Showing posts with label Unit: Khasi Folktales. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Unit: Khasi Folktales. Show all posts

Myth-Folklore Unit: Khasi Folktales

Overview. The Khasi people live primarily in Meghalaya state in India and also in the neighboring nation of Bangladesh. The stories in Folktales of the Khasis were collected in the early 20th century and cover a wide range of topics. You will find animal legends here about tigers, monkeys, lynxes, and more, and there are also origin stories about the animals such as how the dog and the cat came to live with man, and how the ox and the goat were domesticated. There are tales of cosmic creation that explain what makes the lightning and where the dark spots on the moon come from, and you will also get to meet some of the gods and goddesses of the Khasi religion, including the twin goddesses Ka Ngot and Ka Iam who give their names to the river Ngot and the river Iam, and the mysterious culture-hero U Biskurom who, long ago, dwelt with the people of the earth and taught them wisdom.

Language. These folktales are told in contemporary English, so the language used should not pose any problems.

Story Length. This unit contains only single-page stories.

Navigation. You will find the table of contents below, and you can also use this link to see the story posts displayed on a single page: Khasi Folktales.



READING A:
  1. The Tiger and the Monkeys
  2. The Legend of the Iei Tree
  3. Hunting the Stag Lapalang
  4. The Goddesses Ka Ngot and Ka Iam
  5. U Biskurom
  6. How the Dog Came to live with Man
  7. The Stag and the Snail
READING B:
  1. The Leap of Ka Likai
  2. What caused the Shadows on the Moon
  3. U Ksuid Tynjang
  4. What makes the Lightning
  5. Ka Panshandi, the Lazy Tortoise
  6. How the Cat came to live with Man
  7. How the Tiger got his Strength
  8. Why the Goat lives with Mankind
  9. How the Ox came to be the Servant of Man



Khasi: The Tiger and the Monkeys

This story is part of the Khasi Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of the Khasis by Mrs. K. U. Rafy (1920).




The Tiger and the Monkeys

At the beginning of time, the animals were free and living wild and unruly lives, but there were so many disputes and quarrels that they convened a council to choose a king to reign over them. With one accord they nominated the tiger to be king, not for any special wisdom or merit which he possessed but because of his great strength by which he would be able to subdue the turbulent beasts.

Although he possessed greater strength than any of his kindred, the tiger was more ignorant of the ways and habits of his subjects than any of the animals. He was so self-absorbed that he never troubled himself to study the ways of others, and this caused him to act very foolishly at times and to make himself ridiculous, for the animals were tempted to take advantage of his great ignorance and to play tricks upon him whenever they thought they could do so undetected. This tale relates how the monkeys played a cunning trick on their king which caused mortal enmity to spring up between him and them for ever.

~ ~ ~

One hot day, the tiger walked abroad to take an airing, but, the sun being so hot, he turned aside to shelter under some leafy trees and there he fell asleep. Presently he awoke, and on awaking, he heard coming from overhead very melodious singing to which he listened enraptured. 

It was the little insect, Shalymmen, chirping on a leaf, but she was so small the tiger could not see her, and, being so ignorant, he had no idea whose voice it was. He peered to the branches right and left trying to discover the singer, but he only saw a company of monkeys at play in the trees, so he began to question them who it was that was singing above him.

Now the monkeys and all the jungle animals were perfectly familiar with the singing of Shalymmen and recognised the voice from afar. They thought it very contemptible in the king to be more ignorant than themselves, and one audacious young monkey, in a spirit of mischief, answered that the singer was their youngest sister.

The other monkeys were perturbed when they heard their brother giving such an impudent answer, thinking that the tiger would be offended and would punish them with his great strength. They were preparing to run away when, to their amazement, they heard the tiger replying to their rash young brother in a gentle voice and with most affable manners and saying to him, “You are my brother-in-law. Your sister has the most beautiful voice in the jungle; I will make her my wife.”

If the predicament of the monkeys was bad at the beginning, it was doubly so now, for they felt that, things having taken such an unexpected turn, it would be impossible to conceal from the knowledge of the tiger their brother’s offence. They determined, however, not to desert the young culprit and, if possible,  to try and rescue him, so they approached the tiger, and with much seeming courtesy and honour, they put forward the excuse that their sister was very young and not yet of marriageable age. 

This excuse made no impression on the king, for he said: “So much the better. As she is young, I can mould her to my own ways and bring her up according to my own views, which would not be so easy if she were fully matured.”

To which the monkeys replied, “Our sister is not amenable to instruction. She is indolent and fond of her own will.”

The tiger, however, was so lovesick that no argument had weight with him. He thought the brothers were severe in their judgement and expressed his conviction that she could not be as slothful as they said, for she was forgoing her midday repose for the sake of making music to cheer the animals. He ordered them to come down from the trees and to lead their sister to him.

After this the monkeys feared to argue further, so they pretended to agree to his commands, but they craved a boon from him and asked for a little time to make preparations, as it would not be becoming for one of such a high degree to join himself with a poor family like theirs without their showing him adequate honour such as was due to his rank. This request the tiger granted, and it was arranged between them that he was to come and claim his bride at the time of the full moon, a week from that day, and so the tiger departed with evident goodwill.

As soon as they found themselves alone the monkeys began to think out some plans by which they could  meet the situation and escape exposure. They decided to call together a council of the whole tribe of monkeys, for they well foresaw that the whole tribe would be in peril if the tiger found out what they had done. 


So the monkeys came to hold a council, and in that council it was decided that they must continue to keep up the duplicity begun, and in order to hoodwink the tiger still further they planned to make a clay image after the fashion of a woman and to present her to the tiger as his bride. So they made preparations for a great feast, but they did not invite anybody except their own tribe to attend.

During the succeeding days the monkeys busied themselves collecting clay and moulding it into an image, which they propped against a tree. They were unable to make the head of one piece with the body, so they moulded the head separately, and when it was finished they placed it loosely on the body of the image. They then proceeded to dress the image in all the finery they could procure, and they carefully covered the head and face with a veil so as to hide it from the eyes of the bridegroom.

The night of the full moon arrived, and all the monkey family were assembled at the appointed place, where with much clatter and seeming joy they awaited the arrival of the tiger, though they were really very anxious about the consequences. Everything was in readiness, and the place laid out with many kinds of food, so as to lead the tiger to think that they were sincere in their welcome.

He came early, very gorgeously arrayed, and carrying over his shoulder a net full of betel nut and pan leaves, and was received with loud acclamation by his  prospective relatives. But the tiger hardly deigned to give them a greeting, so impatient was he to meet his bride, and he demanded to be taken to her immediately. The monkeys led him with great ceremony to the clay image, but their hearts were beating fast with fear lest he should discover their fraud.

When they reached the image they said, “This is our sister. Take her and may she be worthy of the great honour you have conferred upon her.” Thereupon they retired to a safe distance.

When the tiger saw how finely dressed she was and how modestly she had veiled herself, he felt a little timid, for she was so much finer than the little grey monkey he had been picturing to himself. He came up to her and said deferentially, as he slung the net of betel nut round her neck: “You are the chief person at this feast; take the pan and the betel nut and divide them among the company according to custom.”

The bride, however, remained motionless and mute, seeing which the tiger asked the monkeys in a displeased voice, “Why doth not your sister answer me nor obey my commands?”

“She is very young,” they replied. “Perhaps she has fallen asleep while waiting for you; pull the string of the net and she will awaken.”

Upon this the tiger gave the string a sharp tug, and the loose head of the image rolled on to the floor, whereupon the monkeys, uttering the most piercing shrieks, pounced upon the tiger in a mob, declaring that he had killed their sister and that he had only made a pretence of marrying her in order to get hold of her to kill her. 

A fierce and bloody fight ensued  in which the tiger was nearly killed, and ever since then the tiger has feared the monkeys, and they are the only animals in the jungle that dare challenge him to fight. He never discovered their duplicity, but he learned one very effective lesson, for he has never committed the indiscretion of proposing marriage with an unknown bride since that unfortunate affair with the monkeys, while the monkeys are rejoicing in the cunning by which they saved their brother and their tribe from punishment.


(1500 words)

Khasi:The Legend of the Iei Tree

This story is part of the Khasi Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of the Khasis by Mrs. K. U. Rafy (1920).

The Legend of the Iei Tree

Some eight or ten miles to the west of the town of Shillong is seen a prominent hill range, a place much renowned in Khasi folk-lore. It is known as the Mountain of the Iei Tree and is a very romantic spot even in the present day, although divested of its former reputed glory. Its slopes are studded with thriving villages and cultivated fields and at its foot the river Umiam (the Wailing River) curves its dolorous way to the plains, at times leaping wildly over rugged precipices, scattering its spray in the sunshine, at other times lying almost motionless in the bosom of a valley, reflecting the beauty of myriad trees in its clear depths.

According to tradition, this hill, and the land around it, was the most fertile land in the world; broad acres lay under cultivation and its forests yielded the largest and most valuable timber. It was also famous for the grandeur of its scenery; fairies and nymphs were said to have their haunts in its green glades, birds of lovely hues lived there and made their nests amid flowers of sweetest scent; there happy maidens loved to roam, and there young lovers met and plighted their troth. Such was the Mountain of the Iei Tree in the days of the Ancients.

On the summit of the mountain there grew a tree of fabulous dimensions — the Iei Tree — which dwarfed even the largest trees in forests. It was of a species unique, such as mankind had never known; its thick outspreading branches were so clustered with leaves that the light of the sun could not penetrate through and the earth beneath its shadow became barren and unfruitful.

The fame of the tree spread abroad and people from many lands came to see it, but there were none who dared to cut a twig or to scratch its bark, as it was commonly believed that the tree was the abode of some unknown and powerful god, to offend whom would bring destruction.

The Iei Tree continued to grow through many ages, and year by year its malevolent shadow spread further and further, and the area of the barren land increased season by season until at last it became a serious menace to the world, and the very existence of mankind was at stake. People could no longer live on the slopes of the mountain, cultivation became impossible for many miles around, and the one-time prosperous families had to wander abroad as homeless fugitives, fleeing from the ever-pursuing, ever-threatening shadow. The pathways and pleasant nooks whence of old had echoed the merry voices and laughter of children were now become the lurking-places of dragons and the prowling-grounds of savage beasts whither no man ventured to roam.

A Durbar of all mankind was summoned to consider the situation and to devise some plan to save the world from its impending doom. After long and solemn deliberations, it was resolved to mobilise a party of the bravest and most skilled wood-cutters to go into the mountain to hew down the Iei Tree so as to admit the sunlight once more to the earth. In the course of time the wood-cutters came and entered the mountain, defying all danger and risking the possible wrath of the unknown god whom they believed to haunt the tree.

When they reached the Iei Tree, they plied their axes with skill and toiled vigorously till night came on, but the wood was so hard and so tough they only succeeded in cutting a little below the bark that day. They consoled themselves, however, by reflecting that so far there had appeared no signs of anger from the unknown god forasmuch as no misfortunes had befallen them, so they retired to rest, sanguine that by perseverance their gigantic task would in time be accomplished.

Next morning they returned early to their work, but, to their consternation, they saw that the incisions made by them the day before at the cost of so much labour were obliterated, leaving the trunk of the tree as solid and unscathed as before. Many of the wood-cutters were so superstitious that they feared to approach the tree again for they were now confirmed in their fear that the place was enchanted, but when their more stoical comrades reminded them of the great peril in which mankind stood, they plucked up courage and for another day they toiled laboriously, only to find their work obliterated next morning.

As no personal harm had befallen any of them, the wood-cutters determined to continue their attack, but no matter how patiently they worked during the day, the tree would be healed up in the night. They grew more and more mystified and discouraged, and the strain of living in that weird region was becoming intolerable. At last, they decided to return to their fellow-men, preferring to endure the foreseen doom of the shadowed world rather than face the unknown and mysterious terrors of the land of the Iei Tree.

As they sat, gloomy and disconsolate, brooding on their defeat, a little grey bird — Ka Phreit, the Khasi wren — came, chirruping and twittering, close to the wood-cutters, and she began to talk to them, urging them to keep up their courage, as she had come to help them. Now, in spite of their spiritless condition, the woodsmen could not help laughing to hear Ka Phreit — the smallest of all the birds — so impudently offering to help them — the picked wood-cutters of the world — to cut down a tree. But when the wren saw them laughing, she chirruped and twittered still louder, and drew still nearer, and with great excitement she said, “No doubt you are great and wise, for you have been chosen for a great task. You are unable to perform it, yet when I come to offer assistance, you laugh at me. It is true that I am the smallest of all the birds, but that has not hindered me from learning the secrets of this forest, which you must also learn before you can cut down the Iei Tree.”

On hearing the sage words of the wren, the woodmen felt ashamed for having laughed at her, seeing that she meant nothing but goodwill towards them, so they got up and saluted her, and begged her pardon, and asked her to teach them the secret of the forest.

Thus mollified, Ka Phreit informed them that the tree was not healed by any supernatural agency as they had supposed, but that it was U Khla, the big tiger, who came every night to lick the tree and to heal it for he did not want it to be cut down as its shadow made it possible for him to prowl for prey in safety.

This news cheered the wood-cutters’ hearts, and they lost no time in beginning another attack on the Iei Tree, and when night fell, instead of carrying their axes home as before, they planted them in the tree edge outward.

When the tiger came to lick the tree that night (all unconscious that the wren had disclosed the secret to the men), the sharp blades cut his tongue, and he fled in terror, bleeding and howling, and never more returned to hinder the work of the wood-cutters, who, now that they were able to carry on their task undisturbed, succeeded in time in cutting down the Iei Tree.

Thus Ka Phreit, the smallest of all the birds, helped mankind to bring back sunshine and prosperity to the world.


(1300 words)





Khasi: Hunting the Stag Lapalang

This story is part of the Khasi Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of the Khasis by Mrs. K. U. Rafy (1920).

Hunting the Stag Lapalang

Once upon a time there lived with its dam on the Plains of Sylhet a young deer whose fame has come down through the ages in Khasi folk-lore. The story of the Stag Lapalang, as he was called, continues to fascinate generation after generation of Khasi youths, and the merry cowboys, as they sit in groups on the wild hill-sides watching their flocks, love to relate the oft-told tale and to describe what they consider the most famous hunt in history.

The Stag Lapalang was the noblest young animal of his race that had ever been seen in the forest and was the pride of his mother’s heart. She watched over him with a love not surpassed by the love of a human mother, keeping him jealously at her side, guarding him from all harm.

As he grew older, the young stag, conscious of his own matchless grace and splendid strength, began to feel dissatisfied with the narrow confines and limited scope of the forest where they lived and to weary of his mother’s constant warnings and counsels. He longed to explore the world and to put his mettle to the test.

His mother had been very indulgent to him all his life and had allowed him to have much of his own way, so there was no restraining him when he expressed his determination to go up to the Khasi Hills to seek begonia leaves to eat. His mother entreated and warned him, but all in vain. He insisted on going, and she watched him sorrowfully as with stately strides and lifted head he went away from his forest home.

Matters went well with the Stag Lapalang at first; he found on the hills plenty of begonia leaves and delicious grass to eat, and he revelled in the freedom of the cool heights. But one day he was seen by some village boys, who immediately gave the alarm, and men soon hurried to the chase: the hunting-cry rang from village to village and echoed from crag to crag. The hunting instincts of the Khasis were roused, and men poured forth from every village and hamlet. Oxen were forgotten at the plough; loads were thrown down and scattered; nothing mattered for the moment but the wild exciting chase over hill and valley.

Louder sounded the hunting cry, farther it echoed from crag to crag, still wilder grew the chase. From hill to hill and from glen to glen came the hunters, with arrows and spears and staves and swords, hot in pursuit of the Stag Lapalang. He was swift, he was young, he was strong — for days he eluded his pursuers and kept them at bay, but he was only one unarmed creature against a thousand armed men. His fall was inevitable, and one day on the slopes of the Shillong mountain he was surrounded, and after a brave and desperate struggle for his life, the noble young animal died with a thousand arrows quivering in his body.

The lonely mother on the Plains of Sylhet became uneasy at the delay of the return of the Stag Lapalang, and when she heard the echoes of the hunting-cry from the hills her anxiety became more than she could endure. Full of dread misgivings, she set out in quest of her wanderer, but when she reached the Khasi hills, she was told that he had been hunted to death on the slopes of Shillong, and the news broke her heart.

Staggering under the weight of her sorrow, she traversed the rugged paths through the wildwoods, seeking her dead offspring, and as she went her loud heartrending cries were heard throughout the country, arresting every ear. Women, sitting on their hearths, heard it and swooned from the pain of it, and the children hid their faces in dismay; men at work in the fields heard it and bowed their heads and writhed with the anguish of it. Not a shout was raised for a signal at sight of that stricken mother, not a hand was lifted to molest her, and when the huntsmen on the slopes of Shillong heard that bitter cry, their shouts of triumph froze upon their lips, and they broke their arrows in shivers.

Never before was heard a lamentation so mournful, so plaintive, so full of sorrow and anguish and misery, as the lament of the mother of the Stag Lapalang as she sought him in death on the slopes of Shillong. The Ancient Khasis were so impressed by this demonstration of deep love and devotion that they felt their own manner of mourning for their dead to be very inferior and orderless, and without meaning. Henceforth they resolved that they also would mourn their departed ones in this devotional way, and many of the formulas used in Khasi lamentations in the present day are those attributed to the mother of the Stag Lapalang when she found him hunted to death on the slopes of Shillong hundreds and hundreds of years ago.


(800 words)








Khasi: The Goddesses Ka Ngot and Ka Iam

This story is part of the Khasi Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of the Khasis by Mrs. K. U. Rafy (1920).

The Goddesses Ka Ngot and Ka Iam

Ka Iam and Ka Ngot, the twin daughters of the god of Shillong, were two very beautiful beings; they were lively and frolicsome, and were indulged and given much freedom by the family. Like all twins, they were never happy if long separated.

One day, the two climbed to the top of the Shillong mountain to survey the country. In the distance they saw the woody plains of Sylhet, and they playfully challenged one another to run a race to see who would reach the plains first.

Ka Ngot was more retiring and timid than her sister, and was half afraid to begin the race; Ka Iam, on the other hand, was venturesome and fearless, and had been called Ka Iam because of her noisy and turbulent disposition. Before the race, she spoke very confidently of her own victory and teased her sister on account of her timidity.

After a little preparation for the journey, the twins transformed themselves into two rivers and started to run their race. Ka Ngot, searching for smooth and easy places, meandered slowly, taking long circuits, and came in time to Sylhet but, not finding her sister there, she went forward to Chhatak and on slowly towards Dewara. Seeing no sign yet of her sister, she became very anxious and turned back to seek her, and, in turning, she took a long curve which looked in the brilliant sunshine like a curved silver chain, and the Khasis living on the hill-tops, when they saw it, exclaimed with wonder: “Rupatylli, Rupatylli!” (A silver necklace, a silver necklace!) — and to this day that part of the river is known as “Rupatylli.”

Ka Iam, full of vigour and ambition, did not linger to look for easy passages, but with a noisy rush she plunged straight in the direction of Shella, the shortest cut she could find. She soon found, however, that the road she had chosen was far more difficult to travel than she had anticipated. Large rocks impeded her path at many points, and she was obliged to spend much time in boring her way through, but she pitted her young strength against all obstacles, and in time she reached Shella and came in view of the plains, where, to her chagrin, she saw that her sister had reached the goal before her and was coming back leisurely to meet her. It was a great humiliation, for she had boasted of her victory before the race began, but, hoping to conceal her defeat from the world, she divided herself into five streams, and in that way entered the plains and joined her sister. The rivers are called after the two goddesses to this day and are known as “Ka Um Ngot” and “Ka Um Iam” (the river Ngot and the river Iam).

Ever since Ka Ngot won the great race she has been recognised as the greater of the two twins and more reverence has been paid to her as a goddess. Even in the present day there are many Khasis and Syntengs who will not venture to cross the “Um Ngot” without first sacrificing to the goddess and when, on their journeys, they happen to catch a glimpse of its waters, they salute and give a greeting of “Khublei” to the goddess Ka Ngot who won the great race.


(600 words)









Khasi: U Biskurom

This story is part of the Khasi Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of the Khasis by Mrs. K. U. Rafy (1920).

U Biskurom

In the beginning of time, mankind were very ignorant and did their work with great trouble and labour, for they had no tools and did not understand the way to make them. The Great God saw their difficulty from heaven, and He sent one of the heavenly beings down to the earth, in the likeness of a young man, to teach them. The name of this young man was U Biskurom. He was very noble to look at, and none of the sons of mankind could compare with him; he was also very gentle and good.

He taught mankind many useful crafts. From him they learned to know the value of metals and the way to smelt iron and to make tools, but mankind were very slow to learn and liked better to muddle in their own old way than to follow the directions given them by U Biskurom, so he had to stay such a long time on the earth that he forgot the way back to heaven. He was, however, so patient and painstaking that at last they learned to make good tools and to use them.

Seeing that U Biskurom excelled them in finishing his instruments and that he could do double their work in a day, mankind took advantage of his gentleness. They used him to save trouble to themselves and often  demanded work from him that it was impossible for him to do, and when he failed to satisfy them, they grew angry and abusive.

One day they made a clay image and called upon U Biskurom to make it alive; when he told them that he had not learnt how to produce life, they abused him and threatened to imprison him until he complied with their request.

When U Biskurom saw that they would not listen to reason, he told them that if they wanted him to impart life to their images, they must let him go back to heaven to gain the necessary knowledge. Upon this mankind took counsel together what to do. Some feared that if they let him go away he would never return. Others (the majority, however) thought that as the knowledge of how to impart life would be so valuable, it was worth risking a good deal to obtain it, so mankind decided to release U Biskurom.

As he had forgotten the road along which he came to the earth, it was necessary for U Biskurom to invent some means whereby he could go up to heaven, so he told mankind to twine a long piece of string and to make a strong kite on which he could ascend to the sky. So mankind twined a long string and made a strong kite, and U Biskurom rode upon it to the sky.

When they said, “Perhaps if we let you go you will not come back,” he told them not to let go of the string so that if he was not allowed to come back, he could write the knowledge on the kite and send it down to them. This satisfied them and they let him go.

When U Biskurom reached heaven, the Great God told him that he could not go back to the earth because He had seen how mankind had ill-treated him and because of their ingratitude and their unholy ambition  to impart life. So U Biskurom wrote upon the kite and sent it down to the earth.

When mankind saw the kite descending, a great throng came together to read the directions for imparting life, but to their chagrin there was not one among them able to decipher the writing. They consulted together what to do for they were very angry with U Biskurom, and they decided to send a great shout to heaven which would cause such a volley that the concussion would kill U Biskurom.

U Biskurom laughed when he saw their folly, and in order to make them still more foolish, he caused some drops of blood to fall down from heaven, and when mankind saw these drops of blood, they concluded that he had been killed by the force of their great shout.

Because of their ingratitude and their uplifted pride mankind have remained in great ignorance, and all the knowledge they possess is very imperfect and gained at great labour and expense.


(700 words)

Khasi: How the Dog Came to live with Man

This story is part of the Khasi Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of the Khasis by Mrs. K. U. Rafy (1920).

How the Dog Came to live with Man

In the happy olden days, when the animals lived together at peace in the forest, they used to hold fairs and markets after the manner of mankind. The most important fair of all was called “Ka Iew Luri Lura” (the Fair of Luri Lura), which was held at stated intervals in the Bhoi (forest) country. Thither gathered all the animals, each one bringing some article of merchandise according to the decree which demanded that every animal that came to the fair should bring something to sell. No matter whether he was young or old, rich or poor, no one was to come empty-handed, for they wanted to enhance the popularity of the market. U Khla, the tiger, was appointed governor of the fair.

Man was excluded from these fairs as he was looked upon as an enemy. He used to hunt the animals with his bow and arrows, so they had ceased to fraternise with him and kept out of his way. But one day the dog left his own kindred in the jungle and became the attendant of Man. The following story tells how that came to pass.

One day U Ksew, the dog, walked abroad in search of goods to sell at the fair. The other animals were thrifty and industrious; they worked to produce their merchandise, but the dog, being of an indolent nature, did not like to work, though he was very desirous to go to the fair. So, to avoid the censure of his neighbours and the punishment of the governor of the fair, he set out in search of something he could get without much labour to himself. He trudged about the country all day, inquiring at many villages, but when evening-time came he had not succeeded in purchasing any suitable goods, and he began to fear that he would have to forgo the pleasure of attending the fair after all.

Just as the sun was setting, he found himself on the outskirts of Saddew village, on the slopes of the Shillong Mountain, and as he sniffed the air he became aware of a strong and peculiar odour, which he guessed came from some cooked food. Being hungry after his long tramp, he pushed his way forward, following the scent till he came to a house right in the middle of the village, where he saw the family at dinner, which he noticed they were eating with evident relish. The dinner consisted of fermented Khasi beans, known as ktung rymbai, from which the strong smell emanated.

The Khasis are naturally a very cordial and hospitable people, and when the good wife of the house saw the dog standing outside, looking wistfully at them, she invited him to partake of what food there was left in the pot. U Ksew thankfully accepted, and by reason of his great hunger he ate heartily, regardless of the strange flavour and smell of the food, and he considered the ktung rymbai very palatable.

It dawned on him that here, quite by accident, he had found a novel and marketable produce to take to the fair, and it happened that the kindly family who had entertained him had a quantity of the stuff for sale which they kept in earthen jars, sealed with clay to retain its flavour. After a little palaver according to custom, a bargain was struck, and U Ksew became the owner of one good-sized jar of ktung rymbai, which he cheerfully took on his back. He made his way across the hills to Luri Lura fair, chuckling to himself as he anticipated the sensation he would create and the profits he would gain, and the praise he would win for being so enterprising.

On the way he encountered many of the animals who like himself were all going to Luri Lura and carrying merchandise on their backs to sell at the fair: to them U Ksew boasted of the wonderful food he had discovered and was bringing with him to the market in the earthen jar under the clay seal. He talked so much about it that the contents of the earthen jar became the general topic of conversation between the animals, for never had such an article been known at Luri Lura.

When he arrived at the fair, the dog walked in with great consequence and installed himself and his earthen jar in the most central place with much clatter and ostentation. Then he began to shout at the top of his voice, “Come and buy my good food,” and, what with his boastings on the road and the noise he made at the fair, a very large company gathered round him, stretching their necks to have a glimpse at the strange-looking jar and burning with curiosity to see the much-advertised contents.

U Ksew, with great importance, proceeded to uncover the jar, but as soon as he broke the clay seal, a puff of the most unsavoury and fetid odour issued forth and drove all the animals scrambling to a safe distance, much to the dog’s discomfiture and the merriment of the crowd. They hooted and jeered, and made all sorts of disparaging remarks till U Ksew felt himself covered with shame.

The stag pushed forward, and to show his disdain, he contemptuously kicked the earthen jar till it broke. This increased the laughter and the jeering, and more of the animals came forward, and they began to trample the ktung rymbai in the mud, taking no notice of the protestations of U Ksew, who felt himself very unjustly treated. He went to U Khla, the governor of the fair, to ask for redress, but here again he was met with ridicule and scorn, and told that he deserved all the treatment he had received for filling the market-place with such a stench.

At last U Ksew’s patience wore out, he grew snappish and angry, and with loud barks and snarls, he began to curse the animals with many curses, threatening to be avenged upon them all some day. At the time no one heeded his curses and threats, for the dog was but a contemptible animal in their estimation, and it was not thought possible for him to work much harm. Yet even on that day a part of his curse came true, for the animals found to their dismay that the smell of the ktung rymbai clung to their paws and their hoofs, and could not be obliterated, so the laughter was not all on their side.

Humiliated and angry, the dog determined to leave the fair and the forest and his own tribe, and to seek more congenial surroundings, so he went away from Luri Lura, never to return, and came once more to Saddew village, to the house of the family from whom he had bought the offending food. When the master of the house heard the story of the ill-treatment he had suffered from the animals, he pitied U Ksew, and he also considered that the insults touched himself as well as the dog, inasmuch as it was he who had prepared and sold the ktung rymbai. So he spoke consolingly to U Ksew and patted his head and told him to remain in the village with him, and that he would protect him and help him to avenge his wrongs upon the animals.

After the coming of the dog, Man became a very successful hunter, for the dog, who always accompanied him when he went out to hunt, was able to follow the trail of the animals by the smell of the ktung rymbai which adhered to their feet. Thus the animals lived to rue the day when they played their foolish pranks on U Ksew and his earthen jar at the fair of Luri Lura.

Man, having other occupations, could not always go abroad to the jungle to hunt, so in order to secure a supply of meat for himself during the non-hunting seasons he tamed pigs and kept them at hand in the village. When the dog came he shared the dwelling and the meals of the pig, U Sniang; they spent their days in idleness, living on the bounty of Man.

One evening, as Man was returning from his field, tired with the day’s toil, he noticed the two idle animals and he said to himself, “It is very foolish of me to do all the hard work myself while these two well-fed creatures are lying idle. They ought to take a turn at doing some work for their food.”

The following morning, Man commanded the two animals to go to the field to plough in his stead. When they arrived there, U Sniang, in obedience to his master’s orders, began to dig with his snout, and by nightfall had managed to furrow quite a large patch of the field, but U Ksew, according to his indolent habits, did no work at all. He lay in the shade all day or amused himself by snapping at the flies. In the evening, when it was time to go home, he would start running backwards and forwards over the furrows, much to the annoyance of the pig.

The same thing happened for many days in successio, till the patience of the pig was exhausted, and on their return from the field one evening he went and informed their master of the conduct of the dog, how he was idling the whole day and leaving all the work for him to do.

The master was loth to believe these charges against U Ksew, whom he had found such an active and willing helper in the chase; he therefore determined to go and examine the field. When he came there, he found only a few of the footprints of the pig, while those of the dog were all over the furrows. He at once concluded that U Sniang had falsely charged his friend, and he was exceedingly wroth with him.

When he came home, Man called the two animals to him, and he spoke very angrily to U Sniang and told him that henceforth he would have to live in a little sty by himself, and to eat only the refuse from Man’s table and other common food, as a punishment for making false charges against his friend, but the dog would be privileged to live in the house with his master and to share the food of his master’s family.

Thus it was that the dog came to live with Man.



(1800 words)







Khasi: The Stag and the Snail

This story is part of the Khasi Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of the Khasis by Mrs. K. U. Rafy (1920).




The Stag and the Snail

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As soon as they had sold their wares, the animals hastened to the grove, laughing among themselves as they walked at the foolishness of Ka Mattah in setting herself up against the swiftest of the animals, and they planned how to make her the general laughing-stock of the jungle for her audacity. When they reached the Rubber grove, they found Ka Mattah ready for the race, having discarded her cumbersome shell and put herself into a racing attitude on the path, which caused them no little amusement.

As soon as the signal was given, she dived into the grass and was lost to sight, while the stag cantered towards the mountains. After going some distance, he stopped, thinking that there would be no need to run further, as he imagined that the snail was far behind and likely to have given up the race, so he called out, “Heigh, Mattah, art thou coming?”

To his surprise, the voice of the snail answered close beside him saying, “I am here, I am here.”

Thereupon he ran on more swiftly, but after running several miles, he stopped again and called out as before, “Heigh, Mattah, art thou coming?”

And again the voice answered close to his heels, “I am here, I am here,” upon which the stag tore off at a terrific pace through the forest, only stopping at intervals to call out to the snail. As often as he called, the voice answered close to  his feet, “I am here, I am here,” which set him racing with ever-increasing speed.

When he reached the Iei Tree Mountain, he was panting and quivering from his great exertions and longed to lie down to rest, but he saw before him the goal to which he was bound and spurred himself to a last effort. He was so exhausted as he climbed up the slopes of Shillong that he was giddy and faint and could scarcely move his wearied limbs, and, to his dismay, before he reached the summit, he heard the tormenting voice of the snail calling out from the goal, “I have won, I have won.”

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




(1000 words)





Khasi: The Leap of Ka Likai

This story is part of the Khasi Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of the Khasis by Mrs. K. U. Rafy (1920).

The Leap of Ka Likai

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


(700 words)






Khasi: What caused the Shadows on the Moon

This story is part of the Khasi Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of the Khasis by Mrs. K. U. Rafy (1920).

What caused the Shadows on the Moon

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

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

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

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

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


(600 words)






Khasi: U Ksuid Tynjang

This story is part of the Khasi Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of the Khasis by Mrs. K. U. Rafy (1920).

U Ksuid Tynjang

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

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

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

In those days a great fair was periodically held at the foot of the Hills, and to this the Khasis from all over  the country were wont to resort, especially the younger folk, who were fond of pleasure and liked to see the show of fine cloths brought there for sale. It happened that two young sisters from the Hills, Ka Thei and Ka Duh, with their brother, attended one of these fairs in the company of some of their neighbours.

It was their first visit to a fair, and they were so taken up with the wonders of it that they forgot all about the time and walked to and fro, gazing at the strange people and wares, until unconsciously they drifted away from their friends.

It was now growing late, and Ka Thei, the eldest sister, anxiously bade the others cling to her that they might retrace their steps and if possible find their companions, but although they walked from one end of the fair to the other, they met nobody they knew. By this they were in great dismay, and they determined to start for home as fast as they could, hoping to overtake their friends on the way.

Evidently everyone was far ahead, for though they walked very fast and called out at intervals, they saw no signs of a friend and heard no response, and by the time they reached the Shillong forests, when they were yet some miles from home, night closed upon them, and they lost their way in the dense dark jungle. It was hopeless to try and proceed further for the path could not be traced in the darkness, so the three timid young travellers sat down, footsore and forlorn, crushed down with foreboding and fear.

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

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

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

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

Whenever the Ksuid fell asleep, the sisters were able to take turns at their unpleasant task. In order to lighten their lot somewhat, they planned to kindle a fire for the following night, and they collected dry sticks and made ready; when night fell, they kindled the fire and felt less afraid.

During the night, Ka Duh, in putting some fresh wood on the fire, found a large, heavy dao — an axe-knife — of iron which she showed to her sister, who at once took it as an augury that deliverance was forthcoming and that the god of Shillong was working for them. She at once began to think of a plan whereby the dao might be useful to break the spell of the demon and to free her sister and herself from his power. She heated the thick blade red-hot while the Ksuid slumbered, and, taking it by the handle, she seared his body with the hot iron, so that he died.

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


(1200 words)





Khasi: What Makes the Lightning

This story is part of the Khasi Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of the Khasis by Mrs. K. U. Rafy (1920).

What Makes the Lightning

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

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

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

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

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

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

(lynx)

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

Just then U Pyrthat, the thunder giant, happened to look round, and he saw the performance of the lynx and admired the beauty of the silver sword, and he asked to have the handling of it for a short time, as a favour, saying that he would like to dance a little, but had brought no instrument except his big drum.

This was not at all to U Kui’s liking, for he did not want any one but himself to handle his fine weapon, but all the animals began to shout as if with one voice, saying “Shame!” for showing such discourtesy to a guest, and especially to the guest by whose kindly offices the assembly had been summoned together, so U Kui was driven to yield up his silver sword.

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

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

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



(800 words)






Khasi: Ka Panshandi, the Lazy Tortoise

This story is part of the Khasi Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of the Khasis by Mrs. K. U. Rafy (1920).

The Legend of Ka Panshandi, the Lazy Tortoise

Once upon a time, there lived a young tortoise near a large pool. She was very ill-favoured and ugly in appearance and very foolish, as well as being of a lazy disposition, and, like all lazy people, she was slovenly and dirty in her habits. Her name was Ka Panshandi.

The pool near which she lived being very clear, the stars and other heavenly bodies often gazed into it to behold their own images. At times the reflection of countless shining, blinking stars would be visible in the placid waters till the pool looked like a little part of the sky. At such times Ka Panshandi took immense delight in plunging into the pool, darting backwards and forwards and twirling round the bright silvery spots with great glee and contentment.

Among those who came frequently to gaze at themselves in the pool was U Lurmangkhara, the brightest of all the stars; he began to notice the playful gambols of Ka Panshandi in the water and to admire her twirling motions. He lived so far away that he could not see her ugliness, nor could he know that she was lazy and foolish. All he knew was that she exposed herself nightly to the chilly waters of the pool in order (as he thought) to have the pleasure of being near the images of the stars, which was very flattering to his vanity. If she was so strongly attracted by their images, he thought to himself, how much more would she adore the real live stars if she were brought into contact with them.

U Lurmangkhara fell deeply in love with her, and determined to go down to the earth to marry her and to endow her with all his wealth, for he was very rich and had always lived in great splendour.

When his relations and friends heard of his purpose, they were much disturbed, and they came to remonstrate with him against what they considered to be a very rash and risky step — to go to a foreign land to make his home and to mate with an unknown consort whose habits and outlook on life might be altogether alien to him. But U Lurmangkhara would listen to no counsel. Persons in love never take heed of other people’s advice. Down to the earth he came, and there married Ka Panshandi and endowed her with all his wealth.

When Ka Panshandi found herself a rich wife, having unexpectedly won one of the noblest husbands in the world, her vanity knew no bounds, and she grew more indolent and idle than ever. Her house was squalid, and she minded not when even her own body was daubed with mud, and she felt no shame to see her husband’s meals served off unscoured platters.

U Lurmangkhara was very disappointed; being patient and gentle, he tried by kind words to teach his wife to amend her ways, but it was of no avail. Gradually he grew discontented and spoke angrily to her, but she remained as callous and as indifferent as ever, for it is easier to turn even a thief from stealing than to induce a sluggard to renounce his sloth. He threatened to leave her, her neighbours also repeatedly warned her that she would lose her good husband unless she altered her ways, but she remained as unconcerned as ever. At last, driven to despair, U Lurmangkhara gathered together all his wealth and went back to his home in the sky.

Ka Panshandi was filled with remorse and grief when she found that her husband had departed. She called piteously after him, promising to reform if he would only return, but it was too late. He never came back, and she was left to her squalor and her shame.

To this day Ka Panshandi is still hoping to see U Lurmangkhara coming back to the earth, and she is seen crawling about mournfully, with her neck outstretched towards the sky in expectation of his coming, but there is no sign of his return, and her life is dull and joyless.

After these events Ka Panshandi’s name became a mockery and a proverb in the land; ballads were sung setting forth her fate as a warning to lazy and thriftless wives. To the present day a forsaken wife who entertains hope of her husband’s return is likened by the Khasis to Ka Panshandi in her expectant attitude with her head lifted above her shell: “Ka Panshandi dem-lor-khah.”





(700 words)







Khasi: How the Cat came to live with Man

This story is part of the Khasi Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of the Khasis by Mrs. K. U. Rafy (1920).

How the Cat Came to Live with Man

In olden times, Ka Miaw, the cat, lived in the jungle with her brother the tiger, who was king of the jungle. She was very proud of her high pedigree and anxious to display the family greatness, and to live luxuriously according to the manner of families of high degree, but the tiger, although he was very famous abroad, was not at all mindful of the well-being and condition of his family, and allowed them to be often in want. He himself, by his skill and great prowess, obtained the most delicate morsels for his own consumption, but as it involved trouble to bring booty home for his household, he preferred to leave what he did not want himself to rot on the roadside or to be eaten by any chance scavenger. Therefore, the royal larder was often very bare and empty.

Thus the cat was reduced to great privations, but so jealous was she for the honour and good name of her house that, to hide her poverty from her friends and neighbours, she used to sneak out at night-time, when nobody could see her, in order to catch mice and frogs and other common vermin for food.

Once she ventured to speak to her brother on the matter, asking him what glory there was in being king  if his family were obliged to work and to fare like common folks. The tiger was so angered that she never dared to approach the subject again, and she continued to live her hard life and to shield the family honour.

One day the tiger was unwell, and a number of his neighbours came to enquire after his health. Desiring to entertain them with tobacco, according to custom, he shouted to his sister to light the hookah and to serve it round to the company. Now, even in the most ordinary household, it is very contrary to good breeding to order the daughter of the house to serve the hookah, and Ka Miaw felt the disgrace keenly, and, hoping to excuse herself, she answered that there was no fire left by which to light the hookah. This answer displeased the tiger greatly, for he felt that his authority was being flouted before his friends. He ordered his sister angrily to go to the dwelling of mankind to fetch a firebrand with which to light the hookah, and, fearing to be punished if she disobeyed, the cat ran off as she was bidden and came to the dwelling of mankind.

Some little children were playing in the village, and when they saw Ka Miaw, they began to speak gently to her and to stroke her fur. This was so pleasant to her feelings after the harsh treatment from her brother that she forgot all about the firebrand and stayed to play with the children, purring to show her pleasure.

Meanwhile the tiger and his friends sat waiting impatiently for the hookah that never came. It was considered a great privilege to draw a whiff from the royal hookah, but, seeing that the cat delayed her return, the visitors took their departure and showed a little sullenness at not receiving any mark of hospitality in their king’s house.

The tiger’s anger against his sister was very violent, and, regardless of his ill-health, he went out in search of her. Ka Miaw heard him coming and knew from his growl that he was angry; she suddenly remembered her forgotten errand, and, hastily snatching a firebrand from the hearth, she started for home.

Her brother met her on the way and began to abuse her, threatening to beat her, upon which she threw down the firebrand at his feet in her fright and ran back to the abode of mankind, where she has remained ever since, supporting herself as of old by catching frogs and mice, and purring to the touch of little children.


(700 words)





Khasi: How the Tiger got his Strength

This story is part of the Khasi Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of the Khasis by Mrs. K. U. Rafy (1920).

How the Tiger got his Strength

After the animals were created, they were sent to live in the jungle, but they were so foolish that they got into one another’s way and interfered one with another and caused much inconvenience in the world. In order to produce better order, the Bleis (gods) called together a Durbar to decide on the different qualities with which it would be well to endow the animals so as to make them intelligent and able to live in harmony with one another. After this, mankind and all the animals were summoned to the presence of the Bleis, and each one was given such intelligence and sense as seemed best to suit his might and disposition: the man received beauty and wisdom, and to the tiger were given craftiness and the power to walk silently.

When the man returned to his kindred, and his mother beheld him, her heart was lifted with pride, for she knew that the Bleis had given to him the best of their gifts and that henceforth all the animals would be inferior to him in beauty and intelligence. Realising with regret that he had not received physical strength equal to the beauty of his person, and that consequently his life would be always in danger, she told her son to go back to the Bleis to ask for the gift of strength.

The man went back to the Bleis according to the command of his mother, but it was so late when he arrived that the Bleis were about to retire. Seeing that he was comelier than any of the animals and possessed more wisdom, which made him worthy of the gift of strength, they told him to come on the morrow and they would bestow upon him the desired gift. The man was dismissed till the following day, but he went away happy in his mind, knowing that the Bleis would not go back on their word.

Now it happened that the tiger was roaming about in that vicinity, and by reason of his silent tread, he managed to come unobserved near enough to hear the Bleis and the man talking about the gift of strength. He determined to forestall the man on the morrow and to obtain the gift of strength for himself; soon he slunk away lest it should be discovered that he had been listening.

Early on the following morning, before the Bleis had come forth from their retirement, the tiger went to their abode and sent in a messenger to say that he had come according to their command to obtain the gift of strength, upon which the Bleis endowed him with strength twelve times greater than what he had before possessed, thinking that they were bestowing it upon the man.

The tiger felt himself growing strong, and as soon as he left the abode of the Bleis, he leaped forward twelve strides, and twelve strides upward, and so strong was he that it was unto him but as one short stride. Then he knew that he had truly forestalled the man, and had obtained the gift of strength, and could overcome men in battle.

Later in the day, in accordance with the command he had received, the man set out for the abode of the Bleis, but on the way the tiger met him and challenged him to fight, and began to leap and bound upwards and forwards to show how strong he was, and said that he had received the “twelve strengths” and no one would be able to withstand him. He was just about to spring when the man evaded him, and ran away towards the abode of the Bleis.

When he came there and presented himself before them, they asked him angrily, “Why dost thou come again to trouble us? We have already given thee the gift of strength.” Then the man knew that the tiger’s boast was true, and he told the Bleis of his encounter with the tiger on the way, and of his boast that he had obtained the gift of strength. They were greatly annoyed that deception had been practised on them, but there is no decree by which to recall a gift when once it has been bestowed by the Bleis.

They looked upon the man with pity and said that one so beautiful and full of wisdom should not be left defenceless at the mercy of the inferior animals. So they gave unto him a bow and an arrow and told him, “When the tiger attacks thee with his strength, shoot — and the arrow will pierce his body and kill him. Behold, we have given to thee the gift of skill to make and to use weapons of warfare whereby thou wilt be able to combat the lower animals.”

Thus the tiger received strength, and man received the gift of skill. The mother of mankind, when she saw it, told her sons to abstain from using their weapons against one another, but to turn them against the animals only, according to the decree of the Bleis.


(800 words)






Khasi: Why the Goat lives with Mankind

This story is part of the Khasi Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of the Khasis by Mrs. K. U. Rafy (1920).

Why the Goat lives with Mankind

In early times, the goat lived in the jungle, leading a free and independent life, like all the other animals. The following story gives an account of her flight from the animals to make her dwelling with Man.

One fine spring day, when the young leaves were sprouting on the forest trees, Ka Blang, the goat, went out in search of food. Her appetite was sharpened by the delicious smell of the spring, which filled the air and the forest, so, not being satisfied with grass, she began to pluck the green leaves from a bush. While she was busy plucking and eating, she was startled to hear the deep growl of the tiger close beside her.

The tiger asked her angrily, “What art thou doing there?”

Ka Blang was so upset by this sudden interruption, and in such fear of the big and ferocious beast, that she began to tremble from head to foot, so that even her beard shook violently, and she hardly knew what she was doing or saying.

In her fright she quavered: “I am eating khla” (a tiger), instead of saying, “I am eating sla” (leaves).

The tiger took this answer for insolence and became very angry. He was preparing to spring upon her when he caught sight of her shaking beard, which appeared to him like the tuft of hair on a warrior’s lance when it is lifted against an enemy. He thought that Ka Blang must be some powerful and savage beast able to attack him, and he ran away from her in terror.

Now Ka Blang, having an ungrateful heart, instead of being thankful for her deliverance, grew discontented with her lot and began to grumble because she had not been endowed with the strength attributed to her by the tiger, and she went about bewailing her inferiority.

One day, in her wanderings, she climbed to the top of an overhanging cliff, and there she lay down to chew the cud, and, as usual, to dwell on her grievances. It happened that the tiger was again prowling in the same vicinity, but when he saw the goat approaching he fled in fear and hid himself under the very cliff on to which she had climbed. There he lay very still for fear of betraying his presence to the goat, for he was still under the delusion that she was a formidable and mighty animal.

Ka Blang, all unconscious of his presence, began to grumble aloud, saying: “I am the poorest and the weakest of all the beasts, without any means of defence or strength to withstand an attack. I have neither tusks nor claws to make an enemy fear me. It is true that the tiger once ran away from me because he mistook my beard for a sign of strength, but if he had only known the truth, he would have killed me on the instant, for even a small dog could kill me if he clutched me by the throat.”

The tiger, beneath the rock, was listening to every word, and, as he listened, his wrath was greatly kindled to find that he had disgraced himself by running away from such a contemptible creature, and he determined now to avenge himself for that humiliation. He crept stealthily from his hiding-place, and, ere she was aware of his approach, Ka Blang was clutched by the throat and killed.

In order to restore his prestige, the tiger proclaimed far and wide how he had captured and killed the goat, and after that, other tigers and savage beasts began to hunt the goats, and there followed such a general slaughter of goats that they were nearly exterminated.

Driven to great extremity, the few remaining goats held a tribal council to consider how to save themselves from the onslaughts of the tigers, but, finding themselves powerless to offer any resistance, they determined to apply to mankind for protection.

When they came to him, Man said that he could not come to the jungle to defend them, but they must come and live in his village if they wished to be protected by him. So the goats ran away from the jungle forever and came to live with mankind.


(700 words)






Khasi: How the Ox came to be the Servant of Man

This story is part of the Khasi Folktales unit. Story source: Folk-Tales of the Khasis by Mrs. K. U. Rafy (1920).

How the Ox came to be the Servant of Man

When mankind first came to live upon the earth, they committed many blunders for they were ignorant and wasteful, not knowing how to shift for themselves and having no one to teach them. The Deity who was watching their destinies saw their misfortunes and pitied them, for he saw that unless their wastefulness ceased they would perish of want when they multiplied and became numerous in the world. So the Deity called to him the ox, who was a strong and patient animal, and sent him as a messenger to mankind to bless them and to show them how to prosper.

The ox had to travel a long way in the heat and was much worried by the flies that swarmed round his path and the small insects that clung to his body and sucked his blood. Then a crow alighted on his back and began to peck at the insects, upon which it loved to feed; this eased the ox greatly, and he was very pleased to see the crow, and he told her where he was going as a messenger from the Deity to mankind.

The crow was very interested when she heard this, and questioned him minutely about the message he had been sent to deliver, and the ox told her all that  he had been commanded to say to mankind — how he was to give them the blessing of the Deity and to warn them not to waste the products of the earth lest they died of want. They must learn to be thrifty and careful so that they might live to be old and wise, and they were to boil only sufficient rice for each meal, so as not to waste their food.

When the crow heard this she was much disturbed, for she saw that there would be no leavings for the crows if mankind followed these injunctions. So she said to the ox, “Will you repay my kindness to you in destroying the insects that worry you by giving a message like that to mankind to deprive me of my accustomed spoil?” She begged of him to teach mankind to cook much rice always, and to ordain many ceremonies to honour their dead ancestors by offering rice to the gods, so that the crows and the other birds might have abundance to eat.

Thus, because she had eased his torments, the ox listened to her words, and when he came to mankind, he delivered only part of the message of the Deity and part of the message of the crow.

When the time came for the ox to return, a great fear overcame him as he approached the abode of the Deity, for he saw that he had greatly trespassed and that the Deity would be wrathful. In the hope of obtaining forgiveness, he at once confessed his wrong-doing, how he had been tempted by the crow and had delivered the wrong message. This confession did not mitigate the anger of the Deity, for he arose, and, with great fury, he struck the ox such a blow on the mouth that all his upper teeth fell out, and another blow behind the ribs which made a great hollow there, and he drove the disobedient animal from his presence to seek pasture and shelter wherever he could find them.

After this the ox came back sorrowfully to mankind, and for food and for shelter he offered to become their servant, and, because he was strong and patient, mankind allowed him to become their servant.

Ever since he was struck by the Deity, the ox has had no teeth in the upper jaw, and the hollow behind his ribs remains to this day; it can never be filled up, however much grass and grain he eats, for it is the mark of the fist of the Deity.




(600 words)