I was young, very young. How much? May be 9 or 10 years old. It was the month of April. though the biting cold of December, January was more than two months past, its shivering ripples spilled beyond winter. Drizzle and rain accompanied by very cold wind whistling through tall pine trees made it very gloomy with nightfall.The houses were located far apart, spacious compounds with extensive areas, separated each household. As dusk fell, the entire locality looked deserted, winding roads between far apart street lights semi dark, an aberration of long shadowy pine trees lining both sides at random accentuating the gloom. Very few souls walking, mostly people returning from office, bloated or half filled bags in one hand, umbrella in the other. Majority of the residents were government officials, with a few exceptions here and there. Vehicles a very rare site. Faint glimmer of light emanating from distant houses indicated households were still awake. But for us boys, it was an evening to get ready for another adrenaline pumping pastime, after a hard days labor! a labor of playing cricket, playing hide and seek. We played cricket often in the frontal courtyards of neighbor’s house, including ours, breaking a window pane or two now and then, the volley of invective immediately following! The next shot hit straight, avoiding the windows, expert fielders unable to catch it, the rubber ball bouncing, jumping, rolling down the slopes, far below into the adjoining drain separating the other neighbor’s vast compound. We would run down the slopes en masse, trampling on well manicured growths of brinjal, cabbage, cauliflower etc, searching in the filth and squalor of the running drain. Someone would hold out the ball shouting, palu palu( got it got it). A perfunctory rub on the grassy outgrowth, the game would resume.
Then Oh! the thrill of playing hide and seek!! the shrieks of delight, the goosebumps when caught! Pony tailed little girl friends, very often joining us in the search. Whole locality was our playground. We hid behind bamboo bushes, under the planking of Assam type houses, inside the bamboo trellis to support climbing plants of vegetables. behind big big fire logs that were piled up in the back courtyards. Nepali Dajus( Daju meaning brother in nepali, commonly used to address them) would carry the big logs on their back, held securely with thickly woven ropes around their forehead, sharp big axes dug deep in the log. They would walk down slowly, breathing heavily with each ground breaking step, “hhuungh” “hhuungh””hhuungh”.And then “thudd”! the ground would quake with the impact of the fall. I used to look in awe at their bulging calf muscles, so sturdy and compact they were. After a day long fun and frolic, we would get ready for the evening thrill! We were bundles of energy, never tired.
We, the boys from Bishnupur, Shillong had formed a rudimentary club, the sole purpose being to collect money, to be able to purchase some cricketing items or a football. Rangali bihu time was the only time we could collect funds. Every evening, we, the group of about 12/13 boys, fully dressed for the occasion, gamocha tied around our head and waist, went around singing and dancing bihu tunes from house to house, with khol, taal, pepa, tukuri made of bamboo and whatever archaic instruments we could invent that would produce a musical sound. Full with energy and excitement, every evening, we visited every household and also ventured out beyond our locality. As the evening progressed, replaced by night and then late night, households would retire after supper, a single or two bulbs still burning, finally switched off! We would open the gate, and then sing loudly,”Deuter podulit , gundhaise madhuri, keteki mole molai oi, Gobindai ram!” ( On the path way to the courtyard of the Guardian father, sweet fragrance of Keteki flower permeated! Praise be to Gobinda, Praise be to Ram). Slowly, lights would be switched on, doors opened, a few members would gather on the verandah. We would sing at the top of our voice,”Porbote porbote bogabo paru moi……bolia hatitu bolabo paru moi….”(I can climb from mountain to mountain……I can tame a rogue elephant…) and dance bihu steps in gay abandon. one song after another.#junbaibihu#zubeengargmanasrobin
I remember an instance, while we were singing and dancing a particular number, ostensibly with intimate lyrics of love, the young damsel of the house, turned crimson with embarrassment and ran inside. We sang along, neither understanding a word nor caring about what we were singing! It often so happened that small denomination amounts were offered on a xorai ( a traditional Assamese stand for offering with a stand at the bottom), small denomination sized boys that we were!! We would genuflect, head bowed, our prayers for well being of the household reaching a crescendo, not at all showing signs of leaving, ” Muror suli chingi axirbad korisu Grihostho kuxole thakok, Joyo Ramobola, Joyo Horibola”( with shredded hair from our head, we pray for the well being of the household. Praise be to Rama, Praise be to Hari ), until they would surrender helplessly with a dime or two more.
One evening, oblivious to how late the time was, we happened to be in a far away locality, much beyond the contours of our neighborhood. By the time we stopped for that night, it was about 2 AM. We were counting the evening’s collection below a lamp post, at a five way junction, when suddenly, an apparition of a very old man, wearing a typical desi upper garment and dhoti, seemed to appear from nowhere, hands out-stretched, as if asking for alms from we boys…………..
During those days a rumor was abound among us children, that a black magician from Mayong ( Mayongor Roja )was roaming around picking up unsuspecting children. We would gossip among us…do you know, this Roja (sorcerer) was very black and big, always carrying a bag full of exotic items for magical tricks. Some would add,” yes yes! with blood red smears on his forehead, tangled long hair curling down far below his neckline”. Some one would go a bit too far, ” do you know, my father saw this Roja chanting some magical mantras and the man in front turned into small rabbit. Thereafter he put the rabbit in his bag”. We would narrate everything to our parents, who would show mock concern and would advise us not to venture out too far, hoping it would at least put some control on their bohemian children.
…………………..Someone shouted ” oi, Mayong or Roja, pola pola”( oi, king of black magic from Mayong, run run!) Galvanized by instant shock and terror, we ran helter-skelter, heart throbbing, almost coming out of our throats! we ran and ran, afraid to look back lest the magician would catch up with us, and ran wholesale into a house which was nearest, trembling and crying with fright.
Everyone in the house, fast asleep, woke up with a start. Lights switched on, the man of the house opened the door, shock and bewilderment writ large on his face. Some of us clutched his apparel tightly, crowding around him, trembling and crying with freight, surreptitiously looking back at the sorcerer who was apparently hot on their pursuit. Crying and mumbling, we all together stuttered something like” Mayongor Roja, Mayongor Roja”!! He could not comprehend what we were afraid of, at first, as we were babbling in delirium. Then it sank in. He held each of us by the shoulder, rubbing soothingly, uttering mild encouraging words. The trembling subsided a bit! we were given water and something to eat, and after sometime, normalcy returned to us though the fear persisted.
The good gentleman, thereafter accompanied each of us to our houses individually. My house was the farthest. Upon reaching my home, he narrated the whole episode to my father and returned alone in the dead of Shillong night .
The fright remained in my psyche for a long time thereafter. I also very fondly and respectfully remember the good Samaritan, who treated us with so much love and care on that fateful night.
Some tit bits about Mayong……………
It is a place in present day Morigaon district which is famed for many magical tricks and also for black magic.
which lies on the bank of the river Brahmaputra, approximately 40KM from Guwahati. It was once considered the cradle of Black Magic in India.
The origin of the name may be based on any of several sources including sanskrit word–Maya(illusion). There are others as well, like Chutia/Tiwa/Deori word Ma-yong(meaning mother). Some believe that the Manipuris from Moirang clan used to inhabit this area before, the name Moirang became May hong with time.
It was also said about Mayong that the saints of black magic and the witches take shelter in Mayong forest till now. Sorcery and magic were traditionally practiced and passed down over generations. This was shown on 6th April 2019 at 10.15 PM on Zee News. Also they have shown some actual magic done by villagers.
Mayong is a tourist and Archaeological location because of its rich wildlife, Archaeological pilgrimage, Eco tourism, adventure tourism, cultural tourism and river tourism. There are numerous archaeological relics and artifacts, including books on black magic and Ayurveda at the Mayong Central Museum and Emporium, which was opened in 2002, very close to the Pobitora wildlife Sanctuary.
Some referances—–
Surasmita Singha
Very nice… 🙂
Poornima SarmaApte
So lively. Loved it. Superb.