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About eight miles west of Shillong, a hill range stands tall, its reputation woven into the fabric of Khasi folklore like a gentle mist that refuses to lift. They call it the Mountain of the Iei Tree, a name that whispers romance and mystery. Though its glory may have faded like a sunset over the hills, the mountain remains a charmer, its slopes dotted with villages and fields that seem to have wandered straight out of a British countryside painting. And then, of course, there’s the river Umiam - the Wailing River, no less - which wails not just in name but in its very nature, sometimes leaping over rocks with the enthusiasm of a child on a sugar high, and at others, lounging in the valley like a lazy cat, reflecting the beauty of the trees above with a quiet contentment that belies its melancholy name.
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The Mountain of the Iei Tree wore a gentle charm, its fertile slopes and forests yielding more than just fine timber - they seemed to whisper secrets of a bygone era. Fairies and nymphs were said to flit about its glades, leaving behind trails of sweet-scented flowers and the soft songs of birds. It was a place where young lovers would steal away, their footsteps quiet on the forest paths, and happy maidens would wander, their laughter echoing through the hills. In those days, the mountain’s beauty was a subtle thing, a quiet magic that seeped into the soul.
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The Iei Tree stood at the mountain’s crest, with its enigmatic massive frame. Its branches spread out in a dense canopy, casting a deep shadow that discouraged all growth beneath. It was a tree of secrets, its uniqueness a whispered rumor among the hills, its very presence a mystery that drew and repelled in equal measure. The Iei Tree’s legend spread far and wide, drawing visitors from distant lands who came to marvel at its mystique. Yet, despite their curiosity, none dared to harm a single branch or scratch its bark, for it was whispered that the tree was home to a powerful, unseen deity - one whose wrath would unleash ruin upon those who dared to offend |
For ages, the Iei Tree continued to thrive, its shadow spreading year by year, a dark and foreboding presence that crept further and further, claiming more and more land. The once-thriving villages on the mountain slopes were abandoned, their homes and fields reclaimed by a desolate wilderness. The families who had once lived there were forced to leave, wandering homeless, as the tree’s shadow pursued them relentlessly. The pathways that had once echoed with the laughter of children now lay deserted, overgrown and treacherous, haunted by the growls of savage beasts and the lurking presence of dragons. The very landscape seemed to have been transformed, as if the tree’s malevolent influence had awakened ancient terrors and unleashed them upon the world.
A grand Durbar of all mankind was convened to ponder the dire situation and devise a plan to rescue the world from the brink of disaster. After solemn deliberations, a resolution was made to assemble a team of the bravest and most skilled woodcutters to venture into the mountain and cut down the Iei Tree, thereby letting sunlight once more reach the earth that lay barren beneath its shadow. With courage in their hearts, the woodcutters set out, defying the dangers that lay ahead and risking the wrath of the mysterious deity said to inhabit the tree.
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The woodcutters reached the Iei Tree and worked tirelessly, their axes rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Though the tree’s wood was hard and unyielding, they made slow but steady progress, cutting a little below the bark by day’s end. It was a small start, but they took heart in the fact that no misfortune had befallen them, and they retired to rest with a sense of cautious hope. They knew their task would take time, but they were determined to see it through.
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The next morning, the woodcutters returned to their task, eager to make progress, but were met with a shocking sight: the cuts they’d made the previous day had vanished, leaving the tree’s trunk as solid and unblemished as before. Many of the men were unnerved, their superstitions reignited by this inexplicable phenomenon. They hesitated to approach the tree again, fearing its supposed enchantment. However, their more resolute companions reminded them of the dire fate hanging over humanity, and with renewed determination, they pressed on. Despite their efforts, the same mystifying occurrence repeated itself the following morning – their work, gone without a trace.
The woodcutters pressed on, undeterred by the tree’s strange power, but their labor seemed futile as the night’s darkness undid their work, restoring the tree to its former state. As the days passed, an air of mystery and foreboding deepened, and the men grew increasingly weary of the land’s unearthly silence. The weight of the unknown bore down upon them, and they began to feel that they were pitted against forces beyond human comprehension. In the end, they chose to relinquish their quest, preferring the familiar shadow that threatened their world to the unseen and unknowable terrors that shrouded the Iei Tree.
As the woodcutters slumped in despair, a whirlwind of feathers and song burst onto the scene. Ka Phreit, the Khasi wren, darted about with an irrepressible energy, her tiny wings beating at a furious pace as she chirped and tweeted with an air of authority. Her bright, inquisitive eyes sparkled like stars in the dappled forest light, and her tiny chest puffed out with an unmistakable air of pride. She alighted before the woodcutters, her tail twitching with excitement, and offered her help with a confidence that was both endearing and bold. The men couldn’t help but laugh at the tiny bird’s claims, but Ka Phreit’s expression turned stern, her beak tilting upwards in a determined angle. ‘You may be skilled woodcutters,’ she seemed to say, ‘but without the secrets of this forest, you’re at a loss. I know this land, and I’ll share its secrets with you.’ Her words were laced with a quiet wisdom, and the woodcutters’ laughter slowly gave way to curiosity, their faces lighting up with wonder as they listened to the little bird’s tale.
Chastened by the wren’s wise words, the woodcutters rose to their feet, their faces etched with regret. They saluted Ka Phreit with a newfound respect, begging her pardon for their earlier skepticism.
As they asked for her guidance, Ka Phreit’s demeanor softened, and she revealed a secret that would change everything. The tree’s mysterious healing wasn’t the work of magic, but rather the nocturnal visits of U Khla, the big tiger. Every night, the tiger would emerge from the shadows to lick the tree’s wounds, his tongue a balm that erased the woodcutters’ progress. And why? Because the tree’s shadow provided U Khla with the perfect cover to stalk his prey, and he wouldn’t let the woodcutters take that away from him.
With newfound hope, the woodcutters resumed their work on the Iei Tree. As night fell, they left their axes embedded in the tree, blades outward, waiting to see what would happen when U Khla came to lick the tree’s wounds
As U Khla approached the tree, unaware of the woodcutters’ clever trap, the sharp axes sliced into his tongue, sending him fleeing in agony. The tiger’s howls echoed through the forest as he vanished into the darkness, never to return. With the tiger no longer a threat, the woodcutters were finally able to work without interruption, and in time, they succeeded in cutting down the Iei Tree
Thus, Ka Phreit, with her humble yet mighty spirit, helped bring back sunshine and prosperity to the world.
