Easterine Kire
I was sent a lovely volume of poetry by poet Achingliu Kamei. It is getting ready for publication and will add to the treasures of Northeast Writing in English.
What are the songs of Raengdailu? Achingliu carefully explains the layers of meaning behind the title Songs of Raengdailu thus:
Women too are keepers of memories; seed gatherers and preservers; tellers of history, preservers of collective memory; and preservers of the hearth. The Hornbill, for the four cognate tribes- Liangmai, Zeme, Rongmei and Inpui symbolizes beauty, grace, strength, courage and integrity. (Perhaps it holds true for other Naga tribes as well). The Raengdailu, the personified female counterpart of the Raengdai, too inhabits all these attributes. I have chosen to use Songs of Raengdailu as the title to assert women’s position in the social standing as an equally important counterpart to men, to give exigencies to women’s voice, and as a way of survival. Some of the poems in the collection explore cultural memory, especially that of the women. So, in a way, the title also celebrates the courage of the women’s spirit. The themes of the poems are centered on women's pain, struggles, their contributions to their society and their triumphs. The poems speak about life, love and death as experienced by women, their struggles to understand, to know themselves, and to survive. The title also is a strategy to claim a place as a daughter of the land worthy of a share of the legacy. It is also a kind of push-back against the patriarchal society. The poems touch the diverse facets of women's contribution to society, which often-times go unnoticed. I strongly feel that I have a responsibility to record the memories of my women ancestors of my tribe (s) of past, present and future, giving voice to them.
The volume is divided into two books. Book one is predominantly about the land, the beauty of the hills, unpolluted skies and streams and the flowers that bloom unattended. This is what I call the poetry of geography for the poet has traced the geographical contours of her homeland using the lines of poetry. She names places, seasons, flowers and plants by their native names and brings them closer to us. When surrounded by the great beauties that make up her land, the poet reflects on the blots on its beautiful face, and the biggest blot is the inequal treatment of womenfolk.
The poem Puangbiu Puang, has as its theme -How hard is the lot of women. They work all day in the fields and sometimes the only food for them is the Puangbiu Puang growing by the wayside offering its stems as food.
The poems are piercing, drawing from earthy images and hitting home simultaneously with narratives both beautiful and tragic.
Carve it out and Bury it Under the Flame Tree, is reminiscent of Australian Aboriginal poetry in its use of images from the natural world. There is the laughing thrush whose voice is stilled by terminal cancer, and the dianthus and iris are planted on her grave by her husband but the pain of loss is an invisible talon thrust into his heart. Kamei skilfullyinvokes bird images and fragrance of flowers along with the pain that is irretrievably connected with them.
One of the poems, ‘Digging Potatoes on Grandma’s Field’ contains so much wisdom for the ages. A lesson for us all:
The last rays of the Sun in an urgency reminded me,
My ancestors lived their words, they died keeping it.
Now people disagreeing on everything with everyone,
I wonder why we cannot follow their ancient footprints.
We too must trudge up the stone steps
I watched the river run dry.
Achingliu writes about Kacha-Khou, the mighty silvery cliff, and about unnamed locations in SKY Mountain and I, and in all these poems of the land she reveals the mountainscape that constitute home for her, the rivers and the fertile fields of dark soil, and the flowers that grow there and perfume the valleys with their fragrance.
Gardener Friend holds out hope for the future where the tribes will continue to be bonded through the skills of the ‘gardener.’ It points to the importance of brotherhood between the larger groups that had a shared familial past:
May you live side by side with,
The Maos, Poumeis, Liangmais, Rongmeis, Tangkhuls
May they always be beholden to you for being a bridge,
May the parched come to you for advice in planting seasons,
May your forearms continue to be as strong as your love for us,
May the seasons be kind to you like you’ve been kind to us,
May the joy of gardening flourish till old age,
May the reason be strong, past spring,
May your winters be your best.
The music she writes of is ‘the sound of the reeds and the rustle of bamboo leaves.’ The purified air of higher regions lends its clear counsel to these lines:
I never farmed, but it’s as if I had
My soul is like a farmer, it understands the wind
It can feel the rain in the air, it can read the clouds
It can feel and live the seasons
It can hear Nature
……….
The poet unveils her land from sunrise to twilight, the village and the surrounding valleys, fields and hills and the insect life around it. Cicadas, grasshoppers, different small birds, add colour and sounds to the landscape. She intersperses it with the delightful story of the crab family in prose. Nights end here with moonbeams and fireflies even as the poet warns, ‘Turn off your lights at night at firefly season.’
There are two voices in this book of poems. Part one is lyrical, nostalgic, and paints home in remembered colours. Part two is activist, feminist, a searing gaze that unearths injustices against women:
She did not tell stories. She was not allowed to. Her stories were not complete. Her experiences were not full. It was in fragments. She wasn’t perfect, like him. Her world was in her soul. She could only feel. He could do as he pleases. If he made mistakes, he was immediately let off the hook “He’s still young, he will learn”, but sadly not for her. She tried to tell her story. Tradition and culture cut off her tongue. Now she not only felt but experienced it too. But she could not tell her story using her tongue. She must now find other ways to tell her story. (From Unable to Tell her Story)
The hidden stories, the stories told in whispers because they are shameful, these are the stories that comprise Part Two.
My pen the spear; my paper the nggih, cane shield
My stool the world; my hair the west wind
When they ask, “Why do you want to bring trouble on us?”
I answered, “Witness the rebirth of women.”
“You will burn in Taruai Ram”, they said.
“I will exit into the tinkao of freedom” I replied. (from Freedom)
The poems in part two recall how women’s bodies were made a terrain for intimidation and disgrace, especially in the poem on Oinam:
The sky and I are blown open
Oinam
7 women’s bodies the terrain for
Power, murder, rape, arson, illegal detention
Innocent blood smeared by hatred
Birth of two babies out in the open
Hostile
Smirking, pitiless eyes
Where will healing come from?
Remember.
With fear and love
I write for you.
How does a village go about avenging its women? By remembering them and by retelling their stories instead of consigning them to silence. This is what Achingliu Kamei is doing.
‘Song of Raengdailu’ is an awesome and mighty title poem, a poem of empowerment. ‘Turn back not on your Roots’ is prophetically beautiful. ’Trees of my ancestors’ is tremendously moving.
This is a book whose strength lies in its honesty. It is unashamed to tell the truth of crimes of the past, and ongoing injustices against women. It is reminiscent of protest poetry, but a protest poetry born in a place where it faces being throttled by its own gender. I hope it will be accorded the respect and honour it deserves.
