‘The Black Hall’ is based on an historical account of a
French missionary who tried to find a route to Tibet by travelling through the
Mishmee Hills. He managed to establish some semblance of a mission on his
second attempt, but he disappeared soon after. A chieftain of the Mishmee
tribe was tried and convicted for the crime, setting in motion a series of
events involving rivalries between tribes and brutalities by the colonial
powers. Mamang Dai takes the historically documented account and weaves around
it a love story which is at the same time as harsh and as enduring as the
landscape in which it is set.
The book is set in the early days of the foreigners trying
to establish themselves in North East India, and at one level it is a story
where history is told not from the perspective of the colonisers, but from the
perspective of original inhabitants of
the land, who do not want to see their way of life taken over by someone else.
At another level, the book beautifully describes the geography of the North-East.
Of a land where modern political boundaries have little meaning. A harsh land,
well suited to the resilient people who live there. There are several journeys
in the book- journeys which involve fording streams, walking through forests,
following the river, climbing hills that shimmer in the sunshine and using
river passes to cross the mighty mountains. You can almost visualise the
protagonist using a rope to lunge herself over a river in spate! The book
describes the customs and beliefs of the various tribes who live in Assam and
Arunachal Pradesh (long before the states were even given these names)- the
food they eat, the clothes they wear, the spirits they worship, the stories
they tell, and the taboos and superstitions that govern their life.
At the heart of the book is a tender love story of Gimur, a
young girl who falls in love with an apparition, who gives herself up to him,
then gives up everything she has ever known to follow him to his village. She
returns home when she feels she can no longer live with the secrets and silence
between them. She is a woman in love, who will do anything for that love. She
is also a woman who despite the limited options available to her asserts her
agency at all times. She is a woman who many men use as their load star. It is
the story of the men who love her in different ways- her childhood friend who
never stopped watching over her, her husband who was willing to brave societal
displeasure to be with her, and the French missionary who’s path crosses hers
many times. The historical account doesn’t include any women, yet they must
have been there. By placing Gimur at the centre of the story, the author
reminds us of how history traditionally treats women. While Gimur does not find
happiness of the kind she expected to find, by the end of her life, she
realises that she lived the life she was meant to lead.
The author often comes back to words and narratives. Is the
written word more important than oral traditions? Are words needed to capture
your thoughts, or do thoughts transcend words? What is more important- words,
or the silence that speaks without words?
The book uses the historical narrative to raise questions
about civilisation, development and colonization, and these questions remain
relevant even 150 years after the period in which the story is set. Who owns
the land? Is land even meant to be owned, or is it something that is held in
trust and passed on? Who determines which faith is superior? One is struck by
the passion of the missionary who crossed over from Assam to Tibet not once but
twice. But isn’t the faith of the people who trust the spirits to cure their
sick just as strong?
The book is harsh. The book is lyrical. The book is
unforgettable, just like the land in which it is set.
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