My Khasi (In)heritance

The fact that I never took up music as a profession has been my mother’s unflinching regret. Coming from a family where music runs in my blood (my mother and my paternal grandfather have been connoisseurs of music), it was but natural to assume that with my decent voice, considerable training and a bit of persistence, I could be a professional with great potential. But the “wildlife bug” was perhaps far more powerful than the “musical bug”! My grand uncle (my paternal grandfather's brother) was an ornithologist and had accompanied the “Bird man of India”, the renowned Salim Ali for many trips. He was the first to write a bird guide for Bengal (Banglar Pakhi and Chena Achena Pakhi) which is popular even today despite the presence of Grimitt & Inskipp and Kazmierczak. While having an ornithologist in the family did not ensure that I have similar skills in identifying birds, it definitely inculcated a curiosity for the wild.

The books written by my granduncle Ajoy Home

However if there was anyone who sustained my love for the natural world and led me to pursue a career in ecology, it was my Khasi grand uncle Bishwa Ketu Ray or fondly remembered as “Ketu mamadadu” (mama = uncle from the maternal side; dadu = grandfather). Born to a Khasi family in 1918, he was adopted by my great grandfather (paternal grandmother’s father). My earliest memories of him was when he used to accompany me in my pretend walks from Ghum Chilling plant to Sukhiapokhri. I had just got back to Kolkata from North Bengal and was thoroughly missing the wayward life of a three year old. Kolkata was stifling and the only way I could relive my memories of the hills were these imaginary walks from one room to the other where he gave me company. Having lived in the place like Meghalaya, he perhaps found his peace in my imaginary walks. Before he moved to Kolkata, he had his farm in Umran where he grew his own food. Unable to maintain the farm, he was forced to leave and finally set foot in Kolkata and in our family. The fact that the potatoes you get in Kolkata were far inferior compared to the ones he used to eat in the hills would be a common topic of discussion at lunch!

From left to right: Ketu mamadadu, my paternal grandmother, my aunt, my cousin Malobee, my elder sister Malasree, my mother, my grand aunt (grandmother's elder sister) and me sitting on her lap.

Ketu mamadadu was a vivid storyteller. He talked about the lives of Khasis and especially about their association with nature. While he did hunt animals, he was equally empathetic towards them. My usual routine once I got back from school would be to spend the whole afternoon listening to his stories almost on a rewind mode. His stories of how the village boys would be waiting to fill their muslin bags with termites after rain would intrigue me. These termites were dry roasted at home and sieved to remove the wings. Considered a delicacy with rice, this would be the perfect meal loaded with fats and proteins. In the monsoon months, the sight of cattle leeches on livestock would test the patience of children as they waited for the blood gorged leeches to fall in the fields. As soon the leeches fell, they would be picked up and their ends tied up with grass. The blood gorged leeches would be put in a boiling pot and later cooked as a meal with rice. His hunting stories would be equally engaging. A wild boar chasing him into a thicket of nettles, a face to face encounter with a leopard and abandoning a hunt when he saw a fawn with the mother have adhered to my memories. However an incident during a pursuit actually made him quit hunting forever. He had laid snares for a hunt and happened to catch something called “Bonrui”. Once the animal was caught, he killed it with a short spear and when he was inspecting it he realized that the animal had no teeth. He mentioned that he went in to a paroxysm of tears. He cursed himself for killing an animal that did not even have teeth as a means of self-defense. I was unsure what this creature was and all that he could say was the animal had scales like a fish! I got hold of an animal encyclopedia and flipped through the pages in front of him and his finger pointed to an illustration of a pangolin. That was his last hunt!

The Khasis are largely animistic and believe in spirits that guard their resources. They also have queer stories about their association with animals. “When a cat rubs itself on a human, it takes away a part of the soul”, something that the Khasis believe, he would say. Even dogs are considered important animals and unlike in some parts of the north-east India where people do consume dog meat, the Khasis do not touch dog flesh. Ketu mamadadu once told me a story of how his pet dog Sancho Panza saved his life during a travel. He was drugged by the gypsies and after stealing his belongings, left him unconscious in the forests. Sancho Panza had licked his face for nearly four hours to bring him back to consciousness. Throughout the years he stayed in Shillong and Umran, he always had a company of a pet; mostly dogs and cats but occasionally hares (one of them had chewed off my grand aunt’s hair). In fact he was so good in handling animals that I felt he had an innate power to communicate and calm an animal whenever it was in his hands.

One of my vivid memories was the rescue of a black kite chick. The chick landed up on our rooftop with a broken wing and was being mobbed by crows. As it dug its talons on Ketu mamadadu’s hands, when he rescued it, I saw that with a couple of strokes, it loosened its grip and calmed down. The chick was our guest for almost one and a half month. I remember that the first thing I would do back home from school would be to rush to see our guest. He did not want the bird to get used to human touch so in order to feed it, he made a feeding stick (a wooden stick with a hook fitted at the end). Every day he would get animal intestines from the market, wash and clean them and then feed the chick with this stick. Many a times, I fed it too. The only time he touched the bird was when he used a stinking fish oil (that he used to massage his joints) to heal the broken wing. In a month and a half, the chick (now almost resembling an adult) flew as though it never had a broken wing! For many a days it used to fly back to our home and give a shrill call as if in gratitude.

Me (an eleven year old) and Ketu mamadadu

Although he lived in Kolkata, his heart would always be in Shillong. He was perhaps the happiest man on earth when my sister painted a scenery of the Khasi hills on a jute panel that he had put up for the kitchen on the terrace. In 1994 we went for a family trip to Shillong and Cherrapunji. He knew that this would be the last time he would be back here as old age was catching up but the excitement that he had for this trip was tremendous. He wanted me and my sister to experience every part of the life he lived there. We visited all the places where my grandparents lived (both my parents have lineages in Shillong) and met their friends. In fact it was the first time I was introduced to a matriarchal society! I remember questioning my grandmother as to why the groom was there in the bride’s home. Don’t we see the other way around always?

The trip was nostalgic for both Ketu mamadadu and my paternal grandmother. Shillong had transformed and hardly resembled to what they left years ago. Ketu mamadadu travelled to Dawki to visit his own sister. I remember him telling me that he was meeting her perhaps after 40 years and had no clue how she looked now! In fact this was the last time he saw her. After many years, his nephew had written a letter informing him of her death and though he did drop a tear in her memory, he always knew that we were his family. When I left home to pursue my Masters in Wildlife Institute of India, he would eagerly wait for my return, this time to hear the stories of the forests that he had never roamed! For every field trip that I went, I made sure that I sent him photographs. Back home, I would be telling him stories about my experiences in Koluchaur or Kedarnath, the walks in the Aravalli and along the Rushikulya beach. He would listen with keen interest with a smile on his lips.

On a family trip to Betla, Palamau: Ketu mamadadu, my elder sister and my paternal grandmother

Ketu mamadadu passed away in October 2008 at the age of 90. His presence for 23 years in my life have been rewarding in numerous ways. He taught me that you need not be related in blood to be a part of a family. He taught me to be empathetic and stimulated by curiosity for the natural world. He believed that each animal had its own space and people should learn to respect it. Many a times, I have been questioned as to what motivated me to take up a career in ecology and the answer has always been; I owe this to my Khasi granduncle, my Ketu mamadadu 😊