Relationship Of Fire With Man And The Use Of Fire

Ka Jingiadei U Briew bad Ka Ding - Relationship of Man with Fire Umsawwar

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Once, there were four siblings: Ka Sngi (The Sun), U Bnai (the Moon), Ka Um (The Water), and Ka Ding (The Fire). When their mother passed away, the daughters needed to find a way to respectfully lay her body to rest. The responsibility first fell on the eldest sibling, the Sun, Ka Sngi. With all her might, she shone brightly with intense heat. However, this only dried and withered everything around, but the mother’s body remained untouched.

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Next, it was the turn of the Moon, U Bnai. Casting its shadows, but the body remained unchanged. After this, the Water, Ka Um, attempted to perform the rites, raining incessantly and flooding the rivers. It swirled and roared, yet the body persisted.

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Finally, the youngest sibling, the Fire, Ka Ding, undertook the responsibility. With intense heat, she spread forth great flames, sweeping over and consuming the mother’s body, completing the rites. This, however, sparked resentment in Ka Um, who grew envious of Ka Ding's ability to fulfil the rites successfully. Holding onto this grudge, Ka Um relentlessly pursued Ka Ding, driven by jealousy.

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Ka Ding fled across different lands, from the Land of the Khasi to the territories of the Non-Khasi, seeking refuge wherever possible. Despite its efforts, Ka Um continued to pursue with unwavering determination.

Exhausted, Ka Ding pleaded with the Rock, Ka Maw, to open its mouth and provide shelter. To this day, Ka Ding remains nestled within the Rock's embrace. Whenever stones collide, sparks are ignited, serving as a constant reminder of Fire's enduring presence.

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Ka Ding had initially refused to emerge from the rocks, fearing confrontation with Ka Um. It was only upon the request of Man that Ka Ding agreed to emerge from the rocks. Ka Ding consented under the condition that mankind would nurture and care for it. Additionally, Ka Ding pledged to adhere to respect boundaries, ensuring she would only consume what was rightfully offered, targeting the dead and withered materials.

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The different examples of effective use of fire management are:

Saiñ ding  (Creation of Firebreak) -Umsawwar Village

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In Umsawwar village, an important tradition takes place every year in the month of December, just before Christmas. This tradition involves the participation of all households in creating a fire line around the village. The purpose of this fire line serves several crucial functions for the community.

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First and foremost, it plays a vital role in preventing the spread of wildfires. Our village is surrounded by extensive grasslands, which during the dry winter season become highly susceptible to catching fire. Even a small spark, such as from a discarded cigarette butt, can ignite a wildfire that might engulf the entire area, including the adjacent forests. The fire line acts as a barrier, ensuring that any potential wildfire is contained and does not threaten our village and its resources.

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Additionally, the fire line serves as a means to demarcate various land uses and boundaries within our community. It is used to mark the limits of the village itself, the boundaries of different forest areas, and the regions under regeneration. It also designates specific areas where community members can safely collect natural resources like sand, bamboo, wood, and stones for the year. Furthermore, it helps differentiate between community-owned land and private land.

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The process of creating the fire line involves active participation from each household. Typically, one individual from each household, preferably a man and adolescent boys, take part in this communal effort. It begins with the digging of a furrow, approximately 5-6 inches deep, along the designated boundaries for different land uses. Once the furrow is prepared, a controlled fire is ignited at one end and allowed to spread along the fire line. People called “nong ap ding” holding tree branches or leaves guide and control the fire, ensuring that it burns evenly and effectively demarcates the boundaries. This process continues through the late afternoon until all the boundaries have been clearly marked.

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The practice of creating fire lines is not only about preventing wildfires but also about safeguarding our valuable resources, including the forests and the trees within them. It's a tradition that has been passed down through generations, and it is incumbent upon our future generations to continue this practice to ensure the security of our land and resources.

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Thang ding ha shyrtie (Practice of Controlled Burning in Jhum Fields) – Dewlieh Village

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The practice of controlled burning in our shifting fields is a time-honoured tradition among our farming community. Fire holds a special place in our agricultural rituals, serving as a crucial tool to prepare our fields for the upcoming planting season.

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This age-old practice involves a coordinated effort by all the farmers in the village. When the day for field burning is announced, all farmers gather early in the morning. Their mission is to clear the area surrounding the fields meticulously. This meticulous cleaning serves a dual purpose: to create a protective buffer zone that prevents the fire from spreading to the adjacent forest and to prepare the land for the impending fire.

As the sun begins its descent behind the distant hills, around 4 pm, a time of the day called “ryngkang wah ka sngi,” an elderly person, usually one who would cultivate in the designated plot or someone well-versed in the ways of fire, designated the “ Nongkren,” steps forward to speak with the fire. It is their responsibility to establish a connection with the fire, to communicate with it in a language only understood by those who carry the wisdom of our ancestors.

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In a sacred dialogue with the flames, the person utters words of reverence. They speak to the fire, “bam kaba iap ba iap, wat bam te iaka ba im, bam kaba ai bai, wat bam iaka bym ai” (eat only the dead ones, do not eat the ones that are alive, eat only that has been fed, do not eat what has not been given) coaxing it to burn gently, to remain within the designated boundaries, and to serve as a force of renewal. This conversation, like a whispered prayer, is the catalyst that ignites the fire.

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With this conversation, he takes a matchstick and lights a single torch prepared from dried grass and starts the fire from one end of the field. Other farmers, called the “nong ai ding” (fire giver) come and carry fire torches lit from the mother fire, spreading it throughout the jhum field. Following closely are the people designated as “nong ap ding”, becomes a guardian of the fire, tending to its controlled progress. Walking alongside the fire's path with tree branches in their hand, they ensure it stays within the boundaries and create a firebreak.

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As the flames gradually descend to the field's bottom, a collective pause ensues. The villagers come together, their eyes fixed on the fire's edge, vigilant in their duty to protect the neighbouring forest. It is a practice of shared responsibility, of unity in safeguarding our natural surroundings.

When the assurance comes that the fire has respected its confines, the members leave the field and return to their homes. The next day the shifting field, now enriched by the ashes of yesterday's fire, is ready to be used for sowing.

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We hold a profound belief in the renewing power of fire. It serves not only to enhance the quality and flavour of crops grown in our shifting fields but also plays a crucial role in revitalizing many plant species that might otherwise dwindle in number. The fire we carefully kindle acts as a catalyst for the regeneration of a diverse array of wild edibles and medicinal plants.

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In our fallow lands, a remarkable transformation takes place. It is here that we witness the rebirth of trees like dieng sohma, dieng shitmuid, dieng lakhar, dieng pyrshit, dieng lathud, and many more. These trees, essential to our ecosystem, thrive in the open expanse of fallow land. In contrast, within the dense embrace of the forest, their numbers remain limited, hindered by the shading canopy above, which inhibits the germination of their seeds.

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We regard "Ram-ew," our Mother Earth, as a living entity with the capacity to rejuvenate itself. Like a living being, it can teem with a multitude of life forms. To honour this innate vitality, we deliberately allow our fallow lands to regenerate.