Plight of the Tribe

 
 

The forested blanket of the Khasi Hills sprawled before them, a verdant tapestry punctuated by quaint settlements nestled among ancient trees. Mist clung to the valleys, wrapping the distant peaks in ethereal white. Yet amidst this primal beauty, there were no guiding rails or signs to offer reassurance; one only had intuition and instinct to navigate the rugged terrain.

The majesty of this place was largely lost on the two hikers, Jack Kota and Chan Zobrado. Their mission consumed more mental bandwidth than the scene, while the oppressive humidity and persistent insects had dampened any potential for appreciation.

Climbing up in the sweltering heat for a proposal more likely to be rejected than respected, Jack lamented his support of his friend. There had been several moments when he could have opted out, condemning Chan to face the reality of his ill-advised relationship. Yet out of loyalty to his longtime friend, Jack had endured. Now, as sweat trickled down his back, heaven seemed to be sending him a sign: No man is meant to experience this much discomfort. You ought to leave.

Yet Jack maintained a steady, confident pace. While the weather was unpleasant, he had spent summers in America running miles through worse heat. As a young boy, Jack had dreamed of being a soldier, serving his nation—his true nation—while sculpting an ideal body in the process. Though the daydream had mostly faded, the habit of running remained, and at this moment, it was serving its purpose.

He glanced back at Chan, who appeared near death. Two hands gripped an improvised walking stick fashioned from scarp wood, his face glistening with sweat from every pore. The man was drowning on land.

"Let's take a break," Jack commanded, spotting a clearing ahead.

Approaching an opening with a panoramic view of the hills, he sat on a moss-covered rock. Chan collapsed onto the smooth ground overlooking the slope, his chest heaving.

"Well, isn't this a fun little trek?" Jack smirked. "When I heard Khasis were part mountain goat, I thought that was a nod to the sexual habits of the locals, but maybe it's true, maybe they go hand in hand."

Chan wiped his brow with a handkerchief. "If a husband needs to climb mountains, I'll learn how to climb mountains," he responded with determination, following a long drink from his water bottle.

"It is impressive that you made it this far. You may be the first Filipino to ever reach this exact point; then again, anything could be a first in Shillong," Jack teased.

"My dad used to talk about swimming to school as a child in Manila," Chan said, still catching his breath. "Maybe now I can relate a bit."

"Well, this is bound to be harder for you; you island monkeys are probably better swimmers than climbers," Jack laughed, but his voice held affection.

The two fell silent, mesmerized by the view. The hills stretched endlessly, like green waves frozen in time. A person could feel compelled to leap onto the verdant cushions below, though such an act would result in a permanent union with the land.

The pristine vista was marred only by the presence of a makeshift dump site a few hundred meters below. A local relieved himself near the river, the lack of proper facilities apparently no deterrent to his morning routine.

Jack took in a deep, lamenting sigh. "You know, if they ever sort out the three T's of Meghalaya, this place would draw as many tourists as the Alps."

"The three T's?" Chan asked, curiosity piqued.

"Trash, toilets, and trams. Sort those out, and this place might actually reach its potential," Jack explained. "Though Mel would probably say I'm being too critical of her home."

At the mention of Mel's name, Chan's expression softened. "She always says this place has a magic to it that outsiders can't understand."

"Speaking of Mel," Jack began carefully, "are you absolutely sure about this? Her family isn't just any family here. They're the guardians of tradition."

Chan's face set with determination. "I love her, Jack. I know what I'm getting into—changing my name, or I guess joining her clan, adapting to their ways. Mel's worth it."

Jack studied his friend's face, remembering how this had all begun. Mel had come to America for her education, living with Jack's family while attending the same university. They'd even shared classes for a semester. Mel had taken to American culture naturally, making friends easily and picking up social norms. Her accent was barely noticeable, thanks to years of English tutors and American films. Her mother, Esther, had even requested recordings of Jack's speech patterns for teaching purposes.

It was during this time that Mel met Chan, Jack's close friend from high school. The three often spent time together, with Jack and Chan helping Mel navigate American culture. Jack had noticed the sparks between Chan and Mel immediately—Chan's obvious attraction, Mel's growing infatuation.

Jack had been tasked by Mel's family to keep an eye on her, to intervene when necessary and keep her on track. Balancing this responsibility with the respect due to a Khasi daughter a year his senior had been tricky. Matters of the heart were especially complicated; Jack knew Mel's family had specific plans for her future that didn't include falling in love with a Filipino-American boy.

When Mel had confided her desire to date Chan, Jack had reservations. Not because of Chan himself—he was one of the most genuine people Jack knew, sensitive and attentive to others' needs. His personality complemented Mel's assertiveness perfectly. The problem lay in the long-term implications. Mel's family would see this as more than just a relationship; it was a potential threat to their traditions.

When their relationship became serious, Mel had sworn Jack to secrecy, promising to handle her family herself. Jack had assumed the relationship would run its natural course. Mel was, after all, a village girl at heart; perhaps Chan was just part of her American experience.

Then Chan proposed, just before graduation, and Jack's world tilted. He'd tried to reason with his friend, explaining the cultural complications.

"Khasi women aren't like other women," Jack had explained. "You'll be giving up your family name, your traditions. And to her family, this proposal is basically an act of theft. You might as well ask them to hand over their ancestral lands."

But Chan was determined and willing to make any necessary sacrifices. Jack, moved by his friend's conviction, eventually agreed to support him.

Mel returned to Shillong to relay the proposal, along with Jack's endorsement. Jack had secretly hoped for an outright rejection—it would have been cleaner, simpler. Instead, an invitation arrived requesting the sponsor to present the suitor formally. Chan saw this as promising; Jack recognized it as obligation. His family had done many favors for Mel's, and they were owed the courtesy of a hearing. They would respect Chan as Jack's friend who had made a formal offer, but there were some boundaries that even love couldn't cross. The tribe's survival depended on maintaining their bloodlines.

Now, as they resumed their trek, the massive colonial-era estate came into view. The house was a testament to Mel's family's status—her ancestors had been administrators for the British, adopting their customs while maintaining their Khasi identity. The irony that this British house lacked proper British roads wasn't lost on Jack; the muddy path they'd climbed was treacherous during monsoons, hence their decision to hike.

At the gate, Mel's father, Priver Khong, greeted them warmly. He was a gentle man who had married into the family, as was Khasi custom.

"It is good to see you, son," Priver said, giving Jack the traditional kisses on each cheek. He stepped back to examine him. "Such a strong boy you have become. Like your father at this age, not like those soft American boys."

"Thank you, uncle," Jack replied, slightly amused.

Gesturing to Chan, Jack said, "This is the friend I mentioned in my letter. I hope you'll welcome him."

Priver studied Chan with interest. "Ah, the American boy," he said, offering the same greeting.

"Are you certain you're not Khasi? You have our look about you."

"It's an honor to meet you, sir," Chan replied with a respectful bow. "Not Khasi yet, but hoping to become part of your family."

Chan could indeed pass for a local in Shillong; his features and complexion matched any native's, though his clothes and accent marked him as foreign. It was almost comical—back in America, Jack was often mistaken for Filipino due to his appearance. That misconception had actually sparked their friendship; Chan had first approached Jack speaking Tagalog in high school, assuming they shared heritage.

Inside, the house was a blend of British colonial architecture and traditional Khasi decorations.

Priver led them to the formal sitting room, explaining that Mel was staying with her aunt until the matter was settled. Her mother, Esther, would join them shortly. Jack felt Chan tense beside him. Esther's reputation preceded her—not unkind, but formidable. As a community leader and wealthy matriarch, she wielded considerable influence in preserving Khasi culture and addressing tribal matters.

When Esther entered, the room seemed to shrink. She moved with the confidence of someone accustomed to command, her traditional jainsem draped elegantly over one shoulder. Priver followed with tea and traditional snacks.

"Jack," she smiled warmly, embracing him. "God is good to bring you to us again. You've grown into such a fine young man. Your parents must be proud."

"Thank you, auntie," Jack replied, then gestured to Chan. "May I present Chan Zobrado, who comes with an honorable request."

Esther's eyes fixed on Chan, studying him with the intensity of a jeweler examining a stone. "So, you're the one who wishes to join our clan," she said, her voice neutral but authoritative. "Tell me, what do you know of our ways?"

Chan straightened his shoulders, meeting her gaze. "I've learned much from Mel about your matrilineal system, your traditions, and your history. I understand that by marrying Mel, I would take her clan name and help preserve your lineage. I'm prepared to honor and uphold your customs."

"And your own family?" Esther asked. "They accept that you would abandon their name, their traditions?"

"My parents understand that love sometimes requires sacrifice," Chan replied steadily. "They've raised me to follow my heart while respecting others' traditions."

Esther's expression remained unreadable as she sat, gesturing for them to do the same. "You speak well, Mr. Zobrado. But understanding our ways and living them are different matters. We are not simply a family; we are guardians of an ancient lineage. Our daughters carry the weight of generations."

She paused, sipping her tea. "Mel speaks highly of you, and Jack's recommendation carries weight. But I must ask—what can you offer our clan besides your willingness to adapt?"

"I offer my commitment to Mel's happiness and your family's prosperity," Chan answered. "I'm an engineer; I can contribute to developing this region while respecting its traditions. Most importantly, I offer my love for your daughter and my promise to support her in upholding her responsibilities to your clan."

A slight smile touched Esther's lips. "You've clearly thought this through. But tell me, Jack," she turned to him, "you who know both worlds—what do you truly think of this match?"

Jack felt the weight of both Chan's and Esther's gazes. He took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. "I've watched their relationship grow for two years. Chan isn't just in love with Mel; he respects who she is and what she represents. He understands that marrying her means joining something larger than himself. I wouldn't have brought him here if I didn't believe he could honor both Mel and your traditions."

Esther nodded slowly, considering his words. "Very well. We will need time to discuss this as a family. For now, you'll stay as our guests. Priver will show you to your rooms." She stood, signaling the end of the formal discussion. "And Chan? Remember that in our tradition, it is not just the man who chooses—the clan must choose as well."

As they followed Priver upstairs, Jack caught Chan's eye. His friend looked simultaneously relieved and anxious. They both knew this was just the beginning of a long process, but at least the door hadn't been closed entirely.

That evening, as they sat on the veranda watching the sun set over the hills, Jack finally asked the question that had been nagging at him. "Are you ready for what this really means? If they accept you, this place becomes your home. Your children will be Khasi, not Filipino."

Chan smiled, watching the golden light paint the clouds. "You know what Mel always says about these hills? That they don't just shape the land—they shape the people who live here. I'm ready to be shaped, Jack. I'm ready to belong to this place, to her people." He turned to his friend.

"Thank you for helping me get this far."

Jack nodded, understanding finally why he'd supported this seemingly impossible quest. It wasn't just about loyalty to a friend or duty to Mel's family. It was about believing that sometimes, love could bridge the gaps between worlds, that tradition could bend without breaking. As the last rays of sun disappeared behind the hills, he silently hoped that the Khasi elders would see what he saw in Chan—not just a foreigner seeking to join their clan, but a man willing to help carry their traditions into the future.