Taatey Taatey Taateyhii

Birds often play an important role in folk tales and folk legends. If you listen carefully, you might hear a bird in Arunachal Pradesh say “Tatteyhii... Tatteyhii.” But what does it mean? In ‘What The Folk', Deepa Ranganath brings to you the story of a bird whose call is for a man... who fell in love with a vampire!

Tattey Tattey Tatteyhii. Illustration by Gowri Suresh. Visual Storyteller at ThisDay.

Birds have been creatures of mythic imagination since the very earliest times. Various birds, from the mighty eagles to tiny starlings, serve as messengers to the gods in stories the world over. They lead shamans and gurus into the spirit world, they guide dead souls to the realm beyond; they follow heroes on quests, uncover secrets, and give warning and shrewd council to those about to commit a crime.

It is no surprise, then, that the most elusive and enchanting landscape of Arunachal Pradesh, replete with shamans with their enigmatic ways, should have a story with a bird that cries ‘Tatteyhii, tatteyhii’. Why does this bird cry its loudest during the cultivation season? People have been hearing this bird crying ‘Tatteyhii, tatteyhii’ while working in the fields for centuries now, so much so that they call it the tattey bird.

Let’s travel back to a cold and smoky evening in a tiny Himalayan hamlet where villagers were gathered around the fire sipping rice wine in a namlo, a large bamboo hut. This one belonged to an old and wise ane or woman. As she lay there breathing her last, the villagers were there, adhering to the custom of honouring an elder’s profound wisdom and learn any lessons that they would want to pass on to the coming generations. She turned towards the new young man in the village who had been looking deeply disturbed ever since his arrival. She asked him, “Young man, what is your story, how is it that I see a veil of sadness on your eyes your mind, it seems is full of unrest, full of questions… Speak, so that I may leave this earth after giving you some answers I may have from my long and rich life on this beautiful land.”

“Ane,” he addressed her respectfully, “I came from a village as green and with as many loving friends and neighbours as yours. We lived together, sharing everything we have in happiness and peace. But one day, people from another village invaded ours and killed everyone they could lay their hands on. We saw our mother pleading for her life as we hid in the bushes nearby. Her killer told us that one of our village residents informed the attacking hamlet that we were planning a similar raid on them, and thus they chose to attack first out of defence.

But who could have said something so vile and untrue? Her killer cried, ‘Someone just like you!’ And he took her last breath away with his sharp dao… a knife sharp enough to cut other blades…. many such daos had not only slashed flesh and limbs but also our namlos, destroying every sack of grain, our pots and pans, setting fire to our little patches of vegetables and our homes.

Nyoni, my little sister, and I took stock of all the horrors with a few others like us who managed to remain unseen. We found little time to grieve as we had to survive. Nyoni was little but strong, a girl who learnt to take care of the home that we rebuilt with our own hands and of me as well. She learnt to weave baskets, to cook, to especially partake of all the work during cultivation season where she walked side by side with me, worked side by side with me as we slashed and burnt fields to start a new season.

Years passed as we learnt to live without the love of our dear parents, we learnt to mend the holes in our hearts and fill the voids in our souls. We tried to forget the horrific massacre. We did think of what our attacker had said about someone from our village accusing her own fellow villagers of a ploy to attack our attackers’ village, turning them from neighbours to dreaded murderers, but we found no clue as to who it might have been. ‘Someone like you,’ he had said to our dying mother. But how could that be? The thought stayed buried in minds.

Soon, it was time to reinforce our homes once again, for which we needed to go to the forest, cut cane, and drag bundles of it back to the village. As Nyoni and I dragged the bundles back to our village, I found it difficult to drag mine, while Nyoni was almost running down with hers. I was stuck, trying to pull my bundle behind me. ‘Nana,’ I addressed Nyoni, ‘I feel like my bundle is getting repeatedly stuck at the back even when the path apparently seem clear. Do you feel the same too?’

‘No, aau,’ said Nyoni. I asked Nyoni to inspect what was wrong, but she found nothing wrong. Frustrated, I told Nyoni to move on ahead while I stayed back to check what was the cause behind my problem. And that is when I saw a beautiful woman stepping on my bundle playfully. I was too furious to appreciate her tinkling laughter and her little prank on me, and asked her who she was and why she was hell-bent on troubling me.

She replied demurely, ‘I had seen you and your sister in the jungle today and was following you, but I won’t bother you now. You can please go on your way. But if you want to see me, I will be here doing my own work tomorrow as well.’ She left, leaving me standing there perplexed Nyoni called just then, ‘Aau who are you speaking to? I told her that it was nobody, and we continued on our way. I couldn’t get her out of my mind. I went back the next day and found her there, almost as if she were waiting for me. We spent hours talking and laughing. I felt sad when it was time to leave. I invited her back to my village for dinner, to which she replied shyly, ‘I can come with you and stay on as a part of your family, if you like.’ I was pleased, but I thought of Nyoni and told her that I couldn’t marry anyone as I had to take care of Nyoni till she was old enough to marry and have a family of her own. My beautiful lover replied, ‘Please don’t worry, I will take care of you and your sister forever, cook and clean and keep a loving home waiting for you just like your mother did. This way Nyoni wouldn’t have to work hard on her own anymore and you will have me there every day.’

The picture she had painted was so perfect and seeing the kindness in her eyes and the love shining through, I took her home. I was in love so madly that I forgot to ask her about her home, her family, and her name. After spending an entire night with my new wife, when I finally asked her all these questions, she said that she was now my wife and that is all that mattered. I was deeply in love, mesmerized with her beauty and overwhelmed with the way she took over our household, becoming a mother to Nyoni and everything to me. The villagers wondered who she was, but seeing my happiness, they were happy that finally we had a complete family. Months passed, we were completely under her control, I was almost in a trance abiding by the rules and demands she laid lovingly before me.

That’s when the animals started going missing. First it was our pet dog. Nyoni was distraught as we did not find him anywhere, and then it was the pigs and chickens that Nyoni and I had reared. Sometimes we would witness horrific sights of their beheaded corpses and the blood sucked out of them. When I discussed this abnormality with my wife, she said the same thing over and over again in fear and in whispers. ‘Husband, darling, I hate to say this, but there is something about Nyoni — it’s almost as if she is possessed. She is the one who takes all these animals without your permission and eats them, probably sharing them with friends, because, think, how could she be doing this alone? Earing all these animals, drinking their blood? Oh, it is so worrying… I am scared, husband.’ I held her close, the anger towards Nyoni growing inside me as I myself saw her running towards the forest a couple of times.

I also noticed how my wife’s health started deteriorating. I attributed it to her fear of Nyoni. She was so scared that she kept thinking Nyoni might harm her next. Her hair started falling out, her plump red cheeks sank in, and she started looking like a sickly old woman, not the beauty I had married.

Then a day came when she said, ‘Tattey, we are left with nothing to eat. There is just a little bit of grain, and that too must last till the next season. We are heading towards starvation. This amount of food can only be enough for two people. It is best that I kill myself so that you and Nyoni will have enough to eat. After all, Nyoni needs so much of food all the time. You know she took the last pig to the jungle just this morning…” Saying this, she reached for the dao and tried to kill herself in desperation, crying out about how much she loved me and Nyoni. The anger I had towards Nyoni welled up. I was scared to lose my beloved wife, the woman who had made me whole again… and I ran towards Nyoni, who looked plump and healthy in the light of the setting sun as compared to my wife, who was obviously sacrificing everything for my selfish and monstrous sister. In a bid to save my beloved, I struck Nyoni with my dao. She fell dead, the shock in her eyes matching the shock in mine. I was speechless, time seemed to have stopped. My wife quickly took charge of things.

‘Nobody must see what you have done. I will chop up her body, put it in my aghey, my straw basket, and bury her in the forest.’ I was unable to react as I stood transfixed, watching her go about chopping my dead sister into pieces and put her into her aghey. But what was that on my beloved wife’s face? Was that excitement shining in her black eyes, was that a smile as she stared at her handiwork? Was that a bounce in her gait as I saw her disappear into the forest?

When she came back much later and held me in her arms, I saw her mouth stained red as I kissed her. I asked her what it was, to which she replied, ‘Oh! I found some salli paan on the way back and thought of adorning my lips with it for you, my beloved. I can rub it off if it irks you.’ I was too exhausted to respond and slept dreaming of Nyoni.

A couple of days passed with the same routine. I would work through the day deep in depression, not being able to forget what I had done, and in the night, when I slept, my wife would disappear into the forest, saying that she was trying to forage herbs that were found only in the moonlight. But every time she came back, her mouth was stained with the redness of the salli paan. One night I couldn’t sleep and decided to go to the forest and join my wife. I reached a spot where I saw her bending over some plants on the ground. I was about to call out to her when I saw her digging out Nyoni’s body parts, first an arm and then a leg. I saw my wife dig a reed straw into the flesh and draw out blood, drinking it with gusto and utmost pleasure. I screamed out of shock and fear. She turned towards me, mouth smeared with blood and eyes swimming with a mad hunger. Before I could run and catch her, she turned into a giant white bird and flew into the moonlight.

I realized that the woman I had been calling my wife was not even human, that I had been duped into killing my darling little sister. I cried in despair, unable to go back to the home I shared with my precious Nyoni. I ran and came here, ane, and I am still in shock about what has happened to me.”

The wise old woman spoke, “You were bewitched, dear Tattey. Not just you, even the attackers that killed your family and neighbours years ago, they too were bewitched by this being we call Dojang Napong. A shape-shifting vampire that feeds on the blood of humans, and worse still, enjoys creating war between tribes so that she may get more blood to thrive on. She gains strength every time she feeds on human blood and flesh. And yes, she can appear anywhere to anyone in these forests, so beware of who you speak with fellow villagers, beware of the Dojang Napong.”

She died a little later, and Tattey, who had now understood what had happened, tried to live his life somehow. It was cultivation time and as he worked in the field thinking of his dear sister Nyoni, he found little strength to clear the field before him. He sat and wailed and after a while, he got up and found that the entire field had been cleared already. He couldn’t see a soul around him, but he could hear a sweet and rhythmic bird calling to him from the tree nearby. It cried out, ‘Tatteyhii, tatteyhii.’ The sweet sound reminded him of Nyoni and he wept again, passing out in the fields. The next day, as he awoke to the same sweet sound, he saw that more of the field in the upper part of the mountain too had been cleared. He was shocked and all he saw was that little bird singing ‘Tatteyhii, tatteyhii.’ Realisation dawned on him. It was his dearest sister Nyoni who had come back as a bird and was still trying to help him even though she was no longer human. She sang as she worked beside him on the field.

Tattey Tattey Tattehii

Beloved brother Tatteyhii

From the same womb we were born

When our parents left we were torn

Together we wiped our tears

Together we conquered our fears

Tattey Tattey Tatteyhii

After all, a sister, a girl was I

Someday a bride to be was I

But look how I was killed before my time

From none other than the brother of mine

Tattey Tattey Tatteyhii

Why did you trust her more that your heart

Dojand Napong smiled as she tore me apart

Tattey Tattey Tatteyhii

And that is the story of the tattey bird, legend says that this little bird still comes and sings when the cultivation season begins every year, as if she is calling to her brother.

My gratitude to Podum Taku for decoding this beautiful story from the secret and mystical language of the shamans in the Nyishi tribe in Arunachal Pradesh. What really is amazing to note is that the same bird’s loud calls have led to numerous cultural interpretations. The bird in question being the Indian cuckoo and its rhythmic sweet call. In Bengali, it is interpreted as “Bou kotha kao” or "Bride, please speak." In Uttarakhand and Nepal, it is rendered as "Kafal pako", or "The kafal fruit is ripe". The same bird is known as vishupakshi in Malayalam and its call is interpreted as "Kallan chakkayittu", or "A thief stole the jackfruit". Very little variation is noted between regions. In the Kangra Valley of India, the call is interpreted as the soul of the dead shepherd uttering "Where is my sheep?" The Soliga tribe in Karnataka uses the interpretation "Keta satto, makka ketto," which translates to "Ketha died, his sons cried." And in China, the call is interpreted as "Single lonely, single happy, because mother-in-law beats me.”

Come what may, there is food, there is death, and there is an evil woman in the Indian cuckoo’s call.