Lapbah anthology: A panoramic look at north-east writing

The last few decades have seen creative writing from the north-eastern region establish a substantial presence in the literary and publishing world of the country—gradually at first, but acquiring momentum in recent years. Several volumes of literary work from the region have been brought out by reputed publishing houses. These include single-authored anthologies of short fiction and sometimes poetry by well-known writers from the north-eastern States such as Indira Goswami, Temsula Ao, Mamang Dai, Kynpham Sing Nongkynrih, Anjum Hasan, Janice Pariat, and others. If Oxford University Press, Harper Collins and Penguin have published edited anthologies of writings from the north-eastern region, Zubaan has a series with volumes dedicated to each of the eight States that constitutes it.

The north-eastern region today seems poised to dominate the literary world of India. Not only are English translations of works written in regional tongues becoming available now, but a large number of writers who use English for their creative expression, are also becoming more visible. It is also rather unique that writing has blossomed in all the eight States, with the creative energy of one probably animating the other. Writers from this region are keenly cued in to their own older literary traditions, written or oral as they may be, and alert to the sweeping changes brought about by the political, economic and cultural developments of late modernity. The resultant work reflects the unique sensibilities of the region—a testimony to its cultural diversity and geopolitical singularity.

Lapbah: Stories from the North-East is in two volumes, comprising 57 stories by 52 writers from the States of Arunachal Pradesh, Assam, Manipur, Meghalaya, Mizoram, Nagaland, Sikkim, and Tripura. The editors, Kynpham Sing Nongkynrih and Rimi Nath, have clearly aimed to make this two-volume anthology as inclusive as possible when it comes to representing all the eight States. The two short notes that precede the collection are common to both volumes, perhaps to help readers who access the volumes individually.

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In “The Lapbah Sohra Story: An Elucidation“, Nongkynrih sings a paean to the “wild rain of Sohra, which has baptised me over and over in its holy waters“. His intuitive association of dark monsoon nights with his mother’s storytelling is the spark that led to the title, lapbah being one of the many words for rain in the Khasi language. The jointly authored Introduction by the editors is a rather breezy piece; a patchwork of excerpts from Nongkynrih’s already published work. A more in-depth and comprehensive essay would have been invaluable in positioning the short story from the north-eastern region within a broader understanding of the development of this literary form in colonial and post-Independence India, coinciding with the advent and shaping of modernity in the cultural and political milieu.

While there appears to be no specific filter dictating the organisation of the stories in the two volumes, it may be useful to discuss a few themes on the basis of the States identified with the authors. Not surprisingly, given its long, active and fully formed literary tradition, Assam contributes a lot of stories, both in English and in English translation, by established writers as well as by the more recent ones.

Captured with vividness

A short review may not afford the space to discuss all of them. However, amongst the stories from Assam, Dhruba Hazarika’s “Elephant Country” stood out for me. The visual impact of Hazarika’s evocation of the forested terrain at night, the description of the trumpeting herd of elephants refusing to budge, and the surprising discovery by the steely woman forest officer are unforgettable, especially in our current epoch marked by an unprecedented environmental crisis. In an impressive translation by Gayatri Bhattacharyya, Sarat Chandra Goswami’s “Thirst” is a poignant interrogation of the dogma underscoring scientific practices through the depiction of a sick child begging for a sip of water. Indira Goswami’s “Purification” positions sexuality in the intermesh of caste and gender in rural Assam; it is a story narrated with immense acuity and sensory vividness.

Kallol Choudhury’s “Haflong Hills” presents a wistful encounter between local insurgents and a government officer’s wife while “Hudumdao” by Imran Hussain, ably translated by Mitali Goswami, depicts agrarian relations with the understated poignance of a folk tale. Arup Kumar Dutta’s story “A Bunch of Litchis”, featuring the short-lived friendship between a rich, though ailing, little girl and a farmhand’s son, captures the innocence of childhood with his trademark inwardness.

Shillong, the capital of Meghalaya, has long served as a literary hub for writers from the hill-States. Besides established writers, new voices, who etch their narratives with freshness and impact, are published almost every other day. The two volumes generously accommodate the work of newer writers. Nongkynrih’s inspired translation of S.J. Duncan’s Khasi story, “Civility is all that Counts”, is a hilarious account of the sale of a jeep, where a naïve Khasi man is duped by a succession of potential non-Khasi buyers. The staccato rhythm of the narration seems to reproduce in writing the punch and brevity of a comic book, even as the story itself indicates a community under siege.

In the Kafkaesque story, “The Encounters of Mr. Ta En”, also translated by Nongkynrih from Khasi, the author Wan Kharkrang displays a similar humour, though underpinned by a darker hue. The story satirises the bureaucratic machinery which makes its ever-hopeful protagonist run around in circles for a loan that will never materialise. Short fiction from Meghalaya is also represented by some excellent work by established writers. The story by Janice Pariat (“Echo Words”) and Anjum Hasan”s “For Love or Water” place their lead characters in a world antithetical to love.

Perhaps as a mark of respect for her literary reputation, Temsula Ao’s much anthologised “Laburnum for my Head” figures as the opening story in the first volume. Also from Nagaland, and continuing the theme of women negotiating patriarchy is Easterine Kire’s “A Man of a Woman” and Monalisa Changkija’s “Knowing”, a stark depiction of drug addiction and its impact on a family run by a patriarch.

As a contrast, Mizoram writer Cherrie L. Chhangte’s “A Morning Diversion” offers an unexpected reprieve with its portrait of a over- worked village woman—whose husband’s meagre salary is barely enough to bring up six children—striding in leather boots and a camera slung across her shoulders, taking pictures of the village folk. Rothangi’s care for her family sits oddly but delightfully with love for her leather boots and the camera, both prized possessions in an older, bygone world.

Malsawmi Jacob in her story “Memory Box” works through surreal elements to depict loss and grief. Translated from Manipuri by Robin S. Ngangom, Keisham Priyokumar’s “Once Upon a Night” is a haunting reminder of the violence that has rent apart ethnic communities in that State. Yumblebam Ibomcha’s “Partial End”, also translated by Ngangom, is another story that addresses the rampant problem of drug-use in the hill-States. Translated by Tayenjam Bijoykumar Singh, Nee Devi’s “Dead Child”, situated in one of the famous women-run bazaars of Manipur, is a heartrending tale of a mentally disabled woman.

Cosy stories

Mamang Dai must be one of the most loved writers from the north-eastern region. Her fine pen has brought alive the vitality of cultural heritage in the oral narratives of Arunachal Pradesh. “Waiting for Rain” and “Rain Field of the Gods” present with delicate perspicuity and dystopic bewilderment the environmental hara-kiri that has plunged the world into an unprecedented crisis. Yeshe Dorjee Thongchi’s “The Smell of Bamboo Blossoms” translated by Aruni Kashyap, similarly draws attention to the ongoing destruction of ecology.

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Sikkim is represented by two writers. Both Ashim Basnet’s “The Momos” and Parshu Dahal’s “The Lame Squirrel” work through pathos delineating challenges to survival. From Tripura, Debaprata Deb’s “Chongpreng”, translated from Bengali by Radha Chakravarty, presents the grim reality of violence, riots and the combined threat of militants, security personnel and government officials that the poor are forced to negotiate every day. Haripada Debbarma’s “The Magic Queen” translated from Kokborak by Saroj Choudhury, on the other hand, is a surreal exploration of love and magic.

The editors must have had their task cut out, sourcing, sifting and selecting such a hefty corpus of stories addressing a range of themes. While the inclusivity commands respect, a more coherent editorial intervention would have lent the two volumes a badly needed framework of organisation and intellectual reference. An in-depth discussion of the short story in the north-eastern region would have added substance. Nonetheless, the two volumes of Lapbah offer the undeniable pleasure of cosy story-reading, even if the reader may not have the luxury of listening to Sohra rain pattering outside.

Rohini Mokashi-Punekar teaches literature at the Indian Institute of Technology, Guwahati. Her latest book is The Third Eye and Other Works: Mahatma Phule’s Writings on Education (2023).