Northeastern tribal communities are replete with folklore — some of it almost forgotten now.
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Despite having been disparaged as ignorant, uncivilised fools — often perceived as relics of the Stone Age or even earlier — first by colonisers and later by ‘advanced civilisations,’ indigenous tribal communities were not without our own traditional knowledge systems
Monalisa Changkija
Northeastern tribal communities are replete with folklore — some of it almost forgotten now. A Naga folklore narrates that throughout the year, village maidens would weave men’s shawls in the evenings after they were done with work in the khetis (rice fields where vegetables and fruits are also grown). Later in the year, after the harvest, when the season mellows into winter, celebrations begin. Soon icy fingers that chill the bone marrow embrace the earth. With the full onslaught of winter, warm woven shawls are dug out and families or the community light bright fires to sit around, wrapped in these shawls.
Just before winter sets in, young maidens present their newly woven shawls to the young men they admire. Soon winter gets weary and takes a break sometime in late January or early February, during which temperatures rise. The young men then declare winter is over and give away their gifted shawls. In about a week’s time, winter decides she isn’t done yet — this time she comes with rain, plummeting temperatures to almost freezing point. It is then that the young men suffer the cold the most because of their foolishness in spurning the gifts. This period of winter’s brief reappearance is called “Bachelors’ Winter.”
Folklorists and other experts will have their own analyses of this folklore. As a layperson, my take is that traditional Naga communities were deeply connected to nature’s mood shifts and were therefore excellent readers of the weather; however, this knowledge comes with age. To me, the aforesaid folklore also underscores the limited reasoning of young minds and the fickleness and callousness of young hearts. No doubt the young men learnt their lessons and the young maidens learnt to make better choices. But we know that until a few decades ago, the Bachelor’s Winter was real because we experienced it.
Despite having been disparaged as ignorant, uncivilised fools — often perceived as relics of the Stone Age or even earlier — first by colonisers and later by ‘advanced civilisations,’ indigenous tribal communities were not without our own traditional knowledge systems that sustained our survival for centuries. Because our survival is intrinsically linked to land, in-depth knowledge of nature is crucial — weather patterns being primary. It is weather patterns that determine rain, sun, wind, and hailstorms that nourish our forests, rivers, and other water systems — all of which determine a good or bad harvest and ultimately our survival. In-depth knowledge of nature then leads to the adaptation of strategies for survival. These are not the hallmarks of ignorant, uncivilised fools — were it so, indigenous tribal societies would have perished centuries ago when great climatic changes occurred, which ended civilisations and even humongous animals and other species.
It probably wasn’t that perished civilisations didn’t have their own knowledge systems — otherwise they wouldn’t have reached the pinnacles of civilisation and made their mark in numerous fields, leaving behind legacies for subsequent civilisations — legacies we enjoy to this day. Possibly, the perished civilisations ignored their knowledge systems, became overconfident of their power and glory and grew complacent; thus the rot set in. If there is one certainty, it is that we seldom learn from others’ mistakes. And this is exactly what has been happening since the Industrial Revolution, according to climate experts. For economically and technologically advanced societies, climate change may not be a worrying issue — heck, they are even exploring Mars and seem quite certain about the possibilities of life on it. But societies like ours — small, politically voiceless, economically handicapped, and increasingly socially and culturally diluted — cannot dream of seeking refuge from climate change fallouts in space, not even in the neighbourhood.
Hence, our traditional knowledge systems must be revived, cohered with, and made central to modern, science- and technology-driven political, economic, and developmental policies and strategies. All agricultural societies have knowledge systems that are in consonance with their environment and climatic conditions. Climate change now demands that policymakers abandon the “one-size-fits-all” thinking and embrace diverse traditional knowledge systems for environmental protection and preservation, food security, and human survival. At the regional level, it is imperative for state governments to actively revive traditional knowledge systems and fend off imposed agricultural practices, especially GM seeds that may have higher yields but degrade the soil and make indigenous communities dependent on government largesse, thereby impoverishing them.
At the micro level, environmentally aware experts must make efforts to educate our village leaders and farmers about the risks of ‘scientific’ agricultural practices that desertify verdant land and villages, compelling villagers to head to urban areas in search of survival. The problem with ‘modernity’ and related ‘development’ is that they separate humans from the land, resulting in the loss of identity and culture — a death knell for indigenous communities for whom land, identity, culture and survival are closely interlinked. There have to be committed experts who will blend the old with the new to ensure all are winners. We must find them.
A small start has been made in Nagaland, with communities taking the lead in teaching schoolchildren to plant rice and the numerous other intricacies of growing food in khetis. This hands-on education needs to be encouraged and supported more vigorously, especially in our urban areas. This effort speaks of a people unshackling themselves from the dependency syndrome with the realisation that the young must be taught to value certain traditions that ensure independent self-sustenance. This is not a rejection of science but an affirmation of hands-on science that brings youngsters closer to nature and enables them to ‘feel’ nature and embrace it — the first steps towards acquiring traditional knowledge of the land and agriculture.
To me, another crucial moral of the aforesaid folklore is that if one does not know the ways of nature and spurns her gifts, one will suffer the Bachelor’s Winter more severely than winter itself.
(Monalisa Changkija is a Dimapur-based veteran journalist, poet, and former Editor of Nagaland Page. Published in the February 15, 2026 isssue of North East Now)