By Meda Marwein
“Don’t go into the water in the afternoon, when the sun is at its peak and you’re all alone. Don’t disturb the deities lying underneath the current lest they curse you for life,” old men would utter these words in the ancient days when one dared to haphazardly venture into the river.
For ages, here in the Khasi Hills, men and supernatural beings have lived in accordance with a single rule… that one should not enter the other’s realm without permission. If one ignores the rule, punishment follows and the generation to come suffers.
The year was 1948. An almost ritual… Miri Kharbani from Jaiaw along with his friends would go to Wah Umkhrah to take a dip into the river and bet who could hold their breath the longest; the catch being – the winner gets to keep the group’s slingshot for an entire week. The boys took long deep breaths before jumping into the river. It was over three minutes after their heads emerged in the water that Miri could not be found.
“I thought he was playing a joke on us,” recalled one of his friends, Ma Rympei, an octogenarian who is now about to turn 88. “We kept calling his name but there was no response. We dived back into the water but Miri was lost. We thought his body had floated somewhere or a river monster had eaten him up. He appeared again after a week but he was never the same. After a month, he jumped into the river, mumbling someone’s name… probably the puri who cursed him.”
The river had taken Miri – Ma Rympei believes it was the puri (a mischievous river nymph), a popular mythical creature in the Khasi Tribe. The puri resides under water and is known to seduce men to their deaths.
There are many renditions of the puri – in one story she is described as a good kindred spirit, and in the other, she is portrayed as a demonic being. The further one moves from one place to another in these hills, the many variations one encounters of her origins.
In Ma Rympei’s case, Miri was taken because he broke the sacred rule. He went too deep into the river, that too in an afternoon, invading the puri’s realm.
“He entered without permission. Even if it was an innocent mistake, the puri is always vengeful. People should listen and stick by the rules. We were warned not to venture too deep. Our mothers told us to be careful with these cunning spirits and to avoid them at any cost. There were sightings and stories of our uncles, fathers and brothers being hypnotised and plunged to their deaths by these creatures because they (men) were too curious, insensible and cared little about the consequences,” Ma Rympei said, in an ‘I-told-you-so’ manner.
The Wah Umkhrah, a famous subject in every Khasi writer’s work, flows through Shillong to the Umiam Lake. From Pynthorumkhrah, Laitumkhrah to Wahingdoh, this stream has been the common link.
One of the nine streams of mythic origins, Wah Umkhrah was revered and worshipped by many but when the city grew, the river became an open drain. Sewage from households is still being directed to the river. When one drives by Wahingdoh to Seng Khasi College, the smell of all kinds of human waste fills nostrils with a sense of disgust – the once clear, fresh and habitable river has now been reduced to a sewage system.
“Our rivers were clear and drinkable. Fishes of different species roamed freely within these waters. You could actually swim without thinking about getting sick or infected because we respected the puris’ privacy and were aware of their wraths. We had a pact, between humans and them, to respect our own turf and only venture when necessary but we have polluted the rivers. We have dumped our wastes in their homes; it won’t be long till the spirits die and leave nothing for us. How will we survive?” Ma Rympei’s words pierced through the silence with a thought-provoking question.
A native of Pongtung, Aibani Synrem, a betelnut farmer in her forties, recollected her memory of Wah Umngot and how the community in Siangkhnai, Dawki and the adjoining areas, bypassed a horrific casualty.
“My father, a fisherman, was from Dawki. I would go fishing with him sometimes when we were living there. He used to tell me stories of spirits that live in the river and how the river should be treated with respect because it is a goddess, one of the daughters of Lei Shillong (chief deity of the Khasis) and Umiam’s twin sister,” she said as she took out a shang-kwai (basket where betel nut and betel leaves are kept) to peel a few betel nuts and cut them into several pieces.
“If Umngot and Umiam never challenged their speed, we wouldn’t have gotten the honour of Umngot flowing through our villages,” she smiled, adding, “because of her we are able to earn our living and engage in trade with our neighbour, Bangladesh. We have always honoured her and it has always been our custom, especially my father’s, to express gratitude to her whenever he catches a fish in the river.”
Wah Umngot is known for its clear water and has gained popularity as one of the best tourist spots in Meghalaya. When the government proposed to build a 210 MW hydroelectric dam in 2021, inhabitants of the area protested as it would not only ruin Wah Umngot’s reputation as a tourist destination but also destroy the locals’ livelihood.
According to Synrem, it would also exploit and kill one’s deity. Perhaps, it was about avoiding her vengeance, coupled with the desire to preserve her spirit, that the proposal was later scrapped.
“The ancestors have sought the permission of the goddess to use her resources but not to a point where they take everything from her and strip her of her honour,” she pointed out.
“She has a life and has continued to bless us. We wouldn’t want to anger the deity. At the end of the day, our existence depends on what she gives us. Why disrupt that balance and understanding between the two worlds?” Synrem added.
In the Eastern West Khasi Hills district, Wah Kynshi has lost its pristine beauty.
From Bynther to Kynshi (this village derives its name from Wah Kynshi itself), the river is experiencing a high amount of infiltration of organic pollutants because of sand quarrying and other man-made reasons.
Banshai Nongsiej, a native from Langtor, said, “I do not usually believe in myths and supernatural beings but the floods we’ve been receiving over the past few years in this region is quite alarming. Not only have we lost our produce, lands and houses, we have lost so many lives too. All because of the umsaw (strong current water carrying sediments and red soil from the banks during floods), the water spirits and gods want to take revenge on humans for trespassing.”
The river spirits are silently protesting, spewing out black tar and plastic. Dead fish float aimlessly in polluted water, as they (goddesses and puris) lie in wait to strike just when we least expect them to. The reason – their homes are either being reduced to sewage systems or exploited for their resources.
The balance needs to be restored between the two realms for generations to survive and for a tribe to thrive. To put it in Ma Rympei’s words, “Balance could be restored only when we learn to follow our forefathers’ footsteps; to honour the earth and its resources like they’re our gods and our equals.”