August’24 Issue: Short Stories and Fiction

Kecharhe: A Music that Guides the Soul to the Otherworld by Mainu Teronpi

Taralangso, a small vibrant village in the heart of Diphu, the headquarter of Karbi Anglong, is the cultural hub where the oldest ethnic festival is celebrated every year. When the Mir Ingku is in full bloom in the month of February, Taralangso comes to life. The Mir Ingku blossoms breathe life into the town, painting every corner with their vibrant hues. The roads of Taralangso are adorned with the delicate petals of the Mir Ingku blossoms. When the festival ends, Taralangso, spanning over 500 acres, opens its gate to the tourists. People flock from every corner of the globe to experience its beauty. Taralangso is slowly but surely becoming the centre of a cultural hub. In this small sleepy village resides Phi Kasang Teronpi.

Phi Kasang Teronpi, aged 104 is a professional mourner or dirge singer. In the Karbi tradition, death rituals hold a very important part. It is believed that a soul can never attain peace without the Dirge singer or the Charhepi singing the Kecharhe Alun. The Karbi Funeral epic – Kecharhe Alun, is a song sung during the funeral ceremony to guide the soul of the deceased to Chom Arong – the other world. For the Karbis, Kecharhe Alun or Dirge singing is more than a lament. It holds a very sacred place in the life of a Karbi. Karbis believe that a soul reincarnates. For a soul to reincarnate, it must be able to reach the Chom-arong or “the other world”. Kecharhe Alun is a divine song sung only by trained Charhepi. They guide the departed soul to the Chom arong. A Charhepi is a female. Without the Charhepi singing the Kecharhe Alun, a departed soul can never return to the other world to be reincarnated and find peace. The art of singing the dirge or the Kecharhe Alun is slowly dying, as the new generation have little expertise in singing it.

But this fierce old Karbi lady, Kasang Teronpi of Taralangso dares to do things differently in her own way. She takes it upon herself to teach the younger generation the art of singing the dirge. Interestingly, Karbi has an oral history. There is no written account. Kecharhe alun which is twice the length of Homer’s Iliad – this funeral epic, Kecharhe Alun is in the memory of Kasang Teronpi. She can sing it by heart for hours without making a single mistake, sometimes going on without food or water.

The Exhibition Complex, where the model bamboo huts are on display in the Karbi Youth Festival in Taralangso, serves as a common gathering place for the aspiring dirge singers or the mourners. There she was, as always, clad in simple duphirso pekok^[1] and pini^[2]. Kasang Teronpi, proudly wears a Duk – a facial tattoo, a simple vertical line from her forehead to her chin dividing her face into two hemispheres. With her head tilted on her right palm, sitting cross legged, she sang the dirge in a single breath. The whole of the ‘Exhibition Complex’ echoed with her monotonous lament. Despite its gloomy character, the dirge song pulls in the listener with its otherworldliness.

I recently had the opportunity to meet the ‘Divine Lady’ with the help of one of my acquaintances. By the time we reached, she and other aspiring Charhepi^[3], were preparing meals for everyone. She had eight students under her, two of whom were her daughters-in-law. We were greeted with smiles and warmth. Phi^[4] Kasang seemed so eager to sing the dirge, she almost started. I explained that we were there not to listen to the Kacherhe alun but to know her life, her connection with music, her experiences and struggles in the path of keeping the lengthiest and the most difficult oral literature alive – how it started and what inspired her. A shy smile spread across her face. Phi Kasang is not unknown to academicians and researchers. Many young researchers from around the globe have approached her to understand this funeral epic. She has now grown confident when it comes to singing and explaining the dirge. Like always she thought we were there to understand the dirge or Kecharhe Alun. Maybe, she never thought people would be interested to know about her life. She brushed her pini and sat comfortably, taking a deep breath.

• Phi Kasang it is such a pleasure to talk to you. Tell us something about yourself.

Kasang Teronpi (KT): It is always a pleasure to have you, young minds. I really feel good that now that the younger generation are showing interest in these old customs and traditions. My father’s name is Lt. Lindok Teron. My mother’s name is Lt. Hanri Rongpharpi.

• Tell us about your family – your husband and children.

KT:  I was married to Lindok Rongpi (giggles). My father and husband share the same name. He is no more. I am blessed with 10 children. Out of 10 children only 4 of them are alive. I have outlived six of my children.

• When did you first start singing dirges?

KT:  I started singing all kinds of songs at a very young age. I like to sing and that keeps me happy. I learned dirge singing only after I turned 50.

• Tell us something about your childhood.

KT:       I lost my father when I was very young. My mother looked after us. I grew up under the care of my maternal Uncle. I did not have the privilege to go to a school. I have never seen books, nor have had the privilege to read or write. But deep down I always wanted to do something big. This tradition of Kecharhe Alun is slowly dying. I want to keep this tradition alive and the only way is to master it. Without the love or interest for something, one cannot excel in life. I was mesmerised and in awe when I first heard the Kecharhe Alun. (KT continues) Though I was not blessed with all the luxuries and privileges, God compensated in other ways. Since childhood, I had a sharp memory, I could remember things very easily. Once I see or hear something, I can keep it in mind and produce it later in the same way without a mistake. But I am very clumsy in other household things (smiles).

• Were you introduced into the tradition of dirge singing? Or were you always inspired to become one?

KT: No. I wasn’t introduced to this tradition of dirge singing nor was I forced into this. One fine day, it just dawned upon me – humans will be born and re-incarnate multiple times. So, will this death ritual – Thireng Vangreng. My aim behind embracing this art/tradition is to keep this tradition alive. For as long as there will be humans, as long as humans will reincarnate and as long as humans will be born, there will be death and there will be dirge singing.

I am illiterate (sighs). I have no access to education. I cannot read or write. I have only known my mother tongue, i.e, Karbi. I have never got an exposure to the bigger outer world. I don’t understand the language of the greater Assam, let alone English or Hindi. I always had an inferiority lurking inside me. But, then, learning the Thireng – Vangreng tradition – the dirge singing has infused in me the much-needed confidence and optimism.

• For how long have you been practising this tradition of dirge singing?

KT:  For at least fifty-four years now.

• Does singing dirge or Kecharhe Alun give you a livelihood or earn you respect?

KT:   Yes. Two bottles of rice beer (giggles). Well! It has given me a life where I can afford things and yes, it has earned me a lot of respect.

• To become a Charhepi or a dirge singer, what are the things that should be kept in mind?

KT:     Sincerity and Commitment are the only two things required to become a Charhepi. In a Karbi society, being a Charhepi is not passed down to generation and is not limited to clans alone; one is free to choose. Any woman of Karbi descent, with the right attitude and interest can become a Charhepi.

• Do you think the tradition of dirge singing or Kecharhe Alun will survive? What will be the fate of the Charhepi in the coming years?

KT:       I do not have the answer for this. The days are tough and tiring. Things are changing so fast. The village that I grew in has also changed. The grip of modernity and advancement is so strong that one cannot escape from it. Technology is entering village life also. Now, mobile connection and the internet have even reached small remote villages like Langlokso. No one is free from the clutches of technology and advancement. But we should not forget our roots – the customs and traditions that sets us apart from the others, should not be forgotten. We strive to keep our customs and traditions alive. I am training our village women so that it does not become a forgotten story. There are eight aspiring Charhepi undergoing training – one, she is guiding the soul to build a house in the ‘other world’, one is serving food and cooking for the soul, one is making the soul drink water. I want to pass on my knowledge of dirge singing to the younger generation so that at least I can leave the earth at peace. I know learning this art will not gain them any riches or respect but the learnings and music of our ancestors will remain alive.

Phi Kasang was coughing and had to stop from time to time while answering the questions. We had to abruptly end the interview. But this music that guides the soul needs to be kept alive, or as the belief goes in the Karbi community, the soul can’t attain peace.

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[1] A chequered piece of cloth worn on the upper part of the body by girls and women.

[2] A piece of cloth worn on the lower part of the body by girls and women.

[3] Dirge singers

[4] Grandmother

Morning Lieder by Zary Fekete

I like opening my violin case in the morning. I like knowing that during the night the darkness gave the wood time to rest and the light hitting it now is slowly awakening the molecules, allowing it to breathe. I like knowing the strings will need to be tightened slightly because they have just barely moved out of tune during the last 12 hours. When I tighten the strings there is a tiny creak and leftover resin from the day before is released into the surrounding air. The resin is so light that it hangs in the air for a moment, like a little universe of particles. Then it’s gone.

It has been interesting to watch people respond over the past weeks. Most smiled in my direction when they entered the library but few made eye contact. Perhaps they think I’m waiting for a tip, so they are doing that suburban “I know you’re there but can’t quite bring myself to see you” thing.  

Last night before bed I thought about what I’ve played these past weeks. I played all of Schubert’s Winterreise.  One of the lyrics describes the switching back and forth of a weathervane in the wintery wind…like a worried mother.

I played Die Schone Mullerin, with the song “Des Baches Wiegenlied”. I had no singer to accompany me, but I played through the melody and heard the words in my head, “Rest well, close your eyes, you weary one, you are at home.”

These songs accompanied me these past weeks. It was as though they were born in the morning with me there in the library and then floated behind me throughout each day. Playing them created a sound bed for my movements, and their lyrics became my thoughts.

Today is my last day. I tightened the strings one more time, and I played. It was Friday, and not many people came in. The morning hours drifted by. My eyes were closed most of the time, in a world of woods and streams.

Just before noon I stopped. I replaced my violin in the case and slowly closed the top, savoring the final glint of sunshine on the bright wood. I walked to the return’s desk. The library manager had a smile.

“Was that Schubert again?” she said.

“Always,” I said. I put the violin case on the counter and slowly pushed it across to her.

“This is such a blessing,” she said.

I turned to go, but then paused. I looked back at her. “Where will it go?” I said.

She pointed to a wall of pictures behind her and singled out a boy in the bottom row.

“He’s the one,” she said.

I looked at the picture a moment, imagining his small hands opening the case for the first time.

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