Assam’s Folk-Songs: A General Survey

By Prof. P. GOSWAMI, M.A.

Folk-songs are interesting for various reasons. They are poetic in an artless way; they reveal aspects of social life; they furnish data for the psychological analyst–they claim the attention equally of the professor of literature and the professor of anthropology.

The modern study of folk-songs seems to have had its stimulus in Germany in the eighteenth century. Johann Gottfried Herder collected some songs and wrote essays on them pointing out their importance in the literary tradition of the people. Herder even coined a term Volkslied to cover the various types of songs current among the lower classes, and the term was later adopted in English as folk-song. Heider had to raise his voice against a conservative attitude to folk-songs in general. This was the case in Assam too, for when Assam’s most popular folk-songs came to be collected in about 1921 by Mr. Nakul Chandra Bhuyan, his action was looked upon with contempt by the educated class. There were a few enlightened gentlemen who encouraged him to go on with his work, but that did not prevent him from fighting shy of certain songs which were obviously erotic and too expressive.

The times had their revenge on the orthodox, and Mr. Bhuyan’s collection of Bihu songs came to be selected as a text-book for University students, and a quatrain like the following had the fortune to be considered as symbolizing the patriotic sentiments of the Assamese people:

So dear is the Muga bobbin
so dear the shuttle,
dearer still is the Bohag Bihu
how else but to celebrate it?

The Spring festival Bihu sends a thrill into the heart of every Assamese, and even in the face of an advancing industrial civilisation and in spite of the thick layer of Aryanisation, the Bihu has remained an institution which stirs most easily the strongest national sentiments. And it is to be wondered why most of the folk-songs of the land are of this light and short Bihu-song type. Is it because such songs lend themselves easily to be sung to a dance-rhythm, or is there something in the racial temper of the Assamese–the tribals inclusive–which prefers something which is not sustained and which does not demand physical strain?

Folk-songs of a more sustained core–ballads–have a more dignified status in the folk-literature of the world. The British ballads have been studied by persons like Child and Gummere, and some of them have wondered whether a ballad is composed by the throng or the individual. The question will never be settled, just as it is difficult to decide which comes first–the egg or the chicken. Ballads all the world over possess certain common characteristics. They tell stories dealing with love, heroism, the supernatural, or some tragic happening, but in general they are often of a tragic character. The narration of the story is forthright and vibrant with action. There are plenty of repetitions, and sometimes refrains reminding one of the choral throng which echoes them when the balladist recites a ballad.

Two important Assamese ballads have, as their staple, supernatural incidents. The ballad of Prince Phul is made up of a ride on a magic horse and the hero’s securing of a princess. At the touch of the prince a withered garden revives and he enters the princess’s chamber disguised as a bumble-bee. The ballad of Maid Jana similarly describes such incidents as the hero’s throwing his adversary into the sky and the latter’s body changing into trees and swamps. Such Magical incidents are frequently met with in fairy tales.

Love does not seem to be a major motif in Assamese ballads. There are historical ballads, especially the ballad of the Barphukan, which describes the Burmese invasions of the early nineteenth century. The narration is vivid, though not as rapid and dramatic as in the Border ballad ‘Chevy Chace’. This ballad tells us how the minstrel ekes out his living:

Let my lord give me five quarter-rupees
I sing of the Barphukan
It is my fortune–
My lord I’ve met here.

A British balladist sings thus:

Then give me leave, nobles and gentles, each one,
One more song to sing and I have done;
And if that itt may winn good report
Then doe noe give me a groat for my sport.

A groat was more than a shilling in Elizabeth’s time. Popular patronage as well as the favour of the feudal lords was the sustenance on which the ballads used to thrive in Assam as in Britain.

In spite of the resemblances in the incidents of many ballads in different parts of the world, it has been observed that ballads do not migrate as well as tales do: songs do not usually cross linguistic barriers. The peculiar turns of expression and the tunes which characterize a ballad or a song are not easily adopted by an alien people. But because a ballad is a folk composition it may have peculiarties which are possessed in common by peoples dwelling far apart on the globe. The Assamese ballad of Pagala-Parvati has certain, interesting resemblances to the British ballad ‘The Twa Magicians’. The Assamese ballad may be summarised thus: A wife is saying to herself: “I am stretching the warp of my loom, but I’ve forgotten to bring the brush (with which to smooth the warp). Only for this would Pagala thrash me. Let me go to my mother’s.” Pagala apparently hears her and declares, “You are going to your mother’s, Parvati; I would lie in ambush on the way and catch you.” “You would lie in ambush on the way and catch me, Pagala; I would run off into the forest.” “You, would run off into the forest, Parvati; I shall set fire to the forest and catch you.” “You would set fire to the forest and catch me, Pagala; I would go up with the smoke.” “You would go up with the smoke, Parvati; I would catch you with a hooked pole.”...

Thus they go on. If she falls into the lake he catches he with a fishing contrivance; if he catches her with a fishing contrivance she becomes a shell; if she becomes a shell he burns her and eats her up as lime; if he eats her as lime she stings both his cheeks; if she stings he cures the pain by rubbing his cheeks with oil; if he rubs oil she takes birth as mustard seeds; if she is born mustard seeds he presses them; if he presses them she takes birth as oil-cake; if she takes birth as oil-cake he throws it away into a corner of the garden; if she is thrown away she turns into a large tree; if she turns into a large tree he fells it and makes a boat; if he makes a boat she drowns him in the middle of the water.

So ultimately the victory lies with the woman. This kin fancied transformation in order to escape and to pursue has a parallel–where the transformation is taken as an accomplished fact–in ‘The Twa Magicians’ mentioned earlier. In this ballad an unwilling lady is pursued by a “coal-black smith” and:

Then she became a turtle dove,
To fly up in the air,
And he became another dove,
And they flew pair and pair,
She turned herself into an eel,
To swim into yon burn,

And he became a Speckled trout

To gie the eel a turn….

Thus they go on. The ballad is incomplete, but, in a better version preserved in France, finding him adamant, the lady succumbs to the lover at last. * It is a sort of “magical conflict” also seen in the Bengali metrical romance of Manikchandrer Gan, where the queen Maynavati struggles against Yama, King of Death, who has taken away her husband. To avoid her he turns himself into a carp: she becomes a waterfowl. He eludes her as a shrimp: she searches for him as a gander. He flies into the air as a dove: she chases him as a hawk...

Songs connected with marriage are c.haracterized by a tenderness which is all their own. Such songs sometimes throw light on the rituals performed at a marriage ceremony. For example, in the district of Kamrup, the day before the marriage, a present of oil and other things known as telar-bhar is taken to the bride’s place. The present is in charge of some close relation of the bridegroom and a number of women always accompany it. A telar-bhar song goes thus: one of the Songstresses is addressing her companions:

O my dear lady, carry this curd, milk, ghee and honey
(For) at Choudhury’s house is a maid as lovely as the pomegranate,
We wanted a ripe pomegranate but you give a bel,
This ari fish is wriggling so, it might hurt our fingers,
Let it go into the telar-bhar along with the ornaments,
Our maid splits betel in the form of sangeri blossoms,
She is born of respectable parents.
Hearing of her our young man has sent these ornaments.
It is the telar-bhar day, tomorrow is his marriage,
His father is sitting amidst a number of persons,
Going there you will find the gate of Rukmini.
There put down the telar-bhar present,
Rukmini would ask: Whose it is: say from Dwaraka has it been sent.

This song tells us a lot about the marriage. Things that go in the present, including the fish which is a symbol of fertility, the bride’s capacity for splitting betel-nuts, a virtue in Assamese society, the ornaments which have been sent by the bridegroom and the putting on of which would indicate that the betrothal is complete, characterization of the bride as Rukmini, Sri Krishna’s wife–all these and more are found in the song.

The fancy and poetic quality of a marriage song are evidenced in the following:

After her bath the maid asked her mother
What clothes am I to put on?
Such that dry in the shade and hide in the clasp
You are to put on;
After her bath the maid asked her brother
What flowers am I to put on?
Not the seuti, not the malati either,
She does not take the kharikajai,
In the midst of the seas is the parijat
That you are to put on;
The loving brother put out in his boat
He went in search of the parijat;
The plantain sprout reaches the sky
To the waist reaches her hair;...

Popular imagination is in its best form here: it is refined, tender, and creative. It can endow the commonest subject with attributes of the rarest things that have been created by a poet’s talent. The girl is the loveliest possible, her hair reaches down to her waist; she must have the best of clothes–such that dry in the shade and so fine that they can be hidden in the clasp–perhaps a memory of the silk which was once a home-made product; the flower she will take must be divine and rare–the parijat. She has a loving brother who would go to any length in order to satisfy her.

This quality of tenderness is evidenced further in the nursery rhymes, which are, like the marriage songs, probably composed by womenfolk. The most popular nursery rhyme has the form of a formula tale. A formula tale has a simple situation, but the various stages in it develop according to a certain pattern and there is much repetition. The rhyme goes thus:

O Flower, O Flower,
Why don’t you bloom?
The Cow eats my shoots,
Why should I bloom?
O Cow, O Cow,
Why do you eat the shoots?
The Cowboy does not tend me,
Why should I not eat?
O Cowboy, O Cowboy,
Why don’t you tend the Cow?
The Cook does not make rice,
Why should I tend?..

In this way questions are put to the Cook, the Fueller, the Smith, the Charcoalman, the Cloud, and finally the Frog:

O Frog, O Frog,
Why do you croak?
The custom of my forefathers–
Why give up?

The matter cannot be pursued beyond this point. Plants and animals frequently figure in the nursery rhymes, thus forming a kinship between the child-mind and the world around.

Tenderness for the baby has been fruitful in creating nursery rhymes even among the tribal population in the land. The Dimasa Kacharis of North Cachar have such a rhyme:

My pet, you are crying,
Is there too much smoke?
O you are crying,
The chillies are stinging, isn’t it?
You are crying, let the other people sleep,
There are visitors,
When they depart I shall bring you galou (?).

The song gives a glimpse into the life led by the Kachari. Smoke in the cottage, burnt chilies on the fire, the busy housewife looking after her guests–all these are there. The Lhota Nagas also have such a rhyme:

“My little one, why are you crying so much?
Is it because you want a drink of madhu that you are crying?
I will give you well-kept madhu to drink.
Do not cry much...”**

Scholars have tried to find traces of ancient myths and rituals in children’s rhymes and game songs. The frequent mention of the moon in Assamese lullabies might point to some primitive belief in the moon; the frog’s association with the clouds is a living belief even now, frog marriage being celebrated when there is dearth of rain. From Kent to Pekin, a rhyme is current in which children threaten or request a snail to put out its horn. An English version runs thus:

Snail, snail, put out your horn,
Or I’ll kill your father and mother the morn.

The rhyme is found in slightly altered versions among peoples like the French, the Italian, the Roumanian, the Russian and the Chinese. The snail has been regarded as typifying the dawn stealing from its cavern or as symbolical of birth. *** It is not known if a parallel is found in Assam, but the following about a kind of ant has been heard from children:

Ant, come out, come out,
I’ll give you rice, I’ll give you fish,
Come out.

It is possible the Assamese rhyme also has the same symbolism as the other one.

A study-of the types of folk-songs described above, as well as certain other less important types not included in this essay, would reward one with various kinds of information, literary, psychological, sociological and anthropological. Songs are a spontaneous growth: they are being composed eve now, but they thrive best in an agricultural and pastoral setting. Industrial inroads play havoc upon the folk mentality, by making it more sophisticated and less joyous. As the tiller of the soil comes away from his natural setting and tends to lose his older festivals, the seasonal changes do not work upon his mind as before and the festival songs also are supplanted by other modes of music. The Bihu songs were born close to the soil at the Spring festival. Insufficient crops, dearth of cultivable land, want of yarn and cloth, influence of western education, the speed characterizing modern life–all these have tended to do away with the dances and songs of the Bihu festival. The sadness that is associated with such a turn of events is well expressed in the following song:

The birds peck at the paddy, O my fellow,
the crumbs get scattered,
our very dear Bihu ground
the dubari grass has covered.

*    Child, English and Scottish Popular Ballads, Pp. 77-78.
**   J. H. Hutton, The Lhota Nagas, p. 202.
*** Lewis Spence, Myth and Ritual in Dance, Game and Rhyme, p. 165