Witoubou Newmai, Editor, Newmai News Network
(It is an extract from my forthcoming book)
[dropcap]T[/dropcap]he Christmas and the New Year celebrations were over and the school admission was going on. Our admissions were yet to be done due to shortage of money. We were happy that there was a financial crunch in the family for our admissions would be delayed which would also mean that we would have an extended winter vacation. We were enjoying our vacation in full gear always pre-occupied with one thing or the other from early morning till late night during this period of bliss.
One night, my grandfather (Apou) had occasionally reminded us from his bedroom that the night is getting late and we should go to bed. We could only hear the sound of insects especially the Takourunpui (crickets) making noise outside the house. The silence of the night was again occasionally interrupted by the coughing of an old man next door. He seemed to be badly affected by the chilling winter. Soft roaring sound from the thick bamboo grove and the big trees at the Nchiang village fringe due to winter breeze had formed the perfect ambience in the dead of night that one experienced an eerie feeling. We could hear dogs wailing from a far off place of the village. We were distracted by the fighting of two mating cats at Apou’s backyard that night. So noisy were the two cats that Apou banged the bamboo wall a couple of times.We were (with my two cousins) sitting round a fire-place with two logs smouldering faintly while the rest of the family members had fallen into a deep sleep. We were chatting excitedly about the next morning’s plan of bird shooting in an abandoned village which is about two kilometres away. Aguangpibou, my younger cousin was quiet and very observant. He was giggling while looking at me. While tendering the fire-place I might have touched charcoal and in attending by running nose I had made a moustache for myself. After realising why Aguangpibou was giggling, I stood up to wash my face but Agalepbou, my older cousin grumbled why I should be wasting water for a trifle purpose as we would be in bed soon. He was busy repairing is shorts (half-pants) as one of the hooks had fallen from it.
“Pull little harder,” Agalepbou ordered his younger brother Aguangpibou. They were using soft Chaphupriang (fibre-rope tapped from Chaphup tree) as a belt so that his hook-less and faded brown over-sized pair of pants should not be a problem in the morning’s bird hunting event. “Perfect,” exclaimed Agalepbou approving that the new belt had helped. However, my younger cousin had fallen flat on the floor facing the roof while laughing shakily. It had appeared that Agalepbou was wearing a petticoat. The pull was too hard that his new Chaphupriang belt had disfigured the pair of pants. “Remove that Chaphupriang. Nkhiangriang ( rope made from a fibrous sour vegetable plant) is better as a belt,” I commanded. Agaleobou obliged. I climed up the Kasing-gen (a large and high bamboo raft made suspended just below a roof and usually above the fire place to store goods) and brought down Nkhiangriang,soaked in Kabak-kuang (a carved log where pigs are fed) for about ten minutes to soften and toughen the already dried, semi brittle Nkhiangriang. I made a perfect belt for Agalepbou. But there was more to be done about the worn-out pair of short pants. The stitch at the back had come out that exposed his ash-buttocks. Because of that Agalepbou always hung around his striped looking bird shooting bag behind him to cover the opening. The bag was striped looking because it was made by stitching together the pieces of Apou’s battered T-shirt, his father’s socks, my grandmother’s old head-cover using thick red woolen thread.
Aguangpibou was given the charge of fanning the smouldering logs for we were baking Taloompisiu (mud marbles for shooting birds).
“I think we should stop here. It is already three hundred Taloompisiu,” suggested Agalepbou and we re-counted the mud marbles and divided among us. Being the senior most, my share was fatter than the two cousins.
“I told you go to go bed,” Apou reminded us from his bed-room saying that the cock would crow soon signaling the pre-dawn break. He had also said that he had heard a cock crowing.
“I think the cock was crowing from Manningnailiu’s house,” wondered my youngest cousin. “But they don’t have a girl who is in marriageable age. The girls are still very young,” I countered.
The Liangmai tribe believes that if a cock crows before midnight or untimely during the night, a girl from the house where the cock crows will elope soon.
Suddenly, Kutariu (a giant owl) began to hoot. The hooting of Kutariu in that dark and breezy night had even fueled the eerie feeling to further height in this hill-top village of Nchiang which was surrounded by thick jungles. Grown-up people used to frighten naughty children by pronouncing the name of Kutariu. Any mention of the name Kutariuwould stop a crying child.
Kutariu will not hoot continuously like any other bird. There will be a long interval of about 10 to 15 minutes between two hooting. This peculiar nature of the giant owl’s cry that also resembles a man’s voice makes your hair rise.Kutariu hoots late at night or in the wee hours. The winter breeze coming through the porous bamboo wall made us shiver. Agalepbou was blowing the fire with a bamboo pipe to beat the cold. As he blew noisily using the bamboo pipe, the smouldering charcoal glowed but the glowing became faint as he paused. The momentary glowing of the charcoal enabled me to spot a Marao-henbung (a large hollowed dried gourd used as container). I knew Apeh (my grandmother) had stored dried Chara (a kind of beans) in it.
“The heat of the fading charcoal is too less to roast the Chara,” grumbled Agalepbou but I ordered him to go out and bring some fire-wood from the wood-pile at Apou’s back-yard. “I’m scare to go out. Aguangpibou, come with me.” But moments later both of them had rushed in without the fire-wood. “The Kutariu has begun to hoot again,” said Agalepbou. The plan to roast the Chara was not possible then. I could by then feel that the Kutariu had come nearer to Apou’s house. It had appeared that the giant owl was sitting at the large Tasiangbang (a large tree forming a canopy over Apou’s back-yard where vegetables were grown) for the hooting sound had become quite prominent.
My youngest cousin had already buried himself in Apou’s rough, hard and almost worn-out red blanket on hearing the giant owl hooting. However, I was too excited waiting for the morning break. I could no longer wait the bird shooting programme.
Armed with a new Chapi (catapult) which was made by one of my uncles during the day and the fresh bakedTaloompisiu, my mind was already floating in the wishful world while lying in my bed-bug filled bed. I was thinking of the escaped Agui (green and red-foot wild pigeon) I had shot two days ago with my old Chapi. That injured green pigeon had escaped because the blow from my old Chapi was not forceful enough. While dreaming this, I was occasionally disturbed by these bedbugs. But comparatively, the bugs were less that night.
People from Makidi (Imphal) had come and sprayed Takhengpiu (DDT powder) in our village few days ago. The freshness of the odour of Takhengpiu was still there. The bamboo wall of my grandfather’s house was spotted with whitish colour due to the spraying of Takhengpiu. The snoring of Apou disturbed my sleep though we were separated by a bamboo wall. He had cut down two giant trees that day in his paddy field at Aguanglujam(name of a location). It took him an hour of walk to reach home from the paddy field. He was exhausted after the day’s hard work. I too went off to sleep.
Due to the clanging sound of my grandmother’s Chahen (water containers made of bamboo) I was woken up. Apeh(grandmother) was lighting Kahiu (a torch of burning pine-wood piece) while getting ready to go to fetch water in a distant place deep into the thick hilly forest carrying about ten Chahen in her Akha (bamboo basket meant to be carried the women folk on their backs. It must be around 2 am and she had to walk for about 2 kilometres or more to reach Akhun (natural public well).
Water scarcity was another prime concern of Nchiang village. If she happened to reach late, the Akhun would be emptied. Women folk of the village had to compete for this small quantity of potable water. Very often there were quarrels in the Akhun among the women folks.
My two cousins were already there outside my grandfather’s house waiting for me. I could make out they had finished brushing their teeth for I saw a black stain in my younger cousin’s chin. Almost all the villagers used the same brand of tooth brush and paste in those days—the charcoal. I picked up a piece of charcoal from a fire place and soon joined my cousins and we then headed for Joukasangmai Kiluang (an abandoned village dwelt by Nchiang villagers before they had embraced Christianity).
Ruined houses, uncared and old giant stone erections in the memories of the dead people and the sporting fields were seen. The deserted village had the glorious past. One could understand this for its ruin prominently displayed. The matured mithun horns tied in slanting and slacked pillars of the ruined houses, probably the Khangchiuki (male dormitory) were the common sights. One could also see small mounds of earth in two places. These were the places where strong males competed in Long Jump in Liangmai tribe style. One would find Nphua Bang (a kind of flower resembles bottle-brush flowers but this Nphua Bang is white in colour). When this Nphua blooms at Joukasangmai Kiluang, different kinds of birds swarm there for food. The flower is rich in nectar. Even children are fond of sucking the Nphua Pen (Nphua flower).
We had reached our hunting ground after about 20 minutes of walk. The Sun was just above the hills. We were partly wet because we had come here bull-dozing ourselves through the dew filled bushes. We were not the first people there. Other bird hunters of the village were already counting the number of their kills.
I rubbed my palms together to relieve the numbness due to cold. When I turned around to show my cousins which different directions they should go, they had already disappeared in the Nphuali (grove of Phua plants)
The chirping of birds of different kinds hovering at Nphua Pen excited me. Watching this beauty was heaven but my instinct was the problem. I had already shot down three birds. A bulbul was my biggest kill of that moment. I heard my cousin shouting excitedly few metres away. He had shot a large parrot but the bird was still alive perching in a lower twig. He was asking me to lend him few Taloompisiu as he had already spent all his. I rushed towards my cousin and looked upward to find the injured parrot hanging upside down. I pulled my catapult aiming at the bird but before I could leave the leather strap of my weapon that wrapped the Taloompisiu, the parrot fell down due to the impact of the soft wind. I saved my Taloompisiu.
“How many birds have you hunted?” I asked my cousin who had replied that it was not his day. He had narrated that two large green pigeons was shot down but he could not find them as they had fallen in the cliff. He had also said that a squirrel was shot down but that too had disappeared in a thick bush. He tried to clear the bush to search the squirrel but the thorny creepers were the cause for him to retract the idea.
I showed him my kills. The other cousin joined us. I had killed altogether seven birds including two parrots and one green pigeon.
“I was using my grandmother’s shawl to make my hunting bag and so this had ruined my day’s hunting,” lamented by cousin who had killed only a parrot.
The common notion was that using or even touching the attire or materials of the women folk would bring bad luck.
Reaching home, I submitted my kills to Apeh who happily took them and smoked them.
Birds were smoked and put in Tabung (a specially made bamboo or cane basket to contain smoked meat) to be used on special occasions.
It must be around 8 in the morning and my grandmother served me food. It was Tasang Gan (a curry made of fermented beans and Nkana ( a kind of bitter leaves). Seeing this food, my glum face became prominent. Noticing my resentment, my grandmother (Apeh) was trying to appease me by saying that she would buy me a new catapult string if she could manage to sell her sheaves of hay. My joy knew no bounds then. I devoured my food and ran off to the back-yard panting, to split fire wood to reciprocate Apeh’s pleasing diplomacy. I had eaten a hot chilly to increase my appetite. Apeh noticed me panting. She brought some water and asked me to take rest in the shade for a while.
