In this article, a Western member of the Theosophical
Society who lived in that region, shares the information that the natives gave
him about the type of witchcraft that was practiced in that area during the
19th century.
SHAMANISM AND WITCHCRAFT
AMONGST THE KOLARIAN TRIBES
By Miad Koyoka Kouia Hon, F, T. S.
Having resided for
some years amongst the Mímdás and Hós of Singbhoom, and Chutia Nagpur, my attention was drawn at times to customs differing a good deal in some
ways, but having an evident affinity
to those related of the Nilghiri “Curumbers” in Mrs. Morgan’s article.
I do not mean to say that the practices I am about
to mention are confined simply to the Kolarian tribes, as I am aware both Oraons
(a Dravidian tribe), and the different Hindu castes living side by side with the Kòls, count many noted wizards
among their number; but what little I
have come to know of these curious customs, I have learnt among the Mímdás and Hós, some of the
most celebrated practitioners among
them being Christian converts.
The people themselves
say, that these practices are
peculiar to their race, and not learnt from the Hindu invaders of their plateau; but I am inclined to think that some,
at least, of the operations have a
strong savor of the Tantric black magic about
them, though practiced by people who are often entirely ignorant of any Hindu language.
The different types of spirits
These remarks must he
supplemented by a short sketch of Kòl ideas
of worship. They have nothing that I have either seen or heard of in the shape of an image, but their periodical offerings
are made to a number of elemental spirits, and they assign a genie
to every rock or tree in the country,
whom they do not consider altogether malignant, but who, if not duly
“fed” or propitiated, may become so.
The Singbonga (lit., sun or light spirit) is the chief;
Búrú Bonga (spirit of the hills),
and the Ikhir Bonga (spirit of the deep), come next. After these come the Darha, of which each family
has its own, and they may be considered in the same light as Lares and Penates. But every threshing, flour and oil mill, has its
spirit, who must be duly fed, else evil result may be expected.
Their great festival (the Karam) is in honor of Singbonga
and his assistants; the opening
words of the priests’
speech on that occasion, sufficiently indicate that they consider Singbonga, the creator of men and things. Múnúre Singbonga manokoa luekidkoa (In the beginning
Singbonga made men).
Each village has its
Sarna or sacred grove, where the
hereditary priest from time to time
performs sacrifices, to keep things prosperous; but this only relates to spirits actually connected with the
village, the three greater spirits
mentioned, being considered general, are only fed at intervals of three or more years,
and always on a public road or other
public place, and once every ten years a human being was (and as some will
tell you is) sacrificed to keep the whole community of spirits in good train.
The different types of sorcerers
The Páháns, or village priests, are
regular servants of the spirits, and
the nájo, deona and bhagats are people who in some way are supposed
to obtain an influence or command over them.
The nájo
The first and lowest grade of these witches, called nájos
(which may be translated as practitioners of witchcraft pure and simple),
are frequently women. They are accused, like the “Mula Curumbers,”
of demanding quantities of grain or loans of money, etc., from people, and when these demands are refused, they go away with a remark to the effect, “that you have
lots of cattle and grain just now, but
we’ll see what they are like after a month or two.”
Then probably the cattle of the bewitched person will
get some disease, and several of them
die, or some person of his family will become ill or get hurt in some unaccountable way.
The deona
Till at last, thoroughly frightened, the afflicted person takes a little uncooked
rice and goes to a deona or mati (as he is called in the different
vernaculars of the province) —the grade immediately
above nájo in knowledge— and
promising him a reward if he will
assist him, requests his aid; if the deona
accedes to the request, the proceedings are as follows.
The deona taking the oil brought,
lights a small lamp and seats himself
beside it with the rice in a súrpa (winnower)
in his hands. After looking intently at the lamp flame for a few minutes, he begins to sing a sort of
chaunt of invocation in which all the
spirits are named, and at the name of each spirit a few grains of rice are thrown into the lamp.
When the flame at any
particular name gives a jump and
flares up high, the spirit concerned in the mischief is indicated. Then the deona takes
a small portion of the rice wrapped up in
a sál (Shorea robusta) leaf and
proceeds to the nearest new white-ant nest from which he cuts the top off and lays
the little bundle, half in and half out of the
cavity.
Having retired, he
returns in about an hour to see if the rice is
consumed, and according to the
rapidity with which it is eaten he predicts the sacrifice which will appease
the spirit. This ranges from a fowl to a buffalo, but whatever it may include,
the pouring out of
blood is an essential. It must be noted, however, that the mati
never tells who the
nájo is who has excited the malignity of the spirit.
But the most
important and lucrative part of a deona’s
business is the casting out of
evil spirits, which operation is known variously as ásháb and langhan. The sign of obsession is
generally some mental alienation accompanied
(in bad cases) by a combined trembling and restlessness of limbs, or an unaccountable swelling up of the body.
Whatever the symptoms may he the mode of cure appears
to be much the same. On such symptoms
declaring themselves, the deona is
brought to the house and is in the
presence of the sick man and his friends provided with some rice in a surpa,
some oil, a little vermilion, and the deona
produces from his own person a
little powdered sulphur and an iron tube about
four inches long and two tiklis.
(Tiklis is a circular
piece of gilt paper which is stuck on between the eyebrows
of the women of the Province as ornament.)
Before the
proceedings begin all the things mentioned
are touched with vermilion, a small quantity
of which is also mixed with
the rice. Three or four grains of rice and
one of the tikhis being put into the tube, a lamp is then lighted beside the sick man and the deona begins his chaunt,
throwing grains of rice at each name, and when the flame flares up, a
little of the powdered sulphur is
thrown into the lamp and a little on the sick man, who thereupon becomes
convulsed, is shaken all over and talks deliriously,
the deona’s chaunt growing louder all
the while.
Suddenly the convulsions and the chaunt cease, and the deona carefully takes up a little of the sulphur off the man’s
body and puts into the tube, which he
then seals with the second tikli.
The deona and one of the man’s friends then leave the hut, taking the
iron tube and rice with them, the spirit
being now supposed out of the man and bottled up in the iron tube. They hurry across country until they
leave the hut some miles behind. Then
they go to the edge of some tank or river, to some place they know to be frequented by people for the purposes of
bathing, etc., where, after some
further ceremony, the iron is stuck into the ground and left there. This is done with the benevolent intention that
the spirit may transfer its
attentions to the unfortunate person who may happen to touch it while bathing.
I am told the spirit in this case usually chooses a young and healthy person. Should
the deona think the spirit has not been able to suit itself with a
new receptacle, he repairs to where a
bazaar is taking place and there (after some ceremony) he mixes with the crowd, and taking a grain
of the reddened rice jerks it with
his forefinger and thumb in such a way that without attracting attention it falls on the person or
clothes of some. This is done several times
to make certain.
Then the deona declares he has done his work, and is
usually treated to the best
dinner the sick man’s friends can afford.
It is said that the person
to whom the spirit by either of these methods is transferred may not be affected for weeks or even months. But
some fine day while he is at his work,
he will suddenly stop, wheel round two or three times on his heels and fall down more or less
convulsed, from that time forward he will begin to be troubled in the same way as his dis-obsessed predecessor was.
The bhagat
Having thus given
some account of the deona, we now come to the
bhagat, called by the Hindus sokha
and sivnath. This is the highest
grade of all, and, as I ought to have mentioned before, the ilm (knowledge) of both the deona and
bhagat grades is only to be learned
by becoming a regular chela
(disciple) of a practitioner; but I
am given to understand that the final initiation
is much hastened by a seasonable liberality on the part of
the chela.
During the initiation
of the sokha certain ceremonies are performed at night by aid of a human
corpse, this is one of the things which
has led me to think that this part at least of these practices is connected
with Tantric black magic.
The bhagat performs two distinct functions:
1) A kind of divination called bhao (the same in Hindi), and
2) A kind of Shamanism
called darasta in Hindi, and bharotan
in Horokaji, which, however, is resorted
to only on very grave occasions — as, for instance, when several
families think they are bewitched at one time and by
the same nájo.
The bhao is performed as follows:
The person having
some query to propound, makes
a small dish out of a sàl leaf
and puts in it a little
uncooked rice and a few pice; he then proceeds to the bhagat and lays before him the leaf and its contents, propounding at the same
time his query.
The bhagat then directs him to go out and gather
two golaichi (varieties of Posinia) flowers
(such practitioners usually
having a golaichi
tree close to their abodes); after the flowers are brought the bhagat
seats himself with the rice close to the inquirer, and after some consideration selects one of the flowers,
and holding it by the stalk at about
a foot from his eyes in his left hand twirls it between his thumb and fingers, occasionally with his right
hand dropping on it a grain or two of
rice (this is the process by which
the bhagat mesmerizes himself).
In a few minutes his
eyes close and he begins to talk— usually
about things having nothing to do with the question in hand, but after a few minutes of this, he
suddenly yells out an answer to the question, and without another
word retires. The inquirer takes his meaning
as he can from the answer, which, I believe,
is always ambiguous.
The bharotan as I have above remarked is only
resorted to when a matter of grave
import has to be inquired about; the bhagat
makes a high charge for a séance of this description.
We will fancy that
three or four families in a village
consider themselves bewitched by a najo, and
they resolve to have recourse to a bhagat to find out who the witch is; with
this view a day is fixed on, and two delegates are procured from each of five neighboring villages, who
accompany the afflicted people to the house of the bhagat,
taking with them a dáli or
offering, consisting of vegetables, which
on arrival is formally presented to him.
Two delegates are
posted at each of the four points of
the compass, and the other two seat themselves with the afflicted parties to the right of the bhagat, who occupies the centre of the
apartment with four or five chelas, a
clear space being reserved on the
left: One chela then brings a small
earthenware-pot full of lighted charcoal,
which is set before the bhagat with a pile of mango wood chips and a ball composed
of dhunia (resin of Shorea robusta), gur (treacle), and ghee (clarified butter), and possibly other ingredients.
The bhagat’s sole attire consists of a scanty
lenguti (waist-cloth), a necklace
of the large wooden beads such as are usually worn by fakeers, and several
garlands of golaichi flowers round his neck, his hair being unusually long and matted. Beside him
stuck in the ground is his staff. One
chela stands over the firepot with a
bamboo-mat fan in his hand, another
takes charge of the pile of chips, and a third of the ball of composition, and one or two others seat
themselves behind the bhagat, with
drums and other musical instruments in their hands.
All being in readiness, the afflicted ones are
requested to state their grievance. This they
do, and pray the bhagat to call
before him the nájo, who has stirred up
the spirits to afflict them, in order that he may be punished. The bhagat
then gives a sign to his chelas,
those behind him raise a furious din
with their instruments, the fire is fed with chips, and a bit of the composition is put on it from time to
time, producing a volume of thick greyish-blue smoke; this is carefully fanned over, and towards the bhagat, who, when
well wrapped in smoke,
closes his eyes and quietly swaying his body begins a low chaunt.
The chaunt gradually becomes louder and the sway of
his body more pronounced, until he works
himself into a state of complete frenzy. Then with his body actually quivering, and his head rapidly working about from
side to side, he sings in a loud
voice how a certain nájo (whom he
names) had asked money of those
people and was refused, and how he stirred up
certain spirits (whom he also names) to hurt them, how they killed so and so’s bullocks, some one else’s
sheep, and caused another’s child to
fall ill.
Then he begins to
call on the nájo to come and answer
for his doings, and in doing so rises
to his feet — still commanding the nájo to appear; meanwhile he reels about; then
falls on the ground and is quite still
except for an occasional whine, and a muttered, “I see him!” “He is coming!”
This state may last
for an hour or more till at last the bhagat sits
up and announces the nájo has
come; as he says so, a man, apparently
mad with drink, rushes in and falls with his head towards the bhagat moaning and making a sort of snorting as if half stifled.
In this person the bewitched parties
often recognize a neighbor and sometimes
even a relation, but whoever he may be they have bound themselves to punish him. The bhayat then speaks to him and tells him to confess, at the same time threatening him, in case of
refusal, with his staff. He then
confesses in a half-stupefied manner, and his confession tallies with what the bhagat
has told in his frenzy. The nájo is
then dismissed and runs out of the house
in the same hurry as he came in
The delegates
then hold a council at which the nájo usually is sentenced
to a fine —often heavy enough to ruin him— and expelled from his village.
Before the British
rule the convicted
nájo seldom escaped with his life, and during the mutiny time, when no Englishmen were about, the Singbhoom Hòs
paid off a large number of old
scores of this sort. For record of which, see “Statistical Account of Bengal,”
vol. xvii. p. 52.
In conclusion
I have merely to add that I have derived this information
from people who have been actually concerned in these occurrences, and among others a man belonging to a village of my own,
who was convicted and expelled from the village with the loss of all his movable property, and one of his
victims, a relation of his, sat by me when the
above was being written.
E. D. EWEN.
(The Theosophist, December 1883, p.89-91)
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