The day I was born, my father overturned his boat and fell into the Sangu river on his way back from Rowangchori Bazar. Everyone thought he was no more. But at midnight, he suddenly appeared at the door of our house. Seeing him, my siblings were screaming in fear. A rumor spread that my father became a monster and came to eat the villagers. Many fled to the jungle in fear. Later, uncle Ringman explained that he was not a monster but our father. I was named Yangan because of such an unfortunate event at birth. Yangan means infinity.
In 1989, we settled in Baita Para of Tongkaboti Union of Bandarban. Songleng didi was carrying me, tied around her back with a cloth. In the midway, the knot opened, and I fell down the hill. This accident left me injured and bedridden for about a month. Since settling in the new village, I used to learn Mro's mother language. In the evenings, the classes were taken at Nguyen Mro’s house. Among the teachers were Tongrui Mro, Menpong Mro and Singklang Mro.
I am the youngest of all seven siblings. We could barely meet our daily needs. Almost every day, we ate potatoes and banana plants from the jungle. Whenever there was rice at home, the house was filled with a festive atmosphere. We would also sit together and sing. There was no money to buy paper. I used to write on banana leaves since childhood. One day, Ruichum Mro didi gave me a paper and told me to write a story. In the morning, I went with my parents to the jum. Stayed there at night. I wrote a story in Mro alphabets on the paper, given by didi. Mother told me that the stories of jum, and the customs of Mro’s need to be preserved. We have to always help other people. I dozed off, listening to my mother talk. At night, it rained heavily. The paper got wet and ruined. I cried a lot when I saw that in the morning. At that moment, my mother asked my father to buy a few pages of paper. Father then said, ‘There is no rice at home, how would I buy papers? When we sell the jum’s chili at the end of the year, I will buy papers with that money.’
One day, the temple’s head priest Lengyang Mro took us to a place called Baro Mile, six miles away. He said, ‘If we are lucky, we can see a car today.’ I ran to the nearby jungle when I suddenly heard the sound of a vehicle. A truck it was. The truck was moving slowly due to the bad condition of the road. Seeing me run to the jungle with fear, hearing the horn, the driver and others burst into laughter. Back at home, the little children looked at us in amazement when they heard the story of the truck. I said, ‘Even a truck can sound like a cow.’ Mother said, ‘You can get in the car if you go to school. We never saw a car.’
One day, my father enrolled me in Mro Residential High School. I had to take off my earrings at school. I also had to cut my long hair. I had to wear a pant-shirt instead of my favorite clothing Dong. Suddenly, I had to face Bengali. But no one in the village spoke Bengali. I used to understand nothing of what the teachers were saying. So, when they used to tell us to be quiet (chup in Bengali), I would greet them. Because in Mro language, ‘chup’ means namaskar. One day, a madam came to the class and called a student named Menfong. A part of Menfong’s forehead was swollen. This was because he slipped in the bathroom the night before. The madam asked him the reason behind his swollen forehead. Since he didn’t understand Bengali, he couldn’t tell her anything. There were 69 students in the class. Madam asked everyone. However, no one could explain the situation to her in Bengali. Later, she called me. I couldn’t either. To make her understand, I tried to enact slipping on the floor and getting hurt. Yet she didn’t understand. She asked again. I showed her once more. Instead, she wanted to beat me with a cane as she thought I was being disrespectful. Since then, I kept trying my best to learn Bengali. In 2004, I passed my SSC.
After getting admitted to Rangamati Government College, I stayed in a hotel. The owner agreed to let me stay there in exchange for hotel managerial work. But this was hampering my studies. At last, I went to the house of Tejendro Chakma of Vedvedi. It was painful during winter. I used to be sleepless due to the extreme cold. I used to get up from sleep and sit down almost every midnight. One night Tegendro saw me shivering. Since then, he let me sleep with him under his blanket. A year later I went to the T&T area. Rented a house with a friend named Shyamol. Once, I had to starve for about three days. That time Shyamol had gone to his hometown. I sent a letter to home asking for money a few months ago. Money was not sent. So, I stayed drinking only water that time. However, after three days money was sent from home.
After passing HSC in 2007, I sat for the admission exam at Chittagong University. But, my name was not on the merit list. One night I received the news that I was on the waiting list. Viva, the next day. It was very late at night. There wasn’t any transport on the road. That time, I walked for five hours straight from Tonkaboti DC Road to Padua Bazar of Satkania. I reached Muradpur of Chattogram by bus from Padua Bazar. It was around 3 am. After walking about 2km from there, I got a CNG. Reached the campus at dawn. Later, I went to the room of the Faculty of Sociology. After waiting for a long time, I got to know that there was no vacant seat. I could not get admission even after going there with so much difficulty. I left the campus crying. Another time, I got the chance to be admitted to the Bangla Department. I was about to get on the bus from Bandarban. Suddenly, I got the news that Icheng dada was seriously injured, falling from a tree. I had raised the money for the admission with great difficulty. But, my brother’s treatment would have stopped if I had gotten the admission. So, I used that money for his treatment.
I finally got admission to the Oriental Language Department in 2008. I didn’t have enough money to stay on campus. Later I took the initiative to write a Mro dictionary. I made copies of the dictionary using a gel pen and sold them to cover the cost of my education. At one stage, I went from village to village to collect the stories of Mro’s fairy tales, customs, and many more. Before my father died, he left me 120 silver coins for my marriage. But, I sold these coins to fund my education and the traveling cost to Mro villages.
In 2012, I graduated from the university. At that time I met David AK Peterson, a professor at Dortmund College in the United States. I had the opportunity to work with him on the language of Renmitachya. At present, only six people speak the language. We both are trying to save this endangered language. Besides, I am working on the socio-culture of the Mro people. So far, I have published 27 books on Mro society and fairy tales. Among these, 17 are written in Mro language and 10 in Bengali. The last time I have written is the first grammar book in Mro language. The name of the book is ‘Tatong’. The practice of the written form of the language has begun after the invention of Mro alphabets. However, as there is no grammar, the spelling, and usage of words and verbs vary from individual to individual. This often makes it difficult for one person to understand the written form of another person. Hopefully, ‘Tatong’ will resolve that complication. I want to continue writing along with jum cultivation in the future as well.
Source : Kalerkontho
Written by Toyma Teresa Tripura
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