Showing posts with label literary criticism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label literary criticism. Show all posts

Thursday, February 25, 2016

Going Places with "Of Butterflies and Lullabies & Unfinished Conversations"



It was a proud moment on Wednesday the 10th February when our very own Dawngi Chawngthu formally released her first collection of poetry, "Of Butterflies and Lullabies & Unfinished Conversations." Containing 55 poems, spanning 86 pages and costing 200 Indian rupees, it is a slim, hardbound volume published by Writers Workshop, Kolkota. This is only the third collection of poetry published by a Mizo writer in English - the other two being Laldinkima Sailo's Spectrum: A Plethora of Rhapsody, published 2002, Imprint, and Tinkim Dawn by Malsawmi Jacob, a collection of poems written in English as well as in Mizo, published 2003, Mizoram Publication Board. Mizo writing in English is so niched, so specialised that few actively pursue it, and fewer still publish it. But for the few that are involved in it, it is our chosen mode of creative articulation, and one we are fiercely loyal to despite little to no public acknowledgment or recognition.

A little clarification first: in May 2014, Malsawmi Jacob published Zorami, a novel dealing with Mizo history and more specifically the Insurgency Movement of 1966. While most of us had believed it then to be the first ever novel published by a Mizo in English, two books popped out of the woodwork - Facebook Phantom, pub. 2013, Duckbill, by Suzanne Sangi, and Jo's Journal, pub. 2014, Notion Press, by Sarah Aineh, both young Mizo women (and coincidentally both only 17 when they wrote their books). While I have not read either, I gather from reviews that both are classified as young adult fiction and make for light, easy reading. They are entitled honourable mention in any discussion of book publications of Mizo writings in English.  Zorami, however, stands a class apart and must hold indubitable place of pride as being yet the only fictional prose work in English by a Mizo writer to painstakingly sculpt a plot within the Mizo ethos and present to a worldwide readership a novel that is uniquely, unquestionably and comprehensively Mizo in context.

To get back to Ms. Chawngthu's volume of poetry, the 55 poems are divided into two sections - "Unfinished Conversations" contain poems written for her late mother, some directly addressed to her and some written around her. The other section "Of Butterflies and Lullabies" are a fusion of love poems, personal poems, poems that explore the challenges of women and poems that raise questions on a number of social issues. I remember Dawngi at university, forever scribbling on her notebooks snatches of song lyrics, bits of poetry she found somewhere that resonated with her or that she wrote herself. Then we lost touch. It was only in late 2007 that I found something on a friend's blog that Dawngi had written in Mizo, which caught me by surprise because I didn't remember her writing in anything other than in English, and had certainly never known her to write on social issues. Butterflies has the English version, Lucky Zo Lanu, translated by Dawngi herself, where she cleverly turns the incessant social conditioning of young Mizo girls on its head by pointing out that Mama, the young Mizo boy, needs all the advice and teaching far more since he is the keeper and future torchbearer of the tribe.

What I have always loved about Dawngi's writing is that she writes so simply and effortlessly. No superfluity, no theatrics, no showing off of vocab or forcing on of vague, shadowy allusions. It's so clean and simple, you think, "Oh, I could write stuff like this too" but uh, not really. The apparent artlessness and easy flow of words and thought are skills not everyone is born with, and most definitely not the adept way she rounds off a poem. I tend to never quite know how to phase out a poem to a nice uncontrived ending but Dawngi does it time and again in a way that has me thinking, "Wow, that was smooth" in genuine admiration.

Over the years, through the privilege of being an old friend, I have had the opportunity to put up on this blog a number of her poems. The first time was in July 2008.  Of the two posted then, both of which are included in Butterflies, The Mask, so vulnerable, wistful, and uncertain, yet tentatively hopeful, remains my favourite. Another favourite, also in the book, is Dead Butterfly - dark, brooding and so desperately, hopelessly sad.


throw away my memory
throw them into
unknown areas of your mind

unlit
dark 
grey…areas

your haloed moments
your sane and conscious moments
will never find you here

your back is turned
your mind is closed
your love is gone

but someday
a quiet and lonely evening
may catch you off guard

taking a stroll
through the wastelands
of your mind

you will find me
sitting in a darkened corner
a dead butterfly in my hand.


To Dawngi, and to Mizo writers in English, may our tribe increase!

Monday, March 23, 2015

Two Non-Mizo Poems in English of Mona Zote: An Observation - S.D. Baral


In an early poem (2008), The Idiot Goes to Hell, Mona Zote works a few delicate surprises that complicate the Christian meaning of the Cross on the eve of a suicidal death. This death meticulously carried out on the Holy Cross does not make the dead a Christ figure. More disconcertingly, the mother praises her ‘idiotic’ son for the perfect execution of a deed once at least in his entire life of nonsense. The orthodox belief that one committing suicide “goes to Hell” does not however affect his loving mother either; on the contrary, this short lyric reveals a Christian mother’s poised observation  in face of her son’s death. She does not claim to be a Mary figure either. A Christian selecting to hang himself from the Cross in the burial ground is a radical critique in itself. Our traditional Christian perspectives seem meaningless to both in a manner almost suggestive of Samuel Beckett’s absurd tramps. Several questions crop up: Is she senile, or too tired of an idiot? How could a mother go cool over her son’s death? Why does the idiot choose the graveyard with “a precise cross” to hang himself? How to know the idiot’s inner psyche to die on the cross?  No answers are likely. But the poem subtly enforces this that any deed perfectly done is its own sufficient meaning, which requires no religion to certify or condemn. Therefore, a life of action is superior to that of inaction. Mona’s radical thinking quite early in her creative career does speak here.

 Her Home Going (2008) is relatively a less accessible but excellent love poem, marked by an intertwining of intellectual and sensual images; sensually provocative phrases are scattered around such as “folding the accordion of my selves”, “menstrual sun”, “lightning sew the purses of the sky”, “taking tea with a minotaur.” The images of Knossos (Crete/ Greek) and Ma’rib (Yemen/Sheba), pointing at prehistoric times, would suggest love issuing out of the unknown sources and making a landfall just at the shore of life. It seems to be a diagnosis of love experience involving uncommon figures of a menstrual sun (uncontrollable youth) and a blindfolded (under control) girl. In this tightly woven artifact of modern images, the image of the male lover who resembles a menstrual sun of the yesteryears is suggestively a minotaur and who enjoys breaking the “harp” across his knees, ie. breaking the female partner down in love. 

The poem suggests that love’s intimations may build up its vertigo, but soon it is realized that the human body is a “paper boat,” too frail to contain the whirl of love.  Thus, the love’s accordion (singing of intimations) folds up at the “landfall” (touching the reality –shore of life) rather than singing its full blast like a storm.  The poem unfolds that in the process of love act, the person is ‘seen’, known, and not from his ‘reputed wisdom’ as of the Minotaur’s austere world (part-animal and part- human). With this knowledge gained, it is time for the woman to go home; ‘home going’ is a growing maturity of life with insightful, perhaps calming, knowledge. This poem, like a locked box of sweet surprises, opens up a feminist face of the woman persona being cynically, yet silently, watchful of the masculinist control of the other gender even in matters of love as it in knowledge. The landfall is indeed of the woman’s fall into reality as well as man’s fall off the age-old self-estimation.

These two poems, to my mind, lack the adequately signifying markers by which they would claim the status of ‘Mizo poetry’ in English. The first poem may be claimed by any Christian the world over to have expressed his ‘idiotic’ passion, if at all; whereas the second one will be readily claimed by the Greek to be his/her. Reflexively, if the poems are situated in the Mizo contexts, one will be surprised at the suppressed meanings getting suddenly resonant and accord appreciation.

Well, one cannot deny the universal appeal of the either poem in the process of articulating love exceptionally or dying exceptionally. Mona’s poetry always expresses a passionate pursuit, which is substantiated by her other poems. To me, a poem is a cultural artifact, without ever denying its potential of universality. In love poetry, usually poets work out images that are culture-free, as Mona’s poem here appears. But to be called a Mizo poem, Home Going will have to evolve through images and symbols that are ethnically or experientially Mizo. As I have come across a slowly burgeoning tuft of poetry in English written by Mizo men and women, I find no self-convinced confidence in using Mizo symbols or places. This scenario points up two things: one, the Mizo poet in English does not want to identify with the land or social order where he/she belongs for special reasons; secondly, the poet may target an intelligent readership outside her immediate environment. But in both cases, the fact lies that the immediate surrounding has impacted on the creative spirit, though to an indirection. Therefore, our tie with our ethnic roots does not die, though it may seem dry on the surface. Thus, I feel, the poet’s exercise may better unfold the self- alienation, self-exile or the social neglect by means of culture’s images. This is nevertheless to acknowledge that other poems of Mona Zote are characteristically and subversively Mizo poems. 



Prof. S.D. Baral is presently the Head of the Department of English, Mizoram University. We appreciate his interest and scholarly study and assessment of the writings on this blog, especially in the two mentioned in the article.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

The Undiscarded Image: Love in C.Thuamluaia’s Sialton Official

- Dr.R.Thangvunga

The story  -  A government official at Sialton in eastern Mizoram proceeds to his new post in southern Mizoram with his family, breaking journey at the parachronistic Hotel Odyana in Zolawn, where an old discarded Shillong Times brings back memories of a buried romance which perhaps all happily married men would have shrugged off. What he reads there is an echo of lovers’ familiar heart-to-heart communiqué plus news about an ill-fated marriage of the girl he loved once. But the Sialton Official (thus known), like Pandora, must open the safely locked past with this key, and bring about ruin and death. His indulgence with memories of a romance with a tea-girl in Shillong leads to another indulgence to cure the first indulgence, and bury his loved ones in the other love. From his drunken torpor he is rudely awakened by cries of “Hotel Odyana is burning! Your family….”  He loses everything except remorse and, Oedipus-like, wanders Cainfully bearing his sin and punishment, while to all men he becomes the very sainthood of Penitence. His forgiveness finally comes where he had sinned, in Zolawn, to which his daughter’s voice has been driving him relentlessly, to find peace and self-forgiveness. With his salvation the whole community comes alive to worship and hear his testimony of the Miracle of Love.

Some early novels familiar to Mizo readers are romantic love stories with tragic endings. As in Hardy’s Return of the Native, a young man returning from civilized world to his native village in the hills typically becomes ‘the eye’ in society, winning favour and love, and rivalry: a perfect stereotype setting for a sentimental plot. But Sialton Official is different in that the romance and sentimental elements take a back seat, and practical life is foregrounded, at least in the setting. Shillong was a conventional name for education till recently, and an occasional tale of romance with a local beauty is not unconventional, for it does not seem as romantic to go gallivanting with one of the same tribe; and marriage was hardly ever the goal of such relationships – there being an unspoken taboo-like consensus against inter-tribal marriages. Any such inter-tribal amatory relationships came under a cloud of displeasure from both the communities. But it is the memory of a romance that we are dealing with, not the actual event, which had been sealed fast in Time’s sepulchre, incapable of meddling with the present life. Or is it? 

To compare such a happy memory with a Dracula or a raised Mummy and the unspeakable fear they evoke may seem farfetched. But the catastrophe attending on it is no less horrible than such visitation from the nether world.

The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heav’n of Hell, a Hell of Heav’n. [1]

And Dorothy may yet be living in St. Mary’s Convent with her daughter after the death by drinking of her husband, when her SOS reached her old lover. It is no evil hand reaching out from the grave in a fit of jealousy of his good fortune in love that bewitched the Sialton Official. Nor can we blame Dorothy for putting that bleeding message, knowing she has no hope of her distant fiancé riding against the wind to rescue her. The message may just be a ‘heavy weight of hours’ sighed out for relief – a shy, unadmitted ‘if’ betraying her need of comfort in her solitude  - an undiscarded image.

Pillowed upon my fair love’s ripening breast,
To feel forever its soft fall and swell,
Awake forever in a sweet unrest.[2]

What kind of love is this that can cut across a happily concluded marriage? Is there a different kind of love outside the marriage institution? In Medieval Europe the amatory aspect of love was institutionalized in ‘courtly love’, with the effect of relegating married love to the status of domestic order. The majority of Medieval poems celebrate love within a religious framework by which the lady is an ideal of beauty and chastity to whom devotion is due as prove of an ideal knightly character. Marriage is not the end of this holy quest, for an ideal possessed loses its value as an ideal. The beautiful lady is an ideal inspiring love and devotion till she becomes a possession. Love idealized thus is an intangible vision that illuminates the object. And when the Sialton Official cryptically remarks, “I reached for the star without climbing whereas she looked in vain for a bridge where there was none,” there can hardly be a better way of stating the situation of such relationship, showing that love is a two-way glass, man and woman having different concepts about love. According to this, man idealizes love, whereas woman sees it as a means. Man needs woman to light his life, but woman demands his very life. He loved, not Dorothy, but what he saw in her - a very Desdemona. And to Dorothy, he is a daydream, a mirage, the handsome knight who never stays. Both went separate ways to marry and kept their love alive, but closely, so closely they both thought they had buried it under marriage vows. The dead never rise, but the undead.

For Othello, Desdemona incarnates his concept of Beauty and Love. It is not Desdemona dead but the dead in Desdemona that raised the chaos in him. Man as husband and father plays his role smoothly when the undiscarded image of love lies dormant. The loss of husband, albeit a drunken one opened the chest that had confined love in Dorothy, and like Pandora, let loose the winged scion of Love whose arrow pierced the once wounded heart of  the Sialton Official on that ill-fated evening in Odyana Hotel, with catastrophic consequences.

Once Dorothy, ideal love incarnate in “Queen of the days I loved,” lives again, the other love incarnate in his wife (the ideal wife) must die. And husband too. But not necessarily in the flesh. Thus the pain of physical death is not felt by his wife and children but him alone; that is, the text saved them the horror, the fear, the burning heat and the suffocating breathless smoke. It is him so rudely called from another world that bore the full painful consciousness of death.  They are the sacrifices at the altar of the goddess of love. But the cost, so dearly paid by the penitent – of what worth is it made to serve?

The answer to this has to be the conclusion of our brief critical adventure. But there is yet an unvisited but familiar spot in love’s empire: the hill of Platonic love where true devotees of love find fulfillment. For Plato the object of love is perpetual possession of and union with the good.[3]  In literature woman more often as not objectifies the good “in her self-possessed, witty, modest and circumspect nature, ready to face life on her own.”  [4]“. . . love of a particular person leads to the discovery that beauty of soul is more valuable than beauty of body." [5]

Such beauty engendering love in man is observed in most of Shakespeare’s heroines who possess a kind of beauty that can turn cold the heat of lust. Marina of Pericles, Imogen of Cymbeline, Portia of The Merchant of Venice, among others, are the quintessence of beauty that does not rust in marriage.The seemingly wasted goodness of a Cordelia, an Ophelia, or a Desdemona constitutes an honest admission of the insignificance of human virtue in the context of an impersonal, apathetic and consciousless cosmic order. In such a universe, man is the only ‘measure of all things, of those that are that they are, that are not that they are not.’[6] Man must make his virtue meaningful in himself in order to save himself the pain of existence, or perish in the limbo of his own agnosticism, or hang precariously in the swing of ontological relativism. The Sialton Official chooses to live, to go on, and ‘BE,’ to make the sacrifice of his loved ones meaningful, for himself and for humanity, and leave an unforgettable legacy of Love.

[1]  John Milton, Paradise Lost, Bk. I (ll. 254-255).
[2] John Keats, Bright Star.
[3] R.Thangvunga, Shakespeare and Donne: Themes of Love, Time and Mutability, 2010,  Atlantic Publishers, New Delhi, p. 76.
[4]  ibid., p. 26.
[5]   ibid., p.77
[6]  Protagoras.

Dr. R. Thangvunga is an Associate Professor in the Mizo Department at Mizoram University. This seminar paper which examines this short fiction was presented at the National Seminar on Mizo Fiction  organized by the  Department of Mizo, Mizoram University, at Aizawl, in 2011.



Wednesday, April 11, 2012

An Analysis of Popular Mizo Culture through Vincy Chhangte's 'Aizawl' - Vanlalveni Pachuau

The simplest and most obvious way to define popular culture is as simply the culture that is widely favoured or well liked by many people. Culture here refers not just to a particular way of life, but also to intellectual and artistic works and practices, such as literature, music, art, films, etc. By this definition of culture, popular cultural forms are those that are commercially produced and therefore, are easily accessible and also understandable by the masses. Popular culture has often been defined as a culture of the people by the people. Since it is the culture that is mass produced to suit the tastes of a general audience, it is regarded by some as being an inferior type of culture.

There have been many critics who have drawn distinctive lines between “high” culture and popular culture. According to them, ‘high’ culture consists of ideas and practices which have been created out of intense study. It appeals to a select audience, that is, those who have the intellectual capacity to appreciate it, whereas popular culture caters to a general audience, one which is less discriminating, and so, it would be less intellectually significant. As a result, ‘high’ culture deserves a serious and intense response, whereas popular culture deserves only a fleeting study since it would have very little to offer. However, popular culture has the potential to offer more insight into the study of culture than what is initially apparent.

For this paper, Vincy Chhangte’s¹ “Aizawl” has been chosen so as to show how popular musical forms can and do give an insightful critique of society. Vincy’s “Aizawl” is a satirical rap-song in which the rapper elucidates the various qualities of the youths in Mizoram’s capital, Aizawl, to an outsider while actually highlighting the posturing and the hypocrisy of its inhabitants. The song starts off with praising Aizawl, extolling its virtues such as its perfect weather and its beautiful women. He tells the outsider that they are approaching Dawrpui, the market centre, where most of the city’s shops are located and where, therefore, the youths proliferate:

“Dawrpui i rawn thleng phei tep;
Angel hawlhthlak hlir maw i hmuh.
Mahse neih chhuantur i neihloh chuan
Bem ringawt suh”

(You’re almost at Dawrpui now;
Are those angels descended upon us you see?
But unless you have something worth boasting about
Don’t presume to court their favours)

The irony here lies in the usage of the phrase “angel hawlhthlak” . While the phrase has often been employed to describe physical beauty, the term “angel” nevertheless points towards the less angelic qualities of the women whose favours could only be courted by those with material wealth. Vincy here gives us the first glimpse into the materialistic attitudes of Aizawl youths. The first verse continues to provide the listener with Aizawl’s youth culture

Chhas bem huai nan Stag i peg alaw?
Khumsenin a khung ang che, fimkhur rawh

(A peg of Stag for courage to make a move on a girl?
Careful, the Redcaps will put you in the slammer)

Here, we are again shown one of the many hypocrisies of Mizo society. Around 85% of Mizoram’s population are Christians who subscribe to the belief that liquor consumption is a sin. Neverthless, the church and the government felt the need to introduce the MLTP (Mizoram Liquor Total Prohibition) Act, which was implemented in February 20th, 1997. This Act called for the total prohibition of liquor in Mizoram. However, critics are of the opinion that this Act has totally failed and has only proliferated bootlegging of poor quality liquor, resulting in fatalities and increased prices of smuggled liquor. The former chief secretary M. Lalmanzuala has said, "If a law fails, it is either to be lifted or amended. We have experimented with the Liquor Ban Act for more than ten years, and witnessed that it has failed to stop what it is meant to stop. It only made Mizoram the wettest dry state. One can find plenty of liquor, only the prices are extraordinarily high".

Locally produced liquor is still readily available, as are IMFL (Indian Made Foreign Liquor), albeit at exorbitantly expensive prices. The table below gives the statistics of liquor seizures in the years 2008-2009 and 2009-2010. Smuggled or bootlegged liquor is seized, those who are found in possession of it, or manufacturing it are arrested. Yet The bottomline is that, despite the raids carried out by the Excise Department and various NGOs, liquor is still readily obtainable. One needs only to be careful of the Redcaps or the police working under the Excise Department.

Fortified by alcohol, Vincy invites the listener to sample the many entertainments that Aizawl has to offer:
Party naah I kal chak a nih chuan
Zantin party chu a awm alawm


Mahse I lam anga lam kan awmlo (zak suh!)
Mi nuih kan chinglo
Hlet I siam ve thovang.

(If you want to party
There’s a party every night.

But no one here dances like that (don’t be embarrased!)
We don’t laugh at others.
Im sure you’ll still make an impression)

One of the things that has often been said about Aizawl youths is their great sense of belonging to the capital city. There are those who tend to regard those from other towns with a certain degree of condescension. Vincy patronizingly tells his friend that his way of dancing do not conform to Aizawl standards but that he should not feel embarrassed by it because Aizawl youths are kind enough to not laugh at others. Implicit in this is the disdain felt by the city-dwellers for outsiders, whom they feel are not quite as “cool” as they are.

In the second verse, Vincy gives a list of various music artists, both belonging to the Gospel and the non-gospel genres. Mizos are known for their great love of singing, and there is a huge proliferation of singers. This distinction between Gospel and non-Gospel singers is an important one within the Mizo context. The question of whether a Christian should sing Gospel songs or Love songs has been an ongoing debate for a long time. There are those who feel that Christians have a moral obligation to give back to God for bestowing upon them the talent of singing, and this should be done through the production of Gospel music. However, Vincy renders this moral debate into a travesty when he declares:

“Zai lama lar I duh chuan
C.Dina tlawn rawh”

(If you want fame as a musician
You should suck up to C.Dina)

C.Dina is the owner of Lelte Weekly, a fortnightly newspaper dedicated to musicians. By virtue of his being the only noteworthy musical journal in Mizoram, C.Dina is probably the biggest musical promoter in Mizoram. A mention in his newspaper brought much fame to musicians since the paper is widely circulated within Mizoram. Vincy implies that commercial success lay not with God but with the bestowing of C.Dina’s favours. This brings into question the musical integrity of the artists and of the Mizo community itself. He continues

Rimawi Kutpui a awm thin Vanapa Hall-ah
Zaimite kan fuankhawm
Kan style a dang, kan hmel pawh a dang
Studio hrang hrang a tam
J JER, SS, Zaiawi-
Ka sawi senglo

(We have Musical Festivals at Vanapa Hall
We musicians abound
Our styles vary, our faces vary.
There are so many studios around.
JER, SS, Zaiawi-
I can’t name them all)

Despite having such a huge proliferation of musicians with varying ‘styles and faces’, Aizawl, for all its appreciation of music, is unable to provide a sufficient platform for these artistes to showcase their talent. The biggest event for them is Rimawi Kutpui, and the occasional concert. The many music studios are a testament to the flourishing of budding artistes; however, the only ones who profit from the music industry within Aizawl are the owners of the studios- the artists get little exposure and are paid only a trifle. Yet, the studios never run out of the patronage of artistes who are willing to try their luck, whether their aims be religious or materialistic.

After listing the various entertainments afforded by Aizawl and its flourishing musical trade, Vincy declares the pride that he feels his hometown. But characteristic of the materialism prevalent in Aizawl, the pride he feels lie in that fact that Aizawl is home to International clothing brands:

Thawmhnaw duhzawng a kim,
duhloh zawng pawh a kim,
(Khawiah maw?)
Adidas, Nike, Reebok showroom-ah

(All the clothes you want
And the ones you don’t, they’re here
{Where?}
At Adidas, Nike and Reebok Showrooms)

The fashion-consciousness of Aizawl youths is hinted at in these lines with their reference to International Sports Fashion brands. When one takes into account that 22.5% of the population in Mizoram declare themselves as living below the poverty line, it comes as a surprise that the biggest concern among youths is fashion. This is particularly true in Aizawl, where brand-consciousness is especially prevalent. Branded clothes are seen as a sign of class and quality, and presumably after they have outfitted themselves in those, Vincy declares 

I changkang ta hle mai
Engzat motor nge I hmuh?
Aizawl motor tam zia hi!
Mak ti duh suh.
Saw saw a va mawi e,
Thlir vung vung suh!
Ava chhelo e,
Hawi huhu suh!

(You are now a person of class.
How many vehicles do you see?
There are so many vehicles in Aizawl!
Don’t be impressed.
That one’s a beauty.
Stop staring!
That one’s not bad.
Stop gawking!)

These lines are in the form of a dialogue between Vincy and his listener. After having introduced him to the higher standards of living in Aizawl, as exemplified by the parties and the branded clothes, Vincy declares that his friend is now a person of class, and therefore, befits the Aizawl standards. However, his friend is nevertheless impressed by the many vehicles and the sights and sounds around him, all of which causes Vincy to admonish him. The true Aizawlian is accustomed to these sights and sounds and is no longer impressed by them. To stare and gawk would give away that one is not from the city, and so, one should act nonchalant even if one is impressed. 

Finally, Vincy declares
Sappui nun kan ngailo, ramdang nun kan ngailo
Kan hmel a tha, chhe deuhte chu lo awm mah se…

(We don’t yearn for the Western way of living
We are beautiful people, though some are not quite so…)

Again, the irony implicit in these lines comes from his declaration that he does not yearn for a Western way of living because it is exactly the western fashion that Aizawl youths are trying to imitate- with their parties, lifestyles and fashion. The last line, “Kan hmel a tha” is reminiscient of one of our more popular Mizo folk song, which declares

“Mizo kan ni, kan hmel a tha
Kan tum a sang bawk si”

(We are Mizos, we are beautiful
And our ambitions are lofty)

This folk song praises the Mizo perseverance and determination, qualities which made the Mizo people beautiful. Yet when Vincy declares, “Kan hmel a tha”, he seems to mock these very ideals that the folk song talks about. Our beauty no longer lies in our noble and lofty aims, but it is rather commercially generated through Western influenced fashions. Thus, while Vincy seems to be extolling the virtues of Aizawl, he is actually exposing its hypocrisies and its vanities. Its angelic women are available only at a price, its laws are carelessly broken, its Christian values are subverted, its prized singers are mere puppets to commercial success, and its beauty is clothed in high priced branded clothes. 

Earlier in the paper, we have mentioned the distinction that has often been made between what is regarded as ‘high’ culture and popular culture. Cultural purists might regard Vincy’s “Aizawl” as belonging to a lower form of culture in that he uses everyday Mizo language to convey everyday elements. He shuns the literary and linguistic devices employed in traditional Mizo song s and poetry. He also departs from the traditional Mizo tunes to employ the use of rap music. As such, his style is different from what is traditionally considered as the artistic form of Mizo writing. However, it cannot be denied that what he has done is to depict, in the common vernacular, a picture of modern Mizo youth culture. Through the use of irony and satire, Vincy reveals much more than is initially apparent and the song is worthy of a more detailed scrutiny that this paper has been able to achieve. The song touches upon the twin holds of materialism and religiosity implicit within Mizo culture, and specifically upon Aizawl culture, and these two aspects will always come be a point of debate in any study regarding Mizo culture. 


¹A popular Mizo rap-singer who writes his own songs.


Vanlalveni Pachuau is presently working on her Ph.D. in the department of English at Mizoram University. This seminal study on contemporary Mizo pop culture was presented at a seminar in March 2012 at Govt. Aizawl College.



Thursday, January 19, 2012

Ropuiliani in Mizo Historiography: a Postmortem - H. Vanlalhruaia


The Lushai Hills (now Mizoram) were incorporated into the colonial empire by the last part of the 19th century. Indeed, resistance against colonialism in Lushai Hills was not less intense than in any other part of India. The immediate result of colonial expansion was an increase in widow chiefs. Military officer J. Shakespear noted the condition of the South Lushai Hills in 1892: “It will be noticed that all these villages except Mualthuam and Aithur are now ruled by Widows”.1 The remaining Mizo Chiefs, including widow chiefs, were now in a dilemma and forced to negotiate with and make certain adjustments towards the colonial government. It was under this critical situation that many women Chiefs, including Ropuiliani, emerged in the colonial archives. In the post-colonial and contemporary rethinking of the history of resistance against colonialism in Lushai Hills, Ropuiliani has become an ethnic idol of patriotism, whereas other women (Pi Buki, Lalhlupuii, Rothangpuii, Vanhnuaithangi, Laltheri, Darbilhi, Neihpuithangi, Pawibawia Nu, Dari, Thangpuii, Pakuma Rani, Zawlchuaii and many others) who also struggled against colonialism remain comparatively unknown.2

This paper wishes to raise questions concerning the post-colonial ethnic recollection of the past that has repeatedly focused on an individual character--a female chief named Ropuiliani. Why are Mizo historians so interested in Ropuiliani, but not Dabilhi or other female Chiefs? Is it because there was not much to celebrate in history other than Ropuiliani? What motivates our interest? Is our interest in the history of Ropuiliani truly just a historical one or is our interest in her history a symbol of ‘ethnic loyalty’? How can one account for the reappearances of Ropuiliani in Mizo historiography? Why have the roles of many ‘other women chiefs’ remained relatively unexplored, though their potential contribution in resisting colonialism appears so obviously in both colonial texts and oral traditions? History should tell us; but often it does not. These questions have hardly been asked, let alone answered, in Mizo historiography. 

My curiosity about the rethinking of Ropuiliani is particularly drawn from Gayatri Spivak's most influential essay on the Rani of Sirmur, the wife of the ruler of a hill-state in Himachal Pradesh.3 In this essay, Spivak demonstrates that the Rani of Simur emerges in the colonial archives ‘only when she is needed in the space of imperial production’.4 The British East India Company attempted to control the northern frontier of Shimla hills though various settlements and courtly political affairs. “It is within this political and diplomatic framework, where the Company attempted to pacify and subordinate the hill-states through their “Settlement”, that the Rani appears briefly in the Company’s archives as ‘a king’s wife and a weaker vessel”.5 Similarly, I argue that Ropuiliani emerged over and over again for a ‘purpose’ and that she survives in Mizo historiography for the production of those who need ‘her’ for their own respective agendas.

In this paper, my interest lies neither in narrating the oft-told history of Ropuiliani, nor in re-producing her stories. Rather, I would like to problematize the historiography of Ropuiliani in relation to the way in which Mizo scholars imagine and categorize Ropuiliani in history. The main objective of my paper is thus to engage or to inject a more skeptical view towards the historical narratives of Ropuiliani within the larger framework of women history of Mizoram.

I shall begin my discussion with the work of N. Chatterjee, “Position and Status of Mizo Women in the earlier Mizo Society”. Before the publication of this monograph in 1975, there was hardly any research available on Mizo women's history.6 The historical relationships between Mizo women and colonialism have been largely overlooked by scholars. More general studies on Mizo women were carried out by some historians and their investigation into women's roles were largely confined.7 The reconstruction of the history of women, most remarkably in politics, was largely overlooked. Consequently, women and their role in the freedom struggle against colonialism were neglected until the pre-insurgency period (1947-1966), when the reconstruction of ethno-national identity was taking place.

During the course of such ethnic identity reconstruction, the call for an ‘ethno-hero’ from the past went hand in hand with the revival of ethnic consciousness. Eventually, the Mizo National Front (MNF) drew their inspiration from the Mizo warriors (Pasaltha) who had fought against British colonialism in the Lushai Hills.8 In due course, the Pasaltha, such as Zampuimanga, Chawngbawla, Taitesena, Vanapa, Saizahawla, Khuangchera etc., were incorporated by MNF standing troops as symbols of ‘ethnic patriotism’. Surprisingly, not a single woman’s name was included. This is evident also in the historiography of popular struggles in other parts of India, where women were “subsumed...women under the category of man thereby ensuring their invisibility, and created [creating] [sic] the myth of women’s passivity, on the other. It gave rise to the belief that men alone were capable of militant action, of leadership, of changing the course of event- in short of making history”. 9

In fact, the Mizo Insurgency broke out after the first women’s movement (i.e. Mizo Hmeichhe Tangrual) was initiated in the post-colonial period. Ethnic nationalism can at times be emancipating; at other times it is a reactionary force of the subjugation of women. Since its inception, the insurgency organisation (Mizo National Front) was entirely dominated by men. Despite this, many women embraced ethnic nationalism and participated in the insurgency movement, though the actual practice of ethno-nationalism was reserved for men. Some women internalize patriarchal thinking within the politics of over-determined ethnic nationalism.10 Recent histories of insurgency movements have largely dismissed their contributions. Insurgency in Mizo hill thus, appears as a patriarchal war against the larger National State for the restoration of ethnic, patriarchal order in the society. Women are subsumed under the category of ‘Mizo Nationalism’; this had ambiguous effects, not only on the status of women (by confining them as mothers to the home), but also in the broader sense of ignoring women's issues themselves. It also reaffirmed the boundaries of culturally acceptable feminine conduct and exerted pressure on women to articulate their gender interests within the terms of reference set by ethnic nationalist discourse.

Women and politics soon became separate spaces. Mizo historian Sangkima notes in this context that “there was a great change in the nature of women’s participation in politics after 1966”.11 The MNF movement (1966-1986) in the Mizo hills was not only a masculine construction that ignored women's agency in history, but also one that brought about the downfall of women’s participation in present politics. But the present condition of women and politics is not only the result of the insurgency movement (1966-1986), but also of the history of colonial patriarchy that separated women from the political space.12 However, this is beyond the present objective of my paper.

In 1988, the recollection of women’ role in history was initiated by ethnic leaders in their conference at Champhai, an Indo-Burma border town in Mizoram. The meeting created the ethnic “Ropuiliani Award”. Rani Gandiliu, a Nagaland lady freedom fighter was the recipient.13 A Mizo woman hence emerged because she was needed in the space of ethnic identity production.

In the following years, historians explicitly focused their attention on either insurgency or colonial history in which the role of women as historical agents was almost left out. Surprisingly, in 1990, the need to reconstruct women’s role in resistance against colonialism was noticed by the Centre for Adult and Continuing Education and Department of Public Administration at the North Eastern Hill University (NEHU). Then the first seminar on the “Role of Ropuiliani in the Freedom Struggle” was organized on June 27, 1990. The seminar paper was published later in 2005 which included nine empirical essays by a number of scholars.14 For the first time, the history of women’s resistance against colonialism was brought to the notice of a small academic community.

The book stressed the political nature of colonialism as “oppressive” and “repressive”; the impacts of colonialism, which affected men and women in different ways, were overlooked.15 Females who were often subjected to what has been called a double colonization, where they were discriminated against not only for their position as colonized but also as women, was not recognized.16 Ropuiliani, a woman who measured up to the ‘male standard’ in the struggle against imperialism provokes post-colonial scholars curiosity as to why women played such a role.

Then the family background of Ropuiliani as a part of a ruling chief family which enjoyed better status than a commoner was highlighted. She inherited her qualities and her anti-colonial feelings from her father as well as her husband. This construction is strongly influenced by the colonial prejudice that wrongly defined Mizo women as passive and subsidiary inferiors. Her consciousness as a woman was entirely ignored. In the end, one may observe that collections of these articles reflect Ropuiliani as someone speaking through a colonial patriarchy which has been echoed and celebrated by the post-colonial ethnic patriarchy in the name of ‘Mizo patriotism’. While there is of course much disagreement concerning the nature and the impact of colonialism, at least a careful re-reading of colonial sources with other available sources may help us understand the gender complexities in colonial Lushai Hills.

One of the contributors of the seminar, Laltluangliana Khiangte, continued to unearth colonial archives and oral sources in the succeeding years. His efforts materialized in the historical play “Lalnu Ropuiliani”, which earned fame in the Mizo literary circle from 1994 onwards.17 The book was eventually incorporated into a college text book of North Eastern Hill University (NEHU). The character of Ropuiliani as a Chief was built from various angles, from noble to an “autocratic nature”, as her efforts to protect freedom from colonial exploitation were highlighted.

In 1994, PR Kyndiah (then Governor of Mizoram) brought out another interesting book called “Mizo Freedom Fighters”, in which the reconstruction of the legend of Ropuiliani against British colonialism is framed within the nationalist project of the recollection of the war of liberation.18 PR Kyndiah’s work was followed by the publication of “Mizo Chief and Chiefdom” by Suhash Chaterjee.19 Basing it on the on colonial archives, he successfully uncovered the biographies of the Mizo female chiefs from the 19th century to first half of the 20th century.20 Out of 104 chiefs, many chiefs were female and who were either widows of Chiefs or independent in Mizoram. Chaterjee goes beyond other writers by saying that it was not only the male chiefs but also the women chiefs who played key roles in the political process of governing Lushai Hills.

A detailed, empirical work on the history of women’s resistance ‘Tlawm Ve Lo Lalnu Ropuiliani’ was published in 1999 by local writer and poet Lalsangzuali Sailo.21 Focusing on an individual character, the past is perceived instrumentally, investigated and selected, to prove a former glory and to highlight great achievements. This is done to confirm a political project for the future of the Mizo society, without giving credit to the agency of Mizo women. Such projections were made, historian Forbes notes, “because her [Ropuiliani] accomplishments were significant by male standards”. 22

Later, in 2002, Sangkima, a Mizo historian, revived a fresh study on women and politics in Mizo history starting from pre-colonial times to the recent era.23 The first part of his essay brought out a case study of female widow chiefs in the pre-colonial period. He implicitly credited ‘tribal patriarchy’ when noting that women “become rulers or Chieftainess not as a matter of right but as a matter of chance”.24 He skipped the colonial period on the grounds that there were no women who actively participated in politics in colonial Lushai Hills. He then finally gave credit to post-colonial women as “they joined active politics only because of their desire to uplift the status of Mizo women in the society”.25 Despite this, he fails to mention that it was the colonial rulers who were repressive to women, so that the number of female chiefs decreased in colonial Lushai Hills, especially when the patriarchal Mizo customary law was drafted in 1927 for the production of colonial administration.26 The immediate impact of colonialism in Lushai Hills marked a radical transformation of women and politics in Mizoram. British colonial administrators soon assumed that women were incapable of political leadership and provided political roles for men only. These colonial chiefs were given complete authority and the traditional decision making power for both sexes was ignored.

Thus, these works reached different conclusions at times but all of them had much in common. They leave us with only a partial picture of women's experiences in resisting colonialism in the Lushai Hills. Hence numerous tales of women's struggles, negotiation, resistance, pain, and sacrifices, and, most importantly, contributions, are hidden in the background. The shortcomings in these writings could be in part due to an absence of an alternative approach to define the experiences unique to women in history.


Conclusion:
Thus we find that Ropuiliani emerges over and over again in Mizo historiography. She first emerged in the colonial archive for the production of colonial knowledge and for the exercising of colonial power in the Lushai Hills. Secondly, she re-emerged in the post-colonial period, especially when various discourses on the reformulation of ethnic identity were taking place. Her role has been used to justify a post-colonial ‘ethnic nationalism’. Thirdly, she continues to emerge in recent historiography that vigorously clamours around the ‘Mizo nation’ with much popular backing and enthusiasm. The historiographies of Ropuiliani continue to show us the ‘revolutionary movement’ or the ‘war of liberation’ as the only means of being ‘patriotic’ or ‘nationalist’. In other words, Ropuiliani's history is the glorification of the revolutionary movement or of ‘heroic history’ rather than other forms of resistance.27 Needless to say, it overshadows other forms of resistance when the majority of scholars make universalized assertions that leave out much of the ‘other women’ in Mizo historiography. The real problem lies with the ‘grand narrative’ historical approach and the tendency to generalize for all on the basis of the actions of a few. Such impressions need to be reframed and enlarged so that the past is not merely judged through grand narrative history. The greatest challenge to the historians and scholars of Mizoram is thus to incorporate the various experiences of women from all classes in the broader framework of Mizo history. The present brief essay, though partial and incomplete, is a request to these scholars to note the critical challenge of framing a new analysis that will address the various historical complexities shared by different groups of women in Mizo history.


References:
1. J. Shakepeare, Report Concerning Ropuilieni Widow of Vandula and Her Son Lalthuama at Present Prisoners in Lunglei, 1984. Exhibit list, Serial No.28, Government Archive, Aizawl, Mizoram.
2. For further details, please see H.Vanlalhruaia & Hmingthanzuali; Women and Resistance in Colonial Lushai Hills”, in K.N Sethi (ed); Resistance Against Colonialism: The Life and Times of Veer Surendra Sai, Shivalick Prakashan, Delhi, 2009.
3. Gaytri Spivak, The Rani of Sirmur: An Essays in Reading the Archives, History and Theory, Vol. 24, No.3, 1985. pp.247-72.
4. Ibid.
5. Tony Ballantyne; Archive, Discipline, State: Power and Knowledge in South Asian Historiography, New Zealand Journal of Asian Studies, Vol. 3, No.1 (June 2001). pp.87-105.)
6. N. Chatterjee; Position and Status of Mizo Women in the earlier Mizo Society, Tribal Research Institute, Government of Mizoram, 1975.
7. For example, please see L. Malsawmi, Mizoram Kohhran Hmeichhe Chanchin, Synod Publication Board, Aizawl, Mizoram, 1973, Set On A Hill Light on The Lushai Hills After Forty Years Report of Women’s Work, Baptist Church of Mizoram, 1993 and others.
8. For further reading, please see Nirmal Nibedon; The Dagger Brigade, p.
9. Indra Munshi Saldanha; Tribal Women in the Warli Revolt: 1945-47 ‘Class’ and ‘Gender’ in the Left Perspective, Economic and Political Weekly, Vol XXI, No.17, 1986.p.
10. For further reading please see Denise Adele Segor;Tracing the persistent impulse of a bedrock nation to survive within the state of India: Mizo women's response to war and forced migration, Fielding Graduate University, 2006.
11. Sangkima; Women and Politics in Mizoram through the Ages, Historical Journal of Mizoram, Vol. III. Issue I, Mizo Historical Association, 2002. p.35.
12. H.Vanlalhruaia & Hmingthanzuali; Women and Resistance in Colonial Lushai Hills”, in K.N Sethi (ed); Resistance Against Colonialism: The Life and Times of Veer Surendra Sai, Shivalick Prakashan, Delhi, 2009.
13. The ethnic leaders collaborated under the organization of Zo Re-Unification Organization (ZORO) The organization was formed with the aim of promoting the integration and unification of all Mizo groups around the globe who were actually divided by colonialism in three countries of India, Bangladesh and Burma.PR Kyndiah; Mizo Freedom Fighters, Sanchar Publishing House, New Delhi, 1994. p.10
14. Lalneihzovi; Role of Ropuiliani In the Freedom Struggle, Aizawl, Mizoram, 2005.
15. Ibid.p.xiii
16. Feminism and post-colonialism, http://www.qub.ac.uk/schools/SchoolofEnglish/imperial/key-concepts/feminism-and-postcolonialism.htm, accessed on 5 December 2008.
17. Laltluangliana Khiangte; Lalnu Ropuiliani, Aizawl, LTL Publications 1994.
18. PR Kyndiah ; Mizo Freedom Fighters, Sanchar Publishing House, New Delhi, 1994.
19. Suhash Chaterjee; Mizo Chiefs and the Chiefdom, 1995.
20. Ibid.p. 81-171
21. Lalsangzuali Sailo; Tlawm Ve Lo Lalnu Ropuiliani, Aizawl, 1999.
22. Geraldine Forbes; Women in Modern India, Cambridge University Press,2004 (3rd reprinted) p.I
23. Sangkima; Women and Politics in Mizoram Through the Ages, Historical Journal of Mizoram, Vol-III, Issue-I, 2002.p.23
24. Ibid.35
25. Ibid. 35.
26. N.E. Parry, A Monograph on Lushai Customs and Ceremonies, T.R.I, Aizawl, Mizoram, 1988
27. Such historical writing not only distorts our history, but also conveys a message to the student of history that one could be patriotic only when he or she uses violence against the oppressor. Other form of resistances (case of Darbilhi, Lalhlupuii and Pi Buki) in a peaceful means could potentially contribute to the richness of Mizo history.


H. Vanlalhruaia recently received his Ph.D. from the University Of Hyderabad, and loves writing, history and the culture of North East India. He wrote and presented this paper at a history seminar on ‘Ropuiliani and Zakapa’ organised by Govt. Hnahthial College, Hnahthial, Mizoram, on the 8th & 9th December, 2011.

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Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Mizo Women in Myth and Reality - Vanlalveni Pachuau

There is a Mizo saying which, roughly translated, states, "The same story differs with the one doing the telling." This is in reference to the fact that Mizo folklore is of the oral tradition and therefore, a story may have several versions. However, the basic elements remain the same. While it may be easy to dismiss folktales as fanciful tales spun by old warriors and housewives, there is, in fact, a deep correlation between folktales and social reality. Lily Kong and Elaine Goh have explored this relation between folktales and reality and have surmised that these tales are not just ‘fictive constructs’ but represent ‘fictive, historical and projected realities’:

'Fictive reality' is a construct of the narrative imagination and is bound by the rules that govern each genre. In the folktale, this fictive reality is presented as apart from the narrator's world. However, far from being purely imaginative, fictive reality can be a part of transformed 'historical reality'. Past customs, beliefs and social organisation 'survive' as fictive reality in the folktale, although to the narrators, they may have ceased to be either historical or current social reality. Hence, they may have undergone a transformation from history into fiction, from reality into fantasy. Apart from historical realities, a third kind of reality-'projected reality'-results when the present is incorporated into folktales. This projected reality can be seen in the variations that occur in the same tale told by different narrators who project their own culture, social class and personal psychology into the fictive realities of the folktale. [Kong and Goh, p. 261-2]

This paper aims to show how the treatment of Mizo women in folklore reflects social reality through the stories of three women, namely Mauruangi, Tualvungi and Zangkaki. Mizo folktales have an abundance of women characters, but since these stories are generally viewed through the male perspective, these characters tend to fall into a standard precept- either the woman is a hopeless victim or a cruel victimiser. The feminist dictionary defines fairytales as, “a harmful cross-cultural educative story told to unsuspecting children that shows women as passive, opportunistic or cruel” [Cheris, 149], and while this may be applicable, to an extent, to the projection of women in Mizo folktales, the purpose of this paper, however, is not to dwell upon sexism or the repression of women, but rather on the representation of women in Mizo folklore. Through this, this study attempts to explore the social realities of Mizo culture pertaining to the status of women and their societal roles.


Mauruangi - the Mizo Cinderella:


Mauruangi’s story is similar to Cinderella’s in that she too was a helpless victim under a wicked stepmother, a jealous stepsister and a neglectful father. She also had help, though in the form of her dead mother’s spirit rather than a fairy godmother, and she also escaped her hard life through marriage to a ‘prince’. Mauruangi’s story is a magical one, with her mother’s spirit alternately taking the forms of a catfish and a tree, and giving Mauruangi food when she was overworked and starved by her step-mother. Mauruangi grew into a lovely maiden whose hospitality and kindness impressed the servants of a vai lalpa1, who took her home to their master who married her. Her step-mother invited her back home, and there, she murdered Mauruangi by pouring boiling water over her. Her dead body, however, was found by a serow who, by blowing over her, brought her back to life and took her home to be his babysitter. Meanwhile, Mauruangi’s step-sister Bingtaii had persuaded vai lalpa and his servants that she was Mauruangi, and despite their doubts, they had grudgingly accepted her. However, vai lalpa’s servants found Mauruangi rocking the serow’s baby, and they brought her home. Vai lalpa made the two women fight a duel, and Mauruangi, who had been given better weapons, killed Bingtaii and she was finally reinstated to her rightful place. 

Mauruangi has often been cited as the epitome of the ideal Mizo woman. Humble, subservient, hospitable, kind, and skilled in spinning, farming and weaving, she is in direct juxtaposition to her step-sister Bingtaii, who is lazy, vindictive, manipulative and unskilled. While Mauruangi’s fantastical story may seem other-wordly, it is representative of the qualities valued in Mizo women. Mizo women were a hardworking lot - they had to get up early to fetch water and kindling, then perform their domestic chores before they set off to work all day in the fields. Then when they got back home, after preparing and eating supper, they had to spin or weave by the light of the fireplace. All the while, they had to entertain their inleng2 who usually stayed till midnight. As such, the qualities exemplified by Mauruangi were seen as the ideal of Mizo womanhood, and her story served as a lesson to young women on the merits of conforming to that ideal. Fairy tales often consolidate the belief that it is in a woman’s best interest to get married and beget children. As such, Bingtaii’s unwed state exemplified the perils of not submitting to these ideals.

Interestingly, while most western fairytales have only a neglectful and ineffectual father as the counterpart of the wicked stepmother, Mauruangi’s father serves as a perfect foil to his murdering second wife. He had pushed Mauruangi’s mother into a river where she had drowned, perhaps because he had grown tired of her. He had also been complicit in the maltreatment of Mauruangi by agreeing to kill the catfish and to cut down the tree which had housed his previous wife’s soul. While we may now be shocked by the callousness of Mauruangi’s father and her step-mother, their behaviour is indicative of the status of wives and of orphans in Mizo society. The matter-of-fact way that the murder of Mauruangi’s mother is narrated reveals that the loss of a wife was not that devastating. A constantly warring race, sons were prized in the Mizo community. Women were necessary to beget sons who would ultimately help to protect their lands. But if a wife died, men could and often, remarried, so that sons would be born to help propagate their race. Mizos also tended to regard orphans and widows as third-class citizens. Mauruangi, though technically not an orphan, was clearly unwanted and the fact that no one intervened in the harsh treatment meted out to her is indicative of the lowliness of her station. Mauruangi’s story, therefore, though it might seem entirely fictional, is actually reflective of past Mizo society and its social customs and beliefs, especially pertaining to women’s social roles. 


Tualvungi - the trophy:

Tualvungi and her husband Zawlpala are famed lovers in Mizo folklore. A happily married couple, their happiness was marred/ended when Phuntiha, a rajah from Tripura heard stories of Tualvungi’s beauty and came to see whether the stories were true or not. When he saw Tualvungi, Phuntiha, thinking that Zawlpala was her brother, immediately asked Zawlpala for Tualvungi’s hand in marriage. Zawlpala, who was inordinately proud of his wife’s beauty, proceeded to play along so as to see to what lengths Phuntiha was willing to go to secure Tualvungi. Zawlpala demanded an exorbitant amount of goods as Tualvungi’s customary bride price, confident that Phuntiha would never be able to meet it. However, Phuntiha was an exceedingly rich man and he arrived a few days later with the requisite amount of goods. Tualvungi begged and pled with Zawlpala to not let her be married to Phuntiha, but Zawlpala had given his word and he had to honour it. And so the young lovers parted sadly. Phuntiha had by now realised that Zawlpala was indeed Tualvungi’s husband and he grew extremely jealous of him, especially since Tualvungi continued to pine for him despite his showering her with affection. Phuntiha, therefore, decided to have Zawlpala killed and with this purpose in mind, he invited him to visit. When Zawlpala arrived, Phuntiha had him poisoned and the grieved Tualvungi told him to go back to his village at once. There, Zawlpala managed to tell the elders what had transpired before he died. A messenger in the form of a wood pigeon was sent to Tualvungi to break the sad news to her, and on hearing of Zawlpala’s death, Tualvungi sought out ways in which she could evade Phuntiha so that she could visit Zawlpala’s grave. She managed to make her way to his grave, and on reaching there, persuaded an old woman to kill her so that she too might forever rest beside her dead lover. Phuntiha had followed Tualvungi and unable to relinquish her to Zawlpala even in death, he also persuaded the old woman to kill him so that he might follow them. The spirits of Zawlpala and Tualvungi turned into butterflies so as to escape Phuntiha, but his soul too took the form of a butterfly, and he followed them relentlessly, though never quite catching up.

A romantic tale of star-crossed lovers, the story of Tualvungi and Zawlpala is another tale that reflects the status of Mizo women in society. Though Zawlpala was deeply in love with her, his honour meant more to him than she did. Tualvungi had absolutely no say in the matter of her marriage. Her fate hung entirely on the whims of the man responsible for her - whether it was a father, a brother or a husband. Admittedly, she took matters into her own hands by defying Phuntiha, but her defiance was not borne out of rebellion but out of the desire to be with the man who had sold her for a boast. Tualvungi was in actuality a trophy to be wrested and fought over, herself having little or no say over her own life.

A woman in Mizo society in fact, had little say over who she wanted as a husband. She might be given to anyone of her parents’ choosing, and she was to accept without demur. When her inlengs came calling, she was not in any way, by word or deed, to indicate any preference for a particular man. To do so would label her as forward, shameless and self-governing, qualities which were highly undesirable in a wife. She also was not to appear to be rude to any inleng, no matter how undesirable; if a man said that a maiden had not treated him hospitably, the young men of the community tore down the maiden’s hut. In indulgent families, though, daughters were asked their opinions about the choice of husband that her parents had made for them. However, even in the most indulgent of households, a daughter could never directly give assent or dissent. She could either say, “As you wish”, if she found her parents’ choice acceptable or, “You can have him yourself if you want him” if she was displeased with their choice. However, the ultimate decision lay with the father and to go against his wishes was unthinkable. That Phuntiha approached Zawlpala instead of Tualvungi on the matter of marriage, and that Tualvungi acceded, albeit reluctantly to Zawlpala’s decision, indicates the lack of say that women had in the matter of their own marriages.

As mentioned before, women needed to possess certain qualities if she was to be deemed fit for marriage. Apart from that, in cases where the prospective husband came from an important family, the prospective bride had to undergo strict scrutiny before she was declared eligible. Prospective brides of important men were stripped and their bodies were examined minutely to check for birthmarks or moles. Their genealogy was also examined to weed out any undesirable traits like kleptomania, epilepsy and madness, since those were considered to be heritable. Sometimes, the excrement was also checked since it could be an indication of her health, which determined whether she might be fit to bear many sons. In cases where two or more men asked for the same woman in marriage, she would usually be given to the one who would pay the highest bride price - the highest bidder, as it were. Daughters were married to strengthen familial ties, to elevate one’s social position, or to form alliances. Her choice was rarely taken into consideration. 


Zangkaki - the sorceress:

Zangkaki is actually not a central character, but a villainess who entered the story of Lalruanga towards the end of his life; in fact, Zangkaki was a powerful sorceress who outwitted and killed Lalruanga, the most powerful sorcerer in Mizo folklore. Zangkaki is a powerful female character who, through feminine wiles and trickery, managed to outwit Lalruanga the master trickster himself. Lalruanga was a Quixotic character, noted more for his powerful magic and cunning rather than any heroic quality. He first proved his magical prowess against his father, who was also a noted sorcerer. He then captured and wrested magical secrets from Vanhrika, a heavenly being, before killing him. He then outwitted Keichala, a ferocious were-tiger, and his whole tribe of were-tigers. When Keichala’s brothers killed Lalruanga’s brother, the two declared war on each other, with the promise that the victor would honour the defeated with Hrangsaipuia’s famed bullhorn3. Lalruanga used his cunning to defeat Keichala and went to take Hrangsaipuia’s bullhorn. Hrangsaipuia was also a famed sorcerer and the two dueled using all the magic they had at their disposal. Lalruanga inevitably defeated Hrangsaipuia resoundingly and so, he seized the famed bullhorn.

While it was that Lalruanga seemed invincible, he met his defeat at the hands of a sorceress who was less powerful but more cunning than he. Zangkaki was a beautiful sorceress and she lured Lalruanga with the secret purpose of defeating him. Lalruanga took his most powerful dawibur4 with him and Zangkaki knew she would not be able to defeat him just then. So she lulled him into a false sense of security by pretending to fall in love with him. A few days after Lalruanga went home, Zangkaki sent word, asking him to visit her again and telling him that she was expecting his child. This time Lalruanga, suspecting nothing, took his less powerful dawibur with him and he had a pleasant time with Zangkaki, who had been secretly observing him. Sensing that he was no longer as powerful as he had been before, Zangkaki imprisoned Lalruanga inside a stone fortress that Lalruanga, with his limited powers could not break through. He sent an ant to fetch his strongest dawibur but the ant dropped the dawibur into a river where it was swept away by the current. Lalruanga, unable to defeat Zangkaki, finally met his end in the stone fortress in which she had imprisoned him.

Zangkaki in this story is pojected as a licentious seductress who used her feminine charms to defeat the hitherto undefeatable Lalruanga. Her very name is indicative of her amoral nature- Zangkaki’s name is actually Chhuzangkaki; however the first syllable has been dropped in subsequent retellings of the story since the word is a derogatory term referring to the female genitalia. Zangkaki epitomises the destructive feminine stereotype, whose sexuality is cunningly utilised to bring about the downfall of the male species. Folklores and legends are replete with this image of the powerful temptress who, like Delilah, could deceive even the strongest of men like Samson. The fact that Zangkaki’s name contains a derogatory word for the female genitalia is indicative of past Mizo society’s mistrust of women whose sexuality is obvious.

Virility was much prized in Mizo men, while chastity in a woman was highly desirable. A telling Mizo joke recounts how, when asked about their youth, all Mizo men claim to have had lovers, while all Mizo women claim to be virgins. The question arises - which one of them is lying? Mizos believed that Pu Pawla stands at the gates of Pialral5 where he asks each man whether he has been tried or not, and if the man is untried, Pu Pawla would inflict a telling injury on the man which would publicly proclaim his lack of virility. Women, on the other hand, were expected to be chaste and modest, and any woman who did not conform to this expectation was regarded as unnatural, immoral and dangerous. A Mizo woman’s reputation, once damaged, can never be repaired, and a fallen woman, even if she finds a man foolish enough to marry her, carries her shame over to the next generation, where her children and her children’s children will forever be tainted by association with the unfortunate woman. It is therefore, telling that the only person able to defeat Lalruanga is a woman who does not hesitate to use her sexuality to attack a man where he is weakest- his sexuality. The derogatory name given to Zangkaki indicates Mizo society’s vilification of such women. 

Early Mizo religion was a mixture of Pantheistic and spiritual elements, replete with superstitious beliefs. Closely attuned with the natural world, the Mizos believed that nature was infused with spirits, good and bad, both of them needing to be appeased. They also believed that spirits of dead persons often took the form of animals or resided in rivers, mountains or forests. Hence, though these tales may seem fanciful with their talking animals, magic and fantastical acts, they also depict the religious and superstitious beliefs of the past Mizos. Mizos also had a strict moral code which dictated valour and bravery for men, and submissiveness, chastity and domestic prowess for women. This paper seeks to demonstrate that folklore, though they have often been relegated to fantasy or children’s tales, actually contain within them a rich source of information pertaining to a society’s culture and their beliefs. The stories mentioned here are not mere imaginative stories but are actually indicative of what Kong and Goh call fictive, historical and projected realities. The stories told here of three Mizo female characters give a very accurate picture of the social status of Mizo women in Mizo society, and lend support to the feminist belief that gender roles are socially and not biologically constructed. 

References:
Christopher Rollason, Modern Criticism. Rajeshwar Mittapali (ed). New Delhi: Atlantic Publishers and Distributors, 2002.
Fungki: B.A Mizo Zirlai. CTBEB P ublication. Aizawl: Gilzom Offset, 2007.
Indian Folklife: A Quarterly Newsletter from National Folklore Support Centre. Serial No. 34, Nov 2009. Jan 21, 2011. http://indianfolklore.org/nfscpress
Kramarae Cheris and Paula A. Treichler, A Feminist Dictionary. London: Pandora Press, 1985
Lily Kong and Elaine Goh, “Folktales and Reality: The Social Construction of Race in Chinese Tales”. Blackwell Publishing on behalf of The Royal Geographical Society (with the Institute ofBritish Geographers). Area, Vol. 27, No. 3 (Sep., 1995), pp. 261-267. Feb 17, 2011. http://www.jstor.org/stable/20003582 .
Nuchhingi and Zirtiri, Serkawn Graded Reader: Mizo Thawnthu. Aizawl: Mualchin Publications and Paper Works, 2004.
Rosan A. Jordan and F. A. de Caro, “Women and the Study of Folklore”. The University of Chicago Press. Signs, Vol. 11, No. 3 (Spring, 1986), pp. 500-518. Feb 17, 2011.http://www.jstor.org/stable/3174007 .


Vanlalveni Pachuau completed her Masters in English Literature from Mizoram University and also recently earned an M.Phil. degree from the same. She wrote and presented this paper at a seminar on folklore organised by the International Society for Folk Narrative Research at NEHU in Shillong in February 2011. I am indebted to her for allowing me to reproduce it here.

Note: Plagiarism or appropriation of any content herein for any purpose will not be tolerated. In the event of interest for usage or partial reproduction of contents, kindly contact me at the email address given on the home page for necessary action. 

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Aspects of Mizo Literature - Dr.R.Thangvunga

This paper was presented under the title ‘Mizo literature in relation to other literature’ at the Poets’ Meet cum seminar on Mizo literature in Aizawl between the 3rd – 7th October, 2001. I am indebted to Dr. R. Thangvunga for generously allowing me to publish his essay online.

It may be assumed without fear of much controversy that the literature of the Mizos sprang up independently of the myriad native literature flourishing in this culturally rich nation, an assumption justified by the fact that Mizos are of Tibeto-Burman stock having little or no socio-cultural affinity with either the Aryan or Davidian races or the Austrics who form the bulk of the Indian populace. The long migration of the Mizo people from the T’ao valley in China to their present habitat had matured their cultural and religious life sufficiently for distinction from their neighbours. The long years of isolation from other more civilized people had a preservative effect. The pristine simplicity and naïve innocence of the people is in sharp contrast with the sophisticated and complex attitudes of the more progressive people around them from whose poisonous contact Providence seems to have kept them for a special purpose. This age of innocence is the early period of Mizo literature, a vast oral tradition and valuable heritage which a miracle of gospel event has captured in indelible pages of literary history. It is impossible, in the narrow confine of this introductory essay, to open up the panorama of the virgin songs of a people who are, perhaps, after Wordsworth’s own heart. It is a tempting thought that the earlier pre-Christianized literature possesses more human spirit than the Christianized literature which offered a sheepish hope of an underserved heaven in exchange for the more heroic idea of an earned Pialral (incidentally corresponding to the heroes’ Valhalla or Elysium of similar warlike people elsewhere).

If we assume the soul of all literature to be the whole-blooded expression of man’s heroic response to an environment hostile to his dreams and ideals, one may bravely
assert a pagan literature as superior to a literature of higher inspiration; for heroism remains the highest standard of human worth, and literature “the thought of thinking souls.” G.Wilson Knight observed: “A strong faith tends to render tragedy impossible.” The truth of this statement seems to be only too apparent. This humanistic position, owing allegiance to the empirical or Aristotelian precept, justified itself against the intractable and pontifical ideology of the medieval Church as a pristine force of enlightenment working through th powerful pen of a Milton or a penitent Donne. Christianity and its attendant Faith in the the heroic expiatory sacrifice of Christ had been a popular literary subject of the Renaissance, as exemplified by Spenser’s The Fairie Queene. The spiritual struggles of a believer have never been minimized as an easy pilgrimage and Bunyan’s Pilgrim was not found among the Canterbury pilgrims.

It therefore is essentially inadequate to assume that “a strong faith” is incapable of cathartic experience; for the road to faith is never easy, and many shun it. Religious literature is replete with spiritual conflicts of epic grandeur that the adventures of flesh and bones can never match. It is true, physical pain is usually subordinated when the spirit is elevated in the transcendental experience of a more enduring truth for which the sacrifice is being made. But it is true also that the inner struggle to accept physical pain for a principle, the price of the choice has not been a pleasure either. It is on these twin streams of critical viewpoint that the following lines attempt to highlight a few samples of Mizo literature for your evaluation on a more universal platform. To facilitate such an exercise, we have to rely heavily on available versions of the canon and critical works on the same in English. The following works are indispensable:

1. Tribal Folktales of Assam (Hills) by S.N. Barkakati, containing 69 pieces of Mizo folktales.
2. Folklore I – Folktales of Mizoram by Dr Laltluangliana Khiangte, 1997.
3. Anthology of Mizo Literature by Dr Laltluangliana Khiangte, 2001.
4. Mizo Literature by Dr R.L. Thanmawia, 1998.
5. The Lusei Kuki Clans by Lt. Col. J. Shakespeare, 1988.

A comparative study of Mizo literature with those of others, so desirable and imperative, is beyond the scope of this paper and of my abilities. Any accidental light emerging from random analysis of literary samples below which may reveal certain affinities with the literature of other peoples, kindred spirits showing the elements of common human nature, will more than afford the satisfaction looked for in having accepted this task of making intelligible our native voice.

THE PEOPLE: It is not the place here to decide on a creditable history of the Mizos from available research. Subsequent researches seem to have no better recourse than the pioneer British administrators but available oral folklore and tradition as their source materials. Reference pointing to Mizos in their generic name ‘Kuki’ was made as early as 1512 A.D. by Col. Lewin in his ‘Progressive Colloquial Exercises’ showing that it referred to the dwellers of the so-called Lushai Hills irrespective of clan names.

Mizos lived in a community of 50 – 300 houses with a hereditary chieftain who rules by counsel of advisers called “Upa”(s). Livelihood being dependent on agriculture and hunting for meat, shifting from hill to hill every decade or so, security and development were not known by the Mizos. Surprise raids being the method of war, every young man, even married ones, was on constant alert, and slept in the ‘Zawlbuk’, a kind of club for communal discipline.

Like most tribal communities, Mizos synchronized their agricultural calendar with a number of festivals and religious observances which punctuated their hard life with entertainment, relieving the burden of their hard labour and martial apprehensions. Otherwise, their life was physically, emotionally and spiritually exhausting, a vicious cycle of existence under the shadow of superstitious and moral fears from beast, man and evil spirits.

Contrary to conventional practice of dubbing the religious life of the Mizos as Animistic¹, a comprehensive examination of their religious activities leads me to regard them as being primarily deistic². For they believed in a God of goodwill who is responsible for the creation and preservation of all things, one who is not perturbed by the events of the human world, apart from his having ordained the temporal and spiritual systems which all creation may observe willy-nilly. The moral precepts and taboos bearing on human actions were imputed not so much to God as to a system not unlike the Greek idea of Nemesis, and possessing as impeccable and implacable memory and purpose as the latter. The main rituals of the community were directed to this God. Sacrifices made to appease various evil spirits who caused illness would not constitute a religion because it was not a form of worship, but a kind of anathema or exorcism – items of religious practice.

THE LANGUAGE: The language or languages spoken by the Mizos belong to the Tibeto-Assam branch of the Tibeto-Burman family. The major clans speak different dialects but having strong and direct links to one another. In time the Duhlian dialect of the politically dominant Lusei clan became the lingua franca of the majority of communities under the umbrella of the Mizo nationality. This dialect received a further boost when Christian missionaries arrived in 1894, namely, Rev. F.W. Savidge and Rev. J.H. Lorrain, who reduced the language into writing, using a simple and effective phonetic Hunterian system of Roman script. An earlier attempt to use the Devanagiri script had been made but met with poor results. Though, as Pu Buanga himself confessed, there is something to be desired for a fuller and more developed system of writing, their endeavour has remained totally successful to this day. The language has a phonetic nature like many other Indian languages which, in a script other than the missionaries had rendered it to, would have an array of phonetic characters beyond the ability of the then Mizos to master, with the effect that the present status would never have been attained.

THE LITERATURE: What has come to be admitted as Mizo literature, the older portion of which was in the oral tradition, is a medly of deiifernt dialects unintelligible to modern students. Profuse notes on vocabulary and cultural history cannot be dispensed with. Classification is another problem. Different approaches are possible: chronological, generic, thematic, stylistic or functional. The older, pre-Christian literature is more diverse in nature than the literature after conversion to Christianity. In common with other tribal communities of the country, the very life of society was throbbing with the rhythm of folk literature. The telling of legends and stories, enthusiastic singing of fresh (un-weather-beaten) songs celebrating the latest victory and exploits, riddles and moral fables, reverberating with the sound of guns, and the merry, merry festival days of singing and dancing days and nights, were the central focus of their social life. No joy, no sorrows, no victory, no success in hunting was not but a communal affair. It was all for one, one for all kind of existence the modern world has almost forgotten. Even if Mizo literature does not make itself known for a new and fresh philosophy for man, no one can deny its place at the center of the people’s life for generations as repertory of their inner lives recorded in endless streams of songs. What nation is there who has not a poet for every individual or public occasion? The Mizos are second to none in their love for a song to sing their thoughts!

Folk literature offers tempting historical and anthropological research. Mizo folk literature is no exception: perhaps more tempting in the need for a historical certainty of roots. Beyond that there are legends and myths echoing down the ages pointing to a common knowledge of cataclysmic events like creation, universal flood, universal darkness and cold, dispersion of races and languages, as well as giants and angels, superhumans, giant snakes and birds, dragons, ghosts and hobgoblins, magic and witchcraft, etc. Here are samples of such folklore:

1. The myth of Chhinlung, a cave or stone wall, whence people issued (imputed to be of Mizo origin).
2. The myth of Thim zing, a great darkness enveloping the world, when people were transformed into animals.
3. The myths of Pialral (Elysium), Mitthi khua (Hades), Lunglohtui & Rih Lake (Styx), Pawla (Acheron), all corresponding to belief in after-life.
4. The legend of Palova ( No father) adventuring in quest of his unknown father.
5. The legend of Ngaiteii and her father’s spirit causing a flood to claim her.
6. The legend of Mualzavata, superman.
7. The legend of Chhura with its comic cornucopia.
8. The legend of seven brothers, the youngest Tlumtea, paying court to the lady of the sky. (An allegory of the ideal character for a young man)
9. The legend of Lalruanga the magician.
10. The legend of Chawngchilhi and the Serpent.
11. The story of Liandova and Tuaisiala, orphans triumphant by virtue.
12. The romances of Chala and Thangi, of Duhmanga and Dardini, of Raldawna and Tumchhingi, masterpieces of plot and realism.

Apart from this narrative heritage, it seems appropriate to treat the poetic heritage of the early times as a continuous stream of literary activity.

POETRY: The main characteristic of Mizo poetry is the couplet and triplet stanza forms, with the tune being a kind of formal distinction. Another poet (who is not a singer-poet) may add to the existing poem any number of stanzas. The earliest extant poems correspond to nursery rhymes, a number of them actually used by children at play, chanting them with accompanying actions in play. e.g.
Pang aw inzial inzial, pangpui aw inzial
(Children joining hands would roll into a bundle, and at the line…)
Pang aw inphelh inphelh, pangpui aw inphelh inphelh
(they would unroll again).

Another is accompanied by the music of a number of bamboo tubes of different length being blown upon, each giving the correct pitch. The bamboo may be substituted by small gongs.
Chhimbu leh peng peng intu
A lu lam kawng lu lam kawng.

Liando te unau unau,
Dar ze nge in tum in tum?

It is a common feature of primitive society to possess war-cries and hunting-cries. Mizos had several such cries in the form of proud declarations of victory over a conquered foe whose head was a proud trophy. Such is Bawh hla:
Kei chu e, ka sentet an sa leh doral ka pianpui e,
Ka do e, rimnampa e, thlangchem e, aikim min ti u law.
(Born was I with game and foe,
I kill whom I fought, the smelly one, ‘kill all’ I am.)

And after a successful hunt, Hlado is declared:
Mi an e hrang chi awm e, saah hrang chi awm na ngei a,
Tiau dung e, ka zui changing, kawlkei e, than hawl ka vak liau e.
(Of men heroes there be, of beats wild ones there be,
Along Tiau, on the trail of the tiger, fame follows me)

Tribal communities are rich in festival song and dances. Some such songs are nicely accompanied by appropriate actions or mimes. The Assamese and Garo dances exhibit such virtuosity. Others show the agricultural life-cycle of the community in action. Mizos appear to have had their cultural life abbreviated from attaining artistic elegance of such nature, or that their occupation was too rough and insecure to indulge in the more peaceful art of eurythmics. The most popular dance was Chai performed on really big occasions by young men and women locking arms and shoulders in a big circle, swaying and shifting, singing the song of the day, eg Lalvunga zai:
Lalvunga’n ka lian a ti Farzawl a luah,
A luah sual e changsial sawmthum an la e.
(Lalvunga proudly occupied Farzawl,
A grave mistake, thirty mithuns taken away.)

Songs of victory are heavily tinged with sarcasm and lampoons. Even the plight of a prince became a song:
Ka sen in e, ngunkual ka bun e,
Zoah siahthing Manga’n ka bun e.
(When I was a babe, a brass bangle I wore,
A redwood becomes Manga’s stock.)

There was absolutely no limit to the number of themes for there was a song for everything. Here is a song on the swings:
We made a swing here and everywhere,
Brave is he who slashed it down.
I spied below the plum tree,
The handsome prince Phunchawnga.

We may have seen now that the couplet form was very popular. A triplet became popular with star-crossed romance, the maid usually singing her heart out:
Pining for you the sweet birds’ song I reply,
E’en the soundless night
Refuse my eyelids rest. (Darlenglehi)

A bereaved mother pines for her dead:
Death comes along every hill,
Stopp’d by our ill-fated home,
Dragged my sweet one by the arm. (Darpawngi)

Once a poet/poetess had instituted a new form, it was hailed on every hill, the chiefs enthusiasthically patronizing it. Any number of stanzas on any theme could be superadded.Perhaps the most important factor for the popularity of poets and their songs was that they were sung vocally, and it was a social obligation to keep up with the Joneses of another village.

A late development that became very popular was adaptation of sacred tunes for secular songs. A number of Christian hymnals had been translated, and native worship and praise with local tunes had been ushered in by waves of spiritual revivals. Education and broader outlooks tended to encourage a carefree life. Earlier the still unconverted enjoyed parodying Christian hymns with sarcastic mockery of the converts’ abstinence.Typical themes of literature like love, death, time, and other life exigencies appear in Mizo poetry but in a very brief, unsustained manner. The finality of the triplet seems to exert a strong pause on the thought pattern of a poem so that even a single stanza often contains the wholness of a poem. As such, despite their oral character, the problem of fragments is hardly felt.

Christianity lifted Mizo poetry to a new height of thought and style. The missionaries who came to evangelize the Mizos happened to be good linguists, and their pioneering works on the language and literature helped to put these on a sound footing. Missionaries and their aides began with the translations of English hymnals, and the new converts lost no time in taking the cue. A succession of spiritual revivals produced great religious poets of such powerful visions that would make Milton envious. The vivid and powerful imagery of their poems greatly boosted the faith of believers with beatific visions of the Promised land and the River of Life in the Golden City.

Life on earth was no paradise for the early Mizos. Toil and fear, social inequality under autocratic chiefs, high mortality, taboos and omens took their toll on their minds, weakening them spiritually. It is not to be wondered if the bias of Mizo spiritual songs leans towards the beatific vision, and made little of mortal life. A new convert came to a village apparently for a routine visit, but to witness purposely. Knowing him, the chief denied entry. He could not go through the tiger-infested way back home. While waiting wistfully for the sun to set and darkness to allow him to steal into the village for food and safety, this song came to him:
Ni tla ngai lo Zion khawpui,
Ngaiin ka rum, ka tap chhun nitinin,
Puan ropui sinin an leng tlansate,
Ka tan hmun a awm ve, chu ramah chuan. [Rev. Lianruma]
(Zion city, no setting sun,
With sighs and tears all day long I pine,
In royal robes the redeemed they walk,
A place there is for me in that bright land)

The weight of the poem falls on the acute realization of his plight and suffering, the good fight he was putting up on his way to that final place where he was sure of a welcome. But not all believers are faithful
An nghilh rei lua thing krawsa I tuarna,
An thinlung sual thim rawn chhun eng leh la,
Kian tir ang che, an lawman lei pangpar,
I hruai theihna tur. [Siamliana]
(Too long have they forgotten thy death on the cross,
Illumine their hearts full of sin,
Remove their joys the world’s flowers,
That thou can lead them on.

With such maturity of spiritual concern, Mizo poetry has come of age.

Higher education and readings in great literature fostered a new dream. A new stream of poetry flowed from the minds of educated young men who felt a new calling, altruistic enthusiastists who desired to build their new Jerusalem in these pleasant hills of Mizoram. Their poetry oozes the love of their native hills, rejoicing in the peace and harmony of its nature. Euphoria of discovering a new patriotism is the key of Rokunga’s songs:
Kan zo tlang ram nuam hi chhawrpial run i iang e,
Hal lo ten lungrual a kan lenna,
(Our pleasant hills are like a mansion in the sky,
Where in peace and harmony we live.)

A significant characteristic of this new poetry is the conspicuous reduction of the usual “poetic diction” which, not very unlike the Wordsworthian controversy, has come to be used as a matter of rule, making it somewhat unwieldy. Perhaps in the songs of Rokunga is Wordsworth’s ideal most fulfilled. For there the medium is almost transparent, and invisible, and the poet can speak directly to the heart.

Comparatively, there is something to be desired in Mizo poetry. Superficiality, easily excused as simplicity and spontaneity, is the most obvious. Long isolation had developed an almost impermeable defensive crust in the mentality of the Mizos, rendering them unsophisticated in life and thought. Even the most poignant expression of a wounded heart, such as

Ka chun leh zua suihlung in mawl lua e,
Kan sumtualah Thangdang thlunglu hawihte’n in tar le! [Laltheri zai]
(How unfeeling can you be, parents mine,
To dress our courtyard with the head of my Thangdang!)

spends itself in the too too obviousness of the situation. But in contrast,

Rauthla lengin kan run khuai ang a vel,
Chhunrawl ring lo, ka nu, sawmfang a belin hlui rawh [Laltherei zai]
(A spirit like a bee circles our house
A starved soul, mother, give it the pot of rice)

gives the feeling soul something to feed on. [It was common belief that spirits of the dead, before departing for Mitthi khua, frequent the house in the form of the carpenter bee or a butterfly.] Such allusions are not exceptional as the literature has a rich culture and history to draw upon.

DRAMA: Drama in Mizoram, as in England, began in religious entertainment. Till today, the use of drama is limited to charity shows with social or moral lessons. In this age of home media, there is no expecting people to go to a theatre. However we have a few plays on the lives of historical figues, prominently Pasaltha Khuangchera, Lalnu Ropuiliani and Darlalpuii by Dr. Laltluangliana Khiangte. Mizo colloquial speech, to be realistic, is not the best medium for the quick, witty dialogue of standard drama, especially as used by the characters in these plays. Still the language serves well for the goal of the story and the plots are well managed.

FICTION: Mizos then and now are inverterate lovers of stories, perhaps to the extent detrimental to a profitable life. Handwritten copies of translated novels were often read in groups by young people. World War II facilitated local composition on love themes. The few novels bearing on life in society, however, bear testimony to the writers’ understanding of life and their narrative skills. Of these, the novels of Lalzuithanga Thlahrang and Phira leh Ngurthanpari deserve mention, the former for its skillful plot, and the latter for sustained interest despite its loose plot. One is wistful, however, for a novel sharp enough to slice through layers of frozen moral pretensions and guarded reticence, for a character to explode the unconscious.

Books consulted:

1. Mizo Hun Hlui Hlate, B. Thangliana, Aizawl, 1998.
2. Mizo Kristian Hla thar Bu, Synod Publication, Aizawl, 13th ed., 1988.
3. Mizo Poetry, R.L.Thanmawia, Aizawl, 1988.
4. History of Mizo in Burma, B. Thangliana, Aizawl, 1978.
5. The Lushei Kuki Clans, J. Shakespear, Aizawl, reprint, 1988.
6. Tribal Folktales of Assam, S.N. Barkakati, Guwahati, 1970.
7. Comparative Indian Literature, Vol. I, (Ed.) K.M. George, Macmillan, 1984.


¹ Animism: a belief that within every object dwells an individual spirit capable of governing its existence. Natural objects and phonema are regarded as possessing life, conscience and spirit (soul).

² A system of natural religion which recognizes one God but not a divinely revealed religion.


Dr.R.Thangvunga works in the Mizo dept. of Mizoram University. He had earlier been a Reader in the English dept. of Govt. Aizawl College for several years.