The Legend of Chawngchilhi
Chawngchilhi was a very unusual woman. She fell in love with a Great Serpent, and as time passed, she even became pregnant with the serpent's offspring. When her father discovered this, he killed Chawngchilhi and proceeded to slaughter the many snakes inside her womb. However, he missed one, which grew bold and formidable. No longer satisfied with preying on livestock, this surviving serpent grew large enough to begin swallowing children.
The Full Story
Long ago, there lived Chawngchilhi and her younger sister. Their mother had passed away, but their father loved them dearly. A bird began eating the first of their ripening grain in the fields, so the two sisters went to guard the crops. Every day, their father packed rice and meat for their midday meal. Despite this, the younger sister grew thinner and thinner, which worried the father. One day, while the elder sister was away, the father questioned the younger one: "My child, I pack rice and meat for you every morning; why are you wasting away?" She replied, "Father, I dare not say, for if I do, my sister will beat me." After much persistence from her father, she finally confessed: "My sister is in love with a Great Serpent. At lunchtime, she makes me call the serpent, and the two of them eat together. I am terrified, so I hide away and never get to eat the midday meal." The father was furious. He asked how Chawngchilhi summoned the snake, and she revealed the chant:
Chawngchilhi’s brother, leap, oh leap,
My sister bids you leap,
Into the valley, she bids you leap.
The Serpent would then reply:
I shall leap, I shall leap,
While I wind my turban cloth,
While I tie my hair in a knot.
Shortly after, the serpent would emerge from the woods and slither loudly toward the field hut to share the rice and meat with Chawngchilhi. The father decided to kill the serpent. He sharpened his machete (chempui) until it was razor-sharp but told Chawngchilhi nothing. He said to her, "Chawngchilhi, you stay and mind the house today; I will go to the fields with your sister." Chawngchilhi protested, "Father, let me go with my sister. You are old and will get tired." However, the father insisted, and she could not disobey him. When lunchtime arrived at the fields, the father told the younger sister to call the snake as usual. She stood at the edge of the ravine and chanted the call. The serpent slithered out excitedly, thinking it was going to share a meal with Chawngchilhi. The father, hiding in the hut and pretending to be Chawngchilhi, gripped his machete. As the snake entered, the father struck, hacking it into several pieces. He buried the meat under the hut and the private parts in the hearth, then returned home that evening without saying a word. The next day, the sisters went to the fields together. At lunchtime, Chawngchilhi told her sister to call the snake. The younger sister went silently and called, but there was no answer. Heartbroken, Chawngchilhi began to wail:
Whose sharp blade have you encountered?
Was it a blade from the South?
Was it a blade from the North?
The spirit of the serpent answered her:
I met no blade from the South,
I met no blade from the North,
It was your father's sharp blade I met.
Chawngchilhi was devastated. She searched frantically around the hut for any remains and found where her father had buried the meat. Remembering her father had mentioned burying "brinjals" (eggplants) in the hearth for her lunch, she dug into the ashes and found the serpent's private parts. In her grief, she tucked the remains into her waistcloth and returned home. As they reached the house, her father was lying across the doorway with his machete. Chawngchilhi asked, "Father, please move, or I might drop filth on you." He replied, "I do not fear the filth of my children," and refused to move. As Chawngchilhi stepped over him, the serpent's remains fell from her clothes onto her father's chest. In a fit of rage, the father struck her with his machete, killing her instantly. As she died, a multitude of baby snakes spilled out of her womb. The father killed them one by one, but one managed to escape under the floorboards and disappeared into a hole.
The Great Serpent and the Old Woman
That surviving snake grew large and began stealing chickens. The villagers tried to kill it but failed. Eventually, it grew so massive that it began swallowing children who stayed out late. An old woman knew where the serpent's lair was. She refused to tell the villagers unless they promised her a portion of the meat. Once they agreed, she led them to the hole. They set a trap and caught it by the neck. The whole village pulled, but even as they hauled its massive body out, the snake cried: "Pull all you want, but my tail is still touching the far side of the valley!" Exhausted, they cut the snake into pieces and shared the meat. However, they only gave the old woman the head. She boiled it all night for her breakfast. That night, many guests were staying in the village. When the old woman poked the head with a skewer to see if it was cooked, the head spoke: "Be careful, or you'll poke my eye!" Realizing it could not be killed or eaten, she threw it away. That night, all the roosters in the village crowed, "The guests must leave! The guests must leave!" The old woman sent her guest away just before a massive landslide buried the entire village—destroying every house where the serpent's meat had been eaten, leaving only the old woman’s house standing.
Chhura and the Gourd
From the discarded snake's head, a giant gourd vine grew. It produced a single, massive gourd the size of the old woman’s house. A man named Chhura asked the people, "How many seeds do you think are inside that gourd?" No one knew. When they asked him, Chhura predicted, "It has only one seed." When they split the giant gourd open, they found he was right—there was only a single seed inside. This led to the famous Mizo saying, "Chhura knowing the seed of the giant gourd."
Moral Note: The story of Chawngchilhi’s father is often cited as a metaphor for a parent’s duty to discipline their children and protect the community from the consequences of their wrongdoings, even when it requires extreme courage and sacrifice.
