It was with such delight that we published The story of Dzuvilie in our Monday edition. Written and submitted by some of our readers, the “hidden true story” was about one Dzuvilie Peseyie – the first person from Jotsoma village in Kohima to join the British army way back in the mid 1860s, according to the story. As fascinating as his character was in the story, this column, however, is not about our protagonist. Rather, we would like to turn the spotlight on another aspect of the story that we feel is extremely valuable.
The writers of the story had written it as narrated by their grandfather when he was alive. This, dare we say, is the “hidden” beauty of the story. The story in itself was hardly 700 words long. But it was heavy with information and intrigue. There was a piece of history wrapped in it. All of that, and plenty more, packaged within the perimeters of what we treasure as family stories. Yes, the stories that our grandparents pass on to us. Our family stories.
Stories shape our world. They forge our character. Our Naga culture is a storehouse of such stories. One of the key characters of our oral literature or “orature” (to use a term employed by the Kenyan novelist Ngugi wa Thiong’o) is that storytelling is an essential part of traditional indigenous education. Often it is a communal participatory experience through which history is transmitted from one generation to another. There is a certain beauty attached to this.
Normally, the stories that we tell or hear in academia are not always as rich or fascinating as they could be. The reasons are many but we cite one here. While the authors or the writers are the principal storytellers here, more often than not, the path of the stories is guided by editors or even reviewers who suggest nuances of direction. In the process, by suggesting that important details be excluded, they also end up diminishing the essence and the richness of the stories.
Perhaps that is the most charming aspect of stories such as that of Dzuvilie’s – that they are utterly unacademic in character as well as in origin. The unplugged version storytelling delivered by aged and old narrators, completely in peace with the weight of history rolling off their tongues. And this cycle must continue. Our stories must be told, especially in the family, to the children.
Yes, today the children have their Harry Potters, their Mowglis and their Cinderellas, and even their Anne Franks. But they must have their Dzuvilies too. More than just organic heroes, the likes of Dzuvilies represent something bigger. And children today must be nourished with family stories as well. Because it is in the unwrapping of our precious family stories that we unpack our history. We have The story of Dzuvilie to remind us so.
