorted back;

hālī

there

nē-lī

I

lē-ròk-pèn-āpārā

from the first moment of arriving

nē-phī-nē-phū-ātum

my grandmothers and grandfathers

pē-kemē,

coat-good,

rī-kemē,

dhoti-good,

lèk

necklace

roi

bracelets

nē-kepī:

me gave:

lā

them

làng-nòn!

look at!

Nànglītum-āphàn-tā

You-to also

pevàng-tu-po-nàng

cause-to-come it is necessary

kephā-dun-pār:

they sent word urgently:

āsin

a sign

nàng-kelō,

they have sent,

lā sēr ā-tārī-lòn,

this gold-of knife,

làng-thā!”

look at it!”

pu

so saying

pe-klàng-lo.

he showed it to them.

Ànsī

Then

ā-òngmār

his uncles

pulo—

said—

“Kopusī

“How

nēlītum

we

kedàm-thèk-po?”

go shall be able?”

“Ingchin

“Iron

ārū́

cage

ābàng-phū-īsī

person-head-one (i.e. each one of you)

che-pòn-rā

taking for himself

hā

that

làng-kung

river bank (to)

lut-dàm-īk-nòn”

get into it, good sirs”

pu

saying

jàngrēsō

the orphan

pulo.

said.

Ànsī

So

lātum

they

ingchin-ārū

iron cages

che-pòn-sī

having taken

hā

that

làng-kung

river-bank (to)

lut-dàm-lo.

got into them.

Ànsī

Then

jàngrēsō

the orphan

ingchin ārū

(in the) iron cages

rākdun-hèt-ràkdunhèt-lo.

tightly tied up (each one).

Ànsī

Then

jàngrēsō

the orphan

āklèng-sī-ābàng

the eldest one

ingchin-ārū-pèn

with the iron cage

làngbī

deep pool (into)

vār-dàm-chuī inghoilo.

throw did.

Ànkē-phòng

So then

làng-ābuk-buruk

water-bubbles

vàng-jàm-cheplàng-lo;

coming up many-continued;

ànkē

then

jàngrēsō

the orphan

pu-lē-lo!

said again!

“Jā!

“There!

òngmārlī,

uncles,

làng-thā!

look!

nē-òng-ā-klèng-kē

my uncle eldest

lā

him

nē-phī

my grandmother

nē-phū

my grandfather

hòr

beer

kipī-sī

having given

hòr

beer

kàngrī-sī

having drunk

kā-chèng-òk-lo.”

is vomiting.”

Ànsī

Then

ādàk-vàn-tā

the next one also

làng-vār-lo.

he threw into the water.

Ànkē

Then

kòrtē-bàng-theròk-tā

the brothers six

làng-vār-klip-sī

having all thrown into the river

jàngrēsō

the orphan

hèm

home

nàng-che-voi-lo.

returned.

Ànsī

Then

jàngrēsō-āphàn

the orphan (accus.)

ā-nī-mār-ātum

his aunts (uncles’ wives)

nàng-ārju-lo—

there asked—

“Nànglī

“Your

òng-ātum

uncles

nàmtusī

when

vàng-jī?”

will they come?”

“Tòng-tòng

“Quickly

vàng-vē:

they will not come:

àn

so long

kāchephō-phē āpòtsī,

not having met together on account of,

nòn

now

kāchephō-lē-mā?”

have they not met at last?”

pu

saying

jàngrēsō

the orphan

pulo.

said.

Ànsī

Then

jō-thòm

nights-three

jō-philī

nights-four

do-sī

having waited

ākō

again

ā-nī-mār

his aunts

jàngrēsō-āphàn

the orphan (accus.)

nàng-ārju-thū-lē-lo—

asked again there—

“Nànglī

“Your

òng-ātum

uncles

pi-āpòt

what for

vàng-vē-rèk-mā?”

have not come by this time?”

Ànsī

Then

jàngrēsō

the orphan

thàk-lo—

answered—

“Vàng-dàp-pràng-po.”

“They will come to-morrow morning.”

Ànsī

Then

jō-nī

nights-two

jō-thòm

nights-three

dosī

having waited

lātum

they

jàngrēsō-āphàn

the orphan (accus.)

ārju-dàm-thū-lē-lo—

asked again—

“Nànglī

“Your

òng-ātum

uncles

kopi-āpòtsī

for what reason

nòn-pu-tā

up to now

vàng-vē-dèt-mā?”

have not come?”

Ànsī

Then

jàngrēsō

the orphan

thàn-lo—

explained—

“Nòksèk-lē

“In the nòksèk

àn

rice

dèng-pī-īk-krei-nòn.”

set on (honorific) for each.”

Ànsī

Then

jàngrēsō

the orphan’s

ā-nī-mār-ātum

aunts

“thī-koi-lo!”

“they are really dead!”

pu

saying

chinī-sī,

having recognized,

chirūlo,

wept,

chērnàp-lo,

lamented,

mòn-duk-lo, mòn-sā-lo.

and were plunged in sorrow.

Ànsī

So

jàngrēsō

the orphan

plànglo-phīlo,

became rich,

pàk-tā

any one

làng-un-ē-ābàng

to look on with envy

āvē-lo.

there was not.

Ànsī

So

jàngrēsō

the orphan

rēchō

king

kethē

great

chōsī

becoming,

rèng-mē-rèng-dòk-lo.

lived a happy and pleasant life.

NOTES.

Here we have a narrative of a more complex character than that of the first story, with a richer vocabulary, and abounding in the descriptive adverbial particles which are the main feature of the language.

Jàngrē, orphan: sō is a diminutive particle. Jàngrē indicates that one parent is dead; jàngrèng is used when neither survives.

Inut, a loan-word from the Khasi ngut, used for the enumeration of persons: in Mikir initial ng is inadmissible.

Hèm-ēpī, widow, literally, “sole mistress of the house” (hèm); the syllable ē is perhaps a thinning down of ā; pī is the feminine affix, here of dignity.

Āchèklè, brother, used only by a woman speaking of her brothers; īk is used by both sexes; mār, collective particle, used to form plurals: often ātum is added; kòrtē, brother; both kòr and tē separately may be used for either brother or sister; bàng, the class-word used for human beings before numerals.

Do, a verb meaning to stay, dwell, exist; specially, it has the meaning “to live with as a wife,” and is the correlative of èn, “to take (to wife).”

Ārnī-kàngsàm, “day-becoming-cool-time,” the late afternoon. As is natural where there are no clocks, the divisions of the day are marked by other means than the count of hours. Ārnī is a day (or sun), regarded without reference to the lapse of time = French jour; ānērlo is a day’s space = journée. Similarly, ājō is a night, jīrlo a night’s space. The first indication of coming day is vo-khu ē-thē, “first cock-crow”; then follows vo-khu thē-nī, “second cock-crow,” and vo-khu thē-thòm, “third cock-crow”; then thē-àng prinprē-lē, “just before dawn”; then ādàp kàng-thàng, dawn (ādàp, general word for morning); then nērlo-chitīm, “day-middle,” noon; then ārnī thē-lēlo, “the sun at its height”; then ārnī-kàngsàm, “the sun becoming cool,” afternoon; then ingting lim-rim, or ingting-rim, dusk. Then begins ājō, night, when the evening meal is taken, after which soon comes the first sleep, àn-chō mèk-bur, “rice-having-eaten eye-close”; then jīrlo chitīm, midnight.

Nàng-, a particle used, prefixed to verbs, to give vividness, is really the pronoun of the 2nd person singular, emphasis being given by referring the verb to the person addressed. Nàng at the end of the phrase is the verb of necessity = must; it often means “let us do this or that.”

Pàt, as a noun, is a stone dam or fence, put across a stream with an opening in the middle in which the bamboo cage or fish-trap, rū, is placed; as a verb, it means to build such a dam or fence; dū means to place a thing so that it will catch or intercept something else.

Làng, water, stream: làng-thàk up-stream, lāng-bēr down-stream.

Che- prefixed to verbs gives them a reflexive meaning, and indicates that the action relates to the subject; hèm che-voi-lo, “he went home, to his own house”; che-pu-lo, “they said to one another”; rū che-vàt-dàm-lo, “they went to inspect their own fish-trap.”

Chikung, a cray-fish; chikàng is an imitative sequent; similarly phàng-ō, carelessly, is followed by phàng-ā.

Jàng, as a verb, means to fill up, or, of the containing vessel, to hold—òk-kejang ā-rū, “fish-to-hold-trap.” Notice that òk means both fish and flesh; alone, it has usually the former meaning, or that of game, animals hunted; when joined to the name of an animal, the latter: chainòng-ā-òk, beef; phàk-ā-òk, pork; bī-ā-òk, goat’s flesh.

Tèng and plèng both mean to be full: sèt is a particle added to strengthen the verb, taking the place of the tense-affix.

Ādàp-vàng, “every morning”; literally, “as (each) morning came.” Che-rai-vēr-lo; here che- is the reflexive particle, rai a verb, to occupy, take up, vēr a particle indicating continuance, lo the tense-affix; the whole therefore means “they kept on taking up for themselves.”

Dū-tekàng-kē-dèt-sī; dū, verb, to place, set; tekàng, a verb, to leave, depart; kē, negative syllable, reduplicated from last syllable of tekàng, dèt, particle of past time, sī affix of conjunctive participle; the whole therefore means “not having placed and left,” “without setting up at all.”

Ējòn: jòn is the class word for animals, as bàng is for persons, used with numerals; ē- is the prefix for “one”; the other numerals follow—phàk jòn-nī, jòn-thòm, two, three pigs.

Māthā thèk-thē: māthā, verb, to think, imagine; thèk, verb, to be able (also to see); thē negative affix: the whole therefore means “as could not be imagined”; jādi-thèk-thē is a doublet of the same meaning. Àn-pin: àn, particle of quantity; pin up to; also tik; àn-pin or àn-tik therefore means “to such a degree.”

Ākèng ē-hòng: ā its (the calf’s), kèng, leg, ē-, one (as before), hòng class-word for enumerating parts of the body; hā, particle indicating distance; Lā, this, hā-lā, that: lā-dàk, here, hā-dàk, there.

Tèkē-nàng-kòrdut-pī ā-osō: tèkē, “tiger”; nàng, particle of vividness, or, possibly, “you”; kòr, verb, to bite, dut, particle strengthening the verb and dispensing with tense-affix, pī syllable used in abuse, ā- syllable of relation, osṓ boy: the substantive being put last indicates that the verb is to be taken passively: “you tiger-bitten scoundrel of a boy!” As the Mikirs consider that to be eaten by a tiger is conclusive evidence of the wickedness of the victim, the phrase is equivalent to “you wicked wretch of a boy!”

Nàng peklàng thèk-sēr mā-sī: nàng, “you,” klàng, verb, “to see, observe”; pe-, causative particle, so that peklàng means “to show, to produce”; thèk, verb, to be able, sēr strengthening particle, “fully”; mā, syllable used for direct or indirect questions: dojī-mā? “will you marry me?” Nàng pēsō èn-tàng-mā? “have you taken a wife?”; then, for alternatives, do-jī-mā do-dē-mā? “will you marry him or not?”; and lastly, as here, “if you are not able to produce—then,” etc.; sī, affix of conjunctive participle, properly a locative particle.

Dei, “very good,” a loan-word from Khasi. Tàng-tē, “then,”—properly “not having finished”; tàng is the verb meaning to be ended, completed, tē the negative syllable.

Vung-dàm-phlut inghoi-lo. This periphrastic construction, in which inghoi, to do, is used to strengthen the verb, seems to be borrowed from Assamese; many examples occur further on.

Pō-ārnàm-pō! a honorific form of address; pō, literally, “father,” but used also of a son (cf. the Hindustani bābā) ārnàm, God (Ass. dēutā), pō, big, honourable. For a girl the corresponding phrase is pē-ārnàm-pī. Dohòn, Assamese dhòn (dhan), wealth, money; notice that the dh is resolved by the insertion of a vowel; similarly, further on, bahār occurs for bhār (Ass.), a load; neither dh nor bh is used in purely Mikir words.

Tòn, hotòn, one of the numerous words for basket. Tàng-hō, a word used by a messenger to express the wish of him who sent him to ask for something: not used in other phrases. Tòn pī kànghoi-ī-jī-nē “the basket for the purpose of doing what is?” Pī, what, kànghoi, infinitive, to do, -ī syllable added to indicate purpose, jī affix of future, nē, particle of enquiry, an Assamese loan-word. Làng-dun-tòn-thā: làng, verb, to look, dun, verb, to go with, to be with, tòn, verb, to peep, pry, thā, imperative particle. Tèng, to measure, with a vessel of known contents; originally, to fill (see above, tèngsèt = plèngsèt). Konàt-tòng kelòng-dàm-lo-nē: konàt, where: tòng, a particle expressing uncertainty: “where on earth did he get it”? Sai-sē “in order to”; “he really (chinàm) has to use a basket in order to measure this mass of money!” Thòn, to return a thing borrowed. Vàng-thā-tu tàng-hō-pō: notice the use of pō, father, as a respectful address, by the mother to her son; so also the uncles address their nephew respectfully with nàng-lī. Nànglī-tum-nē-kithū-pī-pèt āchainòng: notice the string of descriptive words prefixed adjectivally to the noun: this is an excellent example of the manner in which Mikir deals with what in English would be a relative sentence—“the cow of mine which you put to death by cutting her up”; literally, “by-you-my-killed-and-cut-up cow.” Thū, to kill by cutting; pī, here a verb meaning to cut a large mass (see note to preceding story, p. 94); pèt adverbial supplement indicating completeness.

Chetàng-tē, “It is not enough”: che, reflexive particle, tàng, verb, to complete, finish; tē, negative: literally, “it does not finish our business, it does not do all we want.” Che-hàng-jō: hàng, to call out, summon; che, as before, indicates that they all called out together; jō is one of the particles used to indicate plurality; others (which will be found further on) are jàm and krei. Làng, an auxiliary verb which seems to indicate continuousness, to go on being or doing. Observe that -tē is used to indicate the two parts of a conditional sentence: chainòng ā-òk jòr-dàm-tē, èn-jī làng-tē “if we go selling cow’s flesh, they will go on taking it.” In chainòng-do-ō-pārā, ō is a syllable indicating multitude, perhaps another form of òng; pārā is a loan-word from Assamese. Ābàng-phū, “each one”; also ābàng-phū-īsī (used further on); phū means “head,” īsī “one”; the latter is used in bāmòn-pō-ròng-īsī in the sense of “the whole,” “as one man.” Ā-rī-kòk-krei-sī: ā-rī “their hands,” kòk, verb, “to tie with a noose,” krei, particle of plurality. Kātirvā, “to offer for sale,” a loan-word from Khasi (tyrwa). Ē-ke-chōbei, “us he has cheated,” ē- is the pronoun of the first person plural including the person addressed. Notice the doublets—ēchainòng ēhaidi “our cattle,” ērèng ē-hu, “our skins” (hu, “hide, bark of a tree”), and observe how ē- is prefixed to each part of the sentence. Ātum chibūsī: tum is here a bamboo basket in which to carry a load on the back; bū, “to plait or weave.” Hèm mē-kechō “the house that had been eaten (chō) by fire (mē)”; hum, to pick up, collect. Phēlō means both “ashes” and “cotton.” Ārju-lòng-sī, “having got (lòng) to hear (ārju).” Ārju means both “to hear” and “to ask.”

Chi-hī-rī-thā, chi reflexive particle; hī, verb, “to rub in”; rī particle for the negative imperative, “do not”; thā, ordinary imperative affix, which may be dispensed with when the negative particle is used. Thā! “wait”! loan-word from Assamese. Tàn-mu-chòt: mu is the comparative particle, “more,” chòt is the constant suffix to mu; tàn, a verb, to be severe, burdensome. Chu-āphàn, “than last time:” āphàn is the postposition of comparison = “than.” Lòng-dàm-ō-lo “have you got so much more”: ō is, as before,the particle of multitude. Kedòr-dē: dòr, “to suffice, be enough”; dē negative syllable; hàng-jō, “they cried in crowds” (jō, particle of plurality). Ong-ē-dèt; òng “much,” particle of quantity; ē, negative; dèt tense-suffix. Thē-dung “big”; ke-thē great, dung particle; on its addition the ke- is dropped.

Hābīt, “in the jungle,” locative of Assamese hābī, forest. It is noticeable that many, if not most, Assamese nouns borrowed by Mikir are taken over in the locative case (of which the final t is the proper ending in Assamese), as here: thus dèt, “country” = Ass. dēh; munīt, “man” = Ass., muni; nòrokòt, hell = Ass. nòròk. Konānē “some one or other,” Ass. loan-word. Kemē-pu “she is so lovely!” mē, “to be fair, beautiful,” pu, literally, “saying.” Èn-tu: here èn, “take,” has the special sense of “take to wife, marry” (see what is said of do, ante, p. 95); tu, one of the signs of the imperative mood, is perhaps borrowed from the Khasi to. Bòntā, “but,” perhaps a Khasi loan-word. Àn-hēlo-mā, a difficult expression to translate: àn “so much,” particle of quantity; hēlo “far”; mā particle of questioning; it might be rendered “how are you getting on?” literally “thus-far-what”? But it is also used in the answer to the question: àn-hēlo there seems to mean “all right”—“so far so good.” Tō-tàngtē; tō is a Khasi loan-word: in that language it is used in answer to a question to express assent = “very well.” Vār-chuī, “to throw into water,” “drown”: so also nīm-chuī. It seems possible that chuī here may be an old word for water, corresponding to the Tibetan chhu. Che-pindèng “having put on himself”: pindèng, “to put on,” is an Assamese loan-word. Kithī-jī kālī: the use of jī, the particle of the future, seems anomalous here: possibly the phrase means “he is not going to die, not looking as if he were going to die;” kālī is the emphatic separate negative. Dōlā, “a palanquin,” Ass. loan-word. Ke-phā-dun-pār: phā, verb, to send a message: dun, verb, to be with: pār intensive particle, “urgently.” Nàngkelō “they have sent”: lō is a verb, “to send a thing,” while toi means “to send a person.” Sēr, gold; it is remarkable that the Tibetan word (gsēr, pronounced sēr) is used for this object of culture both in Khasi (ksiar) and Mikir, and not the Assamese (sōn, hōn); for silver, on the other hand, the Aryan rūp is in general use. Lut-dàm-īk-nòn; lut, verb, “enter,” dàm, verb, “go”; īk, honorific address = “elder brother” (though he is speaking to his maternal uncles); nòn imperative particle. Note the doubling of the verb ràk-dun-hèt-lo to indicate repetition of the action in the case of each person.

Nòksèk-lē. The nòksèk (see plan of Mikir house at p. 8) is the part of the house where the food (àn, cooked rice) is placed as an offering to the Manes. Dèng, “to place a share, leave a share”; pī “give”; īk honorific (as above); krei particle of multitude = “for each one.” Mòn-duk-lo, Assamese loan-words (mon, mind, heart, dukh, grief). Làng-un-ē-ābàng “a person who cannot (un-ē) look on (làng) another (for envy).”

III.

HĀRĀTĀ

HARATA

KUṄWAR

KUNWAR’S

ĀTOMO.

STORY.

Harata

Harata

Kuṅwar

Kunwar

(and)

kòrtē bàng-theròk,

his brothers (were) six persons,

ākibī-sī

the youngest (being)

Harata Kuṅwar.

Harata Kunwar.

Āmehàng-kethèk-pèn-āpārā

From the time of his birth

thijòk,

deer,

phàk-lèng

wild pig

ke-àp,

shooting,

tiki-kē inghoi-hē;

he never did any field-work;

ā-īkmār

his brothers,

bàng-phòngō-kē

the five of them,

sai-kātiki.

laboured in the fields.

Ànsī

Then

lātum

they,

kòrtē bàng-phòngō

the five brothers,

ā-pō-pèn bàng-theròk

with their father six persons,

chingvai-lo:

took counsel together:

“Ālàng

“This

Harata

Harata

Kunwar-kē

Kunwar

tiki-kē inghoi-hē

doing no work

òk

deer

hung-chòt;

hunts only;

āpārā

therefore

ningvē

at night

chingvai-nòn.”

take counsel together.”

Ànsī

So

āningvē

that night

chingvai-lo.

they took counsel.

Āpō

His father

āsō

his son

āklèng-āphàn

eldest (accus.)

ārju-lo—“Nàng

asked—“You

kopusī

how

àn

rice

nē-hī-po?”

me-will-supply?”

“Nē-pu-tàngtē

“As for me,

sārlār

a headman

plàngsī

having become

jō-ārnī

night and day

mē

I

do-jī;

will hold assembly;

sārlār

headman’s

ā-màn

perquisites

bàng-kevàn

by people brought

āhòr-āhàn-pèn-sī

the rice-beer-from

àn-lòk

rice-white

àn-mē

rice-good

hòr-làng

beer

hòr-pō

(doublet)

nàng

to you

pī-jī.”

I will give.”

“Tàngtē

“Then

nàng

you

ādàk-vàm-kē

the next,

kopusī

how

àn

rice

nē-hī-po?”

me will supply?”

“Nē-pu-tàngtē

“As for me,

hēmai

a blacksmith

hànsārī

(doublet)

plàng-sī

becoming

jō-ārnī

night and day

nokē

knives

no-pàk

daos

thīp-jī;

I will forge;

lā nokē

by those knives

nopàk

and daos

nàng-kethīp-ātum

there made by me

kevàn

brought (i.e. procured)

ā-hòr

beer

ā-hàn

(doublet)

ākovē

betel-nut

ābithi

pān-leaf

pènsī

together

àn-lòk

with rice-white

àn-mē

rice-good

āràk-chidhīr

spirit (doublet)

nàng-pījī.”

you I will give.”

“Nàng

“You

ādàk-vàm ādunkē,

the second next to,

kopusī

how

àn

rice

nē-hī-po?”

will you supply me?”

“Nē-pu-tàngtē

“As for me,

sai-tiki-sī

field-work-doing

puru

granary

phàndār

store

pelòng-sī

having got together

ànlòk

rice-white

àn-mē

rice-good

hòr-làng

beer

hòr-pō

(doublet)

nāng-pījī.”

you I will give.”

“Nàng ādàkvàm

“You the second

ādun

next

lē-thòt-kē,

coming after,

kopusī

how

àn

rice

nēhīpo?”

will you supply me?”

“Nē-pu

“As for

tàngtē

me,

bàng-āhèm

(other) person’s

do-dun-sī,

house inhabiting as a companion,

lābàng

that person

nē-kepī

me given

ā-àn

rice and

āhòr

beer

āhàn-sī

(doublet)

nàng pīpo.”

you I will give.”

“Nàng

“You

ādàkvàm-ādun-lē-thòt-kē

the second next coming after,

kopusī

how

àn

rice

nēhīpo?”

will you supply?”

“Nē-pu-tàngtē

“As for me,

bàng-ābàn

another person’s slave

āsòt

(doublet)

plàngsī

becoming

nē-kepī

me given

ā-àn

rice and

āhòr

beer-

āhàn-

(doublet)

pènsī

with, from,

nē-àn

my rice

nàng

you

pī-po.”

I will give.”

“Tàngtē

“Then

nàng

you

Harata-Kunwar-kē,

Harata-Kunwar,

kolopu-sī

in what way

àn

rice

nē-hīpo?”

me will you supply?”

“Nēpu-tàngtē

“As for me,

Ārnàm-āsō

God’s child,

Ārnī-āsō

Sun’s child

èn-sī

having married,

rēchō

a king

kethē

great

plàngsī,

having become,

inghoi

throne

āthàk

upon

inghu-āthàk,

(doublet)

kāpòt-āthàk

plank-upon

kāplèng-āthàk

(doublet)

nàng

you

pàngnī-sī

having caused to sit

bàn-sòt-ātum

slaves and maids

náng-rī

your hands

nàng-kèng

your feet

nàng-pechàm-sī,

having caused to wash,

hòr

beer

àn

rice

āràk-chidhīr

spirits

nàng-pī-jī.”

you I will give.”

Ànsī

So

chingvai-tànglo.

they finished consulting together.

Ānērlō

That day,

sai-tiki-ālòng,

cultivation-place-in,

Harata-Kunwar

Harata-Kunwar

ābàng-kāvē-āphī,

not being there,

ālàngtum

those

kòrtē bàng-phòngō

brothers five,

āpō-pèn

with their

bàng-theròk

father persons-six,

chingvai-thū-voi-phàk-lo.

began to consult together again.

“Ālàng

“That

Harata-Kunwar

Harata-Kunwar

Ārnàm

God

Ārnī-āsō

Sun’s child

èn-sī

having wedded

rēchō

a king

plàng-jī-sī

will become,

pu?

indeed?

Konàt

Where

ārēchō-sī

a king

ālàngkē

is he

plàng-jī-mā?

to become?

āpārā

so then

pethī-lòt-lo-nàng.

kill let us (him).

Āpārā

So then

ningvē

at night time

chingvai-thū

let us consult

sī-nàng.”

together again.”

Āningvē

That night

àn-chōdèt

rice having eaten

jundèt

having drunk

ālàngtum

they

chingvai-lo,

consulted together,

kopusī

how

kāpethī

the killing

āpòtlo.

was to be done.

“Āpārā

“So then

hèm-thàp

a field-hut

kīm-po-nàng;

let us build;

Harata-Kunwar-āphàn-kē

Harata-Kunwar (accus.)

naidung-āhoi-lē

clearing-on the border

kīm-pī-rā

having built it

pehòn-po-nàng.

let us cause to watch.

Ànkē

Then

ētum

let us

ājō

by night

dàm-rā

going

chīr-pèn

with a spear

tòk-òt-nàng.”

thrust-and-kill-him.”

Ālàngtum

Them

kāchingvai

taking counsel together

Harata-Kunwar

Harata-Kunwar’s

ātēpī

eldest sister-in-law

ārju-dun-lo.

overheard.

Ànsī

Then

ādàp

in the morning

àn-chōdèt

rice having eaten

jundèt

having drunk

ālàngtum

they

kādo-kāvē

all

sai-tiki-dàm-āphī

having gone to work after,

Harata-Kunwar

Harata-Kunwar

òk-hung-pèn

from hunting

hèm

home

vànglo.

came.

Ànsī

Then

ātēpī

his sister-in-law

àn

rice

pīlo;

gave him;

àn-chōdèt

rice having eaten

jundèt

having drunk

ātēpī

his sister-in-law

pulo—

said—

“Nàng

”(On) you

mīsō

a black ant (here = louse)

nàng-prōlàng,

there let me kill,

Harata-Kunwar.”

Harata-Kunwar.”

Ànsī

So

ā-rèk pēlo,

a louse she killed,

pē-mā-pē-lo

while she was killing it

āmèk-krī

a tear

H. K.

H. K.’s

ākèng-āthàk

leg-on

nàng-klō-bup.

fell with a splash.

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.

ārju-lo—

asked—

“Tēpī,

“Sister-in-law!

nàng

you

chiru-dèt-mā-dā?”

are weeping?”

Ànsī

And

ātēpī

his sister-in-law

pulo—

said—

“Chiru-rē:

“I am not weeping:

ārvē

rain-of

ā-mu-sī

a drop

nàng-ke-klō.”

has fallen on you.”

Ākō

Again

pē-mā-pē

while she was killing,

āmèk-krī

a tear

nàng-klō-thū-voi-phàk.

fell upon him a second time.

H. K.

H. K.

ārju-thū-lē-lo—

asked again—

“Nàng

“You

chiru-dèt āvī,

crying are really,

tēpī!

sister-in-law!

nē-thàn-nòn,

me explain to,

kopi-āpòtsī

for what reason

nàng

you

kāchiru-mā.”

are crying.”

Ànsī

Then

thàn-lo:

she explained:

“nē-lòkhai

“my father-in-law

àn-tàngtē

and also

nàng-īk-ātum

your brethren

kāchingvai,

have taken counsel together,

hèm-thàp

a jungle-hut (in)

nàng

you

pehòn-sī

having made to watch,

ājō

by night

chīr-pèn

with a spear

nàng

you

tòk-òt-jī-sī-pu:

will pierce and kill-they say:

lāsī

that is why

nē

I

kā-chiru.”

am weeping.”

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.

pulo—

said—

“Pherē nàng-nē;

“You need not be afraid;

nàng

you

nē-thàn-lo,

me have told,

mē-lo;

it is well;

menàp

to-morrow

ā-dàp

morning

nàng

you

promàn

proof

lòng-jī.

will get.

Nē

I

thī-thē-tàng-tē,

not dead am-if,

ālàngtum

them

āphī-āphī

after

hèm

home

nàng-dunsī

here coming,

chilònghē

worm-castings

thàm-theròk

clods six

nē

I

sārnung

roof (upon)

nàng-vār-po:

here will throw:

Lālē

that if

sārnung

roof (on)

nē-nàngkevār

my-here-throwing

ārkī

noise

āvē-dèt,

there is not,

tàngtē

then

nē

I

kithī-lo.”

shall be dead.”

Ànsī

Then

ārnī-kàngsàm āpòr

day-becoming cool-time

ā-īk-ātum

his brothers

rīt-pèn

from the field

nàng-che-voi-lo,

there returned,

ànsī

and

āpō

his father

pulo:

said:

“Ningvē-kē

“This night

H. K.-tā

our H. K.

hèm-thàp

jungle hut (in)

hòn-dun

go watching

nàng-po;

must;

sòk

the paddy

phàk

pigs

chō-koi-lo;

are eating up;

hā

there

naidung-āhoi

clearing-on border

nētum

we

hèm-thàp

a jungle-hut

nàng-kīm-pī-koi-lo.”

have finished building.”

Ànsī

Then

àn-chō-dèt

rice having eaten

jun-dèt,

having drunk,

H. K.

H. K.

ā-thai

his bow

che-pòn-sī

taking with him

hèm-thàp

the jungle-hut

dàm-lo;

went-to;

ànsī

and

chitū-

(name of a plant)

ā-thē

fruit

lik-pòn-sī

having gathered,

ā-làng

its juice

phingu-ā-òp-pèn

plantain-sheath-in

bī-sī,

having put,

ārlèng

man

ki-ī

sleeping (of)

ā-sònthòt-sī-āthàk

likeness upon

pē

clothes

pāchàp-sī

having put round

pi-ī-lo;

he put it to sleep;

H. K.-kē

H. K. himself

sòk ā-sē

rice-arch

ārlō

underneath

chepātu-joi-lo.

hid himself quietly.

Ànsī

Then

àn-chō-mèk-bur

after their first sleep

ā-pō

his father

ā-īk-ātum

his brothers

chingthurlo:—

awoke one another:—

“Vàng-noi,

“Come now,

H. K.

H. K.

pithī-dàm-po nàng.”

to kill let us go!”

Ànsī

Then

ābàng-phū

each one of them

chìr-ēpàk

a spear-one

chi-vàn-sī,

taking with him,

H. K.

H. K.’s

āhèm-thàp-ālòng

jungle-hut-place

vàng-lo.

(to) came.

Ànsī

Then

āpō

his father

pulo—

said—

“Dā-nàng,

“Go you,

āklèng!

the eldest,

ārlu-rā

climbing up

tòk-dàm-nòn!”

pierce him through!”

Āklèng

The eldest

pudèt—

answered—

“Kopusī

“How

nē

I

tòk-dàm-hai-jī-mā?

go and pierce dare shall?

ē-kòr tàng-dèt,

our brother he is,

ē-mu tàng-dèt-lè;

our younger brother he is;

īpī

our mother

īsī-pèt,

is one,

ī-pō

our father

īsī-pèt;

is one;

āphūthàk

moreover

chubòng

nipple

īsī-pèt

one

chithē

breast

īsī-pet

one

tòng-ràp-chòm:

we sucked together:

ākòrtē tàng-dèt,

brothers-full-being,

kopusī

how

pithī

kill-him

hai-jī-mā?

should I dare?

nē

I

hai-hē!”

dare not!”

“Dā tàngtē

“Go then,

nàng

you

ādàkvàm!”

the second!”

Ādàkvàm

The second son

pu-voi-phàk—

rejoined—

“Mai!

“Ah!

pātèng-kālī,

(of a) second wife he is not (the son)

pāju-kālī:

(doublet):

kòrtē-āpòk,

brother of one womb

mu-tē-āpòk

younger brother of one womb

tàngdèt-lē,

since he is,

kopusī

how (him)

pithī-hai-jī-mā?

slay should I dare?

nē

I

hai-hē.”

dare-not.”

“Dā-tàngtē

“Go, then,

nàng

you

ādàk-vām-ādun.”

second-to the next.”

Lā pu-voi-phàk—

He rejoined—

“Kèng-thàm

“Our thigh

īsī-pèt,

is one,

kèng-pàk

our foot

īsī-pèt,

is one,

rī-dèng

our upper arm

īsī-pèt,

is one,

rī-pèk

our hand

īsī-pèt-sī,

is one,

kethē-ràp-chòm

we grew up together,

ākòrtē

our brother

tàng

since

dèt-lē,

he is,

kopusī

how

pithī-thèk-jī-mā?

could I possibly kill him?

nē

I

thèk-thē!”

cannot!”

“Dā-nàng

“Go now you,

ādàkvàm-ādun-lēthòt.”

second-next-next.”

Lā

He

pudèt—

said—

“Mòk ē-bòng-pèt

“Nipple-one (at)

tòng-ràp-chòm

having sucked together

ākòrtē

brothers

tàng-dèt,

fully being,

āphū-thàk-tā

moreover

bhin

sister

kālī bhā kālī lē,

he has none (doublet)

kopusī

how

kāpithī

kill him

hai-jī-mā?

should I venture?

nē hai-hē.”

I dare not.”

“Dā-tàngtē

“Go-then,

nàng

you

ākibī.”

the youngest.”

“Mai!

“Ah!

kopusī

how

nēlē

me

nē

are you

ketoi-mā?

sending?

Nē

I

dun-tàngdèt,

being next him,

nē-pu-tàng-tē,

as for me,

ākibī-pèn

childhood-from

thē-ràp-ràp:

we grew up together:

āphūthàk-tā

over and above that,

àn

rice

ē-vàn-pèt

(from) one platter

kechō-ràp,

we ate together,

hòr

beer

hārlung

mug

īsīpèt

one (from)

kejun-ràp:

we drank together:

ābàng-lē

such a person

nē

I

pithī-hai-jī-mā?

to kill should dare?

nē hai-hē.”

I dare not.”

Ànsī

Then his

āpō

father

àning-thī-lo:

became angry:

“Tàngtē

“Then

kopusī

how

‘H. K.

‘H. K.

pithī-nàng’

must be killed’

pu

saying

nàngtum

ye

kepu-hai?

dared to say?

plàng-plē-plē-lē,

if you cannot bring yourselves to this

nàngtum

you

pinsō

male

plàng-vàngvē,”

will never become,”

pusī

saying,

nujòk

the post

ārlu-sī,

climbing up,

chīr-pèn

with a spear

lōbòng-ā-òp

the plantain-sheath

tòk-proi-lo;

he pierced through;

ànsī

then

chitū-ālàng

(name of plant)-juice

nàng-bu-lo;

came dropping out;

ànsī

so

“H. K.

“H. K.

kàngtàng-mā-kàngtàng

strong though he be,

nònkē

now

nàng-dàn-lo-bò!

here he has got his deserts!

Ārnàm

God

Ārnī

of the sun’s

āsō

daughter

ènsì,

having wedded,

rēchō

a great

kethē

king

peplàng-bòm-lo-nàng

let him make himself

nòn-ànkē.”

now!”

Ànsī

Now

H. K.

H. K.

nàng-ārju-dunlo:

there overheard all this:

“Kopi-kopi

“What, what

tàng-ā,

are you saying,

īkmār-lī?”

brothers?”

pulo:

he said:

ànkē

and

“H. K.

“H. K.

āthai

his bow

do”

has”

pu,

saying,

pherē-sī

fearing

kàt-lo;

they ran away;

chingthu-chērbu-sī

stumbling and falling

kàt-lo;

they ran;

āhèmthàp

at their jungle hut

kāchilē

their own arriving,

āning-vàngphàk-vàngphàk,

they vomited (lit. their breast came up),

ànsī

and

ājō-pàngthàng

night-clearing away

bòr-ī-dèt-sī

with great difficulty

ādàp

in the morning

hèm

home

chevoilo.

they returned.

Ànsī

Then

H. K.-tā

H. K. also

ālàngtum-āphī-āphī

them after

dun-sī,

coming,

chilònghē

the worm-casts

thàm-theròk

clods six

sārnung

on the roof

vār-dun-lo.

threw.

Ànsī

Then

àn-chòdèt

rice having eaten

jundèt

having drunk

ā-īkmār

his brothers

rīt

field (to)

dàmlo;

went;

āphī

afterwards

H. K.

H. K.

vànglo.

came.

Ànsī

Then

ātēpī

his sister-in-law

àn pīlo.

rice gave him.

Chōdèt

Having eaten

jundèt

and drunk

pulo,

he said,

“Ai tēpī!

“O sister-in-law!

nē

I

dàk

here

nàng-do-dun

remain with you

thèk-thē-lo:

cannot:

kòrtē-āpòk

my brothers own

mu-tē-āpòk

(doublet)

āphū-thàk

nay even

ē-pō-āpòk-tā

our father own even

nē-pràn

my life

nē-mui-sī

(doublet)

nē ārlèn-thuròng;

me aim at (plur.);

nė-pethī-jī

me to kill

nē-pejàng-jī-sī

me to slay

māthā-thuròng.

they are plotting (plur.).

Āpòtkē

Therefore

nē

I

chòngvīr-po.

will go a-wandering.

Sàng-tèt

A provision

sàngtī hīm

of rice bread

sàngphēr-lē

parched rice also

nē

to me

sik-pī-nòn.”

preparing give.”

Ànsī

Then

ātēpī

to his sister-in-law

pu-tekàng-lo—

he said on leaving—

“Lālē

“If

nē

I

thī-dàm-dē

do not die

jàng-dàm-dē-dèt,

(doublet),

tàngtē

then

nē-kevàng-āpòr

my-returning-time (at)

chelònghē

worm-cast

thàm-theròk

clods-six

nàng-vārpo;

here I will throw;

ànkē

then

inghoi-inghu

the stools

kāpòt-kāplèng

the planks

chàm-nòn.”

wash clean.”

Chiru-ràp-jō-sī

Having wept together

chekàk-lo.

they parted.

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.

āthai

his bow

che-pòn-sī

having taken

kedàm-mā-kedàm,

went along,

ànsī

and

ā-phī

his granny

hèm-ēpī āhèm

the widow’s house (at)

lē-lo.

arrived.

“O phī!

“O granny!

nàng bàng-do?”

are you there?”

Sārpī

The old woman

nàng-thàk-dèt

there answered

“Komàt-mā?

“Who is there?

dàk

as for

putàng-tē,

this place,

nē-dòn nē-ràp

to me kith and kin

āvēdèt-pīlē:

there is not any:

komàtsī

Who

kevàng-mā?”

is come?”

H. K.

H. K.

thàk-dèt,

answered,

“Ai

“Oh,

nē

I,

phī.”

granny.”

Ànsī

Then

sārpī

the old woman

pulo—

said—

“kopi-kevàng-mā,

“Why have you come,

pō?

my dear?

nēkē

I am but

hèm-ēpī:

a lone widow:

nē

I

hèm āvē

house have not

nē

I

rīt āvē:

field have not:

chō-hàng chōrèk-chòt-sī

food-begging (doublet) only (from)

kechō:

I eat:

kopi

why

kevàng-lo?”

have you come?”

H. K.

H. K.

thàkdèt—

answered—

“Nàng-lòng

“With you

nàng-do-dun-po.”

I will remain here as a companion.”

Sārpī

The old woman

pudèt—

said—

“Nàngkē

“You that

rēchō-āthèng

fit-to-be-a-king,

kethē-āthèng lē,

fit-to-be-a-great-man are,

kopusī

how

nē-hèm

in my house

nàng

you

nàng-kedo-dun-thèk-jī mā?”

can keep me company?”

H. K.

H. K.

thàk-dèt—

answered—

“Mē

“Good,

phī:

granny:

nàng-do-dun-po.”

here I will stay.”

Ànsī

So

do-dun-lo

he stayed with her

thàk-dun-lo.

(doublet).

Ànsī

Then

āphī

his granny

hèmēpī

the widow

pulo—

said—

“H. K.,

“H. K.,

nàng

do you

sòk

the paddy

tē-dun-nòn;

spread out to dry;

nē

I

rēchō-āròng

in the king’s village

sòk-sàng

paddy-rice

rèk-dàm-po.

to beg am going.

Mo

After

sòk

paddy

tē-dèt

you have spread out,

nàng

you

làng-chinglu

in the stream bathe

dàm-jī-sèt-tā,

to go if want,

làng-thàk

up-stream

dàm-rī:

go not:

lā

this

ētum

of us two

ā-hèm

house

ā-lònglē

ground (upon)

chinglu.”

bathe.”

Ànsī

Then

sòk-tē-dèt

paddy having spread out

āphī

his granny

hèm-ēpī

the widow

rēchō-āròng

to king’s village

dàm-lo.

went.

H. K.

H. K.

sòk

the paddy

pòn-lo:

took:

hārlo-dun-lòtsī

having turned it over frequently

pālòm-pèt

in a very short time

pe-rèng-dèt-sī

having thoroughly dried it

sòk

the paddy

oi-sī

having collected together

làng

in the stream

chinglu-dàm-lo.

he went to bathe.

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.

māthā-voi-phàk—

thought again—

“kopi-āpòtsī

“for what reason

nē-phī

my granny

‘làngthàk

‘up stream

dām-rī’

go not’

pu

saying

nē-kepu-tekàng-lo-mā?

me telling went away?

Làng-thàk

Up stream

nàng-dàm-sī

there going

nàng-làng-dàm-jī-làng,”

I will go and see for myself,”

pusī

so saying

làngthàk

up stream

dàmlo.

he went.

Sēr

Gold

ālàng-thē

water-vessels

rūp

silver

ālàngthē

water-vessels

kephuk

broken

thèk-dàm-lo.

he, going, saw.

“O lāsī

“Oh, that was why

‘làngthàk dàm-rī’

‘up-stream go not’

pu

saying

nē-phī

my granny

nē-kē pu-tekàng-lē.

told me when she went away.

Ningvē

To-night

nèng-ārju-jī,

I will ask her,

komàt-ching

whose

ā-lànghē

watering-place

nē.”

it is.”

Ànsī

So

hèm

home

nàng-chevoilo.

he returned.

Ànsī

Then

ā-phī

his granny

hèm-ēpī-tā

the widow-also

rēchō-āròng-pēn

king’s village-from

ārnī-kàngsàm

in the afternoon

hèm

home

nàng-chevoilo.

returned.

Ànsī

Then

ā-ningvē

that night

àn-chō-dèt

rice having eaten

jun-dèt

having drank

H. K.

H. K.

ārju-lo:

asked:

“Komàt-ching

“Whose

ā-lànghē mā,

watering-place is it,

lā

that

làng-thàk?

up stream?

Sēr

Gold

ālàngthē

water-vessels

rūp

silver

ālàngthē

water-vessels

kephuk

broken

oi-chō.”

are strewn.”

Ànsī

Then

hèm-ēpī

the widow

pulo:

said:

“Làngthàk

“Up-stream

dàm-rī

go-not

pu

saying

nē

I

nàng

you

kepu-tekàng:

told at parting:

nàng

you

ārju-jē-dèt-sī

not hearing (obeying)

nàng làngthàk

there up-stream

dàm āvī-lē?”

went surely?”

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.

thàk-lo—

answered—

“Dàm-tē-mā,

“Yes, I did go,

phī:

granny:

nē-thàn-thā,

explain to me,

komàt-ching

whose

ā-lànghē

watering place

mā.”

it is.”

Ànsī

Then

āphī

his granny

hèm-ēpī

the widow

thàn-lo:

explained:

“Bārī-thē

“Palace-great

Rēchō

king’s

ā-lànghē;

watering place;

āsōmār,

his children,

kòrtē bàng-theròk,

sisters six,

làng-nàng-kāchinglu-ādim:

in the water bathing-place (it is):

dàm-rī-nòn

go not now

āpārkē.”

any more.”

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.

māthā-voiphàk—

considered again—

“Nē-phī

My granny

dàm-rī-thu

‘go not again’

pusī,

having said,

nē-pu

as for me,

nàng-dàm-thu-jī-làng.”

there going again I will continue.”

Ànsī

Then

làngthàk

up stream

dàm-thu-lo.

he went again.

Làng-kung

River bank (under)

chipātu-joi-sī

hiding himself quietly,

nērlo-chitīm

day-middle

Bārī-thē

Palace-great

Rēchō

King’s

āsōmār

children,

kòrtē bàng-theròk

sisters six,

làng-nàng-chinglu-jī-sī

(in) the river for the purpose of bathing

vànglo.

came.

Nàng-klō-èt-jō

Descending there beautifully

ākàn

their clothes

nàng-chi-bī-kòk

there having laid aside

làng

into the water

sun-phit:

they jumped all at once:

īnut

each one

ākàn

her clothes

nàng-chibī-kòk

having laid aside

làng sun-phit,

into the water jumped at once,

kemē-òng

most lovely!

chiklō-tur-dèt

moon-splendour

ārnī tur-dèt

sun-splendour (like),

lālē

there

kāchinglu

they bathed,

lālē

there

kāchingthī.

they washed themselves.

Ànsī

So

ārnī

the day

ingsàm-jīn-lo.

became cool gradually.

Āklèng

The eldest

nàng-pinkhàt-lo:

there-admonished-them:

“Ai ètmārlī!

“O my dears!

kitun āpòrlo,

cooking-time it is,

kedàng āpòrlo,

serving-up-time it is,

ē-vo

our fowls

chibèng

to house

āpòr,

time it is,

ē-phàk

our pigs

chibèng āpòrlo:

to house time it is:

ē-pī

our mother

ē-tàmpo,

us will scold,

ē-pō

our father

ē-tàmpo,

us will scold,

dàm-po-nàng.”

let us go!”

Ànsī

So

chinglu-tànglo,

bathing-they finished,

chingthī-tànglo:

washing themselves they finished:

īnut

one

ākàn

her clothes

nàng-chihijìr-phlum-phlum

shaking out so as to flap,

chi-ī-lòk-si

having put on

ingjār-èt,

flew away beautifully,

īnut

another

ākàn

her clothes

chihijīr-phlum

having shaken out so as to flap

ingjār-èt,

flew away beautifully,

ànsī

and

ākibī-sī-kē

the youngest of all

āphī

afterwards

ingjār-èt-jō,

flew away beautifully

chiklō-ātur

moon’s-brightness

ārnī-ātur

sun’s brightness

thēlālàk.

just like.

Sining

The heaven

lut-lē-tik,

not entered-until,

lālē

there

H. K.

H. K.

kelàng-dun

stood gazing

pukē

so that

āngphun

his neck (in)

chepekèk-koi.

he got a crook altogether.

Ànsī

So

sining

the heaven

lutkoi-lo,

they entered quite,

thèk-dun-dē-lo:

he saw them no more:

ànsī

so

hèm

home

chevoilo.

he returned.

H. K.

H. K.

āning

in his mind

māthālo

thought

“àn ākemē,

“so beautiful!

àn ākechòk,

so lovely!

nàng èn-lòng-lē-tik

here until I can get one to wife,

nàng-kīm-lòng-lē-tik

here until I can build the wedding bower (subaud, I will not rest);

ningvē

to-night

nē-phī

my granny

nàng-ārju-lē-po.”

I will ask again about them.”

Ànsī

So

hèm

home

lē-ròk

having arrived

àn-chō-dèt

rice having eaten

jun-dèt

having drunk

H. K.

H. K.

āphī

his granny

ārjulo:—

asked:—

“Mai!

“Oh!

phī!

granny!

lā-sòntòt

that-like

ākemē

beautiful,

lā-sòntòt

that-like

ākechòk

lovely

nē thèk-lòng-lē-làng;

I saw got never;

kopusī

how

ke-èn

to take one to wife

lòng-po-mā?

shall I attain to?

bīdī

a plan

nē

to me

thàn-thā!”

explain!”

Āphī

His granny

pudèt—

answered—

“Ai

“O

H. K.!

H. K.!

bàng-kē

those ones

ārnàm-āsō

god’s children

ārnī-āsō

sun’s children

rēchō-āsō

king’s children

kethē-āsō

great one’s children

(are):

kopusī

how

nàngkē

should you,

ārlèng-āsō-lē

who are but a child of man,

ke-èn-lòng-jī-mā?”

succeed in getting one to wife?”

H. K.

H. K.

pulo—

said—

“kālī,

“not so,

phī!

granny!

èn-lòng

get one

nàng-jī:

to wife I must:

bīdī

a plan

nē thàn-nòn.”

to me explain.”

Thàn-thē

Did not-explain

(she)

tik-tàk

so-long-as

(he)

ārju-vēr-sī

continuing to ask,

thàn-lo:

she explained:

“Nàng

“You

ke-èn-jī-pèt-tàngtē,

are-bent-on-wedding-one-if,

lā làng-kung-lē

that river-bank-on

rīt

a field

pàn-dàm-nòn.”

to clear go.”

Ànsī

And

H. K.

H. K.

pulo—

said—

“Mē-òng-chòt-lo,

“Very good,

phī:

granny:

menàp-pèn-āpārā

to-morrow-from

pàn-dàm-po.”

I will go and clear it.”

Ànsī

And

ādàp

the morning

thē-àng

dawning

thē-àng-ē

not dawning

làng-ding:

he continued to watch:

ànsī

so (at last)

ādàp

the morning

ing-thànglo.

dawned fully.

Ànsī

Then

nopàk

a dao

e-pàk

one

che-pòn-sī

taking with him

dām-lo.

he went.

Lē-ròk-pèn

Arriving-from

do-dē,

he waited not,

sàng-sē,

he rested not

lālē

there

kepàn

clearing

lālē

there

kepàn,

clearing,

ārnī-sī-pèt

in one day only

pàn-dèt

he cleared it fully

pī-dèt,

(doublet),

ànsī

then

màm

jungle

thīlo,

cut,

mē

fire

keilo:

set-to-it:

lālē

there

kechō pukē,

it (the fire) ate it up so quickly,

ābèng

a piece of wood,

ākòk

a stalk

thī-rok-re

lying-not

chō-èt.

it devoured.

Ànsī

Then

thèngthē,

maize,

hànjàng,

millet,

nòk,

sugar-cane,

phingu,

plantain

ārchē-lo,

he dibbled in,

āphū-thàk-tā

over and above also

mīr phèk-ē,

(name of a flower),

tādo,

white lily,

mīr-kādòmphui,

marigold,

āsòn-sòn

various kinds

mīr

flowers

ē-lo.

he planted.

Ànsī

Then

Bārī-thē

Palace-great

Rēchō

King’s

āsōmār

daughters

làng

(in the) river

nàng-chinglu-lēlo:

there-to bathe-arrived:

nàng-klō-èt-jō

there they descended beautifully,

kemē

lovely

thèk-thē-òng

to impossibility

pukē—chiklō-lē

so—moon-as-if

vàng-phlòt,

came down

ārnī-lē

sun-as-if

vàng-phlòt

came down

thēlālàk.

just like.

Ànsī

Then

chinglu-tàngdèt

having finished bathing

chingthī-tàngdèt,

having finished washing themselves,

H. K.

H. K.’s

āteràn

garden-plot

nàng-thèklo.

they saw there.

Ànsī

So

pulo—

they said—

“Mai!

“Oh!

komàt

whose

ārīt-mā?

field is it?

mē-òng-hē.”

it is very pretty.”

Āklèng

The eldest

thàk-dèt—

answered—

“Ē-kòrpō

“Our cousin (brother-in-law)

H. K.

H. K.’s

āteràn-lē-mā.”

garden plot it must be.”

Ànsī

Then

sining

to heaven

chingjār-thū-èt-jō-lo.

they flew away again beautifully together.

H. K.

H. K.

“nàmtusī

“how

ke-èn-lòng-po-mā?”

shall I succeed in getting her?”

pu

saying

māthā-ding,

continued to think,

ànsī

and

āphī

his granny

ārju-thū-lē-lo—

went and asked again—

“Ai

“Oh,

phī!

granny!

nàmtu-ching-sī

when and how

ke-èn-lòng-āpòtlo-mā?”

am I to succeed in getting one?”

Āphī

His granny

thàkdèt—

answered—

“Lā-pu-pē-lòng,

“That-way-not,

āsu-pō:

grandson-dear:

hèm-thàp

a jungle hut

chi-kīm-thā.”

build for yourself.”

Ànsī

So

ādàp

in the morning

hèm-thàp

a jungle hut

kīm-dàm-lo.

he went to build.

Ārnī-sī-pèt

In one day only

hèm-thàp

a jungle hut

thēpī

very big

kīm-dèt-sī

having-built

hèm

home

chevoilo,

he returned,

ànsī

and

“hèm-thàp

“the jungle hut

tànglo,

I have finished,

phī,”

granny,”

pu

saying

thàn-lo.

he explained.

“Tàngtē

“Then

pòngsī

(in) a flute

che-èt-nòn,”

bore a hole for yourself,”

pusī

saying

āphī

his granny

pinkhàt-lo.

advised him.

Ànsī

Then

pòngsī

flutes

che-èt-ō.

he bored several for himself.

Ànsī

So

thèngthē-āpòr

maize-time

hànjàng-āpòrlo.

millet-time it became.

Āphī

His granny

pinkhàt-lo—

advised him—

“Hèm-thàp

“In your jungle hut

chehòn-dàm-rā

going to watch

pòngsī

flute

but-nòn.”

blow.”

Ārīt putàngtē,

His field as-for,

pālòm-pèt

in a very little time

lālē

there

mīr

flowers

kàngthu-pukē,

blossomed-so,

māthā thèk-thē-dèt.

it could not be imagined.

Ànsī

Then

Bārī-thē

great-Palace

Rēchō

King’s

āsōmār

children

làng

in the river

nàng-chinglu-lē-lo:

there to bathe arrived:

nàng-ingjār-èt-jō

there flying beautifully

īnut

one

ākàn

her clothes

chi-bī-kòk

laying aside

làng

in the river

sun-phit,

jumped straight,

īnut

another

ākàn

her clothes

chi-bī-kòk

laying aside

làng

in the river

sun-phit,

jumped straight,

lālē

there

kāchinglu

bathed

lālē

there

kāchingthī.

washed themselves.

Ànsī

Then

āklèng

the eldest

nàng-pinkhàt-lē-lo—

there advised them again—

“Dā,

“Come,

ètmārlī,

dears,

dàm-po-nàng.”

let us go.”

H. K.

H. K.

lālē

thereupon

pòngsī

his flute

kebut

blew

pukē,

so,

māthā-thèk-thē-dèt.

it could not be imagined.

“Mai!

“Oh!

pòngsī-kebut-tā

flute-playing indeed

ju-mē-òng:

is very good to hear:

H. K.

H. K.

ābàng

a person

do-āvī:

it is surely:

dā

come,

ètmārlī,

dears,

mīr

flowers

che-hàng-dàm-sī-nàng”;

to beg let us go”;

ànsī

so

vànglo.

they went.

“H. K.,

“H. K.,

nitum

we

mīr

flowers

chilòk-pòn-chòt-làng,

for ourselves pluck take a few wish,

chilòk-pòn

pluck and take

ningkē-mā,

are you willing that we,

pō?”

sir?”

“Chilòk-pòn

“Pluck and take,

ningkē-mā,”

I am willing certainly,”

pu,

saying,

H. K.

H. K.

pulo.

said.

Ànsī

So

ābàng-phū-tā

each one of them

mīr

flowers

chilòk-pòn-sī

having plucked and taken

dàmlo,

went away,

ingjār-pòn-èt-jō.

they flew away gracefully together.

Sining

In heaven

lut-lē-tiktàk,

(they) not entered so long,

H. K.

H. K.

lālē

there

kelàng-dun-pukē

continued gazing so,

āmèk

his eyes

chi-pesō-koi,

became quite sore,

ānō

his ears (i.e. eyes)

chi-pesō-koi.

became quite sore.

Ànsī

So

sining

the heaven

lut-koi-lo:

they entered completely:

thèk-dun-dē-lo-pu-ànsī,

he-could-no-longer-see-them-when,

H. K.

H. K.

tā

also

hèm

home

chevoilo.

returned.

Ànsī

Then

āphī

his granny

hèm-ēpī

the widow

nàng-ārjulo—

there asked him—

“Mīnī

“To-day

Bārī-thē

great-Palace

Rēchō

King’s

āsōmār

children

nàng

with you

chingkī-pòn-mā?”

did converse?”

“Chingkī-pòn-tē;

“Yes, they conversed;

mīr-tā

flowers even

nē

me

kehàng-pòn-lànglē.”

they asked to be allowed to gather.”

Ànsī

Then

āphī

his granny

bīdī

a plan

thànlo:

explained:

“Menàp-tā ārnī kemē:

“To-morrow (is) a day good:

Bārī-thē

Great palace

Rēchō

King’s

āsōmār

children

làng

in the river

nàng-chinglu-lē-jī-āpòtkē,

there to bathe-arriving-on-as-soon-as,

chipātu-joi-rā

hiding yourself quietly

làng-dun-tòn-nòn.

watch secretly.

Lā

Those

āklèng-ātum

elder (plural)

kòrtē

sisters

bàng-phòngō-kē

persons five

āpèngnàn

husbands

do-àngsē-lo.

have all got.

Ākibī-sī

The youngest

dèt-lo,

only,

lātu

her

Mòn

Mon

Rēchō

Rājā

(King of the winds)

āsōpō-āphàn

his son-for

kerai-dun;

is asking in marriage;

hòrbòng

the beer-gourds

hòrtē

(doublet)

lē-koi-lo.

have all arrived.

Bòntā

Nevertheless

lā-dèt-lo,

her only,

lā-āpīnī-lē

her petticoat (accus.)

pàngthèk-dun-rā

having carefully singled out,

làng

in the river

kāchinglu-āphī

they-have-plunged-after,

dàk

here

vàn-nòn.

bring to me.

Nē

I

lā-sòntòt

it-just like

āpīnī

a petticoat

ālār-thàk-po:

in exchange will weave:

lālē

that

pòn-rā

taking

ādim-thòt

in that same place

bī-pī-dàm-thū-nòn.

go and set it down again.

Lā-āpīnī-binòng-kē

Her-petticoat-own

pātu-joi-po-nàng.

hide-quietly-let-us.

Ànsī

Then

ālàng

she

ingiār-dun-thèk-thē-lo.

to fly away with the others will not be able.

Lālē

There

āpīnī

her petticoat

nàng

you

che-hàng-lo-tē,

she asks for-if,

‘īnut-lē-īnut

‘one or other of you

nē-do-nòn’

become my wife’

pu-rā

saying

pu-nòn.”

say.”

“Tō,

“Yes,

mē-òng-chòt-lo,

very good indeed,

Phī,”

granny,”

pu

saying

H. K.

H. K.

pulo.

said.

Āphī

His granny

lābàngsō

that

ābīdī

plan

thàn-chèk-pèn-āpārā,

having explained-after,

H. K.

H. K.’s

āning

mind

āròng

cheerful

kedo

became

māthā-thèk-thē-dèt;

as you cannot imagine;

ājō-tā

the whole night

āmèk

his eyes

jàngthèk-thē

close he could not

ā-nō jàng-thèk-thē

(doublet),

māthā-ding.

but continued thinking.

Ànsī

Then

ādàp

morning

ing-thànglo:

fully dawned:

àn-chōdèt

having eaten rice

jundèt

having drunk

ārīt

his field

chedàmlo.

(to) he went.

“Nàmtu-ching-sī

“When

nērlo

day

chitīm-po-mā?”

middle will it be?”

pu

saying

inghòng-ding;

he continued waiting;

ànsī

then

sàngtī-ārlo

sand-beneath

chi-pātu-dām-joi.

he hid himself quietly.

Ànkē

So

nērlo-chitīm

at mid-day

Bārī-thē

Great Palace

Rēchō

king’s

āsōmār

children

vànglo:

came:

nàng-ingjār-èt-jō,

there they flew down gracefully,

īnut

one

ākàn

her clothes

nàng-chi-bī-kòk

putting aside

làng-sun-phit

plunged into the river,

īnut

another

ākàn

her clothes

nàng-chi-bī-kòk

laying aside

làng-sun-phit,

plunged into the river,

ànsī

and

làngkāchinglu-āphī

they had entered the water after

H. K.

H. K.

thur-joi-sī

rising quietly

lā-kibī-sī

that youngest one’s

āpīnī

petticoat

ājīso

striped cloth

inghu-pòn-dèt-sī

stealing and taking away

āphī

his granny

hèm-ēpī

the widow-

ālòng

to

pòn-phit-lo.

took it straightway.

Ànsī

And

āphī

his granny

lā-sòntòt

it just like

āpīnī

a petticoat

ājīso

a striped cloth

thàk-thū-lo,

wove in exchange,

pālòm-pèt

in a very short time

thàk-dèt.

she wove them.

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.

nàng-kàt-thū-voi-lo,

there ran back again,

ādim-thòt-sī

place-that-same-in

pīnī

petticoat

jīso

striped cloth

bī-dàm-thū-sī,

putting down in exchange,

āhèm-thàp

his jungle-hut

chevàngsī

going into,

pòngsī

the flute

but-lo:

played:

lālē

there

kebut

he played

pukē

so that

māthā-thèk-thē

it could not be imagined

jādī-thèk-thē.

(doublet).

Ànsī

Then

chinglu dòr-lo,

they had enough of bathing

chingthī-dòr-lo.

they had enough of washing themselves.

Ànsī

Then

āklèng

the eldest

nàng-pinkhàt-lē-lo—

there admonished them again—

“Ai

“O

ètmārlī,

my dears!

dàm-po-nàng;

let us go;

ketòk-āpòr,

it is (rice) pounding time,

kesèt-āpòrlo;

it is time for the second pounding;

ketun-āpòr

it is cooking-time,

kedàng-āpòrlo;

it is setting-on time;

kebē-āpòr,

it is time to heat the beer,

kesòr-āpòrlo.”

time to squeeze it out.”

Ànsī

Then

ākàn

her clothes

nàng-chi-ī-dèt-sī

there having put on

pu-thū-lē-lo—

she said again—

“Dā,

“Come,

mīr

flowers

che-hàng-dàm-sī-nàng.”

let us go and beg.”

Ànsī

Then

mīr

flowers

chelòk-dàm-dèt

having gone to pluck

ànkē

thereupon

āphràngsī

first

āklèng

the eldest

ingjārlo;

flew up;

ànsī

then

ākibī-ātum-tā

the younger ones also

ingjār-dun-èt-jō-lo;

flew up with her gracefully all together;

ànsī

then

ākibī-tā

the youngest also

ingjār-dun-lo

tried to fly with them,

ingjār-dun-thèk-thē-dèt:

but found she was unable to fly:

ingjār-tàng-tē,

if she flew up,

nàng-klō-thū-bup;

there she fell back again;

ingjār-dun-chòt,

if she tried to fly with them,

nàng-klō-thū-bup.

there she fell back again.

Ànsī

Then

āklèng

the eldest

pulo—

said—

“Mai!

“Oh!

kopi-ching āpòtlo-mā?”

what in the world is the matter?”

Ànsī

Then

āklèng-ātum-tā

the elder ones also

nàng-chihīr-thū-voiphàk-lo,

there came down again,

ànsī

and

H. K.

H. K.’s

ālòng

place

vàngsī

coming

pulo—

said—

“Ai H. K.,

“O H. K.,

nàng sī

you it is who

nē-mu

our younger sister’s

āpīnī

petticoat

lār-dèt

have changed

āvī,

without doubt,

āpòt-kē

therefore

vàn-nòn”

bring it back”

pu-hàng-lo.

saying they called out.

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.

thàk-dèt—

answered—

“Īnut-lē-īnut

“One or other of you

nē-do-tē.”

be my wife.”

Bārī-thē

Great-Palace

Rēchō

King’s

āsōmār

children

pudèt:

said:

“Kopusī

“How

nàng-kedo

you to marry

āpòtlo?

is it possible?

nētum

we

nē-pèngàn

our-husbands

kedo-tàng,

have got already,

nē-pèngàn kedo-tàng rèp-lē.”

our husbands have got already married to us.”

H. K.

H. K.

pudèt—

said—

“Tangtē

“Then

nē

I

pīnī

petticoat

nàng-pī-thèk-thē:

you give up cannot:

īnut-lē-īnut

one or other of you

nē-do-mā-sī.”

me must marry.”

Ànsī

Then

Bārī-thē

Great-Palace

Rēchō

King’s

āsōmār

children

chepulo:

said one to another:

“Tē,

“Sister (elder),

nàng-do-nòn.”

do you marry him.”

Āklèng

The eldest

thàk-dèt:

answered:

“Kopusī

“How

nē-lē

should I

kedo-jī?

marry him?

nē-sō

I-children

kechàn-jai-lē.”

several have already.”

“Tàngtē

“Then

ādàk-vàm,

the next,

nàng-lē

do you

do-nòn.”

marry him.”

“Kopusī

“How

nē

I

kedo-thèk-po?

should be able to marry him?

nē

I

ningkē

myself also

nē-sō bàng-philī

my children four

tàng-dèt-lē.”

have got already.”

“Ādàkvàm-ādun,

“Second sister-next-to,

nàng-lē do-nòn

do you marry him

tàngtē.”

then.”

“Kopusī

“How

kedo-thèk-jī?

can I possibly marry him?

nē

I

ningkē

also

nē-sō

my children

bàng-kethòm

three

tàng-dèt-lē.”

have got already.”

“Tàngtē

“Then

ādàkvàm-àdun-lē-thòt,

second sister-next-to-next,

nànglē

do you

do-nòn.”

marry him.”

“Nē-tā nē-sō

“I too children

bàng-hīnī

two

tàng-dèt-lē,

have got already,

kopusī

how

kedo-po?”

should I marry him?”

“Nàng

“You

ādàk-vàm-ādun-lē-thòt,

second-sister-next-to-next following,

nàng-lē do-nòn.”

do you marry him.”

“Do-thèk-thē,

“I cannot marry him,

nē-tā

I too

nē-sō

my child

īnut

one

tàng-dèt-lē-mā?”

have I not already?”

“Tàngtē

“Then

nàng

you

ākibī-sī-lē do-nòn.”

the youngest, do you marry him.”

Ākibī-sī

The youngest

thàk-dèt—

answered—

“Nē-tu,

“As for me,

Mòn Rēchō

Mon Rājā

āsōpō-āphàn

his son-for

nē

me

kerai-dun

is asking in marriage

tàng-dèt-lē:

already:

hòr-bòng hòr-tē

the gourds of beer

nàng-lē-koi-lo;

there arrived all have;

pusī

how

kedo-thèk-po?”

can I possibly marry him?”

Āklèng-ātum

The elder sisters

pudèt—

said—

“Bòntā

“But

nàng

you

pàngrī-rē-dèt-làng-lē-mā:

are not married yet:

nàng-lē do-nòn-èt!

do you marry him, dear!

Ingting-po,

It will be dark soon,

nētum dàm-po:

we must be going:

hā

there

hèm-tā

at home

ē-vo

our fowls

ē-phàk

our pigs

ingrèng-jō-sī-do-po;

will all be calling out for us;

āphū-thàk-tā

moreover

ē-pī

our mother

ē-pō

our father

nàng-làng-phròng-sī-do-po.

there will be looking out for us.

Nētum-tā

We also,

vàng-bòm-jī-le-mā?”

shall we not continue to come and see you?”

Ànsī

Then

ākibī-tā

the youngest

pulo—

said—

“Pu làng-mā

“What is to be done,

tē-mārlī?

sisters?

do-po,

I will marry him,

nàng-tum dàm-nòn;

do you go;

ē-pī

our mother

ē-pō

our father

āningthī-dèt-jī.”

will be very angry.”

Ànsī

Then

āklèng-ābàng

the eldest one

pulo—

said—

“H. K.,

“H. K.,

nàng

you

thàn-bòm-tā

(our) instruction from time to time

ārju-jē-dèt-lo,

would not listen to,

āpòtkē

therefore

nē-mu

our youngest sister

nàng-tekàng-po;

here we are leaving;

bòntā

nevertheless

āduk

grief

pī-rī

give her not,

ālàk

trouble

pī-rī;

give her not;

ketun

to cook

toi-rī,

send her not,

kedàng

to serve up

toi-rī;

send her not;

āphū-thàk-tā

moreover

ā-rī

her hand

su-rī-thā,

touch not,

ākèng

her foot

su-rī-thā.”

touch not.”

Ànsī

So

ā-mu

their younger sister

che-perē-tekàng-sī

having instructed and left behind

sining

to heaven

chingjār-thū-èt-jō-lo.

they flew up again beautifully together.

Sining

Heaven

lut-lē

not entered

tiktàk,

so-long-as,

chi-làng-dun-ding:

they (H. K. and his wife) continued gazing together:

ànsī

then

thèk-dun-dē-lo.

they could see them no more.

Pu-ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.

pulo—

said—

“Ingting-po,

“It is getting dark,

ē-tum-tā

let us also

dàm-po-nàng.”

go our way.”

Ànsi

So

H. K.

H. K.

āning

his mind

āròng do-lo,

joyful lived,

jō-ārnī

night-and-day

thījòk

deer

ke-àp

shooting

phàk-lèng

wild-pig

ke-àp

shooting,

ā-ur

his platform (for drying flesh)

krèng-krē

was never dry

ā-ràp

his shelf

krèng-krē.

was never dry.

MIKIR WOMEN POUNDING PADDY.

MIKIR WOMEN POUNDING PADDY.

(Jaintia Hills).

p. 132

Ànsī

So

ningkān

a year

īsī

one

ingtàng-lo.

came to an end.

“Ai phī,

“O granny,

‘nē

‘I

hèm

home

chedàmpo’

I will go’

pusī

saying

nē-kepulo,

I say to myself,

kolopu-lo-mā?”

what am I to do?”

pu

saying

H. K.

H. K.

pulo.

said.

“Nàng

“You

hèm-tàng-dèt,

have your own house,

nàng

you

rīt-tàng-dèt-lē-mā,

have your own field indeed,

chedàm-tā

you can go,

mē;

well;

bòntā

but

nàng-pēsō

your wife

nàng-che-mē-mē-làng.”

with you does not get on well yet.”

“Bòntā,”

“But,”

H. K.

H. K.

pudèt,

said,

“ningkàn-īsī-lo-lē-mā-thī,

“a year one (whole) it is, though,

phī.”

granny.”

“Bòntā

“Nevertheless,

nàng

you

che-mē-mē-lā.”

have not hit it off yet.”

Ànsī

Then

“Ai tàngtē,

“Oh, then,

dàm-thèk-thē-làng-po”

go I cannot yet,”

H. K.

H. K.

pulo.

said.

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.

lālē

there

kātiki lālē

working in the field

kànghoi

(doublet)

puru

barns-full

kelòng

getting

phàndār

granary-full

kelòng,

getting,

hèm-ēpī

the widow’s

āhèm

house

pukē

so

ingkrō

cylindrical receptacle for rice

ingtòng

conical basket

ārdung-dung.

were so many (i.e. was filled with).

Ànsī

And

H. K.

H. K.

āsō

a child

Ārnàm

God

pīlo,

gave,

āsō

a child

īnut-lo.

one only.

Ànsī

Then

āphī

his granny

ārju-thū-lē-lo:

he asked again:

“Ai phī

“Oh, granny,

nē-pī

‘my mother

nē-pō-ātum

my father’s

ā-lòng

place (to)

chedàmpo-sī

I will go’

nē

I

kepu.”

say to myself.”

Hèm-ēpī

The widow

thàkdèt:

answered:

“Nàng-pēsō

“Your wife

nàng

(to) you

chemē-mē-làng-tī,

is not yet well reconciled,

āsupō.”

grandson dear.”

“Kālī

“Not so,

phī,

granny,

chemēlo:

she is reconciled:

nē

me

sō

child

īnut

one

tàng-dèt-lo-lē-mā?”

has she not already given me?”

“Dā tàngtē:

Go then:

nàng

you

thàn-bòm-tā,

I repeatedly advised,

nàng

you

ārju-thèk-thē-dèt-lo;

would not listen to me;

chedām-nòn;

go together;

bòntā

nevertheless

nàng-pēsō

your wife

nàng-chemē-mē-làng

is not thoroughly reconciled,

dē.”

indeed.”

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.

āpēsō

his wife

chepulo

(to) said

“Ai nàng-pī,

“O thou dear one,

ī-lī-tā

we two

ē-hèm

to our home

chedàm-po-nàng.”

let us go.”

Āpēsō

His wife

thàkdèt,

replied,

“Dā,

“Go,

nàng

you

nē

me

kepòn

taking

āling-lo-hē.”

wherever you will.”

Ànsī

So

ādàp-lo:

it became morning:

àn-chō-dèt

rice having eaten

jun-dèt

having drunk

dàmlo.

they started.

Tovār

Road

ē-bèng

a piece (of)

lēlo.

they arrived.

Ànsī

Then

āsōpō-pèn āpēsō-pèn

his child and his wife

āvàm

his waist

tàmpòng-hèt-sī,

putting between waist and girdle firmly,

poho-pèn

with his turban

che-vàm-phòng-hèt-lo.

he bound well round his body.

Ànsī

So

dàm dàm dàm,

as they went on their way,

vo-hār

a jungle-fowl

ālopō

male

inglòng

on the mountain (side)

nàng

there

ārkē-dut,

was scratching,

ārlòk

the precipice

nàng-ārkē-dut

was scratching

māthā-thèk-thē

inconceivably

jādī-thèk-thē.

(doublet).

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.

pulo—

said—

“Chī,

“Oh,

vohār-ālopō,

jungle-cock,

kopi

what

kācheplàng-mā?

are you doing there?

nē

I

hèm

home

kāchedàm-tòng

am-going-in-a-hurry,

tovār

the way

nē

to me

pèk-nòn.”

leave free.”

Vohār ālopō

The jungle cock

thàkdèt—

answered—

“Tovār

“The way

nàng

to you

kepèk-jī

I will leave free by no

kālī:

means:

‘mīnī

‘to-day

H. K.

H. K.

āpēsō

his wife

āsō chevàn-po’

his child will bring’

tàng

so much

pusī

saying to myself,

ākhàt ākhàt

the way he is coming

āmàng āmàng

(doublet)

nē

I

nàng

here

ketòn-lē.”

am watching.”

H. K.

H. K.

pu-voiphàk—

rejoined—

“Chē,

“Oh,

pulèm-dèt-rī!

joke do not!

ēmōkē

hereafter

‘H. K.

‘H. K.

āpēsō

his wife

āsō

his child

hèm

house

rīt

field (to)

chevàn-ànsī

bringing while,

nē-pràn

my life

nē-mui

my soul

dàmlo’

is gone’

pu

thus

pupā-nā.”

do not have to say.”

Vohār ālopō

The jungle cock

pudèt,

said,

“Pupē.

“I do not say so.

Mīnī

To-day

nàng-tā-mē nē-tā-mē.”

either you or I (will prevail).”

H. K.

H. K.

pulo

said

“Sākhit-mā?”

“Is that true?”

“Sākhit.”

“Yes, true.”

“Dohai-mā?”

“Do you swear it?”

“Dohai.”

“I swear.”

Ànsī

So

H. K.

H. K.

āthai

his bow

chepāching-kàngsī

having set

ābòp.

shot him.

Ànsī

Then

dàm-thū-chòt,

a little further he went,

vo-rèk ālopō

a cock pheasant

tovār

the way

nàng-pārpàn-pèt

right across

inglòng

the mountain

nàng-ārkē-dut,

there was scratching,

ārlòk

the precipice

nàng-ārkēdut

there was scratching

māthā-thèk-thē jādī-thèk-thē.

in an extraordinary manner.

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.

pulēlo

said again

“Chī

“Oh,

vo-rèk-ālopō,

cock pheasant,

kopī

what

nàng-cheplàng-mā?

are you doing there?

nē

I

hēm

home

kāche-dàm-tòng,

am in a hurry to go,

tovār

the way

nē-pèk-nòn.”

leave free for me.”

Vo-rèk

The cock

ālopō

pheasant

pudèt—

said—

“Tovār

“The road

nàng

to you

kepèk-jī

I will yield

kālī:

by no means:

‘mīnī

‘to-day

H. K.

H. K.

āpēsō

his wife

āsō

his son

chevàn-po-tàng’

will bring along’

pusī

saying

ākhàt

the way

ākhàt

he is

āmàng

coming

āmàng

(doublet)

nē

I

nàng-ketòn-lē.”

am watching.”

H. K.

H. K.

pudèt—

said—

“Chī,

“Oh,

pulèm-dèt-rī!

don’t joke!

ēmōkē

hereafter

‘H. K.

‘H. K.

āpēsō

his wife

āsō

his son

chevàn-ànsī

bringing-while

nē-pràn

my life

nē-mui

my soul

dàm-lo’

departed’

pupā-nā.”

don’t have to say.”

Vorèk ālopō

The cock-pheasant

pudèt

said

“pupē.”

“I don’t say so.”

H. K.

H. K.

pu-lē-lo—“Sākhit-mā?”

said again “Is that true?”

“Sākhit.”

“True.”

“Dohai-mā?”

“Do you swear?”

“Dohai.”

“I swear.”

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.

āthai

his bow

chepāching-kàngsī

having set

ābòp.

shot him.

Ākō

Forward

dàm dàm dàm,

as they went,

phàk-lèng ālopō

a wild boar (male)

kethē

great

pukē

so as

māthā

could

thèk-thē

not be imagined

jādī-thèk-thē,

(doublet),

àngthur

his snout

àngni

his tusks

pàn-lòk-phòng,

overlapping so,

tovār

road

nàng-pār-pàn-pèt

there-right-across

inglòng

the mountain|

nàng-thīmur-phàk

there was rooting

ārlòk

the precipice

nàng-thīmur-phàk

there was rooting

ābīdī thèk-thē-dèt.

in an extraordinary way.

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.

pulo:

said:

“Chī,

“Oh,

phàk-lèng ālopō,

wild boar,

kopi

what

nàng

you

cheplàng-mā?

are doing there?

Tovār

The way

nē-pèk-thā:

leave free for me:

nē

I

hèm

home

kāpelē

want to get

serāràk-jī.”

quickly.”

Phàklèng ālopō

The wild boar

thàkdèt—

answered—

“Tovār

“The road

nàng

for you

kepèk-jī

I will leave free

kālī:

by no means:

‘mīnī

‘to-day

H. K.

H. K.

āpēsō

his wife

āsō

and child

chevàn-po-tàng’

will bring along,’

pusī

saying to myself

ākhàt-ākhàt

the way

āmàng-āmàng

he is coming (doublet)

nē

I

nàng

here

ketòn-lē.”

am watching.”

H. K.

H. K.

pudèt

said

“Chī,

“Oh,

pulèm-dèt-rī!

don’t jest!

jāsemèt mā-pu-mā?”

is it true or not?”

Phàk-lèng ālopō

The wild boar

pulo

said

“Jāsemèt.”

“It is true.”

H. K.

H. K.

pudèt—

said—

“Ēmōkē

“Hereafter

‘H. K.

‘H. K.

āpēsō

his wife

āsō

his son

hèm

home

chevàn-ànsī

while bringing

nē-pràn

my life

dàm-lo

is gone,

nē-mui

my soul

dàm-lo’

is gone’

pupā-nā.”

don’t have to say.”

Phàklèng ālopō

the wild boar

pudēt—

said—

“Pu-pē.”

“I don’t say so.”

“Sākhit-mā?”

“Is that true?”

“Sākhit.”

“It is true.”

“Dohai-mā?”

“Do you swear?”

“Dohai.”

“I swear!”

“Chī,

“Oh,

tàngtē”—

then”—

pu

saying

ā-thai

his bow

chepāching-kàngsī

having set

ābòp.

he shot him.

Ànsī

So

hèm-lē-jī-dòk-dòk-lo,

(when) he had nearly arrived at his home,

chilònghē

worm casts

thàm-theròk

clods six

pàngrum-sī

having collected

H. K.

H. K.

sārnung

the roof (on) went

vārdàmlo.

and threw them.

Ànsī

Thus

ātēpī

his elder sister-in-law

pulo—

said—

“H. K.

“H. K.

vànglo!

has arrived!

Tō

Then

inghoi

the stools

kechàm

wash

inghu

the seats

kechàm.”

wash!”

Ànsī

So

inghoi

the stools

inghu

seats

kāpàt

planks

kāplèng

benches

chàm-lo.

they washed.

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.

phàklèng

wild-boar

ē-jòn

one

vàn-sī,

having brought,

pai-ā-rē

the hedge beside

nàng-bīkòk-sī

there having set it down

hèm

home

vànglo.

came.

Ànsī

Then

kelēpèn

on his arrival

ātēpī

his eldest sister-in-law

hòrlàng

beer

hòrpō

(doublet)

hīm

bread

sàng-phēr

parched rice

nàng-pī-lo.

gave him there.

Āpēsō

His wife

kemē-òng

very beautiful

pukē,

so,

ārnī

sun’s

ātur

splendour

thēlālàk

like,

chārsàp un-ē.

be looked in the face could not.

Ànsī

Then

ā-īk-ātumkē—

his brothers—

“pāningvē

“To-night

kopi-ching

what in the world

āhàn-lo-mā?”

has happened?”

pu

saying

ning-rī-jō.

were perplexed.

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.

pulo:

said

“Nē

“I

mō

a while ago

tovār

on the way

phàksō

a little pig

nàng-ābòp:

there-shot:

jā

there

pai-ārē-sī

beside the hedge

mē

well

bī-tekàng-kòk:

I placed and left it:

lālē

there

chō-phī

scorch it for eating

dàm-nòn.”

go.”

Ànsī

Then

ā-īkmār-ātumkē

his brothers,

kòrtē-bàng-phòngō

the brothers five,

dàmlo;

went;

āphàk

the boar

kethē-òng

(was) so very big,

peklèm-àn-tā

move it even

un-ē:

they could not:

thàngtā

anything

chònghoi

do by themselves

thèk-thē.

they could not.

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.

dun-lo:

accompanied them:

ārī

hand

ē-hòng

one (with)

rum-dàm-kòk:

he lifted and brought it away:

ànsī

then

phī-sī

having scorched it

ingthàn-lo,

they cut it up,

ànsī

and

hèm

home

vàn-lo,

brought,

chō-tun-lo

cooked it,

chōdànglo.

served it up.

Ànsī

And

āròng

joyful,

bohòng

noisy,

chingnèk

laughing

chingnī-sī

and making merry,

chō-lo,

they ate,

jun-lo.

they drank.

Ànsī

So

puthòt-ādàplo.

next morning dawned.

“H. K.

“H. K.

āpēsō

his wife

chevànlo”

has brought”

tàng

so much

pu

saying

ārju-lòng-sī

having got to hear

ā-ràt-īsī ādèt-īsī

the whole country-side

nàng

there

kelàng

to see

chethòr-prē

kept coming and going

māthā-thèk-thē

as you could not imagine

jādī-thèk-thē.

(doublet).

Ànsī

And

H. K.

H. K.

āpēsō

his wife’s

āpīnī

petticoat

binòng,

own

ājīsō

striped cloth

binòng,

own,

āsēr

gold jewels,

ālèk,

necklace,

pòng-ting-kē,

gold-drum (in a)

làng-pòng

bamboo joint

thàp

putting away

mēsèn-sī

carefully,

kārdòng

(in the) pitch of the roof

ràklòk.

tied up.

Ànsī

So

H. K.-kē

H. K.

ròng-phū-rī

the village people

dàmlo,

each went to visit

rūp-phū-rī-dàmlo:

(doublet):

āràt

the ryots,

ādèt

the country

chi-phū-rī dàm:

in turn came to visit him:

āphī

afterwards

āpēsō

his wife

nàng

there

kelàng

to gaze on they

vàng-prē.

kept coming and going.

Mānē-kē

Some

“nī”

“aunt”

mānē-kē

some

“nèng”

“sister-in-law” (brother’s wife),

mānē-kē

some

“tē”

“elder sister”

mānē-kē

some

“pīnu”

“paternal aunt”

pu-ābàng-tā-dolo.

saying each one was.

“Vai!

“Oh!

mē-òng-tē-mā?”

is she not beautiful, sister?”

pu

saying

pāsingnàk-jō.

they all admired.

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.’s

āpēsō

wife

thàk-dun-lo—

answered them—

“Àn-chòt

“So much

kālī

not

lànghē!

yet!

Nē

My

pīnī

petticoat

binòng,

own,

nē

my

jīsō

striped cloth

binòng,

own,

nē

my

lèk

necklace

binòng,

own,

nē

my

roi

bracelet

binòng

own

lē

again

nē

I

chepindèng-lòng-tē,

to put on were to get-if,

āpārtā sō-sē-làng.”

it would not be thus only.”

Ànsī

Then

mānē

some

āsārpī

old woman

pulo—

said—

“Chī,

“Oh,

tàngtē

then

nàng pī-thā.”

do you give them to her.”

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.’s

āsārpō

old father

pulo—

said—

“Konàt-tòng

“Where ever

lā osō ingchàm

(did) that boy mad

bīpīkòk-lo-nē-lē?

stow them away?

kopi āthē-tàng

for what reason

āpīnī

her petticoat

jīsō

striped cloth

binòng

own

kepī-pē-dèt?”

did he not give her?

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.’s

āpēsō

wife

thàn-lo—

explained—

“Hālā

“That

kārdòng-lē

pitch of roof-in

keràk-chèk-kē.”

he has tied them in a bundle.

Ànsī

Then

phrī-dàm-sī

having untied

nàng-pī-lo.

there he gave her (the things).

Ànsī

Then

chepindèng-lō

she put them on herself

che-sum-pòt-lo.

(doublet).

Lālē

Thereupon

kemē-pukē

beautiful so

māthā-thèk-thē-dèt

inconceivably

chi-plàng-lo.

she became.

Ànsī

Then

“Ai!

“Oh!

mē-kē

beautiful,

mēsèn-tē-mā!

lovely indeed!

ārnàm-āsō

God’s child,

ārnī-āsō

the sun’s child,

pu

called

pai-pē-lo.”

not for nothing is she.”

Ànkēphòng

Thereupon

H. K.

H. K.’s

āpēsō

wife

thur-phlut-sī

rising up her full height

chehijīr-phlum-phlum-lo,

shook out her clothes flap-flap,

ingjār-èt-dàn-lo.

flew away gracefully

(thither whence she came).

Ànkē

Then

H. K.

H. K.

hā-tovār-pèn

from a distant path

nàng-chethèk-dun-sī,

there having watched her,

thai-pèn

bow (accus.)

jō-dun-ràng-ràng-lo.

continually kept bending.

Ànsī

Then

āpēsō

his wife

pu-tekàng-lo,

said on leaving him,

“Thā, thā,

“Wait, wait,

mō

hereafter

chiphōjī.”

we shall meet again.”

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.

chirū

weeping

chērnàp

lamenting

mòn-duk mòn-sā-sī

sad and sorry

hèm

at his house

nàng-lē-lo.

arrived.

Nàng-kelē-pèn

Immediately on arrival,

chō-chē

not eating,

jun-jē

not drinking,

ā-osō

his child

nàng-chi-bu-dèt-sī

having taken on his back,

hā

to

āphī

his granny

hèm-ēpī

the widow’s

āhèm

house

chedàm-phit-lo.

he started to go.

Ànsī

So

dàm dàm dàm

going along

āphī

his granny

hèm-ēpī

the widow’s

āhèm

house (at)

lēlo:

he arrived:

kelē-pèn

on arriving

lālē

there

kāchirū

he wept

lālē

there

kāchērnāp

he lamented

māthā-thēk-thē jādī-thèk thē.

as you could not imagine.

Ànsī

Then

āphī

his granny

pulo—

said—

“Hākō-pèn

“From the first

‘Nàng-pēsō

‘Your wife

nàng-chemē-mē-làng’

is not yet united with you’

nàng-pulo-hē;

I told you verily;

kopusī

how

nòn-lē

now

nàng-kelàng-jī-làng?

will you get to see her again?

Nàng

You

sining-lē

heaven-to

kopusī

how

kedun-thèkjī?”

will you be able to follow her?”

Ànkē

Then

chirū-pèt àn-muchòt

weeping so much the more

chō-chē

not eating

jun-jē

not drinking

āphī

his granny

kedàm-āling

went-wherever

dun-krī,

following,

bār-pī

outgoings-great

bār-sō-lē

outgoings-little-in

kedàm-tā

going also

hundun-krī,

he kept dogging her,

kethī

one-dying,

kejàng-sī

one-perishing (like)

kedo-po.

he remained.

Ànsī

At last

āphī

his granny

pulo:

said:

“H. K.

“H. K.,

ākhī

food

lō-du-dèt-lē

leaf (in) having wrapped up

chō-thā:

eat (imper.):

nē

I

mō

thereafter

bīdī

a plan

nàng-thàn-jī.”

to you will explain.”

Ànsī

Then

ākhī-lō-du

food-in-a-leaf-wrapped

hīm

bread

sàngphēr

parched rice

chō-lo.

he ate.

Ànsī

Then

āphī

his granny

bīdī

a plan

thàn-lo:

explained:

“Mīnàp-kē

“To-morrow

nàng-pēsō

your wife

Mòn Rēchō

Mon Raja’s

āsōpō

son

nàng-kāchepàngrī-jī

there to marry

vàng-po.

will come.

Ākō

Before that

nàng-hupō

your father-in-law’s

àngnār-tā

elephant-also

nàng-làng-chinglu-jī

there in the river to bathe

vàng-po.

will come.

Lālē

There

nàng

do you

sàngtī-ārlo

sand-underneath

chi-pātu-dàm-joi-nòn;

go and hide yourself quietly;

ingnār

the elephant

dàm-jī

to go

dòkdòk-lo-tē,

is-making-ready-when,

lā-ārmē

its tail (to)

rīp-hèt-rā

holding on tightly

nàng-poho-pèn

your-turban-with

nàng-sō

your child

che-vàm-phòng-hèt-nòn.

to your waist bind firmly.

Lālē

There

ingnār

the elephant

nàng-ārju-lo-te,

you asks if,

‘Nē-tā

‘I also

hā

to

nē-pēsō ālòng

my-wife’s place

nàng-kechedun-jī’

am going along with you’

pu-rā

saying

pu-nòn.

say.

Ànkē

Then

menàp

to-morrow

ārnī-kàngsàm-sī

in the afternoon

nàngtum

you both

lē-po.

will arrive.

Nàngkē

Do you

làng-kung-lē

the-river-bank-on

dokòk-non.

wait.

Ànkē

Then

nàng-pēsō

your wife

làng-kepànglu-jī-āphàn

with-water-to-bathe-for-the-purpose

ābàn-ātum

her male slaves

āsòt-ātum

her female slaves

làng

water

nàng-sòk-po.

will-draw-there.

Ànkē

Then

‘osō-āphàn

‘For the child

làng-ējoi-pèt

water one draught only

nē pī-thā’

me give’

purā

saying

hàng-dun-nòn.

call out.

Ànkē

Then

làng

water

nàng-pī-lo-tē

you-give-if,

thibuk-ārlo

the water pot-into

nàng-sēr-ārnàn

your-gold-ring

jòk-dun-thòt-nòn.

drop in.

Ànkē

Then

nàng-phàn

for you

nàng-hàng-po:

there she will call:

ànkē

then

dun-nòn:

go with them:

kelē-pèn

on arriving

nàng-sōpō

your child

ō-dàm-kòk-nòn;

set down on the ground;

ànkē

then

osō

the child

āpē-ālòng

its mother-towards

chedàmpo.”

will go of itself.”

Ànsī

So

ādàp

the morning

ingthàng-lo:

dawned:

chōdèt

having eaten

jundèt

and drunk

H. K.

H. K.

hā

to

làng-kung

the river bank

dàmsī

having gone

sàngtī-ārlo

under the sand

chipātu-dàm-joi-lo.

went and hid himself quietly.

Ànsī

Then

ingnār

the elephant

làng

in the river

nàng-chinglu-jī

there to bathe

vànglo.

came.

Ànkē

Then

chinglu-dèt

having bathed

dàmjī

to go

dòkdòklo.

it made ready.

H. K.

H. K.

ārmē

its tail

rīp-dun-lòk-sī,

holding-on-tight-to,

āpoho-pèn

his turban-with

ā-sō

his child

che-vàm-phòng-dèt-lo.

tied firmly to his waist.

Ànsī

Then

ingnār

the elephant

hā sining

to heaven flew up,

ingjār-pòn-lo,

taking him with him,

ànsī

and

hā

there

làng-kung

on the river bank

ō-dàm-kòk-lo.

set him down.

Ànkē

Then

Mòn Rēchō-ātum-tā

Mon Raja’s people also

H. K.

H. K’s

āpēsō-pèn

wife-with

āsōpō

his son

nàng-kāpàngrī-jī-sī

in order to marry

Bārī-thē

great palace

Rēchō

King’s

āhèm

house

vànglo.

(to) had come.

Ànsī

Then

Bārī-thē

great-palace

Rēchō

King’s

ābàn-ātum

male slaves

āsòt-ātum

female slaves

H. K.

H. K.’s

āpēsō

wife

làng-kāpànglu-jī-āphàn

with-water-to-bathe-for-the-purpose

làng

water

nàng-kesòk-jī vànglo.

there to draw came.

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.

āsōpō-āphàn

his child-for

làng

water

hàng-pī-dun-lo:

begged them to give:

“Làng

“Water

ējoi-pèt

one draught only

nē-pī-thā

give me

nē-sōpō-āphàn,

my son-for,

pē-mārlī.”

good mothers.”

Ànsī

Then

īnut-tā

one-even

pī-pē

would not give

īnut-tā

one-even

pī-pē.

would not give.

Ànsī

Then

āphī-sī

at last

sārpī

an old woman

nàng-dun-lo:

came up to them:

ànsī

then

hàng-dun-thū-lo

called out again

H. K.—

H. K.—

“Làng

“Water

ējoi-pèt

one draught only

nē pī-thā,

me give,

pē-ārnàm-pī,

good Madam,

nē-sōpō āphàn.”

my-child-for.”

Ànsī

Then

sārpī

the old woman

làng

water

pī-lo;

gave him;

thibuk

the water-jar

pheroidun

to touch

pelèm-pelàm-sī,

making as though,

H. K.

H. K.

sēr ārnàn

gold ring

jòk-dun-thòt-lo.

dropped into it.

Ànsī

So

H. K.

H. K.’s

āpēsō

wife

làng-pànglu-lo:

they bathed with water:

a-rī

her arms

ā-kèng

her legs

chàm-èt

washing-beautifully

āphī-sī

after

sārpī-ālàng-thibuk

the old woman’s water-jar

āphū

her head (over)

nàng-dunglo:

they poured there:

sēr-ārnàn

the gold ring

nàng-klō-bup.

there fell out.

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.’s

āpēsō

wife

pulo—

said—

“Ai!

“Oh!

nàng

here

chelē-dun-tànglo

has arrived to us

komàtching

whose in the world

ālàng-thibuk mā?”

water-jar?”

pu

saying

bisār-lo.

she enquired.

Ànsī

Then

īnut-tā—

one—

“Nē thibuk

“My jar

kālī”

it is not,”

īnut-tā—

another—

“Nē thibuk

“My jar

kālī”

it is not”

pulo.

said.

Ànsī

Then

“sārpī ā-thibuk”

”(it is) the old woman’s jar”

pu-hur-lo.

they all said.

Ànsī

So

sārpī-āphàn

to the old woman

pulo—

she said—

“Konàtsī

“Where

nàng

did you

bàngsō

this

ārnàn

ring

kelòng-lòk?

get hold of?

Lābàngsō

That

ārlèng

man

èn-dàm-nòn!

go and fetch!

Lā-lē

Him if

nàng

you

vàn

bring

thèk-thē-dèt,

cannot,

tàngtē

then

(it is a matter of)

nàng

your

pràn!”

life!”

pulo.

she said.

Ànsī

Then

sārpī

the old woman

chirū

weeping

chērnàp-sī

lamenting

H. K. ālòng

towards H. K.

dàm-lo,

went,

ànsī

and

hàng-dàm-lo—

called out to him—

“Nē-dun

“With me be

īk-nòn:

pleased to come:

kopi-āpòtsī

for what reason

‘Làng

‘Water

nē

me

pī-thā’

give’

sī pu-tē

this having said

nē-pràn

my life

nē-mui

(doublet)

nē-kāpedàm-jī-lē

me to cause to lose

māthā-thuròng-mā?”

did you have it in your mind?”

Ànsī

So

H. K.

H. K.

āsō

his child

chibu-sī

carrying on his back

dun-lo.

went with her.

Kelēpèn

On arriving

osō

the boy

ō-dàm-kòk-lo.

he set down on the ground.

Ànsī

Then

osō

the boy

kàt-tàng-tàng-sī

running straightway

āpē

his mother’s

chērbàk

lap (into)

dàm-kràp-lo,

climbed up,

ànsī

and

mòk

her breast

chu-lo.

sucked.

Ànsī

Then

Bārī-thē

the great palace

Rēchō

King

pulo:

said:

“Ai!

“Oh!

ābīdī

a thing

thèk-thē-lo!

never seen before!

ā-sō-sī

a child-even

chi-pethē-ràp-tàng-dèt-lo-lē-mā?”

have they got great between them already?”

Ànsī

Then

Mòn-Rēchō-ātum

Mon-Raja’s people

theràk-lo

were ashamed,

ingringlo:

were disgusted:

mòn-duk mòn-sā

grieved and sorry

hèm

home

chevoi-lo.

they returned.

Ànsī

Then (of)

H. K.

H. K.

pèn

and

Bārī-thē-Rēchō

great palace King’s

āsōpī

daughter

pàngrī-lo

they celebrated

pàngdòn-lo.

the wedding.

Ànsī

So

ningkàn-īsī

year-one

ningkàn-hīnī

year-two

do-dun-sī

living with them

tiki-lo

he laboured in the fields

inghoi-lo,

and worked,

ànsī

and

puru-krēhīnī

granaries-twelve

phàndār-krēhīnī

barns-twelve

lòng-lo.

got.

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.

āpēsō āphàn

his wife-to

chipulo:

said privately:

“Ai

“O

nàng pī!

my dear!

īlī-tā

we two also

vo-phrī āsòn

sparrows-like

vo-thung āsòn

doves-like

ē-tār

a nest

àn-kē

at least

do,

have,

ē-thòn

a roosting-place

ān-kē

at least

do;

have;

āpòtkē

therefore

chedàm-po-nàng:

let us go away together:

ònghai

father-in-law

pèn

and

ānīhai

mother-in-law

ārju-nòn.”

ask.”

Ànsī

So

āningvē

that night

H. K.

H. K.’s

āpēsō

wife

āpē

her mother

āpō

her father

chērjulo:

asked privately:

“Ai

“O

pē

mother

pèn

and

pō!

father!

nànglī osā

your son-in-law

kepu-kē:

says:

‘īlī-tā

‘we two also

vo-phrī āsòn

sparrows-like

vo-thung-āsòn

doves-like

ē-tār

a nest

ànkē

at least

do,

have,

ē-thòn

a roosting-place

ànkē

at least

do:

have:

ònghai

father-in-law

pèn

and

ānīhai

mother-in-law

ārju-nòn:

ask:

chedām po-nàng’—

let us go away together’—

pusī pu:

so he says:

Nàngtum

Ye

kopi

what

ābīdā-sī

order

nē

me

phār-dun-po-mā?”

will command?”

Ànsī

Then

Bārī-thē-Rēchō

palace-great-King

pulo—

said—

“Che

“O

pē!

daughter!

lō-thui

a bundle of greens

āsòn

like,

hànthui

a bundle of vegetables

āsòn

like,

ēboi-sī

once for all

nàng

you

chochòk-pālār

given away, or

chothèng-pālār

in exchange (doublet)

tàng-dèt-lō-lē-mā.

completely I have.

Mīnàp-lē

On the morrow

dàm-thā

go away

chidun,

together,

mīnī-lē

to-day

dàm-thā

go away

chidun.”

together.”

Ànsī

Then

āpō

her father

pu-thū-lo:

said again:

“Kopisī

“What

nàngtum kārī-mā?

do you desire of me?

bàn-mā?

male slaves?

sòt-mā?

female slaves?

ārmo-mā?

ryots?

òkso-mā?

husbandmen?

sēr-mā?

gold?

rūp-mā?”

silver?”

Ànsī

So

H. K.

H. K.

che-thàn-dàm lo:

she went and told:

“Ai

“O

nàngpō!

my dear!

nē-pē

my mother

pèn

and

nē-pō

my father

kepu-kē—

say—

‘mīnī-lē

‘this very day

dàm-thā

go away

mīnàp-lē

to-morrow

dàm-thā

go away

chi-dun-tā-mē;

together if you like;

āphūthàk,

moreover,

bàn-mā?

slaves?

sòt-mā?

handmaids?

ārmo-mā?

ryots?

òkso-mā?

cultivators?

sēr-mā?

gold?

rūp-mā?

silver?

Kopisī

What

nàngtum

do you

kārī-mā?’

desire?’

pusī

they

pu.”

say.”

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.

pulo:

said:

“Thàngtā

“Anything

nàngnē.”

I need not.”

Ànsī

So

ādàplo.

it became morning.

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.

ānīpī

his mother-in-law

pèn

and

āhupō

his father-in-law

ārdòm-lo

saluted respectfully

ārdī-lo.

(doublet).

Ànsī

And

āhupō

his father-in-law

pulo:

said:

“Kopisī

“What

nānglī

do you

kārī-mā?

desire?

bàn-mā,

slaves,

sòt-mā,

handmaids,

ārmo-mā,

ryots,

òkso-mā,

cultivators,

sēr-mā,

gold,

rūp-mā?”

silver?”

Ànsī

Then

H. K.

H. K.

pulo

said

“Thàngtā nàngnē.”

“I need nothing.”

Ànsī

So

H. K.

H. K.

ātum

and his wife

pèngnànsō

the wedded pair

tàngtē

and also

āsōpō

their son

hèm chedàm-lo ànsī hèm

started for home and arrived

chilē-lo.

there.

Rēchō

A king

chōlo

he became,

kethē

a great one

chōlo,

he became,

jō-ārnī

night and

mē,

day he was happy,

jō-ārnī

night and day

thē,

he was great,

ànsī

and

ārēchō

his kingdom

ākethē

was great

thīrlo.

and stable.

NOTES.

This story is a much more elaborate piece of composition than the last, and may be said to exhibit distinct marks of literary style. Its vocabulary is copious and varied, and it makes large use of a device which is employed in Mikir, as in Khasi,³ to give amplitude to the phrase by duplicating the leading words; nearly every important term has its doublet, with the same meaning, following it.

Āmehàng-kethèk-pèn-āpārā: āmehàng-kethèk, “to see the face,” is equivalent to “being born”; pèn and āpārā, the latter borrowed from the Assamese parā, have the same signification, and the latter is really superfluous. Phàk-lèng, shortened for phàk-belèng, “wild boar”; see the explanation of the term in the notes to No. I, p. 94. Tiki-kē inghoi-hē: notice that both verbs are given in the negative form; this is unusual.

Màn, “perquisites”; Assamese loan-word.

Kovē, “betel-nut,” Khasi kwai, Ass. guwā. Chidhīr, “spirit,” the doublet of āràk (itself a Hindi loan-word) is perhaps the Khasi kiad-hiar. Notice how, instead of using the ordinal numbers for second, third, fourth, and fifth brothers, the father employs clumsy periphrases to indicate the sequence. Phàndār, “store,” Ass. loan-word (bhandār).

Ā-bàn ā-sòt: in this doublet the second member, sòt, properly means “female slave”; a similar use of a word of different meaning as a duplicate term will be found below (p. 129), where ā-mèk “his eye” is followed by ā-nō “his ear,” the meaning being “his eyes.”

Kādo-kāvē, literally, “being-not-being,” a periphrasis for “all of them.” Mīsō, “a black ant,” used verecundiæ causâ for rèk, “louse.” Notice the idiom pē-mā-pē-lo, where the insertion of mā between the repeated roots indicates the time during which an act is done.

An-tàngtē, “and also,” literally, “so much not finished.” Pherē nàng-nē: nàng is the verb of necessity, nē the negative particle: “there is no need for fear.” Promàn, “proof,” Ass.

Chitū, the plant called in Assamese puroi-sāk, Basella lucida; its fruit has a red juice.

Ārlèng ki-ī, “a sleeping man”: observe that ārlèng here evidently means a human being in general (see note, p. 4). Àn-chō-mèk-bur: see note, p. 96. Vàng-noi; noi is a variant of nòn, imperative particle. Chīr-ēpàk: “one spear”; notice that the generic class-word for flat things, pàk, is used with chīr, a spear, referring of course to the head only.

Dā in Dā-nàng seems to be a shortened imperative of dàm, to go. Ārlu-rā tòk-dàm-nòn: notice how ārlu, usually a postposition (= up in), becomes a verb when necessary; similarly, further on, in ē-kòr tàngdèt, kòr, “brother,” is furnished directly with the suffix for the past tense; ē- and ī- are used interchangeably for the pronoun of the 1st person plural inclusive; the second is perhaps employed when the vowel-harmony calls for it. Tòng-ràp-chòm: ràp, “to help,” is employed as an adverbial supplement to indicate that two persons do the same thing together; chòm is a doublet of ràp. Pātèng, pāju, words for a second wife.

Bhin kālī, bhā kālī: bhin is Ass. bahin, sister; bhā, must be Ass. bhāī, brother, but is used as a doublet of bhin.

Notice the energetic reduplication of the negative in plàng-plē-plē-lē. Pinsō, male, virile, “worthy of being called men.”

Kopi tàng-ā “what are you saying?” tàngā is only used in this way as a question, as tànghō (see above, p. 100) is used in carrying a message, for pu, to say.

Bòr-ī-dèt-sī “with great difficulty”; bòr-ī-bòr-ā, “by hook or by crook.”

Arlēn-thu-ròng, māthā-thu-ròng: ārlèn is “to aim at,” māthā “to think about”; thu a particle meaning “again,” and ròng one of the affixes indicating the plural. Chiru-rap-jō-sī: jō is an affix indicating the plural.

Nàng-bàng-do? “are you there?” lit. “is your body (bàng) present?” Kopi kevàng mā pō? pō, “father,” is used as an endearing word in addressing a son, or as here a grandson (see ante, pp. 99, 101).

Sòk is paddy, rice in the husk; sàng is rice freed from husk and ready for cooking; àn is boiled rice; tē, a verb, “to spread out paddy to dry.”

“Hārlo,” a verb, “to turn over” (the spread-out paddy); rèng, a verb, of the spread-out paddy, “to become dry”; oi, a verb, “to collect into a heap” the dried paddy. Làng-thàk nàng-dàm-sī nàng-làng-dàm-jī-làng: in this sentence the word làng, which occurs thrice, has three different significations: the first làng is a noun, “water, river”; the second is a verb, “to see, look at”; the third làng is an auxiliary verb, “to continue doing, or being,” used here pleonastically.

Sēr, rūp, “gold, silver,” see note, p. 111, ante. Notice the rare form nèng for nē, “I”; nasals seem occasionally to be added or dropped at will at the end of words: e.g. dā and dàm, “go”; òng and ō, “much, many”; lā and làng, auxiliary verb. Komàt-ching-ā-lànghē nē: ching is a particle strengthening the interrogative komàt,—“who-ever?” lànghē, a ghāt or watering place: nē the interrogative particle borrowed from Assamese, = mā in Mikir.

Bārī-thē Rēchō, “king of the Great Palace”; bārī, “a large house,” loan-word from Assamese: thē, “great.”

Nàng-klō-èt-jō “there they descended beautifully”; klō, “to fall or sink down from a height”; èt a syllable indicating beauty or charm; Mr. Stack notes that it is perhaps connected with the word ètpī, “yellow, golden”; it is also used as an affectionate form of address in èt-mār-lī, “my dears!” jō, plural affix. Kàn, a ceremonious word for clothes; the ordinary expression is pē or rī. Sun-phit: phit means “all at once,” “suddenly.” Tur, “the brightness, splendour” (of the moon and sun).

The syllable jīn in ārnī ingsàm-jīn-lo indicates the day gradually drawing on to evening. Āpòr-lo: notice the verbal affix -lo appended to the noun pòr, “time.” Bèng, “to house animals for the night.” Hijīr, “to shake out,” as a bird its wings before starting to fly.

Phlum-phlum, onomatopoetic adverb imitating the sound of flapping; ī, “to put on one’s clothes”: ā-rī kāchi-ī, “he is putting on his dhoti”; pīnī kāchi-ī, “she is putting on her petticoat”; in this sense the verb ī takes lòk as its constant adverbial supplement: when it means “to lie down,” “to sleep,” it takes lòt. Observe how the distributive force of the sentence is expressed by repeating the whole phrase. Āngphun chepekèk-koi “he made his neck (ingphun) crooked (kèk-dàng or kèk-juk)”; koi, a particle meaning “completely, altogether.” Èn “take,” and kīm, “build,” both mean “to marry”; the latter implies the building of a separate house for the newly wedded couple, or perhaps the wedding bower.

Arlèng-āsō: notice that here the word ārlèng evidently means a human being, opposed to ārnàm-āsō, the child of a divine person. Pàn, “to cut down and clear the jungle for cultivation.” Làng-ding “continue to watch”: ding a particle of continuance (cf. keding, tall, long). Pàn-dèt pī-dèt; here pī has the sense of “to cut down” (a tree, or something thick): so also thī. Màm, “the jungle.” Further on, in thī-ròk-rē, thī means “to lie”: Pisī dàk-lē kethī-ròk-mā? “why are you lying here?” ròk is an adverbial supplement.

Ārchē is used of sowing or planting many things together, as here: to sow or plant only one thing is ē: thèngthē ke-ē, “he is sowing maize”; sòk ke-rīk, “he is sowing rice broad-cast”; sòk ke-ē, “he is transplanting rice.” Mīr-phèk-ē: mīr, “flower,” phèk-ē, “rice-husks”: “a flower that grows out of heaps of rice-husks; has a long narrow leaf and a flower which is red and white mixed” (Stack); tādo, “a kind of white lily or arum with a yellow style” (id.). Kemē-thèk-thē-òng pukē: “so (pukē) beautiful (kemē) excessively (òng) as never was seen (thèk-thē).” Vàng-phlòt: phlòt: a particle indicating suddenness. Teràn, an individual plot, as distinguished from the rīt or general field. E-kòrpō H. K. āteràn-lē-mā: kòrpō, “cousin (mother’s brother’s son),” also indicates the relationship between a woman and her sister’s husband; here of course it is used in the latter sense, proleptically; it is characteristic of this story-teller that he discloses the dénouement of his tale well in advance. Notice the idiom -lē -mā, “it must be,” an indirect question = “is it not?”

Pòngsī, Ass. baṅsī, “a flute,” made of a piece of bamboo; èt, to bore a hole. Che-èt-ō “he (cut and) bored holes in a number of flutes”; ō seems to be a shortened form of òng, many: hēm kīm-ō, “they built a number of huts”; nē vo nàm-ō-lo, “I have bought a lot of fowls.”

Ju-mē-òng, “it is very good to hear”: ju is shortened from ārju: the prefix ār- is separable in this word and in ārnī, “day, sun,” ārlòng “stone,” and several other words, which appear in composition as nī and lòng, etc.; it seems probable that it is connected with the Tibetan prefix r-, to which the Mikir relative particle, ā-, has been prefixed. Notice nitum for nētum, possibly by vowel-harmony with the following words mīr and chilòk. Chilòk-pòn ningkē-mā: observe that this phrase stands both for the request and its answer—ningkē, “willing”; ning, “mind”;—mā is thus not only the interrogative particle, but also indicates its corresponding affirmative reply. Ā-mèk, ā-nō, “eyes and ears” = eyes only. Mīnī, menàp (minàp), alternative terms for pinī, pēnàp, “to-day, to-morrow.”

Do-àngsē-lo = do-koi-lo, “have all got.”

Mòn Rēchō, probably shortened for Tomòn-Rēchō; tomòn, “wind.” Rai-dun, special verb for “to ask in marriage.” Bòng, “gourd for holding beer”; tē, doublet. Thàk, “to weave.” Thàn chèk, “to explain”; chèk strengthens verbs for imparting information. Āning āròng kedo: ròng, “delight,” Ass. loan-word.

Notice again āmèk ānō for “eyes” only.

Tòk, a verb with the general meaning “to thrust, poke”; used already above (p. 116) for thrusting with a spear; here for pounding the rice with a long pestle (lèngpum) in the mortar (lòng); another sense is “to write” (“to poke with a pen”). Sèt, “to give the half-cleaned rice a second pounding.” Dàng, “to serve up the cooked food.” Bē “to heat the fermented rice”; sòr, “to press out the beer” from the grains, mixed with warm water, which have been put in the conical strainer of woven bamboo, sī, by pressing down upon them a gourd, bòng.

Rèp seems to be a variant of ràp (explained above, p. 118), and indicates that all of them have been married together. Chàn-jai, “to have several children.”

Pāngrī-rē-dèt-làng-lē-mā; here again two verbs each have the negative affix, pàngrī and làng, the latter an auxiliary signifying “to continue to be.” Pàngrī in the sense “to marry,” is the causal of ingrī, “to drink copiously of liquor”; the description of the marriage ceremony at p. 18 shows the important part which is taken in it by alcoholic drinks. Ingting-po, “it will be dark”: observe the impersonal use of the verb, without a substantive: we may say ājō kàngting-pār, “the night is very dark.”

Nàng-làng-phròng-sī-do-po; phròng is one of the particles used to indicate plurality: “they will all be looking out for (làng) us there (nàng).” Bòm, one of the verbs indicating continuance may be rendered “from time to time.”

A-rī su-rī-thā, ā-kèng su-rī-thā: this injunction not to touch the hand or foot of the fairy princess has different parallels in other lands; in the Celebes version referred to on p. 72 it is the hair that is not to be touched. Pe-rē, causal of rē, “to be knowing, clever.” Ur, a platform or screen for drying flesh in the sun; ràp includes also a shelf in the house.

Krèng, to be dry, bears the same relation to rèng, dry (ante, p. 122), as klàng (p. 99), to perceive, does to làng, to look at; in both the prefix ke- has apparently been incorporated in the root.

Chedàm-tā-mē “You can go if you like”: observe the force of mē, “well, good.” Che-mē-mē-làng: the verb mē here seems to be the Assamese mēl, “agreement,” not the Mikir word for “good.” Observe the idiomatic expression ningkàn īsī-lo-lē-mā thī, in answer to an objection: so one says, in reply to a request for payment, nē nàng pī-tàng-dèt-lo-lē-mā-thī “but I have paid you already!” Observe that in nàng che-mē-mē-lā the last syllable = làng without its nasal. Āsō Ārnàm pī-lo, “God gave a child”: possibly this phrase is due to the narrator, who it will be remembered was a Christian. Tī, a particle = “not yet reconciled.” Dē, a particle of asseveration, “indeed,” probably the Assamese dēi.

Hèt, a particle used with verbs meaning to tie, bind, in the sense of “firmly, securely.” Dut, a particle used with verbs of scratching or cutting. Tòng, a particle indicating hurry or haste. Ēmōkē, “in a little time”: mō, “space or interval of time,” ē-, particle of unity, as in ē-jòn, ē-bèng. Pulèm, “to say in joke”: pu, “say,” lèm, “seem, pretend.” Pràn, Assamese. Pu-pā-nā, “don’t have to say”: nā, Assamese. Nàng-tā-mē, nē-tā-mē, idiomatic, “it will be well with you or it will be well with me,” i.e. “either you or I will come off the better.” Dohai, “an oath”; probably the Assamese dōhāi, “call for justice”: semē (the Khasi smai) is also used.

Bòp, to shoot a bird or animal; àp, to let off a bow or gun.

Dòk-dòk, particles used to indicate that an event has nearly happened (with jī, future affix). Tō, imperative particle borrowed from Khasi, and prefixed, as in that language.

Pai-ā-rē “beside the hedge (pai)” = pai-ā-kung. Chō-phī; the Mikirs scorch (phī) every bird or animal before preparing it for cooking. Chònghoi, reflexive form of inghoi, “to do,” = “to do by themselves.” Ā-rī-ē-hòng: hòng is the generic class-word for a limb (see ante, p. 79). Ingthàn, “to cut up fish or flesh, whether raw or cooked.” Chingnèk reflexive of ingnèk, to laugh, “laughing together.” Chingnī, reflexive of ingnī, doublet of ingnèk; the verb also means “to sit.”

Puthòt-ādàp-lo; puthòt, “next”: cf. lē-thòt in ādàk-vàm ā-dun-lēthòt on p. 114 above; the time-affix -lo is joined directly to ādàp, “morning.”

Ā-ràt, ā-dèt, both Assamese loan-words; ràt is raīyat, “ryots,” dèt, dēh, “country.” Chethòr-prē, vàng-prē, are both used for “continually coming and going, of many people”; the former expression indicates greater numbers and frequency than the latter. Pòng-ting, “a gold drum, worn on the breast, strung in the middle of a set of strings on which black, coral, and gold beads are arranged in alternate rows six deep” (Stack); in Assamese mādolī. Nī, nèng, tē, pīnu: see the table of terms of relationship on p. 20. Āpār-tā-sō-sē-làng: this sentence appears to be made up thus: āpār, “greatly, much,” tā, corroborative particle: sō, diminutive particle, negatived by sē, làng, auxiliary verb, “continue”; the force of it, then, would be—“the effect would not be only the poor result you see, fine though that is, but ever so much more!”

Konàt-tòng = konàt-ching, “wherever?” Kopi-āthē = kopi-āpòt.

Pai-pē-lo: this idiom is illustrated by the following phrases: klèm-dàm pai-pē-lo, “he is not working gratis, for nothing”; là āklèng pai-pē-lo, “he is not the elder for nothing”; i.e. he can do better than his younger brothers. Ingjār-èt-dàn-lo: the element dàn gives the force of returning to her own place whence she came. Jō, verb, “to bend a bow,” ràng, particle of continuance. Thā, “wait!” Assamese loan-word. Phō, verb, “to touch, arrive at,” as a boat comes to the shore with chi, “to touch one another, to meet” (see p. 112, lines 1 and 2).

Akhī-lō-du; ākhī, “something to eat,” lō, “leaf,” du, “wrap up,” = “so much food as can be wrapped up in a leaf,” a morsel.

Ē-joi, “one draught”; joi is perhaps Ass. jol, “water.” Ō, verb, “to leave, set down.”

Mòn Rēchō-ātum; notice that here tum has its original sense of “company”; “Mòn Rājā’s company, or following.”

Pu-hur-lo: hur is one of the particles indicating plurality.

Nē dun-īk-nòn: īk, “elder brother,” used as a respectful form of address; observe its place in the compound imperative. Māthā-thuròng, lit. “you had another (thu) meaning” (viz. to make me lose my life). Notice how -sī, the mark of the conjunctive participle, is affixed to the reported utterance of H. K. Chērbàk = che-ārbàk; ārbàk, the lap or bosom; also a verb: osō kārbàk, “she holds the child to her bosom.” Kràp is said to be used only of a child climbing up into its mother’s lap.

Ingring, used as homonym of theràk, “to be ashamed,” also means “to be afraid, disturbed in mind.”

Chērju-lo = che-ārju-lo. Phār, “to order”; nàng nē kephār āling-lo, “as you order me”; nē phār-dun pemē-sèn-lo, “I gave him careful instructions.” Bīdā = Ass. bidāi, “leave to depart.”

Che pē; notice that pē, “mother,” is used as an affectionate term of address to a daughter, exactly as pō, “father,” is used above to a son or grandson. Lō-thui-hàn-thui, “a bundle of vegetables, with a leaf wrapped round it.” Chòk and thèng mean literally “to beat,” but are here jocularly used for getting rid of a person. Pālār causal of lār, “to be changed or exchanged,” also apparently used jocularly of giving in marriage.

H. K.-ātum: notice the plural affix used to indicate H. K. and his wife. Chō-lo, “he became”; this seems to be a different verb from chō, “to eat.” Notice ā-rēchō “his kingship”; rēchō stands for rāj as well as rājā. Thīr, Ass. thīr, “steady, stable.”

Additional Notes.

Divisions of time. On p. 95, note, the divisions of the day are given. To these may be added those of the year, as recorded by Mr. Stack. A year is ning-kàn (cf. Lushei kum, Shö kun, “year,” and Lushei ni-kum, Thado ningkūm, Shö yan-kun, “last year”). A month is Chiklo, “moon”; but the Assamese months, which are solar divisions of the year, not lunations, appear to be followed. The days of the month are not generally counted, and there is said to be no week. (This is borne out by S. P. Kay’s English-Mikir vocabulary, which gives hopta, the Hindustani hafta, as the word for “week,” with nī-thròksī, “seven days,” as an alternative. In the Mikir Primer published by the American Baptist missionaries in 1903, however, rui is said (p. 21) to be the word for “week.”)

Kechung-āpòr (chung, to be cold) is the cold season. Ning-krèng (krèng, to be dry) is the dry portion of winter. Chung-phàng-òk (chung, cold; phàng-òk, hot), is the spring, merging into summer. Bārlā is the rainy season, followed by Chung-jir-jir (“becoming cold by degrees”) autumn. The following are the names of the months, with the corresponding Assamese names, as set down by Mr. Stack:—

Literary form. | As pronounced in Assam. | Mikir names.
Chaitra | Soit | Thàngthàng
Vaisākha | Boihāg | Thērē
Jyēshṭha | Jēṭh | Jàngmī
Āshāḍha | Āhār | Āru
Śrāvana | Srābon | Vosik
Bhādra | Bhādur | Jākhòng
Āświni | Āhin | Paipai
Kārtika | Kārti | Chiti
Mārgaśirsa | Mārg | Phrē
Paushya | Pōh | Phaikuni
Māgha | Māgh | Mātijòng
Phālguni | Phāgun | Ārkoi

According to the Mikir Primer, however, the Mikir names (which agree with those given by Mr. Stack) correspond with periods earlier by at least a month, Thàngthàng being the equivalent of February, instead of Chaitra (which begins at the vernal equinox), and the other months in ordinary sequence (Thērē, March, Jàngmī, April, etc.). Thàngthàng is said by Mr. Stack to be called Chànglāchòng-ròng-do, “the stay-at-home month.” Thērē is the month in which the jungle is cut and strewn to dry (this would agree well with the equivalent of the Primer, rather than with Boihāg, April-May, when the firing would take place). Vosik (“sprout”) should indicate the month of vigorous growth, when the rains have set in. Phaikuni seems to be borrowed from the Sanskrit Phālguni, but does not correspond with it. The other names are not explained.

Musical instruments. A flute, pongsī, cut from a bamboo, is mentioned on p. 128: pongsī is the Assamese baṅsī, the well-known instrument of the youthful Krishna (Baṅsī-dhar). Other instruments known to the Mikirs are muri, a fife; chèng, a drum; chèng-brup, the small handdrum used by the rīsōmār to accompany their dancing at funeral feasts; and kum, a one-stringed fiddle. The last is made by stretching a string made from a creeper, màngrī, across a gourd, bòng, which provides an air-chamber. It is played with a bow, kum-ālīsō (lī, a bow, sō, diminutive particle) made of bamboo, the string of which is a tough fibre of bamboo. (Compare the one-stringed fiddle, pena, of the Meitheis: Meithei Monograph, p. 56.)

1 There are certain particles, jō, jàm, hur, hòr, and krei, used to indicate plurality when this is necessary; but they are inserted between the root and the tense-suffix, which is invariable. 

2 Pe- and pi- are used with monosyllables, pā- with most polysyllables; pā + ing = pàng. 

3 See “Khasi Monograph,” p. 211. 

VII.

AFFINITIES.

The place of the Mikirs in the Tibeto-Burman family.

Some idea of the mental equipment of the Arlengs will have been gathered from the two preceding sections. It has been seen that, within the limited circle of their experience, they possess a medium of expression which may be described as adequate to their needs, well knit together in its mechanism, and copious in concrete terms, though, like all such languages, wanting in the abstract and general. Their folk-tales are lively and effective as narratives, and the themes, though probably borrowed from the great treasury of popular story elaborated in Peninsular India, have been appropriated and assimilated to the social conditions of the Mikirs themselves. Little has hitherto been done to enlarge the resources of the language in the direction of higher culture, or to use it for the expression of ideas lying beyond the scope of the tribal life; but there appears to be no reason to doubt that the language of the Mikirs will be found in the course of time to be as capable of development for this purpose as the speech of their neighbours the Khasis.¹

The leading feature of the race, in contrast with other hill tribes of Assam, is its essentially unwarlike and pacific character. Its neighbours—Khasis, Kachāris, Kukis, Nagas—have for centuries been engaged in continuous internecine strife, and their tribal individualities have been preserved, and differences accentuated, by the state of hostility in which each unit, however small, lived with all adjacent peoples. The Mikirs have always, at least during the last two centuries, been, as Major Stewart described them in 1855, “good subjects.” Numbering some ninety thousand souls, they are extremely homogeneous, while other tribes in their neighbourhood differ in an extraordinary manner from village to village, and constantly tend to split up into smaller aggregates, looking on all outsiders as enemies. No such disintegrating influence has affected the Arlengs. Whether in North Cachar, the Jaintia Hills, Nowgong, or the Mikir Hills, their tribal institutions, their language, and their national character are identical, and they pursue their peaceful husbandry in the same manner as their forefathers, raising in ordinary years sufficient food for their subsistence, and a considerable amount of cotton and lac for export to the plains. In these circumstances, surrounded by warring tribes, and still nomadic in their habits of cultivation, they have from time to time found it necessary to place themselves under the protection of stronger peoples. It has been mentioned in Section I. that the traditions of the race show that they were formerly subject to the Khasi chiefs of Jaintia and the eastern states of the Khasi Hills, and that they migrated thence to the territory subject to the Ahom kings.² During their sojourn in Khasi-land they assimilated much; dress (p. 5), ornaments (p. 6), personal names (p. 17), methods of divination (pp. 34, 35), funeral ceremonies (pp. 38–42), memorial stones (p. 42), all come from the Khasis, who have also contributed many words to their common speech. Borrowings from Hinduism are equally manifest in their language, their folk-tales, and their religion. Assamese words are numerous in Mikir; Ārnàm Kethē (p. 30) seems to be a translation of Mahādēva; Jòm-āròng (p. 28), and the ideas linked therewith of an after-life, are strongly impressed with a Hindu stamp.

Yet they retain, together with these borrowed features, a sufficiently definite stock of original characteristics. Physically they differ much from Khasi and Assamese alike. Their social fabric is based upon clearly marked exogamous groups, with patriarchal principles of marriage and inheritance; they call these by a Khasi name (kur), but have no trace of the matriarchal family as known among the Khasis. They build their houses on posts, while their neighbours, except the Kukis, build on the ground. Their deities are of the primitive kind which is common to all Indo-Chinese races, well known, under the name of Nats, as the object of popular worship and propitiation in Burma.

Ever since the race has been studied, it has been noticed that it was difficult to establish its exact place and affinities in the heterogeneous congeries of peoples who inhabit the mountainous region between India and Burma. This was remarked by Robinson in 1841 and 1849, by Stewart in 1855, by Damant in 1879. At the Census of 1881 an attempt was made to bring the Mikirs into relation with the Boro or Kachārī stock; but it was seen at the time that more must be ascertained regarding their neighbours before any final judgment could be arrived at. Dr. Grierson, on linguistic grounds, has classed them in the Linguistic Survey as intermediate between the Boro and the Western Nagas. It appears to the present writer, in the light of the much fuller information now available, that they should be classed rather with those tribes which form the connecting link between the Nagas and the Kuki-Chins, and that the preponderance of their affinities lies with the latter of these two races, especially those dwelling in the south of the Arakan Roma range, where the Chin tends to merge into the Burman of the Irawadi Valley.

When Robinson and Stewart wrote, it was still remembered that the Mikirs had once been settled in strength in the country (now called North Cachar) to the immediate north of the Barāil Range, and in contact with the Angāmi, the Kachcha, and the Kabui Nagas; and that, exposed as they were in this locality to the inroads of the Angāmis and the oppression of the Kachāri kings, they had migrated westwards to the territory of the Jaintia Raja in search of protection. It was noticed in the Assam Census Report of 1881 that in this region north of the Barāil, where there are now no Mikirs, local names belonging to their language indicated their former presence. When they lived there, they must have been in touch with tribes belonging to the Kuki-Chin stock, who have for centuries occupied the hill ranges to the south of the valley of Cachar, and the mountains between that valley and Manipur.

The institutions of co-operative agriculture by the village lads (p. 11), the bachelors’ house or teràng (id.), the former custom of ante-nuptial promiscuity (p. 19), and the traces of village tabu resembling the Naga genna, still characterizing the annual festival of the Ròngkēr (p. 43), all point to a connection with the Western Naga tribes, rather than to affinity with the Kachāri stock. From the Kuki and Chin tribes the Mikirs are distinguished chiefly by their pacific habits, and by the absence of the dependence upon hereditary tribal chiefs which is so strong a feature among the former. The customs of both races as regards the building of houses upon posts, with a hong or open platform in front, are identical; in Major G. E. Fryer’s paper “On the Khyeng people of the Sandoway District, Arakan,” published in the Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal for 1875 (pp. 39, 99), a Khyeng house is figured which bears a striking resemblance to the Mikir house. The institutions of domestic and individual life among the Khyengs (Chins), as described by Major Fryer, especially as regards marriage, funeral ceremonies, the disposal of the dead (after copious feasting of friends and relatives) by cremation, the rules of inheritance (females being wholly excluded from succession), the treatment of disease, the propitiation of spirits, and the annual festivals in honour of the gods who preside over man’s welfare, present the closest analogy to those of the Mikirs as set forth in this monograph. Like the Mikirs, the Chins are divided into exogamous groups and follow the rule of male kinship; but, like the Mikirs also in this, the approved marriage is that between a man and his first cousin on the mother’s side. It has been noticed already (p. 21) that the word for father-in-law (òng-hai, wife’s father) in Mikir is identical with that for maternal uncle, òng, and that son-in-law, osā, also means nephew (sister’s son). The story of “the Orphan and his Maternal Uncles” illustrates the obligation which lies on a lad to marry his mother’s brother’s daughter (see above, p. 53). Similarly, Harata Kuṅwar, though but a mortal, calls his father-in-law the Bārī-thē Rēchō ònghai (p. 147), and is spoken of by him as osā (id.), while the fairy princesses call him cousin, kòrpō (p. 127). The same phenomenon appears in the Kuki-Chin languages. In Shö or Chin (Khyeng) apū means both maternal uncle and father-in-law; so also in Lushei, pu has both meanings. The following list of words indicating relationship in Mikir and Lushei (representing the Central Kuki-Chins) shows how closely the two languages correspond in this important part of their vocabulary:—

| Mikir. | Lushei.
grandfather | phu | pu
grandmother | phi | pi
grandson | su-po | tu-pa
granddaughter | su-pī | tu-nu
father | pō | pā
mother | pei | nu
aunt: |  |
| father’s sister | nī | ni
| mother’s sister | pi-nu | nu
| father’s brother’s wife | nī | nu

Among all these tribes the most important index to racial connexion is to be found in their languages. No one would now assert that language, any more than religion, is everywhere a conclusive mark of racial unity; immense masses of the people of India to-day speak languages imposed upon them from without, and Aryan speech has extended itself over many millions in whose blood nothing is due to the original invaders from the north-west. Again, the practices of a predatory state of society bring into the tribe slaves and wives from outside; or, as among the Mikirs (p. 33), aliens may be accepted on equal terms as members, thus modifying the unity of blood. On the other hand, it would be equally unreasonable and opposed to the facts to deny that, among such communities as the Tibeto-Burman peoples of Assam, race and language do, constantly and in a general manner, coincide. People who speak a tongue which is unintelligible to their neighbours are necessarily thrown together into a unity of their own. Their ancestral ideas and institutions, secular and religious, their tribal history, must tend to keep them united, and perpetuate the influence of a common origin by the fact that all outside the community are actual or potential enemies. Language, therefore, when it coincides with tribal separateness, is our chief guide in determining the relationship of the hill tribes of Assam one to another.

Here another qualification is, however, necessary. The word-stock of the Tibeto-Burman races is to a large extent identical. The same methods of arranging the elements of the sentence, in other words the same general principles of grammar, prevail throughout the whole family of speech. We must, therefore, in investigating the nearer kinship of one group to another, not be misled by linguistic resemblances which are common to the whole stock to which both groups belong.

In comparing Tibeto-Burman languages it has been usual to choose for examination in the first place the numerals and in the second the pronouns. The vocabulary of nouns, adjectives, and verbs is liable to disturbing influences which do not equally affect the simple ideas represented by number and person. Let us begin, therefore, with the numerals. These, so far as they are necessary for our purpose, are as follows in Mikir:—

one, | īsī
two, | hīnī
three, | kethòm
four, | philī
five, | phòngō
six, | theròk
seven, | theròk-sī
eight, | nēr-kèp
nine, | sir-kèp
ten, | kèp
eleven, | krē-īsī
twelve, | krē-hīnī
thirteen, | krē-kethòm
etc. |
a score, | ing-koi
twenty-one, | ing-koi-rā-īsī
etc. |
thirty, | thòm-kèp
forty, | philī-kèp
etc. |
a hundred, | phārō

Here the first thing to be noticed is that the three numerals between six and ten are not independent vocables, but compounds; seven is six plus one: eight is ten minus two, and nine is ten minus one. In most of the other languages of the family this is not so; the Boṛo, the Naga, and the majority of the Kuki-Chin languages all have independent words for seven, eight, and nine. It appears to be only in the Kuki-Chin group that we can find an analogy to the Mikir words for these three numerals. In Anāl, a language of the Old Kuki family spoken in Manipur, seven is tak-si which seems to be identical with the Mikir theròk-sī; and in Meithei (the language of the Manipuris) eight is ni-pān,“two from ten,” and nine is ma-pān, “one from ten.”

We next notice that ten is expressed by two separate words, kèp (in ten and its multiples) and krē (in the compounds from eleven to nineteen). So far as vocabularies have yet been published, the only other tribes of the Tibeto-Burman family³ which have a word resembling kèp for ten are Maring Naga, one of the Naga-Kuki languages, where it is chip, and Shö or southern Chin, where gip is used for ten in the sequence thirty, forty, fifty, etc. (thum-gip, thirty, mlī-gip, forty, nghā-gip, fifty, exactly corresponding to the Mikir thòm-kèp, philī-kèp, phòngō-kèp). The close resemblance of the other numerals in Maring to Mikir forms is noticeable; four is filī, five fungā, and six tharuk. The other word for ten, krē, strongly resembles the Angāmi kerr or kerru and the Kachcha Naga gārēo; in the Central Naga group the prefix ke- has been replaced by ta- or te-, and the words for ten are ter, tarā (Ao), tarō, tarā, tarē (Lhota), etc. In the Naga-Kuki group Sopvoma has chirō, Marām kero, Tangkhul tharā, etc. In the Kuki-Chin group Meithei tarā is the same word: in the Central Chin another prefix, pu-, pö-, or pā-, is used, and we have Lai pörā, Banjogi parā, Taungthā parhā. There are no Boṛo forms which correspond to krē, nor any much resembling kèp.

The Mikir word for twenty, ingkoi, is made up of the prefix ing-, and koi, formerly (before the loss of the final l) kol. Kachcha Naga has the same word, engkai, Kabui choi, koi, or kol. The word also appears in Garo (kol), Tipura (khol), and Deori-Chutiya (kwa), of the Boṛo group; Angāmi me-kwū, me-khi, mekko, Lhota me-kwī, mekwü, in the West and Central Naga groups; Marām and Sopvoma (makē, makei), Tangkhul (magā), Phadeng (ma-kui), in the Naga-Kuki group, and Singpho khun. In the Kuki-Chin languages it is very common (Meithei kul, Siyin kul, Lai pö-kul, Shonshē ma-kul, Banjogi kūl, Shö [Chin] kūl, goi). There does not appear to be any trace of this word for a score in the Tibetan and Himalayan languages, where twenty is invariably rendered by “two-tens.”⁴ The Northern Indian word kōṛī, which has the same meaning, has been compared with it; it is difficult, however, to imagine borrowing on one part or the other.

In the series of tens, 30 to 90, Mikir prefixes the multiplier: thòm-kèp, philī-kèp, phòngō-kèp, etc. The Boṛo group prefixes the tens (Garo sot-brī, 40, sot-bonggā, 50, sot-dok, 60, etc.).⁵ The Naga group has both systems; Angāmi prefixes the tens: lhī⁶-dā, 40, lhī-pangu, 50, lhī-suru, 60; Lhota and Ao suffix them: Lhota tham-dro, 30, zü-ro, 40, rok-ro, 60; Ao semur’ 30, lir’ 40, rok-ur’ 60. In the Kuki-Chin group the majority of dialects prefix the tens (Thado and Lushei sōm-thūm 30, sōm-lī 40, etc.), and this is also the rule for Kachcha Naga, Kabui, and Khoirāo, as well as for all the languages classed by Dr. Grierson as Naga-Kuki. But the Shö or southern Chins not only have the same collocation as the Mikirs (thum-gip, mlī-gip, nghā-gip)—an arrangement which also obtains in Burmese,—but use the same words. This coincidence is very striking.

The word for a hundred, phārō, bears no resemblance to any word expressing this numeral in the Boṛo languages. It agrees with the Angāmi krā, Kezhāmā krī, Sopvoma krē, and in a remarkable way with the words used by the Southern Chins (Taungthā ta-yā = tarā, Chinbòk phyā = phrā, Yawdwin prā, Shö (Chin) krāt). It will be seen that phā- in Mikir, k- in the Naga languages, and ta-, ph-, p- and k- in the Chin dialects, are numeral prefixes, and that the essential element of the numeral is rā (Mikir rō) or rāt. It appears in this form, without any prefix, in several other Kuki-Chin languages.

Here should be mentioned a custom which obtains in Mikir of counting by fours; a group of four is chekē or chikē, which corresponds to the Boṛo zakhai (jakhai). This system is used for counting such things as eggs, betel-nuts, fowls, etc., of the same class; e.g. vo-tī chikē phòngō-rā ē-pum, 21 eggs (4 × 5 + 1): chikē phòngō-rā pum-thòm, 23 eggs (4 × 5 + 3). Possibly one language has borrowed from the other. (This method of counting by fours is common throughout the Aryan languages of Northern India, where a group of four is called (gaṇḍā.)

Our conclusion from these comparisons is that while Mikir has few coincidences, beyond those common to the whole Tibeto-Burman family, with the Boṛo group, it has many with the Naga and Kuki-Chin groups, and especially with the Shö or southernmost Chins.

Before leaving the numerals, something must be said of the prefixes which they exhibit throughout the Tibeto-Burman family. Taking first that member for which we have the oldest materials, Tibetan, the first ten numerals are as follows:—

| As written. | As now spoken in Central Tibet.
one | gchig | chik
two | gnyis | nyī
three | gsum | sum
four | bzhi | shi
five | lngā | ngā
six | drug | ḍhuk
seven | bdun | dün
eight | brgyad | gyā
nine | dgu | gu
ten | bchu | chu

Here we observe several different prefixes, once no doubt supplied with vowels, but from the dawn of written record united in Tibetan with the following consonant, and now no longer heard in utterance; in the first three units the prefix is g-: in four, seven, eight, and ten it is b-: in six and nine it is d-: and in five it is l-.

In the Tibeto-Burman languages of Assam and Burma we find the same phenomenon of numeral prefixes; but while some languages have the same prefix throughout the ten units, others, like Tibetan, have several different prefixes. In some cases, again, the prefixes have been incorporated in the numeral and are no longer recognized as separable, while in others they may be dropped when the numeral occurs in composition; in others, again, the prefixes have (as in spoken Tibetan) been dropped altogether.

Of the first class the best examples are the Central Kuki-Chin languages:—

| Lai. | Shonshē. | Lushei.
one | pö-kat | ma-kat | pa-khat
two | pö-ni | ma-nhi | pa-nhih
three | pö-thūm | ma-ton | pa-thum
four | pö-lī | ma-li | pa-lī
five | pö-nga | ma-ngā | pa-ngā
six | pö-ruk | ma-rūk | pa-ruk
seven | pö-sari | ma-seri | pa-sarih
eight | pö-ryeth | ma-rīt | pa-riat
nine | pö-kwa | ma-ko | pa-kuā
ten | pö-ra | ma-rā | shom

Of the second class Mikir, in common with most of the Assam family, is an example; in one and two the prefix ke- (representing the Tibetan g-) has been abraded to ī- and hī-: in three it persists; in these numbers the prefix may be dropped in composition, leaving sī, nī, and thòm remaining. In four and five we have the prefix phi- (for pi-) and pho- (for po- or pa-), representing the b- of Tibetan, but now no longer separable. In six the prefix the- represents the original d-, and has similarly become inseparable. In ten, the form krē represents an original kerā, answering to the Kuki-Chin pö-rā and ma-rā and the Meithei ta-rā. We notice that in Mikir, as in the Naga and Kuki-Chin languages, the hard consonants k, p, t (ph, th) have replaced the soft g, b, and d of the Tibetan. In the Boṛo languages, on the other hand, the original soft consonants of Tibetan are retained, as will be seen from the forms below:—

| Boṛo. | Dīmāsā. | Garo.
one | se, sŭi | shī | sā
two | ni, nŭi | ginī | gnī
three | thām | gatam | gitām
four | brè, brŭi | bri | brī
five | bā | bongā | bonggā
six | ro, ḍo | ḍo | ḍok

In these changes Mikir follows the phonetic laws obtaining in Naga and Kuki-Chin, not those which obtain in Boṛo.

It has been pointed out already (p. 78) that generic determinatives are used in Mikir when numbers are joined to nouns. This practice is common to the Boṛo languages and to the Kuki-Chin group (as well as Burmese), but does not appear to be prevalent in the Western Naga group. A list of the words used in Darrang Kachārī is given at p. 13 of Mr. Endle’s grammar; for Garo, a list will be found at p. 6 of Mr. Phillips’s grammar; it much resembles the Darrang list, but neither contains any forms coinciding with those of Mikir except the Garo pat, used for leaves and other flat things, which resembles the Mikir pàk. On the other hand, in Kuki-Chin we have in Lai pum for globular things,⁷ the same as in Mikir, and in Shö (Chin) we have for persons pün, the Mikir bàng (bàng in Mikir and pang in Lushei mean body), and for animals zün, the Mikir jòn (Mr. Houghton’s grammar, p. 20). Here again the affinity of the Arleng is with the Kuki-Chin group, and especially with its southernmost member, rather than with the Boṛo.

Turning now to the pronouns, the Mikir nē for the first person singular finds it exact equivalent only in the two Old Kuki dialects Anāl and Hirōi, spoken in Manipur, where the corresponding pronoun is ni (Anāl) and nai (Hirōi). In Boṛo the form is āng, in Angāmi ā, in Sema ngi, in Ao nī, in Lhota ā, in Kachcha Naga ānui. In the majority of the Kuki-Chin family another stem, kei or kē, is used. Here Mikir agrees with the two Kuki dialects mentioned and with some of the Naga forms, rather than with Boṛo.

For the second person singular all the Tibeto-Burman languages of Assam have nàng, or closely similar forms.

For the third person Mikir now uses the demonstrative lā, but, as the possessive prefix shows, had formerly ā. In this it agrees with Lai, Lushei, Chiru, Kolren among the Kuki family, and Tangkhul and Maring among the Naga-Kuki group. What the original Boṛo pronoun of the third person was is not now ascertainable; the demonstrative bi (Darrang), bē (Lalung), bō (Dīmāsā) or uā (Garo) is now used instead. This seems to correspond with the Mikir pe-, pi-, pā- in the words mentioned on p. 80. In Angāmi the pronoun is similarly pō, in Sema pā, and in Ao pā. In Meithei and many other Kuki-Chin languages another demonstrative, ma, is used; this may be connected with the Mikir mi, me, in minī, to-day, menàp, to-morrow (see p. 80). But, although ma is used as a separate pronoun for the third person in the majority of the Kuki-Chin group, the prefixed ā- of relation, usual in Mikir, which (as explained on p. 76) is really the possessive pronoun of the third person, is widely employed throughout the family, as a prefix both to nouns and adjectives, in exactly the same way as in Mikir. This coincidence, again, is striking; the Boṛo languages seem to present nothing similar.

The plural pronouns in Mikir are formed by adding -tum to the singular. Exactly the same thing takes place in Tangkhul, a Naga-Kuki language: i, I, i-thum, we; nā, thou, nā-thum, ye; ā, he, ā-thum, they. The plural of nouns, however, in Tangkhul is formed by other affixes, generally words meaning “many” (cf. the Mikir òng).

Mikir has two forms for the pronoun of the first person plural, according as the speaker includes the person addressed or excludes him, ī-tum or ē-tum in the former and nē-tum in the latter case. The first, it will be seen, agrees with the general word for we in Tangkhul. In Angāmi also two forms are used, hē-ko for we exclusive, and ā-vo for we inclusive; the former seems to agree in form, though not in sense, with the Mikir ē-tum. The affinity of Mikir with the Western Naga and Naga-Kuki languages seems to be exemplified here also. The Boṛo languages have not the double form for this person.

The reflexive pronoun or particle in Mikir, che (see p. 80), is represented in Thado Kuki by ki, which is perhaps the same word. Angāmi has the, Meithei na. Boṛo does not appear to possess any corresponding particle.

The interrogative particle -mā in Mikir (p. 80) is mo in most of the Kuki-Chin languages (in some -em, -am), while in Angāmi it is mā, and in Kachcha Naga mē. The same particle (mā) is used in Garo and Boṛo for questions.

Two particles are used in Mikir as suffixes to magnify or diminish the root-word; the augmentative is -pī (as thèng, wood, firewood, thèngpī, a tree; làng, water, làngpī, the great water, the sea), the diminutive is -sō (as hèm, a house, hèmsō, a hut; làng-sō, a brook). Boṛo has -mā for the augmentative, -sā for the diminutive (dui-mā, great river, dui-sā, brook); but Meithei and Thado have the same particles as Mikir, -pī and -chā (ch is equivalent to s).

The Mikir suffix -pō, feminine -pī, corresponding to the Hindī -wālā (see several examples on p. 12 ante), seems to be identical with the Meithei -bā (-pā) and -bī (-pī), though it has nothing like the extensive use in Mikir which -bā (-pā) has in Meithei.

The noteworthy separable prefix ār- in Mikir, which is probably connected with the Tibetan prefix r- (see ante, p. 129, note), appears to occur in the Kuki-Chin languages, but does not seem to have any representative in the Boṛo family. The examples in the Kuki-Chin volume of the Linguistic Survey are found in Rangkhol (p. 6, er-ming, “name”), Aimol (p. 215, ra-mai, “tail,” Mikir ārmē), Kōm (p. 245, ra-mhing, “name”; ra-nai, “earth, ground” [nai perhaps = Mikir lē in lòng-lē]), Kyaw or Chaw (p. 254), and Hirōi (p. 282). All these forms of speech belong to the Old Kuki group, which has already yielded several other analogies with Mikir.

The prefix ke- (ki-, kā-), which plays so important a part in Mikir (see pp. 77, 83, 84) in the formation of adjectives, participles, and verbal nouns, and answers to the Boṛo ga- and the Angāmi ke-, has for the most part disappeared from the Kuki dialects, perhaps because it conflicts with the prefixed pronominal stem of the first person, ka-. It survives, however, in the three Old Kuki languages, Kōm, Anāl, and Hirōi. In Tangkhul, of the Naga-Kuki group, it is used exactly as in Mikir, to form adjectives and verbal nouns, e.g.:—

| Mikir. | Tangkhul.
to come | ke-vàng | ka-vā (to go)
to eat | ke-chō | ka-shāi
to remain | ke-bòm | ka-pam (to sit)
to beat | ke-chòk | ka-shō
to die | ke-thī | ka-thī

The particles used in Mikir as suffixes to indicate tenses of the verb, with the exception of that for the completed past, tàng, which appears to be identical with the Thado and Lushei tā, do not seem to have any close analogues in the Kuki-Chin or Naga-Kuki groups; they are also quite different from those used in the Boṛo group. Causative verbs, however, are in many Kuki-Chin languages constructed with the verb pē or pèk, “to give,” as in Mikir; and the suffix of the conjunctive participle in Mikir, -sī, is perhaps the same as -chū in Khoirāo. In Boṛo the prefix fi-, answering to the Mikir pi-, was formerly used to form causatives, as appears from verbal roots in current use; the construction now most common uses -nu, which has the same meaning (“to give”) as a suffix.

The negative verb in Mikir is formed by suffixing the particle -ē to the positive root, when the latter begins with a vowel. Similarly, in Boṛo a negative verb is formed by adding the particle -ā. In the Kuki-Chin languages different suffixes are employed (lo, lai, loi, māk, ri), and in a few dialects prefixes. Here Mikir resembles Boṛo rather than the Kuki group. But the remarkable feature of Mikir in reduplicating initial consonants before the suffixed negative (see ante, p. 85) has no analogy in either family, unless the isolated example in Kolren (an Old Kuki dialect) quoted in the Linguistic Survey, vol. III., part iii., p. 19, supplies one. It is to be observed, however, that in the construction there cited (na-pē-pèk-māo-yai, “did not give”), the verb pèk has suffixed to it the negative particle māo, and that the reduplication alone appears to have no negative force. Other examples seem necessary before the rule of reduplication can be considered to be established. Possibly loi and lai in Kuki correspond to the separate Mikir negative kā-lī (see ante, p. 86).

It remains to give some examples of correspondence in general vocabulary between Mikir and other Tibeto-Burman languages. It has been shown above from the analysis of the numerals that prefixes play a large part in all these languages. These prefixes, which to some extent are interchangeable, and also differ in the different members of the family, have to be eliminated in order to find the roots which are to be compared. Again, certain changes in vowels and consonants between different languages regularly occur. Our knowledge is not yet sufficient to enable a law of interchange to be formulated; but the following conclusions seem to be justified. In vowels, Mikir has a preference for long ō where other languages have -ā, especially in auslaut;⁸ on the other hand long ā in Mikir is sometimes thinned down to ē; the word rēchō, answering to the Aryan rājā, is an example of both processes. Long ī in Mikir often corresponds to oi and ai, as well as to ē and ei, in the cognates. As regards consonants, nasals at the end of syllables are often rejected; thus within Mikir itself we have ō and òng, dā and dàm, nē and nèng, lā and làng. Some languages (as for instance Angāmi⁹ Naga) tolerate no consonantal endings, not even a nasal. In Mikir itself final l has been vocalised into i or dropped; and in many Naga and Kuki-Chin dialects (as also in Burmese) final consonants have disappeared or have suffered great changes. As already noticed, the surd mutes k, p, t (sometimes aspirated) have taken the place of the original sonants g, b, d to a large extent in Mikir, though b and d (not g) still survive in a fair proportion of words. Boṛo generally retains the old sonants of Tibetan, and Meithei uses both classes according to the adjacent sounds. The palatals ch, j of Mikir tend to become sibilants, s, ts, z, in the cognate languages; j is also often softened to y in Kuki-Chin. L and r in anlaut frequently interchange in Meithei, the interchange depending on the adjacent vowels. These letters also interchange freely in other languages of the family. In Burmese r has everywhere been changed to y, except in Arakan. L and n also often interchange. Initial d in Mikir seems sometimes to correspond to l in other cognates; and it is possible that Mikir initial s may occasionally be represented by h in the latter, though this is not quite certain. Th and s often interchange in anlaut, some dialects of Kuki-Chin showing the intermediate stage of θ, which in Burmese now everywhere replaces original s.

Lastly, it should be noticed that Tipura, an outlying member of the Boṛo group, often exhibits a sound system more closely corresponding to that of the Kuki-Chin languages (which are its neighbours) than Boṛo, Dīmāsā, or Garo.

The resemblances in vocabulary between Mikir and the Western Naga dialects are extensive, as will be seen from the list (due to Mr. A. W. Davis) at p. 201, vol. III., part ii., of the Linguistic Survey. These need not be repeated here. The following is a list of Boṛo (Darrang), Dīmāsā, Garo, and Tipura words which seem to correspond with Mikir. It will be seen, however, by reference to the columns headed Kuki-Chin and Naga (including Naga-Kuki), that in the case of nearly all these words the other two families, as well as Mikir, have the same roots. They therefore belong to the common stock of the Tibeto-Burman languages of Assam, and do not by themselves prove any close connection of Mikir with Boṛo.

Nouns.

English. | Mikir. | Boṛo family. | Kuki-Chin. | Naga.
nose | nōkàn | Garo, nukum, nākung | Meithei nātōl (n) | Tangkhul nātūng
Tipura, bukung | Thado nakui | Angāmi ā-niki
Lushei nhār | E. Naga nākong, nātong
eye | mèk | Boṛo mēgan | Meithei |  | mit | Ang. mhi, mhü
Dīmāsā mu | Thado | Tangk. mik
Garo mik-rēn | Lushei | Marām mek
| Shö (Chin) mik | E. Naga mik, mek
mouth | ing-hō | Boṛo khū-ga | Lushei kā | Ang. thā, mē-thā
Dīmāsā khau | Khāmī khā | Rengma màng-khòng
Garo hō-tom, ku-sik | Shö khō |
tooth | sō | Boṛo hā-thau | Andro sho | Ang. ho, hu
Dīmāsā id. | Sengmai shoa | Sema a-hu
| Thado |  | hā |
| Lushei |
| Shö haw |
ear | nō | Garo nā-chil, nā-kāl | Meithei |  | nā | Ang. nü
| Lai | Lhota en-nō
| Shö a-nhō | Maring ka-nā
face | me-hàng | Boṛo makhàng | Meithei māe |
Garo mikkang | Lushei hmai |
Tipura mukhàng |  |
belly | pòk | Dīmāsā ho | Meithei puk | Ang. vā
Garo ok, pī-puk | Andro pūk | Sema ā-pfo
Tipura bahak | Shö puk | Lhota o-pòk
| Lai paw |
| Thado wai |
father | pō | Boṛo |  | fā | Meithei |  | pā | Ang. pō
Dīmāsā | Lushei | Sema pā
Garo pā, bā | Thado | Ao ta-bā
Tipura bā | Sengmai |  | pō | Lhota o-pō
| Khami |
| Shö |
son | sō-pō | Boṛo f’sā | Meithei |  | chāpā | Lhota o-tsöe
Dīmāsā pasā, sā | Thado | Maring chā
Garo sā, pī-sā | Khami chōpo | Hatigoria chāpā
Tipura basā | Shö chō |
daughter | sō-pī | Dīmāsā pu-su | Meithei cha-(anu)-pī |
| Khami numpui-chō |
cat | mèng, mèng-kālū | Garo mèng-gō | Thado meng-chā |
Tipura ā-mīng | Ranghkhol meng |
| Shö min |
iron | ingchin | Boṛo shurr | Andro sēn, sēl | Ang. the-zhī
Dīmāsā shēr | Lushei thīr | Yachumi inchi
Garo sil, sar | Thado |  | thī | Thukumi īsē
Tipura sir | Shö |
| Khami sing |

Adjectives.

English. | Mikir. | Boṛo family. | Kuki-Chin. | Naga.
big | kethē | Boṛo gadet |  | Ang. kedī
small | kibī, bi-hèk | Boṛo gahai | Meithei ā-pīsek |
bitter | kehō | Boṛo gakhā | Lushei khā |
Meithei khā-ba
Thado a-khā
cold | ke-chung | Boṛo gazang | Lushei shik |
beautiful | mēsèn, mē | Boṛo mozang | Lushei moi

Verbs.

go | dàm | Boṛo |  | thàng |  | Ang. tā
Dīmāsā |  | Sopvoma tā-o
Tipura |  | Maring tā-so
come | vàng | Boṛo |  | fai |  | Ang. vor
Dīmāsā |  | Kwoireng |  | pā-lo
Tipura |  | Marām
eat | chō | Boṛo zā | Meithei chā-ba | Ang. chi
Dīmāsā jī | Khami chā | Kwoireng tyū-lo
Garo chā, sā | (Burmese chā, tsā) | Tangkhul ka-shāi
Tipura chā |  |
beat | chòk | Dīmāsā shu |  | Tangkhul ka-sho
die | thi | Boṛo thoi | Meithei sī-ba | Ang. sā
Dīmāsā tī, thei | Thado thī | Sema ti
Garo tī, sī, tai | Lushei tī | Sopvoma thiyē
Tipura thai | Khami dēi | Marām tei-lo
|  | Tangkhul ka-thī
run | kàt | Boṛo khāt | Meithei chatpa (?) (to go) | Tangkhul ka-chat
Dīmāsā khai | Andro kat-e |
Garo kat |  |
say | pu | Boṛo bung |  | Ang. pu
do, work | klèm | Boṛo khlàm |  |
think | māthā | Boṛo mithi |  |
be necessary | nàng | Boṛo nàng | Lushei ngai |
Garo nàng |  |

The above list exhibits all the coincidences which could be found on a search through the vocabulary appended to Mr. Endle’s Kachāri grammar, and it will be seen that the agreement is not extensive.

The words in which Tibeto-Burman languages agree most widely with one another are perhaps those for water and village; for the former dī, tī, tui, dzü, zu, jī, chī, and other similar forms, all apparently identical with the Tibetan chhu and the Turki su, run through the whole family: for the latter khul, khu, ku (Turki kū, kūi) are similarly widespread. It is somewhat surprising to find in Mikir an exception to the general rule. Water is làng, and village is ròng. Searching through the tribal vocabularies, Tangkhul Naga (a Naga-Kuki form of speech) appears to have, in ta-rā, the corresponding word to làng (r = l, and ta a prefix). Nowhere else in the neighbourhood is there a trace of a similar word until we come to Burmese, where water is rē (now pronounced yē). Similarly, it appears to be only in Burmese that we have a word for village, rwā, corresponding to the Mikir ròng. These coincidences, like others already mentioned, seem to point to the south for the affinities of the Mikir race. At the same time it is to be observed that Mikir appears once to have had, like the Kuki-Chin languages generally, the word tī for water. This survives in the word for egg, vo-tī, which must mean “fowl’s water,” and corresponds in sense to the Boṛo dau-dui, Chutiya du-ji, Garo do-chi, Shö (Chin) a-tui. In Angāmi and Lushei “fowl” is omitted, and the word for “egg” is merely dzü, tui, = water.¹⁰

It would be tedious to enumerate the coincidences in vocabulary which are found between Mikir and all the Kuki-Chin dialects. We have had reason to expect that these coincidences will be found to be most numerous with the Chin languages spoken in the Southern Hill tracts to the west of the Irawadi Valley; and the following list of similar words will show that this expectation is borne out by the facts. In most cases the forms in Lushei, a leading language of the Central Kuki-Chin group, are added; where they are wanting the Mikir word does not appear to have any corresponding form in that language.¹¹

Nouns.

English. | Mikir. | Chin (Shö).
male (of man) | pinso | pa-tho (Lushei pasal)
female (of mankind) | -pī suffixed | -nü¹² suffixed (L. nu, and pui)
body | bàng | ā-pün (L. pàng)
corpse | āru | ayŏ (L. ruang)
face | mehàng | hmoi-san (L. hmai)
nose | nō-kàn | hnut-tō (Meithei nā-tōn, L. hnā)
ear | nō | a-hnō
eye | mèk | a-mī, mik (L. mit)
[tear | āmèk-krī | a-mī-khlī]
tongue | dē | lē (L. lei)
mind, breast, heart | ning | a-mlüng (L. lung)
[angry | ā-ning-kethī | a-mlüng-thö (L. thi-n-lung-sha)]
back | nung | a-hling (L. hnung)
arm | phàng | bawn (L. bawn)
foot, leg | kèng | khön or khö (L. kē, Burmese khyè)
stomach | pòk | pük
[stomach-ache | pòk-kesō | pük-thō]
hair of body | ang-mī | a-hmaw (L. hmul)
bone | rē-pī | yo″ (Lushei ruh, Angāmi ru)
tail | ār-mē | ho-mē (L. mei)
old man, chief | sār, sārpo | hsan, hsan-bo
son | osō, sō-pō | hsō (Burmese sā [[Greek: theta]ā])
tiger | te-kē | ā-kyē (L. sa-kei, Burmese kyā)
cow | chainòng | hsaw-nü (L. sē-bawng)
pig | phàk | wök, wŏ (Burmese wak)
squirrel | kārlē | a-hlē (L. the-hlei)
rat | phijū | pha-yü (L. sa-zu)
bird | vo | wu (L. vā)
kite | vo-mū | a-hmū (L. mu)
parrot | vo-kèk | a-kyē (L. va-ki, Burmese kyē)
bat | vo-ārplàk | phalauh
crayfish, prawn | chekung | kyē-khön (L. kai-kuang)
scale of fish | lip | lit (L. hlip)
louse | rèk | hèk (L. hrik)
land-leech | ingphàt | a-wot (L. vang-vàt)
sun | ār-nī | kho-nī (L. annī, nī)
moon | chi-klō | khlō (L. thlā)
night | ā-jō | yan (L. zān, jān)
rain | ār-vē | yō-ō (L. ruah, Burmese rwa)
fire | mē | mē (L. mei)
[a flint for striking fire | mē-chèt ā-lòng i.e. fire-spark-stone | mē-khā-lün (L. mei-lung), fire-spark-stone]
smoke | mihi | mē-khü (L. mei-khu)
steam | hi | a-hū (L. hu)
stone | ār-lòng | a-lün (L. lung)
rice | sàng | saung
vegetables | hàn | awn (L. an)
house | hèm | in (L. in, Burmese im)
wood, tree | thèng, thèngpī | then″ (L. thīng)
leaf | lō | law (Meithei lā, Thado nā, L. hnā)
fruit | ā-thē | thē (L. thei)
seed | ā-thē | sē
cotton | phēlō | phoi
broom | ār-phèk | phā-phē
iron | ingchin | n’thi (L. thīr)
arrow | thai | ā-thaw (L. thāl)
bow | thai-lī | ā-lī (L. thāl-ngul)
boat | tē-lòng | hmlū or hmlü (L. long)
earring | nō-thèngpī | nā-thong
basket | tòn | tawng
dream | màng | maung (L. māng)
name | mèn | a-mín (L. hming)
matter, affair | hormū | a-hmū (Burmese id.)
heap | bui | ā-pün (L. vūng, būm)
place | dim | awn-dün
edge, border | ā-prē | ā-pē
rope | ā-rī | a-yöh (L. hrui)
handle | bē | bī″ (to take, seize), (L. bèng)

Verbs.

to pour out | bu, bup | bauk, bō (L. buak,¹³ bun)
to put | bī | bī (to clap, pat)
to jump | chòng | dong (L. zuang)
to die | thī | dü, dī (L. thī
to kill by cutting | thū | thük, tük
to pound | tòk | dut″
to open | ing-pu | hü
to sleep, lie down | ī | ī″ (Burmese ip)
to hinder | khàng | khā
to fall | klō, klī | klauk (Burmese krā, L. tlā, tlāk)
to grind | koi-ī | kluk
to be bitter | hō | khō (L. khā)
to bend | kekèk | kòk-lök, khü-ī
to tie, fasten | kòk | khun
to laugh | ing-nèk | hlek; also noi (Meithei nok, L. nui)
to arrive, hit | lē | leng
to be distant | hē-lō | hlō (L. hlā)
to get, obtain | lòng | lö-ē
to lick | ing-lèk | m-lē-ē (L. liak, hliao)
to be happy | mē | moi
to extinguish | pe-mèp | hmyit (L. ti-mit)
to smell | ing-nim | nan (L. hnim)
to be yellow | èt | oi (L. eng)
to speak | pu | pauh (a word, language)
to give | pī | pèk (L. pèk, pē)
to be full | plèng | plē
to reach, touch | phō | phō (L. pawh, phāk)
to pull out | phu | phuk (L. phoi)
to work, labour | sai | saih
to wash | chàm | shau (L. shuk)
to beat | chòk | shö
to pierce | chàng | shün, hsün (L. chhun)
to begin | chèng | sī
to explain | thàn | hsin
to be wet | chàm | sō
to know, perceive | thèk | thàk, thē
to be fat | ing-tu | thau (L. thao)
to itch | ing-thàk | thauk (L. thāk)
to rise, get up | thur | thö, thü (L. tho, thawh)
to send | toi | thō
to weave | thàk | tō-tàk (L. tah)
to rot | thu | thü (L. toih)
to be sweet | dòk | tü-ī
to cover, veil | up, òp | ün″ (L. hup)
to throw | vār | wo″ (L. vorh)
to hear | ār-ju | yauk
to sell | jòr | yi″ (L. zuar)

A few words from Lushei may be added, for which Southern Chin does not appear to possess corresponding terms:—

English. | Mikir. | Lushei.
buffalo | chelòng | cheloi
bear | thòk-vàm | sa-vom, vom¹⁴
deer (sāmbhar) | thi-jòk | sa-zuk
snake | phi-rui | ma-rul, rul
monkey | me-sàng | zawng
frog (“the jumper”) | chòng-hō | chung-u
mosquito | timsik | tho-shī
water-leech | ing-lit | hlit, sai-hlit
crab | chehē | chak-ai
devil | hī-ī | huai

These close and numerous correspondences between Mikir and the Kuki-Chin family appear to warrant the conclusion that the former is intimately connected with the latter. The institutions of the southern tribes, as already pointed out, confirm this conclusion; and it may be asserted with some confidence that no such extensive affinity can be proved between Mikir and the Boṛo family. As regards the Western Nagas, while the institutions largely correspond, the coincidences in language, though more numerous than those with Boṛo, are much fewer than those with Kuki-Chin. The Southern Nagas, and especially the Tangkhuls, who form the group intermediate between Naga and Kuki, have a considerably closer affinity with Mikir. Possibly if the inquiry were pushed further into Burmese than is within the power of the present writer, more correspondences with Mikir might be discovered in that language.

1 Reference may here be made to a summary of the Gospel history in Mikir entitled Birtā Kemē, “Glad tidings,” published by the American Baptist Mission Press, Tika, Nowgong, in 1904. 

2 This seems to have taken place in or about 1765 A.D. See Gait, History of Assam, p. 181. 

3 Words resembling kèp are found for ten in some of the pronominalized languages of the lower Himalayas of Nepal; but these do not enter into our present field of comparison. 

4 Lepcha khā, Khaling khāl, are probably the same word. 

5 Other Boṛo languages borrow Aryan words for higher numbers than ten. 

6 Lhī is the relic of krē, with the prefix k dropped and the r changed to l. 

7 Linguistic Survey, vol. III. part iii., p. 118. 

8 Southern Chin, as will be seen from the word-lists which follow, agrees in this respect with Mikir against Lushei, Meithei, and other Kuki-Chin languages. 

9 The only exception in Angāmi is r, in which a few words end. 

10 This seems to make it improbable that, as suggested on p. 109, chuī in vār-chuī and nīm-chuī (to throw into water, to drown) is connected with the Tibetan chhu. 

11 The Chin words are taken from Mr. B. Houghton’s Essay on the Language of the Southern Chins and its Affinities (Rangoon, 1892). In transcribing them h has been substituted for ʻ to indicate the aspirate, but the spelling has not been otherwise varied. The Lushei words are from Messrs. Lorrain and Savidge’s Grammar and Dictionary of the Lushai Language (Dulien dialect) (Shillong, 1898); here too the spelling of the original has been retained. 

12 In Mikir this root is perhaps found in pi-nu, mother’s sister, nimso, a virgin, and chai-nòng, cow. Chai-nòng is now used for both sexes, but the cognate languages point to chai (for chal) being the original word for the bovine species. 

13 A final mute italicised in Lushei words indicates that it is formed with the vocal organs, but not pronounced. 

14 Sa in Lushei means animal, and we see that the prefix te- (in tekē, tiger), thi- (in thi-jòk, deer), or thòk- (in thòk-vàm, bear) has the same meaning in Mikir. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY.

1. A descriptive account of Asam, with a sketch of the local geography, and a concise history of the Tea-plant of Asam, to which is added a short account of the neighbouring tribes, exhibiting their history, manners and customs, by William Robinson, Gowhatti Government Seminary: Calcutta, 1841. Account of the Mikirs at pp. 308–312.

The facts stated agree generally with those recorded by Mr. Stack. The chief deity of the Mikirs is called Hempatin. This may be a mistranscription for Hemphu, but is more probably a mistake due to a confusion between Mikirs and Kukis; Pātīn (or a closely similar form) is the word for God in a number of the Kuki dialects (Khongzai, Thado, Lushei, Rangkhōl, Aimōl, Kōlrēn, etc.). Of course if the name Hempatin was ever actually used by the Mikirs for their chief tribal god, this would be an additional important evidence of a connexion between them and the Kukis.

2. Notes on the languages of the various tribes inhabiting the Valley of Asam and its mountain confines, by Wm. Robinson, Inspector of Government Schools in Asam. Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal, vol. xviii. (1849).

The Mikir language is treated at pp. 330–336. It is probable from certain indications that the Mikir words were written down for Mr. Robinson in Assamese characters, and transliterated by him into Roman. There are a great many misprints. The declension of nouns, the distinctions of gender, and the position of adjectives are in general correctly explained; but the important prefix ā- is not noticed, nor its original force understood. The omission of the plural affix -tum is remarkable. The numerals agree with those of the present day, save that ch is used (as in Assamese) to indicate s. The use of determinative class-words with numerals is mentioned. The personal pronouns are in part correctly, but often wrongly given; the demonstrative pronouns are wrongly stated, and so are the interrogatives. The absence of a relative pronoun, and the substitute for it, are noticed. In the verbal forms there are many errors, unless the particles used to indicate time have greatly changed since 1849, which is improbable. Thus, -ye is given as the future suffix instead of -jī, and -bō instead of -po. The participle in ke-, ki-, kā- is omitted, and the much-used conjunctive participle in -sī is misrepresented as the present participle. There is no mention of the past in tàng; āyok (possibly a mistranscription of the Assamese) is given instead of āpòt as the particle indicating purpose. The form of the negative verb is altogether misunderstood. There is no mention of the causative in pe-, pi-, pā-.

One interesting point in Mr. Robinson’s grammatical sketch is that words borrowed from Assamese, which now end in -i as a substitute for Assamese l, as hai for hāl, tāmoi for tāmol, pītoi for pītol, are all written with l; and in the following cases final l appears in Mikir words now written with final i:—

ingkol, a score, now ingkoi

inghol, to do, now inghoi

sāl (field-) work, now sai

āphel, afterwards, now āphī

phurul, snake, now phirui

It seems possible that this represents a real change in pronunciation, since l was certainly the original ending in the borrowed words, and most probably (from the similar forms in the Kuki-Chin languages) was the original ending in the Mikir words. This vocalization of final l is quite common in the Kuki dialects, and is an additional argument for their connexion with Mikir.

3. Travels and adventures in the Province of Assam, by Major John Butler: London, Smith, Elder & Co., 1855. The Mikirs are described at pp. 126–139. Major Butler was in charge of the district of Nowgong, and visited the Mikir Hills in 1848. His notes on the Mikir people are not very detailed, but indicate that their condition sixty years ago was much the same as it is now. On the question of polygamy (see ante, p. 19), he writes (p. 138): “Polygamy is not practised, and they reproach their countrymen of the plains for having adopted the Assamese custom.”

4. Notes on Northern Cachar, by Lieut. R. Stewart. J.A.S.B., vol. xxiv. (1855), pp. 582–701. This treatise is an excellent account of the various tribes inhabiting the tract. The Mikirs are dealt with at pp. 604–607. There is a full and useful comparative vocabulary at pp. 658–675 of more than 400 words, besides verbal and adverbial forms, in Manipuri, Hill Kachāri (Dīmāsā), New Kuki (Thado), Angāmi Naga, Arung Naga (or Ēmpēo), Old Kuki (Bētē), and Mikir. This is much the most important evidence of the state of the language half a century ago, and is superior in several respects to the materials collected a little earlier by Robinson (to which Stewart does not refer). The Mikir words are generally recognisable as identical with those of the present day, and it is noticeable, with reference to the change of final l to i, that Stewart gives the forms now in use (pitoi, brass, pheroi, snake, ingkoi, a score, in(g)hoi, to do). The verbs are chiefly given in the imperative, with nòn (often wrongly printed not), sometimes as the bare root, and sometimes with -lo added. There are some good measurements and other physical characters of Mikirs at pp. 690–693, from which it appears that in Lieut. Stewart’s time most of the Mikir men shaved their heads, with the exception of a large tuft of hair on the scalp.

5. Descriptive Ethnology of Bengal, by Col. E. T. Dalton: Calcutta, 1872. There is a brief section on the Mikirs at pp. 53–4, which however contains no information that is not in Robinson or Stewart. The race is not among those figured in the volume.

6. Specimens of the Languages of India, collected by Sir George Campbell: Calcutta, 1874. The specimens of Mikir are at pp. 205–217; they are full of misprints and misunderstandings of what was desired, and are worthless for linguistic purposes.

7. A Vocabulary in English and Mikir, with sentences illustrating the use of words, by the Rev. R. E. Neighbor, of Nowgong, Assam: Calcutta, 1878.

A most useful publication.

8. Notes on the Locality and Population of the Tribes dwelling between the Brahmaputra and Ningthi Rivers, by G. H. Damant. Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, vol. xii., 1880, pp. 228 ff.

A posthumous work (Mr. Damant was killed in the Naga Hills in 1879). The Mikirs are mentioned on p. 236, and there is a short vocabulary on p. 254.

9. A Statistical Account of Assam, compiled by J. S. Cotton under the direction of W. W. Hunter: London, 1879. Contains an article on the Mikirs at vol. ii., pp. 188–190.

10. A Gazetteer of India, by Sir W. W. Hunter, London. First edition 1881, second edition 1886. Article on the Mikir Hills and their inhabitants.

11 to 13. The next occasions on which the tribe was dealt with were in the Reports of the Censuses of 1881, 1891, and 1901 (Assam Province):—

11. The Report on the Census of 1881 (Calcutta, 1883) contains a chapter (VI.) on Castes and Tribes, written by Mr. Stack. The Mikirs are described at pp. 77–82. The inquiries on which these paragraphs were based were followed by the more detailed investigations which afforded the materials for the present monograph.

12. The Report on the Census of 1891, by Mr. E. A. Gait, reproduces part of the matter of the previous report relating to the Mikirs, and adds the detailed list of kurs or exogamous divisions already referred to (ante, pp. 23 ff.). It also contains an interesting comparison of the Mikir language with those of the Naga tribes, by Mr. A. W. Davis (reproduced in the Linguistic Survey, vol. iii., part ii., pp. 198–202). At pp. 254–256 there is an account of the Mikirs in North Cachar by Mr. E. C. Baker, sub-divisional officer, which states that their principal deity is called “Pertart Rijie.” This is correctly Pirthàt Rēchō, the first word being the Khasi Pyrthat,“thunder,” and indicates a borrowing by the small remaining Mikir population in North Cachar of the ideas of their Khasi neighbours.

13. The Report on the Census of 1901, by Mr. B. C. Allen: Shillong, 1902. A few remarks on the religion of the Mikirs will be found at pp. 46–47, which however require correction by the more accurate data contained in this monograph.

14. The Tribes of the Brahmaputra Valley, by Lt.-Col. L. A. Waddell, I.M.S.: J.A.S.B., vol. lxix., part iii., 1900. This account is chiefly based on anthropometrical data. The facts stated concerning the Arlengs at pp. 29–35 appear to be taken from Dalton and the Assam Census Reports of 1881 and 1891. The measurements taken by Col. Waddell (see ante, p. 4) are at pp. 78–79. The tribe is not figured in the plates appended to the paper.

15. Linguistic Survey of India, vol. iii., part ii., compiled and edited by Dr. G. A. Grierson, Calcutta, 1902. The Mikir language is dealt with at pp. 380–410 and 432–448.

16. An English-Mikir Vocabulary, with Assamese Equivalents, to which have been added a few Mikir phrases, by S[ardoka] P[errin] Kay: Shillong, Govt. Press, 1904. An extremely useful book by an educated Mikir (see Introductory Note, p. viii.). Sardoka was Mr. Stack’s chief authority on the Mikir language. The phrases (388 in number) are very important illustrations of the structure of the speech. The vocabulary is an enlargement of Mr. Neighbor’s work (No. 7).

A Mikir-English dictionary or vocabulary is still a desideratum.

The following is a list of all the publications in the Mikir language which have come under the notice of the writer. They are all due to missionaries.

1. Dhorom Ārnàm āphràng ikithàn: First Catechism, in Mikir (Assamese character), pp. 13. Anon. Sibsagar, 1875.

2. Ārlèng Ālàm, a Mikir Primer, by Miss E. Pursell, 1891.

3. Ārlèng Ālàm (Plīplī-ākitàp)¹ A Mikir Primer. Anon. Published by the American Baptist Mission, Tika, Nowgong, Assam, 1903.

4. Ārlèng Ālàm, Āngbòng ākitàp. Mikir Reader, second book, by the Rev. J. M. Carvell and Thengkur Pandit. Published by the Government of Assam, Shillong, 1904.

5. Ārlèng kālākhā ākitàp. Mikir Primary Arithmetic, by the Rev. P. E. Moore and the Rev. J. M. Carvell. Published by the Assam Secretariat Press, Shillong, 1904.

6. Birtā Kemē, “Glad Tidings,” in Mikir, by Mosendra Pandit and Missionaries to the Mikirs. Published by the American Baptist Missionary Union, Tika, Assam, 1904. A summary of the Gospel history and teaching.

(All except the first are in the Roman character.)

1 So called from the figure of a butterfly (plī-plī) on the cover. 

INDEX

ā-, pronoun and particle of relation, 75, 76, 161, 173

adjectives, 77

adultery, 19

affinities, conclusions as to, 171, 172;
speculations as to, 153

Āhoms, 5

Ājō-āsē, 32

ākejoi, 18, 19

ākemèn, 18, 19

Allen, Mr. B. C., 176

Allen, Rev. Mr., xi., 14, 44, 70–72

Āmrī, 15

amulets, 30

àn-bòr, 11, 31

ār-, prefix, 129, 162

āràk, 13

ārhàng, trap, 12

ārjàn, shade, ghost, 28

Ārlèng, 4, 117, 126

Ārnàm, God, 30, 33, 34

Ārnàm = do, 33

Ārnàm Kethē, 30, 152

Ārnàm phārō (pārō), 31–32, 43

ārnàn, ring, 6

ārphèk-pō, 12

ārpòng, 7

Assamese, borrowings from, 152;
loan-words mostly in locative, 107

Bachelors’ house, 11

Baker, Mr. E. C., 176

bànjār, 39, 40

bārlòn, 11

baskets, 10, 100, 103

beer, rice-, 13

betel-nut, 14

betrothal, 17

bhīmrāj, feathers worn, 6

birik, red pepper, 11

bīthī, 14

blacksmiths, 10

Boikuntho, 28

Bongnai, 23

bòr, amulet, 30

Boṛo, resemblances to, 166–7

borrowings from Assamese, 152;
from Khasis, 152

bow, 6

bride-price, labour given for, 18, 19

Brownlow, Mr. C., 11

bū, 39, 40

burial in special cases, 37

Burmese, 168

Butler, Major John, 174

Campbell, Sir George, 175

Carvell, Rev. J. M., 177

case (grammar), 76–77

castor-oil plant, ērī, 11

causal verbs, 86

Census reports, 1, 23, 153, 176

charms, 36

chèng, drum, 38, 150

chèng-brup, 150

chèngbrup-pī, 11

chèngbrup-sō, 11

Chins, compared with Mikirs, 169–171

Chins, Southern, 153

chinhàk-pō, 12

Chintòng, 15

chīr, spear, 6

choi, jacket, 5

choi-āprē, fringe, 5

cholera, sacrifice for, 32

Chomàng = Khāsī, 23

Chomàng-āsē, 32

Chomàng-kàn, 38

chong-kechèngnàn, 38

clubs, lads’, 11

comparison of adjectives, 78

compound verbs, 86–87

conditional phrases, 83

co-operative agriculture, 11, 12, 154

cotton, 10

Cotton, Mr. J. S., 176

councils, village, 22

cousin, marriage with, on mother’s side, 17, 18, 53, 154

cowries, used in divination, 34

cows, not kept, 12

creation, legend of, 70–72

crops, 10–11

Dalton, Col. E. T., 7, 175

Damant, Mr. G. H., 153, 175

dàm-buk, 9

dàm-thàk, 9

dancing only at funerals and harvest-homes, 43

Davis, Mr. A. W., 165, 176

day, divisions of, 95

dead, beliefs about the, 28, 29

death from tigers, 37–38, 49, 71, 98–99

dekas (Ass.) 11

demons, devils, 29

derrick (dorīk), pheasant, 65

determinatives, generic, with numerals, 78–79, 160

Dīmāsā, 3, 5

diseases, 33

distances, how computed, 14

divination, 34

—— with cowries, 34

—— with eggs, 35

—— with nòkjir, 35

—— with rice, 35

diviners, 34, 35

divisions of time, 95, 149, 150

divorce, 20

Diyaung river, 5, 33

do, 95

dòndòn, ladder, 9

doublets, 103, 113, 115

dress, 5

dried fish, 13

—— flesh, 13, 64

drink, 13

duhuidī, 39, 41

Dumrālī, 16

Dundas, Mr. W. C. M., xi., 19, 23, 24–26

dyes, 10

Eating, manner of, 13

egg, mankind sprung from an, 72

eggs, used in divination, 35

èn, 95, 108, 125

Endle, Rev. S., 160, 167

equipment, mental, exemplified by language and folk-tales, 151

ērī, silk (pē-inkī), 6, 10

exogamous groups, 16, 23–27

Festivities, 43

fish, dried, 13

fishing, 12

fish-trap, 12, 48, 49

flesh, dried, 13, 64

folk-tales, 44–46 ff.

food, 12–13

Frog, story of a, 45, 46–48, 88–93

Fryer, Major G. E., 154

funeral ceremonies, 37–42

furniture of house, 9–10

Gait, Mr. E. A., 46, 152, 176

gāoṅburā, 11, 21, 22

gender (in grammar), 75

genna, 43

girdle, vànkòk, 6, 39

Gods, the, 30 ff.;
their worship, 30–34

gold, Tibetan word used for, 111

goldsmiths, 10

grammar, sketch of, 73 ff.

Grierson, Dr. G. A., ix., 45, 73, 153, 177

groups, exogamous, 16, 23–27

Habitat, 2, 3;
former, 153

hànso, ginger, 11

hànthār, 46

Harata-Kuṅwar, story of, 45, 55–70, 113–149

harmony, vowel, 118, 129

harvest-home, 43

head-strap, 4

hēmai, blacksmith, 10

Hempatin, 173

Hèmphū, 31, 36, 70

hèmthàp, 50

hèn, arums, colocasia, 11

hēpī, aubergines, baiṅgan, 11

Hickson, Mr. S. J., 72

Hī-ī, 29

hòng, 9

hòngkup, 9

hòngphārlā, 9

hōngplàng, 9

hòng-thū, 9

hòngvàt-ābī, 41

Hooker, Sir Joseph, 33

hòr, hòrpō, 13, 14

hòr-ālàng, 13

Houghton, Mr. B., 160, 168

houses, 7–9;
built on posts, 153

house tax, 21

Hunter, Sir W. W., 176

hunting, 12

Imperative mood, 83

imprecations, 37

indigo, 10

infinitive mood, 84

ingjīr-ārlō, 39, 41, 42

Inglòng-pī, 31

ingtàt, 14

Ingtī, 16

ingtòk, 36

inheritance, 21

inkī, 10

institutions of Mikirs compared with those of Kuki-Chins, 154

institutions of Mikirs compared with those of W. Nagas, 154

interrogative pronouns, 80

Jamuna river, 3

jhuming, 11, 60

jingtàk, 50

jīsō, woman’s wrapper, 6, 39

Jòm-āròng, 28, 29, 37

Jòm Rēchō, 28, 29

jungle-cock, 65

Kāchārhē, 41 (28–29)

Kachārīs, 23.
See Boṛo and Dīmāsā

kādèng-chinrō, 6

kālā āzār, 2

kàm, 7

kàm-āthèngthòt, 9

kàngtòk ābàng, 36

kàn-pī, 38

kāraklī, 30

kārjòng, spirit, 36

kāsolē, 40

ke-, ki-, kā-, prefix, 77, 83, 84, 163

Kechē = Khāsī, 23

keroi-dun, betrothal, 14

Khāsī loan-words in Mikir, 14, 16, 17, 79, 103–4, 108, 114, 137, 139, 152, 176

Khāsīs, 3, 4, 6, 17

kīm, to build = to marry, 125

klèng-dun, 11

klèng-sārpō, 11, 39

Kopili (Kupli) river, 3, 4, 5, 14, 23

kovē, betel-nut, 14

Kuki-Chins, compared with Mikirs, 154

Kukis, 3

kum, fiddle, 150

kum-ālīsō, fiddle-bow, 150

Kupli: see Kopili

kur, 16, 23–27

kut, 7

kut-āthèngthòt, 9

l final, vocalised to i or dropped in Mikir, 22, 164

lac (lāhā), 11

lads’ clubs, 11

Lālungs, 3

Làm-aphū, 33, 34

làng, water, 168

làng-bòng, gourd, 9, 10

làngbòng-pō, 12

Làng-kàngtung, 33

lànglut, 33

làngsun, 33

làng-tē-nun, 9

làngtuk, 42

language, 73 ff.;
best evidence of affinity, 155

lèk, necklace, 6

Lèkthē, 16

lèngpum, rice pounder, 132

Linguistic Survey, ix., xii., 45, 73, 153, 160, 165

lōdèt, lōdètpī, 34, 35, 36

lòng, mortar, 132

lòng-chòng, 42

lòng-pàk, 42

lōpòng-brik, 13

Lorrain, Mr., J. H., 168

Lushei language compared with Mikir, 169–171

Mādolī (Ass.), ornament, 141

magic, 34

mājā, witchcraft, 34

majā-kelòng, 34, 36

mangalsuā (Ass.), 34

mànthung, 50

manufactures, 10

mārō, 11

marriage, 17–18;
age for, 17;
ceremony, 18;
with maternal uncle’s daughter, 17, 18, 53, 154;
of widows, 20

maternal uncle responsible for disease, 36;
at funeral, 39, 41, 42

mauzas, 22

mē (village council), 19, 21, 22

meals, 13

mēhīp, fireplace, 9

mē-pī, 22

Mikirs, the: charms used, 36;
compared with Southern Chins, 169, 171;
crops, 10, 11;
divination, 34;
dress, 5;
exogamous groups, 16, 23–27;
folk-tales, 45;
food and drink, 12, 13;
Gods and their worship, 30–34;
grammar, 73 ff.;
habitat, 2–3;
houses, 7–9;
institutions resembling those of Chins, 154;
do. resembling those of Nagas, 154;
language, 73 ff.;
manufactures, 10;
marriage, 17–18;
mauzas, 22;
measurements, 4;
migration into Āhom territory, 5;
musical instruments, 150;
names, personal, 17;
neighbours, 3, 23;
numbers, 1;
numerals compared with those of other Tibeto-Burman languages, 156–160;
occupations, 7;
original abode, 4;
ornaments, 5;
outsiders admitted to tribe, 23;
parallels to folk-tales elsewhere, 45, 55, 72;
physical appearance, 4;
pronouns compared with other Tibeto-Burman forms, 161–162;
publications in Mikir, 177;
relationships, words for, 20, 21;
do. compared with Lushei, 155;
sections, 15;
time, how divided, 95, 149–150;
unwarlike character, 151–2;
villages, 7;
village councils, 22;
vocabulary compared with Boṛo, 166–7;
do. with Southern Chin and Lushei, 169–171;
weapons, 6;
witchcraft, 34–36

Mikir Hills, the, 2, 15

milk not used, 12

mī-thòngròng, spinning wheel, 10

mo, 12

monosyllabic roots, 74–75

months, 149–150

Moore, Rev. P. E., xi., 19, 26–27, 44

mo-tàn ārē, ārvī, 12

mountains worshipped, 33

Mukràng 31, 36, 70

muri, fife, 150

musical instruments, 150

Nagas, institutions compared with those of Mikirs, 154

Nagas, Western, resemblances; of language, 165

names, personal, 17

nàng, particle of vividness, 82, 96

nàng, verb of necessity, 83

Nats (Burma), 153

natural objects worshipped, 33

negative verb, 85

Neighbor, Rev. R. E., viii, xii, 175

night, divisions of the, 95

Nihàng, 4

nihu, maternal uncle, 39, 41, 42

Nilīp, 4

nòk, sugar-cane, 13

nòk, nòkjīr, 6, 35

nòksèk, 9, 54–5 (note), 112

no-rīk, earring, 6

Nòròk, Hell, 28

number (in grammar), 75

numerals, 78;
compared with other languages, 156–160

Oaths, 37

obòkpī, 39, 41

ōjhā = uchē, 30

òkbòr, 31

Oklàngnō, 32

opium, use of, 14

ornaments, 6

orphan in folk-tales, 45

Orphan and his Uncles, the, story, 48–55, 95–112

outsiders admitted to tribe, 23

Pāju, rival wife, 118

pàn, pàng, 9

pàn-hòngthu, 9

pàng-hòngkup, 9

pàngrī, marriage, 134

parallels to Mikir stories from Aimōl Kukis, 45;
from Angāmī Nāgas, 45;
from Celebes, 72;
from North Kumaon, 45, 55

Pāròk = Boṛo, Kachārī, 23

participles, 83

passive phrases, 84

pātèng, rival wife, 118

patriarchal institutions, 17, 152

pē, mother, used for daughter, 148

pē-ārnàm-pī, 34, 49, 99

Pèng, 31

pē-theràng, loom, 10

phàk-āphū-kācholàng, 40

phàk-roi, 9

phàndiri, 11

phànkrī, 11

phārlō, spirit, 28

pherem, charm, 36

Phillips, Rev. E. G., 160

phutup, cap, 5

pīnī, petticoat, 6, 62

Pirthàt Rēchō, 176

pō, father, used for son or grandson, 99, 101, 121

pō-ārnàm-pō, 34, 49, 99

pohu, poho, turban, 5

polygamy, 19, 20, 174

pòngsī, flute, 128, 150

pòngting, ornament, 141

possession (by spirits), 29

postpositions, 76–77

pottery, 10

prefixes, 75, 159, 164, 171

promiscuity, antenuptial, 19, 154

pronouns, 79–80;
compared with other Tibeto-Burman forms, 161, 162;
reflexive, 80, 96, 162;
relative, how expressed, 80, 101

Ràp, 64

re-incarnation, 29

reflexive particles and pronouns, 80, 96, 162

Rèk-ànglòng, 31

relationship, words for, 20–21;
compared with words in Lushei, 155

relative pronouns, substitute for, 80, 101

Rengma Nagas, 3

rice-beer, 13

rice-crop, 10;
names for rice, 122;
divination by rice, 34;
rice-pounding, 132

rikòng, dhoti, 5

rīsō-kāchirū, 40

rīsō-mār, 11, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42

Robinson, Mr. W., 153, 173, 174

roi, bracelet, 6

ròng, village = Burmese rwa, 168

Rònghàng, 15

ròngkēr, 22, 32, 43

ròngkēr-pī, 43

Ròngkhàng, 5

rū, trap, cage, 12, 48, 49

Sacrifices, 30, 34

sàng, cleaned rice, 122

sànghō-kerai, 11

sàng-kelàng-ābàng, 34

sang-ràngtik, 9

Sārdokā, Perrin Kay, viii, ix, xii, 44, 177

sārlār, sārthē, 22

Savidge, Mr. F. W., 168

seasons of the year, 149

sequences in folk-tales, 45

serōsō, 39, 41

sibū, indigo, 10

silver, Aryan word used for, 112

sinàm, head strap, 4

sodār kethē, 11

sodār-sō, 11

sòk, paddy, 122

Sō-mēmē, 32

Sòt Rēchō, 5, 15

sounds of Mikir language, 73, 74;
equivalents in other Tibeto-Burman languages, 164

spirits (alcohol), 13

Stack, Edward, passim

Stewart, Lt. R., 153, 175

substantive verb, no separate, 81

“Swan-maidens,” folk-tale, 45

Tabu, 43

tattooing of women, 6

tèkē-rē (“tiger-skilled”), 37

tèl-ē, 39, 41

tenses of verb, 81–82

teràng, bachelors’ house, 11

Teràng, exogamous group, 16

Teròn, exogamous group, 16

thai (arrow), thai-lī, bow, 6

thàp, ferment, 13

thārmīt, turmeric, 11

thèng-roi-rai, 9

thèngthē, maize, 11

Thèngthòn, 32

therī, cremation-ground, 39

Thīrèng-vàngrèng, 29

Tholuā, 17

Thòng-Nòkbē, 5

tī, water, in vo-tī, egg, 168

tibung, 7

tigers, death from, 37–38, 49, 71, 98–99

tikup, 9

time, divisions of, 95, 149–150

Timung, exogamous group, 16

traps for fish, 12, 48, 49;
for tigers, 12

-tum, plural affix, 75

Uchē (ōjhā), 30, 34

uchē-pī, 39, 41, 42

ur, 64

vànkòk, girdle, 6, 39

verbs, 81

verb substantive, no separate, 81

verbal particles compared with forms in other Tibeto-Burman languages, 163

village, word for, in Tibeto-Burman languages, 167

village councils, 22

villages, 7, 21

vocabulary of Mikir compared with Boṛo, 166–167;
with Southern Chin, 168–171;
with Lushei, 171

vo-hārlīp, 9

vo-roi, 9

vowel harmony, 118, 129

vur-kāchethàt, 36

Waddell, Col. L. A., xi, 4, 176

water, word for, in Tibeto-Burman languages, 167

weapons, 6

weaving, 10

widow-marriage, 20

witchcraft, 34, 36

worship, 30–34

THE END

PRINTED BY

WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
LONDON AND BECCLES.

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The following corrections have been applied to the text:

Page | Source | Correction
10, 42, 96, 111, 142 | [Not in source] | .
16 | Ingti | Ingtī
16 | Terang | Teràng
29 | Ahī-ī | Āhī-ī
65 | Gennœus Horsfieldi | Gennæus Horsfieldii
75, 80, 99, 100, 106, 117 | [Not in source] | “
77, 86, 90, 107, 121, 122, 122, 122, 123, 137, 138, 143, 144, 137 | [Not in source] | ”
78 | philī-kēp | philī-kèp
86, 101, 133 | “ | [Deleted]
92 | : | .
96, 122, 125, 139, 139, 142, 146 | [Not in source] | —
100 | āpei | ā-pei
106, 135 | [Not in source] | ‘
109, 109, 109, 109, 109, 98, 137, 137, 137, 137, 166, 175 | [Not in source] | ,
111 | ! | ?
112, 127, 146, 147 | Ansī | Ànsī
112 | jàngrēsō āphàn | jàngrēsō-āphàn
112 | saging | saying
98, 99 | ; | :
98, 107 | ’ | ”
116 | jundet | jundèt
117, 120, 121, 132 | : | ;
120 | [Not in source] | ;
121 | ”? | ?”
122 | : | ,
123 | [Not in source] | :
133 | Kopusi | Kopusī
135, 148 | [Not in source] | ’
116 | ‘ | ”
119 | plàng-plē-plē-tē | plàng-plē-plē-lē
144 | O | Ō
158 | lhī suru | lhī-suru
174 | [Not in source] | -
178 | ārphèk-pó | ārphèk-pō