In the beginning, when the world was still new and the sky was close to the earth, there lived a woman named Tigenjungna. She was not an ordinary woman. She had no husband, no people, and no village. Created by the divine will of Tagera Ningmaphuwa, the supreme creator, her presence was part of the cosmic balance, and her body carried the mystery of life.
In time, Tigenjungna gave birth to twins, though no man had ever touched her. The divine had planted life in her womb. One child was born a tiger, fierce and wild. He was named Kesami. The other was born a human, alert and wise. He was called Namsami.
They came from the same womb, drank the same milk, and slept beneath the same sky. Yet one belonged to the forest, and the other to the fire. Both had vastly different personalities.
In the early days, they were never apart. Whether resting in the shadows or wandering through the wilderness, the tiger and the man-child shared their world with no quarrel. But time ripens all things. As they grew, their paths began to split.
Namsami learned to hunt with a slingshot. He chased birds, climbed trees, and made fires. Kesami hunted frogs, beetles, lizards, and later, larger beasts. His eyes gleamed in the dark, and his silence was heavy.
One evening, Namsami spoke softly, “Brother, why do you eat such creatures? There are other ways. We can hunt together, and eat clean food.”
But Kesami growled in reply, “Not only will I eat them. One day, I’ll eat you.”
From that moment, they were no longer just brothers. They became hunter and hunted.
Namsami fled, wandering deeper into the forests, always hiding, never sleeping soundly. All he wanted to do was survive. And behind him, Kesami stalked, his hunger growing. He no longer saw his twin. He saw meat.
Tigenjungna, the mother of both, wept in silence. Her body had birthed them both, and yet, they now walked different worlds. She hid Namsami when she could. He hid him in ravines, on ridges, beneath thick leaves. Whenever Kesami came roaring, she deceived him.
“He’s up in the high hills,” she’d say. “He’s down by the stream,” she’d whisper.
But lies wear down even the strongest tongue. One day, Kesami turned on his own mother, his jaws dripping.
“You’ve lied to me long enough. Tell me where he is or I’ll tear you apart.”
That night, Tigenjungna called Namsami and said, “I cannot lie anymore. My mouth is dry, and my heart is cracking. Listen, my son, go to the ravine. Take your bow and arrows. Climb the tallest Simal (Silk cotton) tree. Hide on the ninth branch. If your brother comes, I will send him there. If I do not, he will devour me.”
Before he left, she planted two flowers in front of her dwelling, upon two dried bottle gourds. Babari (Wild Basil), for Kesami, and Sillari (Cow Parsley), for Namsami. And she prayed, “If the Babari wilts, I will know the tiger is dead. If the Sillari fades, I will know the human is gone.” Then she sat before the flowers, spinning thread and whispering wind-prayers.
Down in the ravine, Namsami waited. The sun passed, the shadows deepened, and then came the sound of leaves rustling. Kesami had found him.
The tiger looked up at the tree and snarled. “So here you are. No more hiding today.”
He began to climb, his claws scratching the bark.
At home, the Sillari flower bent, its petals heavy. Tigenjungna wept, her hands frozen in mid-spin.
Namsami aimed his arrows. Once, missed. Twice, missed. Three, four, missed again. Only one arrow remained. Kesami was almost at the top.
Namsami whispered, “Brother, I begged you to live in peace. But you chose the path of hunger. If you must eat me, don’t make me suffer. Close your eyes, open your mouth. I will jump in myself.”
The tiger paused. Then, with a satisfied grunt, he closed his glowing eyes and opened his jaws wide.
Namsami did not jump. He drew the last arrow, took aim, and released it. The arrow flew into Kesami’s mouth and pierced straight through, exiting from beneath his tail. With a great roar, Kesami fell, breaking branches as he crashed to the earth.
At home, the Babari flower shriveled. Tigenjungna knew. Still, Namsami waited in the tree. He saw flies buzzing over the body. One green fly entered Kesami’s mouth and came out the other end, passing under Namsami’s nose with a stench of death. Only then did he descend. He stood before his brother’s lifeless body. His eyes brimmed with tears.
“We came from the same place,” he whispered. “But your path was your own.”
He took the tiger’s hide and shaped it into a drum, the Chyabrung. With each beat, it roared like Kesami had once roared. It was not made for celebration. It was made for remembrance.
Today, the Limbu Chyabrung drum still echoes through the mountains, through the homes of the Limbu people. When the Chyabrung speaks, it tells the tale of the first tiger and the first man, born from the same mother, children of nature, fated to walk separate paths.
Cultural festivals provide one of the few consistently affirming opportunities for indigenous communities in the Himalayas to strengthen and assert a more constructive self-image, both across generations and in the pursuit of their identity as a distinct culture. For the Limbus, the harvest festival of Chasok Tangnam serves a similar purpose, embodying not only a profound connection between nature and spirituality but also acting as a protector of their rich cultural heritage. Rooted in the Mundhum—the oral scripture and philosophical structure of the Limbu people—Chasok Tangnam is a celebration of gratitude, reciprocity, and ecological reverence.
Chasok Tangnam is celebrated during the Udhauli season, which typically occurs in late autumn, in either November or December. This season marks the time of harvest when crops such as millet, rice, and buckwheat are gathered, aligning with the natural cycle of crop maturity. The festival thus coincides with a time of abundance and gratitude reflecting the agrarian values of the Limbu ancestors. The ritual of seeking permission from ancestors or nature to partake in the newly harvested crops is called ‘Chasok,’ whereas ‘Tangnam‘ translates to festival or celebration.
As an indigenous community of the Eastern Himalayas, the Limbu have long relied on farming as their primary means of livelihood. The Mundhum narrates the shift from a foraging to an agricultural society, facilitated by divine intervention.
In ancient times, during the era of Sawa Yethang, the earliest human ancestors relied on gathering wild fruits, roots, and tubers for survival. This fragile way of life eventually led to health problems, prompting them to seek divine intervention. Tagera Ningwaphuma, the creator of the world, answered their prayers by imparting the knowledge of agriculture. Sibera/Sikera Yakthungma, a wise and visionary woman, became a central figure in this transformative period. She cleared the land with wooden tools, sowed seeds, and guided the community in the practice of farming. The fertile plains along the Tamor River, now known as Nembo Yakwa Tesuma in Taplejung, are celebrated as the birthplace of this agricultural transformation. Following the first harvest, Sikera Yakthungma urged the people to offer a portion of their crops to nature and their ancestral spirits as an expression of gratitude, marking the origin of the Chasok Tangnam tradition.
These narratives are not merely mythological; they reflect the socio-historical development of the Limbu community. The roots of the festival lie in the ancient practice of Nwagi, the ritual of offering newly harvested crops to deities and ancestors before human consumption. Over time, this practice evolved into the collective celebration of Chasok Tangnam, a festival marked by communal joy and respect. The practices and metaphors that weave the life cycle of crops into cosmic, human, and social dynamics reveal how a community harmonizes applied knowledge, symbols, and rituals into an evolving cycle of meaning. This cycle adapts over time and grounds essential processes within the realms of bodily life, the household, the village, and the Limbu spirit pantheon.
Chasok Tangnam is a multifaceted celebration that integrates spiritual rituals, communal gatherings, and cultural performances. The festival typically coincides with the harvest season, aligning with the natural cycle of crop maturity. The rituals are performed by Devari, Mangdemba, Fedangmas, and Yebas/Yemas (Limbu shamans), who act as intermediaries between the physical and spiritual realms.
Unlike many other communities, the Limbus do not directly embed farming practices into rigid religious symbols. Instead, they root these practices in tangible elements, such as crops, which are central to both practical and symbolic operations. In the context of Chasok Tangnam, this adaptability is evident in how harvested crops serve as offerings to nature and ancestral spirits, symbolizing gratitude and the cyclical harmony of life. Even as cultural and social landscapes shift, the flexible symbolism of plants and natural elements ensures that their relevance endures. Local knowledge about grains and other resources operates subtly behind these rituals, allowing traditions like Chasok Tangnam to continuously evolve while preserving their essence.
When crops like maize, millet, and rice mature, the household’s primary woman meticulously harvests the rice and millet ears. The rice is threshed, roasted, and processed into flattened rice (chura), while the millet is hand-husked, and its husks are combined with chili and water to brew Jaad Saaptok, a ritual millet beer.
A stalk of Malingo (Himalayacalamus asper) is planted in the ground, and a Muthareko Dhungro (hollowed bamboo vessel), approximately 5–6 inches long, is prepared. This vessel is filled with Saaptok and placed at the top of the Malingo. Waso Phungwet/Chindo (dried bottle gourd) or a brass pot is filled with Dawakama Wadumpakwa (pure water) for libations on the shrine. The ritual space is established by leveling the ground and laying out banana leaves to create a long ceremonial area. Altars dedicated to Yuma Sammang and Theba Sammang, the primordial ancestors, are arranged, with offerings placed on plates. A lit lamp serves as the final touch to complete the sacred setup.
The ritual honors several deities and divine spirits from the Limbu pantheon.
Misekpa: The first deity worshiped to ensure that the ritual proceeds without any obstructions or mishaps. Kuikudap or Taphemba: A hunting divine spirit that ensures no obstacles in the household life. Thungdangba: The Sun deity, worshiped to ensure favorable weather for crops. Seebera/Sikera Yakthungma: A maiden who, having helped with the first seed sowing and ensured crop growth, is worshiped for support and life-giving assistance. Kapobba Him Sammang: A deity who protects the home, often seen as a guardian ancestor. Kashihangma: A female companion deity of Yuma Sammang. Yuma Sammang: The supreme goddess of the Yakthung Limbu people, embodying the power of maternal strength, closely linked to the creation deity Tagera Ningwaphuma. Theba Sammang: The male counterpart deity of Yuma Sammang, representing paternal strength and the ancestral male deity of the Limbu people.
The centerpiece of Chasok Tangnam is the Nwagi ritual, in which newly harvested crops are offered to Tagera Ningwaphuma, the ancestors (Samjik), and nature spirits. The offerings usually include millet, rice, and seasonal produce, symbolizing the community’s gratitude for a bountiful harvest. The rituals are held at sacred sites like Mangkhims (ancestral worship places) and natural landmarks such as rivers, caves, and ridges, believed to be inhabited by the spirits of ancestors and deities. The shamans invoke the spirits using traditional chants and rituals found in the Mundhum. Sacred drums (Tangsing) and other ritual tools are used to establish a spiritual connection.
Traditional Limbu dances, like the Dhan Nach, are an integral part of Chasok Tangnam, accompanied by folk songs that recount ancestral tales and cultural teachings. The festival is also marked by communal feasts, where the harvested crops are shared among community members, reinforcing social unity and collective well-being.
From an anthropological perspective, Chasok Tangnam serves as a crucial cultural institution for the Limbu community. It embodies the anthropological concepts of reciprocity, sacred ecology, and cultural transmission. The festival reflects the principle of reciprocity, a central feature of indigenous worldviews. By offering the first harvest to deities and ancestors, the Limbu people acknowledge the interconnectedness of all beings and the cyclical nature of life. This act reinforces the community’s deep sense of stewardship for the environment.
The rituals of Chasok Tangnam emphasize sacred ecology, a key element of Limbu cosmology. Natural features such as rivers, caves, and mountains are revered as sacred spaces that house ancestral spirits. This sacred respect extends to agriculture, where practices like crop rotation, agroforestry, and the careful management of sacred lands help maintain a harmonious balance with nature. These sustainable methods ensure that the relationship between humans and the environment is regenerative and respectful.
In the modern context, Chasok Tangnam remains a deeply significant cultural and spiritual event for the Limbu community, even as it faces challenges from urbanization and globalization. Efforts to preserve the festival are ongoing, through documentation of the Mundhum, cultural education programs, and community outreach. As the Limbu diaspora grows, Chasok Tangnam has spread beyond its traditional regions, with Limbu communities in urban areas and abroad holding their own celebrations.
“Indigenous people are healthier when their lives include traditional activities and values.” – Dr. Cheryl Currie
For the Limbu people, houses are the dwelling place of ‘life spark/vital force’, guarded by the spirits, who protect all sacred objects constituting the material and spiritual continuity of the family or the clan lineage. It is a domain that in many ways functions as a distinctive entity defining, protecting, and sustaining its members, as a kin-group. It is the responsibility of the head of the house, patriarch or matriarch, to guard the contents, and in particular, their vital life spark. To this end, all Limbu houses must perform the Nahangma appeasement ritual for the vital ‘life spark’ to be restored.
This ‘life spark’ is called Mukuma/Mukkum Sam in the Limbu language. For the Khambus, it is Saya. Mukuma Sam is inherently present in all living beings. This life spark has been passed down from the ancestors through nature and affects and is affected by the surrounding environment because it is the energy that binds and animates all things in the physical world. This applies to the energies and presences of the natural world. Mukuma Sam also empowers, and with unlimited authority, passes on the strength and protective aggression, necessary to operate in the physical realm.
The vital force Saya makes itself felt, not only in the subjective physical or psychic states but also, and in particular, in the social, economic, religious, and political spheres- that is, it finds expression in success, wealth, prestige, and power (Gaenszle) 1
The ritual of Nahangma is performed to restore Mukuma Sam of the family patriarch or matriarch (Tumyahang). A scrutiny of the essence of worship, beyond the spiritual dimension, involved in the concept of Nahangma ritual, shows that it invariably constitutes the domain over which the family’s authority extends and on which its livelihood is based. Asking, through ritual, to reinvigorate the life spark is equal to endorsing the presence of a relationship between the physical world and the ancestral realm. The ritual is an enhancement of this life spark that finds its source through the benevolence of supernatural entities. Only then will humans be able to manage their dominion and govern it by laws promulgated exclusively by themselves.
Nahangma, the divine feminine, possesses several attributes. She is associated with power, beauty, strength, benevolence, and rage. ‘Hang’, or ‘Hangma’ are terms that denote personalities that wield immense authority. Generally, hangma means queen, but it can also mean ‘protector’. In the Limbu myth, the ancient components made possible the events of the first female beings to take up their dwelling in our cosmos. While Yuma, the mother spirit, and her fertility allowed the birth of the first man, Nahangma appears to have been earth and nature itself – an immensely organic, ecological, and conscious whole. She is the one with whom humans would eventually lose touch, affecting their powers to operate in the house and the physical domain.
According to the Limbu myth, Porokmi Yambami Mang, a divine deity, once went to a village called Iwa Hongwana and won the Shot-put (Paklung) competition. After his victory, as he threw the Paklung towards the North, the daughter of Sodhung Lepmuhang, a divine spirit, appeared. She came to be called Nahangma. In the realm of Sawa Yethang, the Eight Limbu Warriors, a fire destroyed various villages. Misfortune had struck, and the land was ravaged by diseases. Sodhung Lepmuhang, asked the youngest son of the Eight Kings, a prince named Seninghang, to go back to the villages and fetch sparkling water, a spear, and three power Shamans. On the way back, as he was playing with the spear, he suddenly started to tremble and went into a state of trance. Anyone who came to wield that spear would astonishingly start to tremble. Upon divination by the Shamans, they came to know that Nahangma was a warrior divinity and she was the one who had to be worshipped to avoid all calamities. She came to be called Khambutling Nahangma, and the Eights Kings started to worship her.
Armed with weapons, Nahangma resides in a snowy realm called Chotlung. Her realm is bright and high, where millions of springs converge to a single point called Sam Lamdoma. Here, there is an unending expanse of blooming flowers, each spiritually connected to a human in the material world. It is a life’s vegetable-twin, its double, its external soul, its flower soul, Phungsam (Sagant) 2. These flowers are the twin soul of humans that adorn the realm of their ancestors. As long as the flower blooms, its physical human twin will have the strength and good health. If it withers, the risk of misfortune or sickness increases. These flowers that live in the shadow of Nahangma’s kingdom must always stay blooming so that an individual’s Mukuma Sam is at its highest capacity and has a strong connection with the ancestral world.
Traditionally, the head of the house, Tumyahang, offers a sacrifice to Nahangma twice a year, once at the beginning of the ascending season (Ubhauli) and once at the beginning of the descending season (Udhauli). This ritual is performed by Limbu shamans like the Phedangma, Samba, and Yeba, with the Tumyahang beside him. The ritual starts in the afternoon and could easily take more than a few hours. An altar will be created in the fields below the house with an offering to Saba, the divine monkey spirit. The monkey spirit is impulsive and will attack the prey instinctively. Over thousands of years of irreconcilable differences between humans and their ancient brethren, the human officiant will try to appease the monkey spirit with offerings and sacrifice. Other divine entities, like the spirit of the forest (Tampungma), and the spirit of the Waters (Warokma), will be consoled by offering a rooster or an egg. The offerings will act like a symbolic fortress for protection against their arrival at the Nahangma altar (Laso) later on. When the temporary altar for the wild spirits is dismantled, the path is blocked, Lam Sakma, to the house.
When dusk sets in, the officiant will have to make offerings to Yuma. In Limbu culture’s oral narrative, Yuma, the primordial mother spirit, and Nahangma are perennial antagonists. Yuma could get jealous of Nagangma, and only the offering of sacrifices has the power to pacify her momentarily. The officiant intones the Limbu ritual speech (Mundhum). Spiritual masters and their invisible energies are invoked. The Limbus consider all neighbouring territories as power places, whose positive connotation derives from their conceptual association with the spatial categories of the hills, rivers, fields, and forests. The Mundhum is recited to honour a series of geographical locations, describing an ideal circular route of all cardinal directions. In the end, the central pillar of the house (Hangsitlang), transforms into the centre of the ritual, and the physical world.
Inside, an altar (Laso) has been created in honour of Nahangma. A bed of wild banana leaves is spread out with rice grains over it, and a brass container filled with water, millet, yeast, ginger, and salt. Among other items, there are weapons of the head of the house, which are the same as those of Nahangma- the bow and the sword/Khukuri. During the Mundhum recitation, the officiant constantly holds the sword or Khukuri. Sodhung Lepmuhang is first invoked. Then, the ten founding kings, and the eight warriors are all summoned to the altar of Nahangma.
While performing Nahangma, the Phedangma pleads to the almighty god for the energy, success, prosperity, and longevity of the benefactor and the whole family. Narrative stories are recited saying, thang tithing- tithing, thang yeppit-yeppit, thang wechcha-wechcha (Limbu phrases meaning- getting high-up, up with energy, up with prosperity) along with physical gestures and performances. (Limbu)3
The officiant takes a cosmic journey to Sam Lamdoma, the expanse of flowers to capture the lost ‘life sparks’. In this particular traditional domain, all the principles of the rite have their legitimacy. All the objects presented play their part in the conceptual structuring of the ritual, not only with the explicit purpose of transforming the entire physical dwelling into an altar but also with the intent of transposing divinations into responses from the otherworld. The officiant holds a red rooster, one that has been raised for at least a few years by the family. The red rooster is supposed to channel invisible energy and deliver a message through a fixed and precise liturgy directed to the tutelary spirits and vice versa. The rooster is placed on the left and right shoulders of the Tumyahang briefly.
A tremendous blow of a wooden stick strikes the back of the rooster. A few drops of its blood must drip upon the banana leaves, through its beak. Only then has the offering will have been accepted by Nahangma. Few of its feathers are plucked out and placed upon the altar. The officiant will wrap a white turban around the Tumyahang’s head, and while wrapping it, he places a feather upon the turban. The officiant will then hold the sword, and the Tumyahang near him will carry the bow and arrow. Tumyahang must now howl and stamp his feet on the ground to imitate the ancient warriors of his clan. This gesture is repeated a few times. The Shaman will proclaim that his ‘life spark’ has been restored. His head has been raised, and all misfortunes have been averted.
At this stage of the Nahangma ritual, besides recalling Mukuma Sam, the offerings to Nahangma are also made to honour her virtues. Although the Limbu community is founded securely on some hegemony of the male lineage, this ritual inclines towards bearing witness to the existence of a mythical matriarch. Nahangma, with traditional masculine virtues, in their widest meaning, emerges and takes over Limbu domestic hierarchy with ritualistic authority. For the Limbu people, the Nahangma ritual, besides constituting the premise for a reintegration of the life spark/vital force, transforms the house from a static residence to a repository of traditions generated by the cultural schemes, history, and practices of its inhabitants.
References:
1. Gaenszle, Martin.(2000): Origins and Migrations: Kinship, Mythology and Ethnic Identity among the Mewahand Rai of East Nepal.
2. Sagant, Philippe.(1981): La tête haute : maison, rituel et politique au Népal oriental.
3. Limbu, RK.(20125): Limbu Indigenous Culture and Knowledge
The folk music of the Limbus is central to understanding their cultural elements, including their worldview, relationships, traditions, roles, and practices. For centuries, folk music has long been a traditional method of entertainment, but in the Himalayan region, it also encompasses mythical storytelling and the performance of rituals. Traditional music genres of the Limbu people include all of these components.
Much like that of other Himalayan indigenous communities, Limbu tribal music is traditionally vocal. Limbu folk songs are accompanied by performance and ceremony, which usually take place without written prompts, but they come from various generations of practiced and perfected interactions.` This autochthonous folk music also reflects the depth of the cultural concepts that exist within the tribe. It displays kinship structures, relationships, ritualistic beliefs, creation myths, and the creative function for relationships with physical and spiritual beings. Today, the Limbu community is utilizing and recreating their traditional culture with music as a medium of entertainment, which helps preserve ancient traditions in the modern age.
Ethnic Limbu folksongs are called Samlo. There are a variety of folksong genres, but Palam Samlo always tops the Limbu repertoire. Palam is sung while doing chores, working in the fields, or during social events like weddings and festivals. But it is associated the most with Yalang (Paddy Dance). It is a commonly held notion that after harvest, the people would gather at a particular house. Here they held hands, formed a circle, and went around while stamping upon the paddy to extract rice grains. This dance would later be accompanied by songs that ultimately became Palam.
For an open-eared listener, traditional Limbu music is not difficult to enjoy. Even if you do not understand the language, repeated hearings of these songs will gradually reveal the subdued, haunting melody enfolded in their carefully tuned forms. At its core, traditional Limbu songs serve as repositories and disseminators of lifestyle, knowledge, and traditions. Limbu folksong genres such as Palam, Sarek, and Khayali, while being traditionally recreational, also depict social life, and emphasize a balance of intellectual, emotional, and spiritual processes.
Limbu people categorize the Palam genre into four forms or moods. There is one that denotes flirtation and courting in the form of riddles. The second form is about love in its purest essence. The third form represents love and proposal for marriage. The fourth one describes human life as flowers. This assists young men and women to subtly declare that their destiny is to realize emotions and love. The essence of Palam is to exchange feelings of love and affection and experience pain and pleasure through a heart-touching song, sung in harmony.
Palam Samlo, initially intended as paddy dance, has become incredibly popular over the years. Limbu traditional songs, which are centuries-old, still bring the community together for social activities or ceremonies. But in time, there have been changes in its form and tempo. Palam has now been divided into Sakpa Palam, played with a faster beat, and the Khemba Palam, on a slower beat. As Limbu society evolved, their music has diversified into various genres that bear both social and religious contexts.
Khayali is another popular genre among the Limbus. It is a duet that is a casual exchange between male and female vocalists. These songs are dialogues, witty repartees between two singers. In Khayali or Palam, the meter remains constant within the tune. Its rhythm, which uses syncopation, is usually relatively uncomplicated. There is extended use of vibrato. In many instances, the instruments are dominated by vocals. This occurs because the lyrics and emotions become larger than the music itself. The form is generally strophic where each stanza is sung over the same music. Strophic forms in music exist because they are iterative. These are songs that consist of short sections of music that have been repeated countless times throughout history.
Many other types of Limbu folksongs exhibit their daily activities. These are songs that have been transferred from one generation to another. There are wedding and farming songs that help deconstruct the parameters that define their society. All genres of Limbu folk music present a different understanding of their lifestyle. Where there are general folksongs, we can also find numerous ritual song genres among the Limbu people. These are a part of Limbu Mundhum (oral narrative) and always accompany life-cycle rituals. Limbus has always ascribed spiritual importance to these rituals through their songs.
According to various sources, apart from Palam and Khayali Limbus classify their song (samlo) genres into the following:
Hakpare – Spiritual song sung only by women. Namdatte Kehsam – Wedding Song Domke Akma – Sung while working Thakptham – Sung while moving into a new house Nisammang Sewa – Devotional song accompanied by performance Mingwan – Ritual song while naming a new-born Tamkye – Sung while cultivating the fields Agnekwa Sammet – Lullaby
Limbu folksongs demonstrate that music plays a fundamental role in influencing, defining, and maintaining tribal cultures. Renowned Limbu folk singers continue to emerge with artistic collaborations to create space for identity building through indigenous music. So while other forms of culture may be challenging to preserve, Limbu folksongs are still popular and perhaps will be able to maintain and balance their cultural constructs through traditional music.
Never knew about significant of “kokro” ( traditional bamboo cradle) until i was asked to bring one by Yeba (limboo priest)on the occasion of my youngest son’s Yangdang Phongma (naming a child or nowran). The “Kokro” is derived from Nepali word, traditional baby cot or cradle made out of bamboo.
Today kokro(bamboo cradle) making or weaving is a declining skill. It was the craft of the elderly and was honed and perfected over generations. It is a craft that needs instruction, expertise and a great deal of practice. A craft that could disappear within a few years because all that sustained it and brought it to the level that it has reached is now gone. As a hand skill, it is irreplaceable, and with changes in lifestyle, the need to adapt and preserve this skill becomes of utmost relevance.
It is very interesting to know that kokro making has traditional rules and regulation. Thumb rule is that the kokro making or weaving has to be completed on a single day once started. A person who is making kokro has to clean up himself in the morning and offer ‘mundum’ (oral tradition recitation of Limboo tribes) before weaving begins. It had not fix rate. Traditionally, Person is offered with chang (millet wine), mana of rice and money once complete kokro is handed over to the parent of a baby.
Yangdang Phongma (Naming a Child):
After three days for the female baby and four days for male baby, a ritual of Yangdang Phongma is performed. Its literal meaning is ‘hung a cradle’ and it is a ritual of purification of the mother, the baby, the house and the close relatives and giving name to the baby and showing the baby the light of the day. Usually Phedangma officiates the birth ceremonies.
The cradle is prepared and hung at the proper place by then. First of all, a puppy is kept there and the cradle is made to swing. It is believed that the dog saves the baby from evil spirits and other Sammang Chyang (inferior divinities having harmful character). A shell of the Neghokkirimba (a snail) is hung on the ropes of the cradle with the belief that the soul of the baby will hide in the shell while sleeping in the cradle so that the evil spirits will not see his or her soul. Some People even place or insert some medicinal herbs also in the cradle. Finally the baby is kept in the cradle and the cradle is made to swing slowly.
Phedangmas believe that the God of Destiny writes the luck (fate) of the baby at the night of Yandangphongma, but in the introductory recitation of Mundhums, Phedangmas, Sambas, or Yebas and Yemas mention that they are, accomplishing their job which was predestined by Nawalungmang Chosaplumang (God of destiny or luck) while they were in the inner world, unseen world in the womb of mother. It is a common practice among all Mundhum reciters to speak something about their vocation. These show that the future of the baby is determined when he or she is in the mother’s womb.
