The Chin People: A Selective History and Anthropology of the Chin People

By Chester U. Strait

Moving upstream on the Irrawaddy broad tide, the ocean liner approaches the city of Rangoon, and the gold-leafed pinnacle of the celebrated Shwe Dagon pagoda welcomes it as it rises magnificently in the morning sunlight. The traveler is intrigued with the claim that this ancient shrine has been standing for three thousand years. This injects an anachronism, since Buddhism was founded not more than twenty-five centuries ago and something less than that for its lodgment in Burma. But no one seems to be embarrassed nor stultified by what, for them, is merely a slight chronological inaccuracy, which derives from the time-clocked occidental measurements, for theirs is that timeless eternity of the East.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493163090

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THE CHIN PEOPLE

A Selective History and

Anthropology of the Chin People

Chester U. Strait ThD

Copyright © 2014 by Paul S. Strait

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

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without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 04/07/2014

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1 The Chin Hills And The Inhabitants

Chapter 2 Social Structure

Chapter 3 Domestic Life

Chapter 4 Habits And Customs

Chapter 5 The Religion Of The Chins - The Pantheon

Chapter 6 The Religion Of The Chins - Practice

Chapter 7 The Religion Of The Chins - Tribute

Chapter 8 The Religion Of The Chins-Death and the Afterlife

Chapter 9 The Haka Mission

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Editorial Committee

Roger Strait

Betty Strait

Elizabeth Righter

Peggy Strait

Paul Strait

Jonathan Strait

Jonathan Steen

CHAPTER 1

THE CHIN HILLS

AND THE INHABITANTS

Journey into the Hills

Moving upstream on the Irrawaddy broad tide, the ocean liner approaches the city of Rangoon, and the gold-leafed pinnacle of the celebrated Shwe Dagon pagoda welcomes it as it rises magnificently in the morning sunlight. The traveler is intrigued with the claim that this ancient shrine has been standing for three thousand years. This injects an anachronism, since Buddhism was founded not more than twenty-five centuries ago and something less than that for its lodgment in Burma. But no one seems to be embarrassed nor stultified by what, for them, is merely a slight chronological inaccuracy, which derives from the time-clocked occidental measurements, for theirs is that timeless eternity of the East.

Rangoon

This arresting scene soon fades with the usual bustle of leaving the ship—baggage inspections, visas, customs, along with the sights, sounds, and smells of another existence. These, being so strange and foreign, quickly dissipate all romantic lore. One suddenly finds oneself thrust into the glamour and confusion of a unique East Asian metropolis. It appears modern in many respects, yet the tempo and methods are of a yesteryear complete with the surroundings of mass poverty.

Although Rangoon is some fifteen degrees north of Singapore, the former is much hotter than the latter and receives both east and west ocean breezes. Rangoon, which is frequently referred to as being on the Bay of Bengal, actually lies fifty miles inland on the Rangoon River. It is one of the several branches of the delta of the giant Irrawaddy River. Being approximately a thousand miles north of Singapore robs Rangoon of being a main port of call, since the larger vessels leaving Singapore make Colombo, Sri Lanka, their next stop.

Rangoon is the capital of Burma, but with its heavy Indian population it creates the feeling of being as much Indian as Burmese. The Indians, along with the many Chinese, have given Rangoon its thriving commerce. For an Eastern city it may be classed as tolerably clean. It is reasonably well planned with efficient electric trolley and bus lines. One witnesses a number of large Western-type buildings in the central area of the city, which has water and sewage facilities. The whole of the city is equipped with electricity. In more recent years, automobiles, trucks, and motor buses have assumed the main burden of commercial transportation. These are, however, supplemented by huge-two wheeled, coolie-drawn hand trucks, jinrikishas, and bicycles. This whole assemblage—along with passenger buses, horse-drawn vehicles, and tramcars—transforms the business section of this vibrant metropolis into an astonishing bedlam of excitement and moving chaos.

At evening, leaving Burma’s cosmopolitan city for the journey north to the Chin country, one boards a train that operates on schedule and provides reasonably good accommodations. Eight o’clock dinner is served at one of the stations along the line, after which, if one has provided himself with bedding and has made sure to lock the doors and windows of his compartment against dacoits, one will be carried more than three hundred miles north through Burma’s alluvial paddy country to a major railway station. There, one may have a snack similar to the French petit dejeuner (which consists simply of toast and tea), which nevertheless must suffice until a regular meal is served.

One eventually arrives at Mandalay, truly a Burman city, with far fewer Indians than Rangoon and with little of the latter’s suavity and modernity. This huge rural village is the hot dusty city of Burma’s dry zone. It is also one of the centers of the whole of southern or Hinayana Buddhism, as well as the center of Buddhism for all Burma. The number of priests and pagodas within the city and its environs evidences this. To a stranger, the many yellow-robed priests encountered, especially during the early part of the day, leads him to believe that surely every fourth or fifth person is a Buddhist monk.

Before boarding the train for the next stage of the journey, one is breakfasted at Mandalay railway station at noon. The three—or four-course meal more than supplies the lack of the morning’s meager fare. Since the Monywa run is only a branch line, no tea will be served along the way. It is well, therefore, to provide a little refreshment by way of food and drink, especially drinking water.

A few miles after leaving the Mandalay railway station, one is somewhat unceremoniously dumped on the bank of the Irrawaddy and ferried across the river. On the other side, after fussing with coolies to transport one’s luggage up the hot and steep sandy bank to the railway station, and after waiting an hour or so, one boards another train. Progress later made things different. A few years before the Second World War, a modern steel railway bridge was built to span the river, whereupon, departing Mandalay about one o’clock in the afternoon, the train crosses the river and enters upon its branch run.

This part of the ride ends the rail journey that is made with less than comfort, as it always proves to be a hot, tedious, and dusty afternoon’s trip through the dry belt of Burma. There is little of interest after crossing the bridge. The frequent stops at the many small rural villages, and each with the same old-style English lampposts, the same Burmese writing giving the name of the village, and the same tiny green wooden building serving as the railway station, only add to the tedium of the journey.

Monywa

About six o’clock in the evening the train arrives at a small, thriving native city called Monywa. After the usual bartering and bickering, bullock carts are arranged for the transportation of one’s baggage to the riverboat. The traveler may be spared this sort of conveyance by engaging a single-horse-drawn vehicle, which type one saw first in Rangoon, resembling somewhat the rural free delivery mail wagons used in rural America before the advent of automobiles. This neat little rig is called a gharry, which adds another name to man’s long list of transport contrivances. In a few minutes one arrives at the bank of the Chindwin River to find a broad-bottomed, stern-wheel river steamer moored, awaiting its passengers.

River Journey

This steamer, with two sister ships, adequately serves the countryside with triweekly transportation. It is a double-decked boat with four small two-bed cabins for the first class and two cabins on each sidewall toward the prow of the top deck. The space between the cabins on each side is the first-class passengers’ deck and dining salon, which, excluding the space for the cabins, takes in the whole upper-deck floor space of the prow. This area is roofed over with the entire front open, affording an excellent vantage point for the superb scenery that the trip offers. The second—and third-class spaces are in the hold of the ship, allowing only a limited view of the riverbank on each side.

The Irrawaddy Flotilla, a Scotch company that operates these boats, makes the boast of providing the largest inland water navigation service in the world. It has served Burma in this way for many years and enjoys an absolute monopoly of river transportation in the province. Although an important navigation system of Upper Burma, the Irrawaddy steamers are manned by Indians, not Burmans. The cuisine is satisfactory, and one is assured of a refreshing night’s sleep, but as on the railroad trains and other public conveyances of the East, one must carry one’s own bedding.

The Chindwin River is off the beaten track of most travelers and tourists, yet it is the largest tributary of Burma’s important Irrawaddy. It is a wide lazy river most of the year yet will rise thirty feet or more during the rains, but unlike the Chin Hills mountain streams, it does not become torrential. Its broad, flat flow winds in and out through a narrow fertile valley. It taps the rich oil fields of Homalin, which are five days up the river from Monywa. It is the traffic and market outlet for the abundant rice harvests of the valley it drains.

One enjoys this three-day journey as the little barge leisurely makes its progress up the river. Color and tranquility characterize the pastoral scenes with nothing to break the serenity except the screech of parrots and the shriek of some animal—or the vulgar shrill of the steamer whistle, reminding one of the mechanized world.

As one peers upstream, one’s attention may be riveted by the endeavor to analyze an arresting object coming into view. It is like a bit of bamboo and thatch fairyland with its dollhouses drifting no whither, as its motionless progress makes not a ripple on the surface. Approaching nearer it assumes the shape of a large raft supporting a miniature village. From January to May, each day, one will pass a dozen or more of these paddy (unthreshed rice) rafts gliding down with the current. They are some forty feet wide and more than half again as long, being constructed of huge, long bamboo poles six or eight layers deep, laced together. On each float there are four or five neat little grass huts that are filled with paddy, except a portion of one, which serves as a shelter from the heat for raftsmen and where they store their bedding, cooking utensils, and other equipment.

When the raft reaches its destined market, the men will dispose of their rice cargo and will also sell at a pleasing profit the tiny grass huts and the bamboo poles of their miniature riverain village. It is easily imagined on this languid journey up the river that the men on a paddy raft floating down the placid Chindwin are realizing the ideal carefree life.

In contrast to this fantastic fairy dreamland, great teak rafts of huge logs creak and groan, lashed together, and, as the catamarans, float along with the same slow current to find their way eventually to the Rangoon sawmills. Some twenty or thirty miles below Monywa, the Chindwin connects with the historic Irrawaddy River. The Rangoon River is one of its many delta outlets to Rangoon and the sea.

So different from the train stops made on the Mandalay-Monywa run, each time the steamer blasts its signal to some shady Burman village situated on the bend, interest is aroused and one is immediately fascinated with the sights. As the boat moves toward the bank, a mass of colored loungysis¹, with red predominating, descends the riverbank. Most of the men and many of the women will each have on but this one garment. The latter has them securely fastened under their arms just above the breasts while the men wear theirs tied around the waist, leaving the torso bare. The hot climate has taught the people the coolest way to dress, which the Westerner, although remaining in their land for years, obdurately refuses to adopt.

If the stop has been made to unload rice, the coolies enter into a chant as each big bag is swung into position on the back of the shoulders of each man, making up this human portage chain. If it is kerosene oil to be loaded or unloaded, a hundred or more five-gallon tins will be quickly handled in much the same way as the rice, except it will be women who will do the carrying. Each tin will be transported, cleverly balanced on the head of a Burman woman. Should the boat be refueling, the same Burmese women will again form this human conveyor belt, each with her huge log of firewood carried on her head.

Then there is the hustle and bustle of the local folk who crowd the gangplank or wade out into the stream with stalks of bananas, trays of cheroots or betel nuts, fresh catches of fish, vegetables, coconuts, live ducks dangling from their firm hand grasps around the neck, and chickens squawking amid a pandemonium of people shouting and laughing, each shoving and pushing, each doing his best to dispose of his wares during the few fleeting minutes the boat is docked. On the lower deck, where bazaar men have rented space, goods are hastily measured and handed to anxious customers, trinkets are sold, and the stock of umbrellas reduced, allowing a marvelous amount of merchandise to change hands in a remarkably short encounter—amidst a bustle of confusion, which subsides only as the boat whistles and slowly moves out into the stream. The last purchases are held high above the heads as the new owners wade ashore, while the very last purchase of a pair of canvas shoes or a red piece of cloth is tossed to the bank by the shopkeeper. As the boat moves out, this colorful scene slowly fades as the decrescendo of sound merges into silence.

The Chindwin is famed as being a most treacherous river because of its constantly shifting bed. Hence, the boat oscillates from side to side to keep within the indicated channel. Two natives sitting at the prow of the lower deck continually take soundings, shouting them in an isochronal singsong cadence to the Indian captain on the bridge, who is called a sa-rang. This adds sound, if not color, to the setting. To pass over the shoals, the boats are built to draw the least possible water, and their flat bottoms no doubt impede their progress; but there is sufficient speed to create a cool breeze, enabling one to enjoy the well-served appetizing breakfasts, afternoon teas, and later dinners in the dining deck salon for the first-class passengers.

Added to the delight of these days of leisure, the narrow valley through which the Chindwin flows is flanked on either side with ranges of low hills. On moving out from Monywa, these form a faraway background that creeps toward the riverbanks as the boat pushes slowly upward, increasing in size in their stealthy approach. Now and again they come close enough to display massive and picturesque canyons with overhanging rocks covered with trees, shrubs, and huge ferns. Usually on the most salient promontory of one of these precipitous eminences, miles before the defile is entered, one espies a whitewashed and gold-leafed-pinnacled pagoda that betokens the marvels of natural formations as much as being a beacon of religion.

Kalewa

By the third day the valley has been left behind and the hills form the immediate foreground as the steamer moves along between green slopes, sometimes gentle and again forming sheer cliffs. Continuing this tortuous water route on the afternoon of the third day, one comes to the end of this delectable outing (if he is fortunate in not having been grounded on a sandbar); about four or five o’clock he debarks at a village named Kalewa.

This hamlet is located at the confluence of the Chindwin and Manipur (or Mitha) rivers, the latter being the largest affluent the Chindwin receives, which also serves as the last water course to the gateway of the Chin Hills. For this reason Kalewa is the point of transshipment, a lively spot crowded with Indian bazaars. Indians, Burmans, and Chinese, along with their consanguineous progeny, fill the few narrow streets and shops. Here too, one is always met by one’s host or guide. The night is spent in the government caravansary, and from this village onward and upward in the journey, one must make arrangements for provisions, messing, and transportation. Having secured two or three native boats, which is usually done through one of the Indian bazaar men, and after the stipulated amount of bargaining, on the morrow the journey up the Manipur begins.

Journey in Dugouts

The boats used on this river are called punts or dugouts that are made from giant teak trees. They resemble somewhat the old-style rowboat but are longer, broader, and ever so much heavier. On each side are lashed several bamboo poles that prevent the boat from tipping. At the rear the last four or five feet of the boat are not hollowed out but hewn flat and allowed to curve upward, Burmese fashion. Here the Burman steersman sits on a high stool and clutches the long handle of the large rudder as he guides the craft.

Immediately in front of the pilot’s perch is the passenger section. Passengers occupy about five to seven feet of space, sitting on the bottom of the boat under a semicylindrical bamboo mat canopy for warding off the heat. This shields one from the sun well enough, but it also cuts off all breeze and nearly all view, whereupon the journey soon becomes monotonous and wearisome and one longs to stretch one’s legs and once again to stand erect.

The front three quarters of the boat have a heavy bamboo latticed floor, which is raised almost level to the top edge of the boat. Since the barge is punted up the stream, the two men doing the labor require this space to shuttle back and forth, as they push it forward as laboriously as the ships that were propelled by galley slaves and as slowly as the movement of a sailing vessel on a windless day. Underneath this floor is the hold of the ship.

Each of these boatmen has a long heavy bamboo pole some three inches in diameter ending in a six—or eight-inch iron pike. Being clothed with only the usual Burmese loungyi fastened about his waist, one of them stands at the very front tip of the boat facing the stern, jabs his pike into a rock, tree trunk, or even the soft mud of the riverbank or bed as a fulcrum. He then places the end of the pole against his bare shoulder and fairly doubles over, grabbing the top edge of the boat to help pull himself along and, thus, agonizingly moves toward the stern over the latticed floor a step at a time, thereby slowly, as he pushes from his shoulders, propelling the boat forward. The strain of his weight and effort holds the pole in place at the shoulder, which leaves his hands free to clutch the top edge of the boat and help pull himself along, which steadies his body as well as increases his effort. His companion in the meantime accompanies him, falling in behind, and stands to the rear near the front of the canopied section; as his mate puts his shoulder to the task, he moves toward the prow with his pike, passing his partner midway on the way to take his turn. The muscles and ligaments on the front portion of the shoulders of these men develop into huge permanent bulges of flesh that act as natural pads against which the end of the shaft is placed in this arduous toil.

About noon the first day one lunches at a bamboo shelter named the Rapids, while the dugout, after all luggage has been removed, is slowly pulled through a chain of rapids by Burman coolies. Bullock carts transfer the baggage the short distance through fine deep sand to the upper end of the rapids, and after lunch the journey is continued. About five in the afternoon the boat puts up for the night, and hard by on the high bank is a traveler’s bungalow. Starting afresh early the next morning, the tedium is resumed, but by midafternoon the craft halts at another landing. The boatmen are then paid, and new coolie women disgorge the luggage from under the lattice floor, and bullock carts are once more engaged. In this instance, however, both baggage and passengers are piled into the carts for transportation for the remaining few miles into Kalemyo village. Passengers and baggage are bounced about to the screeching and creaking of the two large greaseless wheels of the springless vehicle. It is not sheer indolence that keeps the Burmese from oiling their cart wheels, for at night the creaking and screeching frightens away both tigers and evil spirits.

Kalemyo

Like most larger Burman hamlets, Kalemyo village is filled with Indian bazaars. It’s one long street, except during the monsoon months it is dusty and dry. The coconut trees and other palms, which are rather liberally distributed on either side, do not afford much shade. The road is cluttered with screeching bullock carts weaving back and forth, mixed with a number of men on ponies. The remaining open spaces are filled with straying cattle wandering aimlessly about, accompanied by the ever-present lean, yellow barking dogs. This medley is interspersed with groups of Indian men in their white dhotis, Burmans in their bright and attractive loungyis, ² and both Indian and Burman women stopping to discuss, stalled to visit, or merely nodding the time of day.

In somber groups of primitives, scantily clad with baskets fastened on their backs, move in and out. The Chins have come down from the mountains to trade. At last we are introduced to the group we aim to study, as this is the gateway into the Chin Hills. To the west of Kalemyo village, seemingly only a short distance, the Chin Hills abruptly rise as a great mountain wall stretching the length of the valley thousands of feet above the low flat land of Kalemyo.

At Kalemyo, for the last time, the mode of transportation is again changed to that of mountain ponies. The caravan usually consists of ponies for the transportation of stores, kit, and personnel, along with coolies and servants who travel on foot. This is unlike the Burma-Chinese frontier, where mules are plentiful and cheap. The Burma west frontier hill tract—that is, the Chin Hills—must be satisfied with hill ponies except for the government caravans, which have mules shipped in from China at a costly price. As a rule only a small amount of stores accompany the traveler’s caravan; the bulk of the commodities have preceded the caravan by some days on bullocks, which generally arrive sometime later, each beast carrying a sixty—or seventy-pound load on each side of its packsaddle. The bullocks wind like tortoises on their toilsome way to their far hill destination.

Mountain Journey

The traveler, however, pursues a more expeditious method. Upon vaulting his pony he makes ten or fifteen miles a day while, if pressed for time, may occasionally do a double stage of some twenty miles or more. The helpers in the caravan, traveling on foot, after arriving at the government bungalow for the night, although having walked all the way nevertheless, seem fresh after a pot of tea. Within an hour, before a roaring fire, they will serve in a scrupulously clean bungalow a savory meal that is relished in the keen crisp mountain air.

By the end of the second day, one is still able to look down from a height of eight thousand feet into the sweltering almost-sea-level flat of Kalemyo Valley. The next morning one sees, instead of the valley far below, a mantle of snowy flocculent clouds tinged rubescent by the morning sun. No one surely could ever write a final word on clouds until he has³ witnessed, from Fort White, the ineffable grandeur of a morning sunrise over Kalemyo’s billowy vale. It would require the likes of a Shelley to adequately describe the delicate color and expanse of beauty, which causes to well up within one’s soul an unforgettable image and a clear memory of the actual experience.

Having looked for the last time on this enchanting scene, the journey continues in an up and down mountainous and circuitous course, veering west by south. If all goes well, after six days the caravan will have penetrated far into the hills and arrived in Haka. Trekking through this labyrinth of hills, one has traversed a ponderous mountain region that has metamorphosed into a medieval setting devoid of tumult vehicles and schedule. One finds oneself not only transmigrated but seemingly to have undergone a quasi-mental transformation in the course of the long journey. Two rugged ranges have been crossed. High on the third range lay Haka station, with the rounded mammoth dome of Haka Mountain standing guard, bosomed in its folds.

Haka Station

On the map, Haka station lies something less than two hundred miles west of Mandalay and a degree north. It is situated at the upper end of the native village of Haka, which has over three hundred Chin houses and is one of the three largest villages in the Chin Hills. The station has an Indian bazaar of about fifteen small shops, a government hospital for natives, a postal telegraph office supervised by an Indian, and a sizeable contingent of Indian Sepoys⁴ under an Indian noncommissioned officer. There are also the village fourth-standard vernacular school, the government bungalow, the residence of the political officer, a couple of small office buildings, and the American Baptist Mission buildings. Haka is the only station in the Chin Hills that is located in the immediate proximity of a native village. It is distinct also in not having, once in five or seven days, a market bazaar, which arrangement one usually finds in most of the government stations in Burma, on which days the natives bring in their produce for sale.

General Location

The towering Himalayas stretch across the breadth of middle Asia with spurs projecting into the plains to the south. Two of these spurs flank the east and west sides of the rich rice fields of Burma. The eastern spur arising in the north temperate zone extends itself southward, eventually forming the Malay Peninsula and all but touches the equator. It becomes attenuated in its southern course until the peninsula points like an index finger to Sumatra and Java. The western spur rises in the same mountainous terrace but, moving southward, loses itself in the Bay of Bengal at the Gulf of Martaban to emerge a few hundred miles farther out, forming the Andaman Islands. It is this western range that chiefly concerns us, as the Chin Hills comprise the middle section of this spur in its north-south course to the sea.

The northern region from whence these spurs arise is a mountainous area extending from eastern Asam through northern Burma into China. This is in general a homogeneous stretch of country as to surface and features, climate, rainfall, vegetation, and animal life. Mineral deposits vary, but even this does not prevent a claim for homogeneity dominating in respect to soil and general characteristics from its west to east limits. There is variation to be sure; however, basically the differences are that of detail and not fundamental.

Adjacent Hill Tribes

Apart from this extended hill region having the above similarities, a homogeneous people inhabit it, and they share a common background and reveal common characteristics. There are, on the surface, manifest dissimilarities; but nevertheless, basically they are classed as one group and are known as the Kuki-Chin tribes that include the Nagas, Kachins, Kukis, Chins, and Lushais. As to differences among them, language would be the first and possibly the most apparent; but even here one makes no exception to the assumption that basically they are one people, since language variation is not much more than that of dialects. There are wide differences in vocabularies, but comparison of the more common words⁵ shows considerable similarity, especially that of syllables. The absence among them of any written language adduces another point of resemblance. None of these dialects were reduced to writing when the British took over in the 1890s (this has since been accomplished by missionaries and government officials).

The next point of distinction among these hill groups is the matter of dress, which presents sundry colors and styles. Blankets, which are worn by all, contribute to a homogametic likeness in dress, although they differ as to being plain, striped, checked, or dyed one color. The jackets the women wear vary in length and also vary as to whether they have sleeves or are sleeveless. The wrap skirts of the women may be very short, not reaching the knees, halfway below the knees, or perhaps trailing the ground. Since the native dress for a man is a loincloth, turban, and a blanket, aside from variation of size and designs in blankets, it becomes a matter of the width and length of the loincloth and turban and the custom of wearing them in some particular way. Invariably all clothing is made from homespun cotton, which constitutes another point of similarity. The absence of clothing among children, and the very scant clothing for adults, in most tribes give other likenesses common to all, including growing cotton, the way of preparing it for weaving, and the methods of dyeing⁶. All add one commonality in the dress and appearance of the timber.

It is evident, however, that all belong to one and the same, the Kuki race, which, owing firstly to the want of a written language and secondly to the interminable intervillage warfare, has split up and produces some diversity in modes of living.

No wool or flax is used in their weaving except possibly thread for the fishnet.

No hems appear.

Honesty and industry in their own way are common traits, while smoking and the drinking of liquor are universal habits among them. Their primitive type of tribal government holds similar throughout. Marriage customs and inheritance will vary as to detail. Some tribes are monogamous while others will have plural wives. As a whole they are exogamic as to clan and endogamous in respect to the tribe. Marriage within the clan is rigidly forbidden, but one is not completely inhibited from marrying outside the tribe. Forbidding to marry within the clan is not based on blood kinship but on clan solidarity. With some, only the oldest male member of the family inherits, while with others inheritance descends upon the youngest son. Their thatched roofed huts do not differ greatly, and the same is true of their methods of agriculture. The variation in house building for the most part is whether the house rests on the ground or how high it is raised off the ground. Thatch, bamboo, rods, withes, and hand-hewn timbers are the construction materials for all houses.

Topography

I mentioned en passant the Chin Hills is one section of this general hill region we have been discussing, being the middle portion of the spur that forms Burma’s western frontier. Because of the giant Himalayas to the north, which form the background and source of this whole mountainous area, these spurs are referred to as various hill sections. In reality they are in themselves ranges of rugged mountains rising five to ten thousand feet above sea level. From a map it would seem that those going into the Lushai Hills would from Calcutta, thence through the Lushai Hills, entering the Chin Hills tract from the west, since this is the trail follow the natural and easy route into the Chin Hills. But the Chin Hills lie too far to the east, and as above intimated, no such simple entrance is made. But the main reason may be cultural and not geographic.

The main trend of the mountain ranges of the Chin Hills is north-south. During the open season, if one ascends Haka Mountain on a clear day, one espies the summits of Fort White and Kennedy peaks, both of which are about one hundred miles north in the Tiddim subdivision. A panoramic view of the whole presents a very rugged contour, which the Chin Hills Gazetteer described as consisting of a much broken and contorted mass of mountains, intersected by deep valleys and is utterly devoid of plains and table lands. Indeed, they are, above all else, jumbled up mountains abounding in no broad fertile valleys. This conglomeration of peaks and ridges, observed from a vantage point, at first is mere confusion; but as one looks longer, it assumes a general north-south direction. All the mountains appear to have an average height, with here and there peaks in every direction rising above their fellows but not sufficiently to cause any marked dissimilarity in the panorama. Turning east-west, as one range follows immediately upon another, the serried effect of the perspective is as if the earth’s crust⁷ had been broken into a series of huge folds with the upper edges serrated in an irregular fashion. The abundance of rainfall provides a luxuriant vegetation that blankets the entire expanse most of the year with a rich verdurous mantle. The beauty and majesty of the scenery is superbly grand.

Rivers and Lakes

There are two main rivers in the Chin Hills. One is the Manipur, which rises in Manipur State and flows through Falam, the middle subdivision; upon receiving the Mitha River at the foot of the hills, the two form the largest tributary to the Chindwin. The other river of the Chin Hills is the Kaladan, locally called the Bawinu, meaning lady. This river rises near Haka and, after an interesting and circuitous route, has its delta pour into the Indian Ocean at Akyab. These two rivers are fed by a multitude of mountain streams, part of which are dry except during the rainy season when they can become torrents overnight. The one lake of the Chin Hills is located in the north portion of the Falam subdivision near the Lushai border; although it is small, it is nonetheless like a crystal mirror reflecting the overshadowing mountain peaks surrounding it. There are innumerable springs, often well toward the top of the mountains, but few waterfalls. The two largest are a fall near Dau Chim village in the Haka subdivision and a more beautiful one in the new area in the same division near Radui village. In each instance the waterfall is a worship center.

Administration

In round numbers, the Chin Hills is a tract of ten thousand square miles with a population of some 160,000 souls. The British took over administration during the decade 1888-98 (7). For purpose of government, the area is divided into four sections or subdivisions. Each subdivision has a central station that is the headquarters of the resident political officer. The four subdivisions follow the general north-south lay of the hills, consecutively being Tiddim, Falam, Haka, and Kampetlet—the whole being much longer than wide. The entire district roughly is one hundred miles long or, expressing it colloquially, twelve by eighteen days in the dry season, following the winding bridle paths. The headquarters or station of each subdivision takes the name of the subdivision. The administration heads up in the deputy commissioner who resides in Falam and has four assistants, one for each subdivision. The Haka subdivision is the largest in size but not in population. Of the three northern subdivisions, it is furthest removed from Kalemyo, which, as I have noted, is the trade outlet for the Chin Hills. Five days to the west of Haka station lay the Lushai Hills of Assam, which border the three northern subdivisions of Haka, Falam, and Tiddim, forming the western boundary of the Chin Hills. The Kampetlet subdivision, furthest south and the last to come under administration, was, until recently, unadministered. As a result, Kampetlet has little relationship with the other three.

Communication

Other than a telegraph and postal office located in each of the three northern stations that render biweekly mail service, bridle paths and native trails are the only means of communication. These decussated threads of intercourse intersect the hills in every direction. On the main roads here and there one will find two ponies can walk abreast. Again there are long winding stretches where the roads become ledges following in and out along the precipitous mountainsides. Usually a path follows a mountain range weaving around the many ullahs, maintaining a fairly even elevation; but before long one comes to a place where one must dismount to make a slow trudge downhill, only to reach a stream, forge it, remount, and immediately start the upward climb. It should be mentioned, however, that along the main government road, from Haka to Kalemyo, the streams are well bridged.⁸

Distances are officially surveyed and reckoned in furlongs and miles, as in other places in Burma; but one is not long in the Chin Hills, when he begins thinking of intervals in terms of days. For as the natives estimate travel by the day, it is easy to fall into a like habit and to fit oneself sooner or later into this mode of calculation. Haka is said to be ten days from the river steamer during the open season and a matter of good luck during the rains as to whether one escapes being detained by a landslide, or possibly a bridge washed out. Travel is slow, tedious, and (what is more important) expensive… with the result of there being few tourists. If a white man is to visit Haka, Falam, or Tiddim, usually a week or even a month before the event, it will be common news in all the stations. This introduces us to the grapevine, which is an efficient disseminator of local news. Although one hundred miles apart, it may be rumored among the Hakas, that Tiddim is expected to have a white visitor next cold season.

With an average of five white men in the four stations (as one or two of the political officers are usually Burmese), there is little social contact other than with Chins. Since Haka station is located at the upper end of the native village, one naturally becomes well acquainted with the Chins, their language, customs, and habits. In one’s place of residence, those who are living nearby are the only neighbors. This neighborliness may not be in just the same manner as in America or Europe, but after all, they, along with the few Indian bazaar, men are one’s only contact with human beings. This familiarity with the people and their mode of living compensates in no small way for the isolation of the environment experienced by the Westerner. Furthermore, continual touring expands this neighborhood, and as years go by, the section in which one resides becomes much the same as in former days in our own country; after a person lived in a rural community for years, he became acquainted and was known by the whole countryside. In a situation as here described, a resident quite naturally forgets he is white or different and does not think of the people around him as being native and certainly not heathen! This is true of the missionary who establishes himself in such an environment as his life’s work and also of the political officer who remains among the people for a number of years. It may be claimed, therefore, because of the geographical location of the Chin Hills, and particularly the Haka subdivision, that one is remote from the marts of lice; and the natural physical features inhibit frequent outside contacts on the part of those living within the hills.

Rainfall

The topography of the Chin Hills isolates one from the centers of life during the long heavy rainy season from June to October. Rising streams and washouts on roads inhibit one’s outside contact and intensify isolation; one lives enveloped much of the time in mist and fog. The rainfall varies considerably within short distances. The high regions around Fort White will receive more than a hundred inches of rain, while Tiddim, which is but twenty-four miles away, will have no more than fifty inches per annum. The same is true in the Haka subdivision. Haka usually receives about a hundred inches, but twenty or thirty miles west the rainfall is much less, although in this latter case no official recording has ever been made. Fully more than nine-tenths of the annual precipitation occurs during the monsoon season. After these months of deluge, the skies clear quickly, and one forgets all about the rains with the exception of a day or two during the Christmas season and a like recurrence in February.

Vegetation

The virgin soil is rich but not deep. Where the population is dense as in parts of the Falam and Tiddim subdivisions, the Chins not only have deforested the region, but they also have denuded the hillsides of all jungle growth, causing much erosion and exhaustion of land fertility. The Haka subdivision, being more sparsely settled and larger, has soil that is still relatively fertile. However, when one speaks of dense population, it does not exist anywhere in the Chin Hills; but since it requires so much land to produce so little by the Chins’ method of cultivation, anything more than sparse population is dense. Indian corn, millet, rice, several types of beans, pumpkins, cucumbers, mustard, chilies, sweet potatoes, and fruits are grown. Irish potatoes in late years have been brought in, but ill adapted to the climate and do poorly and the most common fruits, there are at least three types of raspberries, also blackberries and strawberries, the last being particularly plentiful in the hill region of Burma in the vicinity of Maymyo.

Trees

Aside from these general assertions and the uniqueness of living among primitives, the Chin Hills offer other compensations. Here there are jungle, forests, and glades. The primeval forests are at the foot of the hills blending into subtropical jungle to an altitude of three thousand feet, where one meets the Pinus Khassia, which are found throughout the hills up to an altitude of six thousand feet or more. These pines, as the Gazetteer states, are the best resin-producing tree in the world. Their regal bearing harmonizes well with the environment in which they are found. There are also many varieties of oak and as many or more of bamboo. Of the numerous jungle trees, the Chins value most the pine and the bamboo. The pine gives the Chin timbers and planks, while from it he also secures resinous bundles of sticks that are his torches and tapers at night. But the bamboo gives him more, for from it he may build his house, and in those regions where there is no longer⁹ any pitch pine, its dried strips become at nightfall his torch and candle. The fibrous layers of the bamboo supply him with material for weaving mats and many types of baskets. Wherever there are no trees from which he is able to hew out boards, heavy bamboo split down the middle, flattened, and woven or in strips furnishes him with flooring and frequently siding for his house. Bamboo also supplies the withes¹⁰ for tying, which answers his lack of hammer and nails. At every turn he looks to some type of bamboo to meet his need.

Besides the bamboo, pine, and oak, there are scores of other trees of varying degrees of usefulness. In addition, there remain the many grasses, reeds, shrubs, bushes, vines, and briers. From these he secures the thatch for his roof, rope for tying his domestic animals during the rains, cables for making swinging bridges over mountain torrents, as well as fences of garden and field, and, lastly, rain hats and capes to buffet the inclement weather. The jungle gives him his dwelling, fences, most of his household furnishings, light, and fuel for his hearth; while from the soil he receives his food, his pots, his fireplaces, and his images.

Flora

There is yet another side of this wild life that seemingly affects the Chin but little, but which transforms the Chin Hills into a great floral garden of nature. In October, when the rains have ceased, the first wild cherry trees will put forth their pretty blossoms, and anon the mountain slopes will glow with their blushing beauty. No sooner are these shed than their sister flowers, the delicately tinted wild peach trees, will grace the hillsides with their soft, delightful blooms. Before these have spent their day, the gorgeous rhododendrons will blaze forth, perhaps on some unsheltered summit, such as Kennedy peak near Tiddim or on a sequestered hill slope as along the Zokhua road near Haka. These, along with the azaleas, will bloom from the middle of November until as late as the first part of June, the azaleas being the last to flower. The end of December brings the chase mountain laurel, and from January on, florescent trees: laburnum, dogwood, horse chestnut, hawthorn, and others. One after another, then unobtrusively unfold their surprises, culminating in the cretaceous magnolia in June and July. Also, in January the orchids begin blooming, and the most gnarled old tree may greet one on his way, having at its waistline an exquisite corsage of yellow, purple, or mottled orchids. These will bloom with the rhododendrons and azaleas until the rains set in about the first of June, when nature will spread down her tiny multichromatic carpet of flowers, which are too many and too varied for description or listing. There are also daisies, roses, lilies, and flowering vines each in its own time, giving color and fragrance, especially during the rains when the skies are murky and low.

This galaxy of wildflowers and flowering shrubs, too numerous for naming, guarantees the bridle paths will indeed wind through nature’s lovely gardens. And this heterogeneity of hue and beauty is intensified by clouds, sunrises, and sunsets, with the whole made gay and joyous by a medley of caws, chirps, and warbles of black, brown, blue, green, scarlet, yellow and mottled birds flitting and fluttering like flecks of sunlight spilled in the ether.

Hunting and Fishing

In comparison to the plains of Burma, sportsmen do not find the Chin Hills so ideal for hunting. The heavily matted jungle, added to the rugged surface of the land, almost forbids penetration into the haunts of wild game. The huntsman is confined mostly to the roads and trails. The Chin Hills are rather the retreat for the philosopher, the poet, the artist, and hopefully the naturalist—especially the last named, since neither the flora nor fauna have received the scrutinized attention of a botanist or zoologist.

The region is infested with tigers, ordinary leopards, the prized clouded leopard, and panthers that not only prey upon the wild life of the jungle but also ravage the domestic animals of the villagers. On rare occasions, one of the predators is trapped; but so far as to track an animal to its lair, it is quite beyond question because of dense jungle and precipitous mountain slopes.

The more inaccessible mountains abound with wild goats, while wild bear are found in almost every section. There are three varieties of deer that are fairly plentiful, but predatory animals constantly reduce their numbers considerably. The Asiatic bison is found in the thickly wooded hillsides, as is also the tsine or wild cow. Both the bison and wild cow fend well for themselves and their young against the tigers and leopards. Formerly, rhinoceroses, it is claimed, were fairly common but now inhabit only a few very remote and unapproachable mountain regions. There are also three species of bears. These are less ferocious than the tigers and panthers, but to the Chins they are just as annoying. Wild dogs also are pests to the villagers, and so are monkeys, the latter especially when crops are ripening.

The gibbon monkey is distinctive, not only because he has no tail and lives on fruit alone but also for the unbelievable noise he and his mate can make. They are the criers of danger in every basin and valley. The traveler never espies one because of their furtive nature, yet the gibbon will herald one’s approach as soon as one comes around a bend. Two of these creatures can so fill a valley with their resounding hoots that it would lead one to believe that there was hardly something less than an army making all the tumult.

Of small animals, there are rabbits, porcupines, squirrels, pine martens, skunks, rats, and other rodents. As to fish, in some of the larger streams, there is good fishing, but the native custom of poisoning the stream for a catch very much reduces this game because the small fish are killed in the process. The ten-, fifteen-, or twenty-pound Mahseer are the fisherman’s prize that is caught in the deep river holes every year during the dry season.

As to birds, the crow is the most common. Large hawks are numerous. The Chinese Red-Billed Blue Magpie is in all parts as well as the gay minarets. Cuckoos of different varieties along with doves and pigeons are plentiful. The green pigeon adds color to the jungle, as well as being edible. For the fowler there are snipe, woodcock, silver pheasant, partridge, jungle fowl, with the richly plumed tragopan as a rare shot. It is rare to catch sight of hornbills except in secluded, lonely places, but they do not hold the awe for the Chins that, according to Mills, Nagas have toward them.¹¹

Reptiles abound, including an abundance of lizards of various sorts and a liberal supply of snakes. There are not, however, many poisonous snakes although the dreaded cobra is not altogether uncommon. The python is the king of this herpetological division of animals and is found in dense jungle toward the base of the hills, usually near a stream. The Chins venerate the python.

To be sure, the Chin Hills, because of their very broken configuration, is not a choice hunting resort. Nonetheless, it teems with life and interest. As one’s pony makes his slow ascent up the mountain paths, a kaleidoscopic montage of life and color is constantly before him. Gaudy chameleons dart down the bank or up a tree trunk only a moment later to shoot out their awkwardly shaped heads in a farewell glance. The chattering squirrels, the full-throated birds, the shrill call of the cicada, and the reverberations of the gibbon monkeys keep the passing scene one of intensity, both in sound and color.

The possible bounding across one’s path of a deer or the more frequent bark of one alerts the moment. A pair of pine martens frisking on the path, a silver pheasant darting tantalizingly into the jungle before one has opportunity for full view, a multicolored jungle cock strutting about with his hen—all form the reward of the impeded progress. One is kept alert by the awareness that there is the chance one might have a rare experience of encountering a drove of wild boar or chancing upon a bear or even the remote possibility, from the snort of his pony, of seeing a tiger. All these give zest to an already interesting setting and allow chance to rob it of monotony.

Here one meets a rugged jungle full of life, where the larger animals prey upon their weaker unwary fellows and the smaller game and feathered throng find ample sustenance in nuts, berries, seeds, tender shoots, and insects. The hot sun blazing on a multitude of hilltops, or on the clouds a thousand feet below in a hundred valleys, all give grandeur and immensity to an extraordinary situation.

The flora and fauna of the Chin Hills according to the Chin Hills Gazetteer, Vol. I, pp. 8, 9, 10, 11 are as follows:

Trees

(The Hill silk-cotton tree seems to be the same as the tree from which kapok [Ceiba pentandra] is secured. Professor Dickason of Judson College, Rangoon, in 1938, found no less than five new varieties of bamboo in the Chin Hills. There is a question of whether one would find maple in these parts while, on the other hand, there is a plentiful amount of birch.)

Fruit Trees

(There are horse chestnuts, but the writer has never known of sweet chestnuts being in the Chin Hills. There is an abundance of wild cherry trees but no domesticated cherry or pear trees except in the few small orchards of the missionary dwellings.)

Other Plants

Euphorbia (a species of cactus much grown as village fences)

(I have never seen or eaten any strawberries grown in the Chin Hills.)

Flowers

Animals

Game Birds

Birds of Prey

Other Birds

Snakes

Fish

(Chin Hills Gazetteer note on fish, Vol. I, p.11: In 1835 Captain Pemberton wrote that Lontak Lake, from which the Manipur River issues, furnished no less than 26 varieties of fish—18 common to the rivers of Bengal and eight not found in any of them. So far, only some twelve varieties of fish have been noticed since in the Chin Hills.)

THE CHINS

Casual Observation

Enveloped in such an exceptional environment, the Chin drags out his monotonous and precarious existence—monotonous because of his routine life, precarious because of the hazard of sickness and distress. If unaided nature reacts radically on mankind (as now and again one hears), surely these people in their supernal heights would have reached the acme of culture. They are surrounded in a region of shades and tones, amid melody and babblings, with motions fierce and graceful, having grandeur and immensity canopied with a kaleidoscopic sky, now a clear cerulean, later a heavy rolling mass, or, again, light fantastic forms and shapes with iridescent edges and scintillating apertures, while the fresh atmosphere is redolent with delicate aromas.

But nature alone does not produce the desired end, as Boas comments: We are necessarily led to the conclusion that the same environment will produce the same cultural results everywhere. This is obviously not true.¹² No, the opposite is true! The poor Chin who indeed does have a unique environment is but much like the primitive the world over.

Only that which can be masticated and funneled down the gullet to satiate the gnawing cavity of his seeming gargantuan maw holds any stimulus, any comfort, or any satisfaction of soul. Furthermore, as one sees him picking the vermin from himself and putting the find to his mouth, one is inclined to feel he has discovered in this indigence the link in the ascent of man, which closes the hiatus between Pithecanthropus erectus and the civilized species. Indeed, such behavior frequently gives the occasion to look upon the Chins as more simian than human. Added to this, their poor hygiene, their night orgies, their ignorance, their superstitions, their moral depravity, their bad sanitation with no apparent desire for improvement, and their crude agriculture make them appear on the whole as beyond succor. Initially, the Chins in their primitive setting present a dismal, colorless, and unattractive introduction. In reality such is not the case. Their poor hygiene is largely due to ignorance and lack of facilities for keeping clean.

Climate

Their elevated habitation is not like the balmy plains of Burma, for as the Gazetteer records, The climate, judged at the elevation of between 2,500 and 6,500 feet is temperate, as in the shade and off the ground the thermometer but rarely rises above 80° or falls below 25°. In the heat of the day and exposed to the full force of the sun during the hot months the thermometer will register as much as 115°, and on the ground at the end of December 10 degrees frosts are not uncommon.¹³

Closer Scrutiny

Moreover, on closer scrutiny, it is found that the Chin in their natural setting has family life in fundamentals not radically different from Westerners. He is a member of his group that has defined customs and a stratified social order. While he has developed no written language or literature, he has a fairly adequate spoken language that has given him folklore, legends, and a certain amount of tradition. Along with these acquisitions, he has a highly developed religion, which, in his primitive state, met his bafflements in a general.

Before taking up the detailed study of the Chins,