Constructing Indigenous Histories in Orality: A Study of the Mizo and Angami Oral Narratives

Abstract

Oral narratives play a crucial role in shaping the historical consciousness of Indigenous communities in Northeast India, where history writing is a relatively recent phenomenon. Among the Mizos, Nagas, Khasis, Kuki-Chins, and other Indigenous tribes of Northeast India, including the Bodos, the Garos, the Dimasas, or the Karbis of Assam, much of what is considered written history emerged during British colonial rule. Native historians later continued it in postcolonial India. However, written history, especially when based on fragmented colonial records, includes interpretive gaps. In such contexts, oral traditions provide complementary, and frequently, more authoritative frameworks rooted in cultural memory and collective transmission. Oral narratives, including ritual poetry, folk songs, myths, and folktales, serve as vital mediums for reconstructing the past. Scholars such as Jan Vansina view oral narratives as essential for understanding the histories of societies without written records, while Paul Thompson sees them as both a discovery and a recovery of cultural memory. Romila Thapar argues that narratives become indicative of perspectives and conditions in societies of the past, functioning as a palimpsest with multiple layers of meaning accruing over generations as they are recreated or reiterated over time. The folk narratives of the Mizos and Angami Nagas not only recount their origins and historical migrations, but also map significant geographical and cultural landmarks, such as Khezakheno and Lungterok in Nagaland, Rounglevaisuo in Manipur, and Chhinlung or Rih Dil on the Mizoram–Myanmar border. These narratives constitute a cultural understanding of the past, aligning with Greg Dening’s concept of “public knowledge of the past,” which is “culturally shared.” Additionally, as Linda Tuhiwai Smith posits, such stories, as embodiments of the past, and of socio-cultural practices of communities, create spaces of resistance and reappropriation of Indigenous identities even as they reiterate the marginalization of these communities. This paper deploys these ideas to examine how oral narratives can be used to decolonize grand narratives of history, enabling Indigenous peoples, such as the Mizos and the Angamis in North East India, to reaffirm their positionalities within the postcolonial nation.

1. Introduction

Where there is no narrative, there is no history

—Benedetto Croce

In societies where writing was not the traditional mode of knowledge transmission, oral narratives served as the primary means of preserving collective memory and shaping historical consciousness. This is especially true for the Indigenous communities living in the eight states of Mizoram, Nagaland, Assam, Meghalaya, Tripura, Arunachal Pradesh, Manipur, and Sikkim, collectively known as Northeast India or North East India. The region, with its predominantly hilly terrain (except Assam), is home to many tribal communities, such as the Mizos, who inhabit Mizoram, and Angami Nagas, who inhabit Nagaland. Their histories have largely been passed down through the spoken word in the form of myths, ritual chants, folktales, and songs. While the colonial period introduced written documentation of these communities—often filtered through the biases of British administrators and ethnographers—it did not displace the authority of oral narratives among the people themselves. Instead, it denied them historicity. In the postcolonial context, local historians began compiling and interpreting these oral accounts, often filling the gaps left by incomplete colonial records. However, written history, especially when based on fragmented colonial records, includes interpretive gaps. In such contexts, oral traditions provide complementary, and frequently, more authoritative frameworks rooted in cultural memory and collective transmission. This challenges the conventional privileging of written texts and affirms oral traditions as equally authoritative forms of historical knowledge. Oral traditions, as a reliable source of history, have often been criticized on the grounds of their dependence on memory, which is inherently fallible since human memories are susceptible to forgetfulness and distortion over long periods. In contrast, written history has a claim to factual accuracy that is sustained over time. A definition of history as a “plausible narrative” that does not “contravene known facts about the past” (Cronon 1992, pp. 1347–48) may not be quite applicable when it comes to oral narratives as history. Nevertheless, recent scholarship, including Nathan K. K. (2024), Sharma and Magar (2024), and Smith (1999), along with studies by Nunn and Reid (2016), in their study of the oral traditions of the Aboriginal Australians, demonstrated the remarkable accuracy and temporal depth of Indigenous oral accounts, some of which preserve information dating back thousands of years. Such works challenge the conventional privileging of written records over oral ones and call for a more inclusive historical methodology that respects different epistemologies.

Jan Vansina’s seminal contribution to the study of oral tradition is in his attempt to reframe orality as a valid and structured form of historical knowledge. He defines oral narratives as “verbal messages which are reported statements from the past beyond the present generation” and thereby emphasizes the significant role played by oral narratives in preserving historical memory through generational transmission. According to Vansina, this transmission process involves layering, with older stories embedded within newer narratives, making it essential for historians to trace the evolution of a narrative rather than simply accepting the most recent version as definitive. It is, therefore, imperative on the part of the historian to bear the responsibility of deciphering and critically contextualizing the oral narratives while remaining respectful of the cultural meanings they carry. Vansina’s legitimization of oral traditions as valid sources of history, which laid the foundation for the use of the ‘oral’ in historical research, is especially significant in the context of Indigenous peoples1 of Northeast India, including the Nagas, Mizos, Tanis, A-chicks, Lepchas, and Khasis, whose oral traditions are not only dynamic cultural expressions, but are saturated with historical knowledge about themselves sustained over generations in the oral form. For these communities, writing is a relatively recent phenomenon, introduced only in the last decades of the nineteenth century, primarily through missionary activities following colonial contact. Therefore, with no written records, memories of the peoples’ past and their genealogies are recorded as oral traditions. However, rather than being just relics of the past, they are dynamic and culturally shared texts that continue to shape Indigenous identity and social cohesion.

In the case of the Mizos, contemporary researchers who are Mizos themselves, such as Joy Pachuau (2014, 2019), Pachuau and Schendel (2015), Margaret L. Pachuau (2018, 2023), and Roluahpuia (2023), emphasize the role of the oral traditions of the Mizos in constructing an Indigenous Mizo identity that embraces both a strategic essentialism as well as the linguistic and cultural diversity that orality underscores. Joy Pachuau (2014) underscores the relevance of the “primordial” past in establishing a historicity that contests exoticization and “prevents the people being studied as having a history only since the arrival of modernity, as being a tabula rasa on which the instruments of colonialism have acted” (p. 24). This aspect is considered crucial by Pachuau since the Mizos used “history as a tool of self-ascription” (24), in which, oral narrations of the past contributed as much as written history in establishing a sense of Mizo history and identity. One particular aspect that Pachuau explores and problematizes is the indigenization or vernacularization of Christianity in Mizoram, where “notions of the ‘ethnic self’ prompted by the colonial and missionary projects interacted with an Indigenous concept to make the adoption of Christianity as the ‘tribe-spirit structurally plausible and, perhaps, even necessary” (179). This suggests the interface between a traditional and oral past with the modernity ascribed to the dissemination of Christianity and the colonial project of development that lends agency to the Mizo as the subaltern other through the transformation of colonial Christianity into a vernacular one that weaves the Indigenous worldview(s) of the Mizos into Christian theology, ultimately resulting in the adoption of Christianity as the new “tribe spirit” (181). Margaret L. Pachuau (2018), however, argues that colonial modernity and the advent of Christianity significantly eroded the oral traditions of the Mizos. Mizo folklore, traditionally rooted in nature, animals, and the supernatural, offered a coherent oral system explaining creation and identity (181). However, in the postcolonial era, Christianity redefined this identity by displacing earlier beliefs and reshaping cultural ethos. This resulted in a relegation of oral narratives and song traditions, as well as the loss of many traditional songs (189). M. Pachuau posits, therefore, an urgency for the “subaltern post-colonial Mizo” (189) to “go beyond the colonisers, much afar from the missionaries, to not merely speak, but to write and rewrite and reaffirm a belief and a continuity in oral tradition” (191). M. L. Pachuau (2023) builds upon this premise to revisit the idea of Christianity in Mizoram and its links to literacy and colonial modernity by demonstrating that the Mizo Christian identity that emerged as a result of this existed within a hybrid framework of the oral and the written in which there was a strong “sense of priority towards the traditional Mizo culture rather than a total imitation or immersion into the colonizer’s sensibility” (133). Pachuau further discusses Gayatri Spivak’s concept of the ‘new subaltern’ and its relevance to the Mizo context (132–33). She argues that the Mizos differ from Spivak’s notion of the scheduled tribes in India as illustrative of the new subaltern, as they do not represent marginalized oral cultures influenced by dominant Sanskritized traditions (133). In this sense, it is the continuation of the past (and by implication certain oral traditions as well) and in the agency wielded by the Mizos (in both the colonial and postcolonial eras) that Pachuau locates a central difference between the Mizos and other scheduled tribes (especially in ‘mainland’ India) as well as a strong reason for the “resistance ethic” being secondary to the Mizo ethos (133). Roluahpuia (2023) on the other hand, traces the recuperation and subversive use of Mizo oral culture as a tool of protest in twentieth and twenty-first century Mizoram. He gives an instance of the Mizo song tradition. In Mizo society, which is deeply rooted in oral traditions, hla (songs) hold a central place in transmitting knowledge, history, and culture. The significance of hla, especially hnam hla, lies in their close connection to the sociocultural fabric, with different genres reflecting specific historical and cultural contexts (24). These are a few instances of how insider researchers attempted to uncover the nuances of Mizo oral culture to explore the formation of a postcolonial Mizo identity. In a similar vein, the present paper looks at specific examples of myths and folk narratives to establish the relevance of orality and oral narratives in the strategic appropriation of an Indigenous identity along the lines of the ‘decolonizing methodologies’ of Linda Tuhiwai Smith, discussed in greater detail in the next section.

2. Materials and Methods

For the present study, the origin stories of the Mizos and Angamis analyzed are taken from published sources. To generate secondary data and identify research gaps in the field of our study, a comprehensive review of scholarly literature was conducted using academic databases such as JSTOR, SpringerLink, and institutional repositories. The selection criteria emphasized peer-reviewed articles with Indigenous authorship, cultural insider perspectives, and postcolonial frameworks. The keywords used for the search were Orality, Folk Narratives, History, cultural identity, Memory, Northeast India, Mizo oral narratives, and Angami oral traditions. The search yielded approximately 25 results for the 15-year timeline from 2010 to 2025. From these results, titles and abstracts were scanned to identify the most relevant journal articles and books on the subject of study.

Additionally, an online database, such as Springer Nature Link, was also employed to run a search using the keywords “Indigenous history and oral traditions of northeast India” with the same customized timeline of 15 years, which yielded approximately 390 results. While examining the articles, the researchers sought to identify relevance and a cultural insider’s perspective to inform our study on the role of oral narratives in the historical construction of the Indigenous peoples of Northeast India. Very few of the studies addressed the specific problem dealt with in this paper. It is worth noticing that the researchers mentioned in the Introduction are insider researchers. For the present research, a community-based research assistant, who is an Angami speaker and cultural insider, collected photographs with community knowledge and consent. As members of the Indigenous peoples of Northeast India, we engaged with this work through culturally grounded, relational, and autoethnographic approaches. This research also employs autoethnography as a decolonial methodology in Indigenous research, exploring the significance of oral traditions in shaping the people’s identity and historical consciousness. At the same time, the researchers are conscious of the ethical issues involved even in insider research. Linda Tuhiwai Smith (1999) highlights the ethical responsibilities of insider research and dwells on the need for humility as well as reflexivity on the part of the researcher (149). It is because “the researcher belongs to the community as a member with a different set of roles and relationships, status and position” (149). Thus, as much as the outsider researcher is problematic, even the insider researcher is fraught with her own set of issues, particularly the “risk” that insider researchers take “to ‘test’ their own taken-for-granted views about their community”, in the process of which their own assumptions may be overthrown (149). Despite this, Indigenous research is “a highly political activity” that “focuses and situates the broader Indigenous agenda in the research domain” (149). Such research “focuses and situates the broader Indigenous agenda in the research domain” (150). As such, Indigenous researchers must traverse a minefield of “exclusionary devices to dismiss the challenges made from outside the fold” (150). Research can thus “be judged as ‘not rigorous’, ‘not robust’, ‘not real’, ‘not theorized’, ‘not valid’, ‘not reliable’, and conceptual understandings can falter when the research design is considered flawed” (150). Indigenous researchers are doubly subjected, along with such judgements, to another set of “indigenous criteria which can judge research ‘not useful’, ‘not indigenous’, ‘not friendly’, ‘not just’” (150). It is within such an ethical, critical, and academic framework that this research attempts to view certain selected examples of Indigenous oral narratives and traditions in Northeast India.

This paper examines how oral narratives function as carriers of historical memory with the potential to shape and reshape identities and genealogies. By focusing on select narratives from the Mizo and Angami peoples, the study highlights the richness and complexity of oral traditions as sources of history, especially in the absence of written records. The aim is to move beyond the dichotomy of oral versus written history and instead understand how these forms interact and inform each other within the broader framework of postcolonial historiography. The intertwining of oral and written pasts is crucial in the reclamation and reformulation of the Indigenous cultures and identities of the communities under study.

Temsula Ao, one of the most prominent writers from Northeast India, recounts in her poetry the story of how the Ao Nagas originated from a place called “Lungterok” in Nagaland, which she identifies as “the soil of [Naga] origin” (Ao 2018):

• Lungterok,
• The six stones
• Where the progenitors
• And forebears
• Of the stone-people
• Were born
• Out of the womb
• Of the earth.
(Lines 1–8)2

These lines powerfully evoke a shared Indigenous belief in a history that predates written records—a past transmitted orally across generations. Though not always empirically verifiable, such accounts are upheld as truth within the community through cultural and social consent.

At this point, it becomes necessary to transition from viewing these narratives merely as myths to recognizing their place within a broader historiographical discourse. A distinguished scholar in Native American literary studies and a leading voice in the fields of ethnohistory and Indigenous narrative theory, Arnold Krupat made significant contributions to Indigenous historical research through his ‘ethnocritical’ rethinking of the boundaries between literature, myth, and history. He emphasizes that “for traditional people, history is a culturally and socially agreed upon account of the past” conveyed by elders and “those authorized to speak” (Krupat 2002, p. xi). Krupat critiques the academic tendency to dismiss such accounts as mere myths—often regarded as less legitimate forms of knowledge—that must be corrected as a “pernicious notion” (Krupat 2002, p. xi).

Similarly, Clifford Trafzer, in his examination of Native American oral narratives, contends that these narratives should be regarded as “history in the native sense of the word” (Trafzer 1993, p. 486) but also, more importantly, in the literal sense since they “reflect actual incidents that occurred in world history” (Trafzer 1993, pp. 474–87). Thus, literal accuracy is not always the sole criterion for historical legitimacy within the framework of Indigenous historiography. It gains its legitimacy not because of its literal accuracy, but rather because of the cultural recognition of its veracity.

Finally, Linda Tuhiwai Smith again provides one of the very first theoretical and methodological explorations of using orality and oral traditions and narratives in Indigenous research. Memory, and the act of remembering, is presented as one of the crucial projects of Indigenous research, working also as a foundation for projects pertaining to testimonies and storytelling (including myths and folklore, oral histories, and the perspectives of elders and of women) (154, 156).

3. Challenging Historical Migration Narratives

For the Mizos and Nagas of northeastern India, historical understanding cannot be reduced to factual accuracy or written documentation alone. Instead, their past is preserved through dynamic oral practices that encode memory, identity, and meaning. Most Indigenous or ‘tribal’ communities in Northeast India were preliterate societies until the dawn of the nineteenth century when the British decided to expand their colonial dominion over the hilly regions, which had been largely undisturbed until then. Whereas the Nagas were the most heavily subjected to the ethnographic gaze, the Mizos were well beyond the reach of colonial-era tourists, hunters, and adventurers and their cameras and, therefore, probably the least studied or explored. After independence, the area became semi-closed, even to photographers from other parts of India (Pachuau and Schendel 2015, p. 9). As in the colonial period, among all the northeastern states, Mizoram remains the most elusive to this day.

In the absence of writing, Indigenous peoples were historically marginalized in academic narratives and wrongly viewed as lacking history or more considerately as peoples whose histories are ‘shrouded in mystery’ (Khiangte 2008). The peoples’ accounts of the past are mainly in the oral form sustained through folk traditions. These accounts, which form the histories of the people, are cultural memories passed down through tales and songs and sometimes become part of rituals and ceremonies. In the land they have been occupying for generations, they tell of a distant past when the people came into being. According to their myths and legends, the Naga people, including the Angamis, believe that their ancestors were autochthons. While one story of origin tells of the ancient ones emerging from a village called Chungliyimti, another locates the place of origin at Makhel, which is now said to be located in Manipur. The first story is supported by the six stones called Longterok in the village of Chungliyimti in Nagal, which the Aos believe their progenitors came forth from (Jamir 2020, p. 12), as expressed in TemsulaAo’s poetry cited above. With the increase in population, people began to spread and establish new villages throughout the Naga Hills. The second story, which the Angamis hold, tells of the Naga progenitors originating from a place called Makhel, from which one group migrated to the village of Khezakhenoma. This origin story is prevalent among the Angami, Lotha, and Rengma Nagas (Mills 1922, p. 4; Hutton 1921, p. 6). The Mizos also have similar stories, which locate their origin to places within their present habitation. Similar to the Mizos and Nagas, the Lepchas of Sikkim also believe themselves to have been created from the pure and virgin snows of Mt Kanchenjunga’s pinnacle (Tamsang 2008). What is common to all these stories of the origin of both the Nagas and the Mizos is the postulation that their ancestors were autochthons, contrary to modern historical assertions that view them as immigrants from distant parts of Southeast Asia or China.

Oral narratives are often categorized as myths, and such categorization may act as an impediment to recognizing their historical value. It was Edward Gait (1906) who claimed that the Indigenous peoples of Assam had no history” because “their stories cannot, of course, be dignified with the name of history” (p. viii) thereby denying the historicity of oral traditions. Colonial ethnographers such as Major Gurdon (1914) and J. H. Hutton (1921) shared similar opinions about the lack of history among the Khasis and Nagas, respectively. Gait’s statement in this regard is quite similar to Trevor-Roper’s dismissive tone about African historiography: “Perhaps in the future, there will be some African history to teach. But at present there is none-only the history of Europeans in Africa” (Qt. in Fuglestad 1992, p. 311). Widely criticized as a form of intellectual colonialism, Trevor-Roper’s statement has become a reference point in challenging dominant Eurocentric conceptual frameworks and paradigms by which other non-western cultures are studied.

The epistemological dominance of written history, while promoting hegemonic historical discourse, invalidates Indigenous forms of knowledge3. The systematic refusal to acknowledge the validity of oral narratives as a reliable source of history may be interpreted postcolonially as what Spivak terms “epistemic violence.” This critique aligns with subaltern studies’ emphasis on recovering suppressed voices and histories from the margins, particularly through oral traditions and community memory. Although archaeological findings and verifiable facts may not support the oral stories, they are nevertheless history insofar as Dening’s definition of history as “public knowledge of the past [which is] culturally shared” (Dening 1996, p. 36) is concerned. Denning’s argument emphasizes the need for a refined understanding of different historiographical traditions—one that moves beyond empirical veracity to consider culturally situated modes of remembering and retelling the past.

It is in this context, particularly since the latter half of the twentieth century, that the academic interest in oral cultures becomes especially significant. The rise of interdisciplinary scholarship brought renewed attention to the relationship between history and folklore. Richard M. Dorson (1964), one of the most prominent voices in this discourse, urged historians and folklorists to work together across disciplinary boundaries. In his presidential address at the American Folklore Society, Dorson argued that the historian’s over-reliance on written documents—what he referred to as the practice of “reverencing the documentary source”—led to an unsympathetic and even dismissive attitude toward oral traditions. Hayden White (1973, 1984) observed that the disciplinary bias against the use of narrative in historical representation revealed a methodological and theoretical failure of the time.

Recent scholarship, including Romila Thapar (2013) and Linda Tuhiwai Smith (1999), challenges the privileging of written documentation and calls for broader frameworks that include oral knowledge systems. Smith, in particular, critiques the Western academic dismissal of oral traditions and argues for research methodologies that emerge from Indigenous worldviews. Thapar emphasizes that historical consciousness can exist even in the absence of conventional historical writing, as evidenced by the Mizo and Naga communities’ deep commemorative traditions.

The recognition of oral history as legitimate scholarship has grown through interdisciplinary studies. Scholars such as Perks and Thompson (2016) argue that memory-based knowledge should not be marginalized simply for lacking documentation. According to the oral historians Perks and Thompson, it is the “privileging of written and documented sources over oral and performative forms of memory—especially since the institutionalization of history as a discipline in the mid-nineteenth century” that led to the “marginalization of oral history” (Perks and Thompson 2016, p. 1). However, during the 1960s, the resurgence of interest in oral history, particularly through the efforts of social historians, marked a shift toward a more inclusive understanding of historical knowledge. In the United States, the publication of The Autobiography of Malcolm X (1965) and Alex Haley’s Roots: The Saga of an American Family (1976) played a foundational role in popularizing oral history among Black American writers and communities. The academic engagement with oral history as a valuable source of historical information furthers the cause of oral traditions as legitimate sources of history. Although the scope and purpose of oral history may quite distinctly differ from those of oral narratives, both privilege memories and rely on the spoken word, and both represent a ‘history from below’. While oral narratives are more concerned with the ‘cultural’ over the ‘personal’ account of the past, it must also be borne in mind that every folk song or folk tale is originally the product of an individual. However, the claim to individual authorship becomes irrelevant in oral traditions.

Adding to this scholarly validation of oral narratives as a form of history is Arnold Krupat, a significant figure in Native American studies. His work underscores the importance of recognizing Indigenous oral traditions as legitimate forms of historiography. Krupat argues that “for traditional people, history is a culturally and socially agreed upon account of the past,” usually communicated by elders or “those authorized to speak” (Krupat 2002, p. xi). He challenges the notion that only empirically verifiable, written records should qualify as history. The dismissal of Indigenous accounts of the past as mere myths is, according to him, “pernicious,” and such a view needs to be rectified (Krupat 2002, p. xi). Through such interventions, Krupat provides a framework for understanding how cultural memory, oral transmission, and communal consensus can together constitute a valid mode of historical knowledge, even in the absence of documentary evidence. Similarly, Linda Tuhiwai Smith (1999) advocates decolonizing research practices by centering Indigenous voices, rituals, and modes of remembrance. These frameworks are especially relevant to Northeast India, where oral traditions sustain collective memory beyond the written record.

4. Historical Consciousness in Oral Traditions

Oral narratives play a foundational role in constructing historical consciousness among Indigenous communities. In the context of Northeast India, where written history emerged relatively recently, often shaped by colonial perspectives, the oral tradition long served as the principal means of preserving and transmitting knowledge across generations. These narratives, whether in the form of folktales, ritual songs, or myths, encapsulate communal memory and cultural identity. As they are orally transmitted across generations, they act not only as recollections of the past, but also ensure the preservation of the community’s cultural heritage (Nathan K. K. 2024; Sharma and Magar 2024). Additionally, because of the oral nature of the narratives, they are dynamic, reshaped by the community over time to reflect contemporary realities and reinforce shared values. The dynamic nature of oral narratives lends a sense of continuity, offering a “history that incorporates diverse experiences and perspectives” (Sharma and Magar 2024).

In this sense, oral traditions are more than memory—they are active processes of meaning-making. They constitute what Greg Dening refers to as “public knowledge of the past,” which is culturally shared and communally authorized. For groups such as the Mizos and Nagas, whose historical narratives are often embedded in place lore, songs, and rituals, oral tradition serves as both a means of historical continuity and a tool for reasserting identity in the face of colonial erasure or marginalization.

The absence of written texts must not be construed as the absence of history. In this context, Romila Thapar, an eminent Indian historian, notes that Indian civilization was perceived as lacking a sense of history due to its limited historical writings. She argues that contrary to common assumptions, the lack of historical writings does not necessarily imply an absence of historical consciousness. Instead, “historical consciousness begins when a society shows consciousness of both past and future, and does so by starting to record the past,” and rather than “argue over whether a particular society had a sense of history or not based on our recognition of the presence or absence of a particular kind of historical tradition,” it is “more purposeful to try and ascertain what each culture regards as its historical tradition and why it does so, and to analyze its constituents and functions as well as assess how it contends with competing or parallel traditions” (Thapar 2013, p. 4).

To qualify as a historical tradition, Thapar identified three aspects—first, a consciousness of past events relevant to or thought of as significant by a particular society; the reasons for the choice of such events being implicit; second, the placing of these events in an approximately chronological framework, which would tend to reflect elements of the idea of causality; and third, the recording of these events in a form which meets the requirements of that society (Thapar 2013, p. 4).

Thapar’s argument, when applied to the oral narratives of the Nagas and Mizos, becomes meaningful, for it then eliminates the requirement for ‘writing’ to legitimate the historicity of the narratives. They are records of the past sustained by memory through generations. Delving into these oral traditions reveals the peoples’ consciousness of history. The commemoration of events, in the form of erecting massive stone structures, festivals, and, most importantly, songs composed to remember specific events, is all evidence of the people’s sense of history. Memorialization of the historical past in the form of monoliths and megaliths is found across Mizoram and Nagaland, which serves as a validation of the culture’s memory of the past.

At this point, it becomes essential to make a transition from viewing these oral traditions solely as myths to understanding them within the broader framework of Indigenous historiography. While these stories may often be categorized as myths due to their sacred and symbolic nature, their function within these communities aligns closely with what scholars identify as historical traditions. These narratives are not merely explanatory tales of origins; they are also culturally shared frameworks through which communities make sense of their identity, land, and continuity.

The Mizo story of origin speaks of a place called Chhinlung, from which the Mizo tribes emerged in pairs and multiplied into many more since then. The Chhinlung or Sinlung myth is common to all Kuki-Chin-Mizo groups (Shakespear 1912, pp. 93–94; Sakhong 2009, pp. 8–33). This place is also simply referred to by some groups, such as the Simte, as ‘khul’ (cave). According to the Chhinlung story, the people who are now collectively known as Mizo came out of a cave or a hole in the ground. It is said that a dark mist enveloped the entire earth, and as a result of the darkness, there was great confusion among all beings. Humans were transforming into animals and birds, and this made the creator Khuangzingnu very unhappy. So, she gathered each tribe in pairs (male and female) and kept them in the underworld; she closed the only opening with a large rock, and this very place is known as Chhinlung. After enough time passed for them to multiply, Khuangzingnu decided to remove the rock, and out came the tribes in huge numbers. When the Ralte clan was coming out, they were so noisy that Khuangzingnu shut the opening, fearing that the earth would soon be overpopulated4.

Another origin myth of the Mizo tells of a time when the entire earth was covered with water, and there was no land anywhere. Soil was to be found only deep in the bottom of the water, but as the water was icy cold, nobody could survive its biting cold to fetch the soil. When all creatures consulted, the porcupine volunteered to fetch the soil. It dived deep into the water and succeeded in fetching a small amount of soil on the tip of its nose. This soil was eaten by the earthworm and excreted in greater amounts, which gradually expanded enough to form land for vegetation to grow. There was a tall tree, Thingvantawng, which grew out of the fertile soil at a place called Vanlaiphai (M. L. Pachuau 2013). This tree was felled and the impact of its fall formed the valleys, hills, and riverbeds. This story tells not only of the participation of all creatures in the formation of the land, but also includes within the narrative an anchor from which the dispersal of events unfolds. The tall tree, Thingvantawng, which was responsible for the topographical division of the land into hills, valleys, and riverbeds, grew at Vanlaiphai, located in the present-day state of Mizoram.

Similarly, the Angamis believe in a female creator called Ukepenuopfü. They think that they originated from a place called Makhel, a small village located in the present-day state of Manipur (see Figure 1). J. H. Hutton, in his account of the Angami Nagas, mentions the Angami’s claim: “The Angamis assert that their people originally came from the south, i.e., the direction of Manipur” (Hutton 1914, p. 476). The Angami origin story recounts the tale of their ancestor Koza, who lived in Khezakenoma (now part of the present-day state of Nagaland) with his three sons. He had a magical stone called Tupha Chava (see Figure 2) that had the power to multiply anything kept on it. One day, the three sons squabbled over the stone, which made Koza and his wife decide to destroy it, as they feared it might result in rivalry among the brothers. After performing a ritual, the stone developed a crack and lost its power. This made the brothers sincerely repentant of their foolishness and brought them peace with each other. From thence, they decided to part ways and left in three different directions to find their fortunes. These three brothers were from the Angami, Lotha, and Sumi tribes. To this day, the stone can be found in Khezakenoma. Thus, Khezakenoma remains the place where the Angamis trace their ancestry to.

These stories of both the Mizos and Nagas challenge mainstream historical accounts of origin and migration by situating the places of origin within their present habitation, thereby attesting to their claims of being Indigenous to the lands they now inhabit. While conventional historiography, based on anthropological, linguistic, and archaeological methods, traces the origin of the Mizos and Nagas to Mongolia and China, suggesting a migratory route through Burma into their present habitats in India, the oral narratives construct an alternative historical geography. These stories establish the peoples’ claim of history on their terms.

In this context, it is essential to understand that the boundary between myth and historical narrative is not always distinct, especially in preliterate or pre-modern societies. Myths often serve as foundational histories, embedding within them not only metaphysical beliefs, but also communal identity, territorial claims, and social memory. As such, the primary distinction between myths and historical narratives lies in their respective approaches to the past. While myths often evoke a symbolic, distant past, historical narratives create a sense of continuity and familiarity with the present. Yet, for societies such as the Mizos and Nagas, these distinctions are fluid, and their oral traditions serve as both myth and history. Recognizing this complexity enables a more inclusive and culturally grounded understanding of Indigenous historical consciousness.

5. Blurring Myth and History

In his book National Identity, Anthony D. Smith observes:

“What I have termed ‘shared historical memories’ may also take the form of myth. Indeed, for many pre-modern peoples, the line between myth and history was often blurred or even non-existent. Even today, the line is not as clear-cut as some would like it to be; the controversy over the historicity of Homer and the Trojan War is a case in point”.

(Smith 1991, p. 22)

Smith’s observation is particularly relevant in the context of the Mizos and Nagas, whose ‘histories’ are primarily constructed and transmitted through oral traditions commonly labeled as myths. These narratives serve a historical function within the communities, though often symbolic and sacred in form. In the absence of written records and with limited reliance on colonial documentation, oral traditions remain the foundational sources from which Indigenous historical consciousness is shaped and sustained.

To lend greater plausibility and coherence to these oral accounts, some historians attempted to reinterpret mythological references within the framework of documented history. For example, the mythical Chhinlung or Sinlung has been variously reimagined; some propose that it was not a physical place, but rather a person, such as a Chinese prince named Chin-Lung, the son of the emperor Shih Huang-Ti of the Ch’in dynasty (Thanga 1978 p. 6). Others argue that the term Chhinlung may refer to a geographical feature, such as the Chin Ling Mountains, suggesting that the Mizos might have originated from the Ko Ko Nor area in China (Lalthangliana 1980, p. 13) or the Szechwan Province of southern China (Sangkima 1992, p. 16–19). These interpretations aim to situate the Mizo origins within the broader narrative of East Asian migration, thereby relocating the people’s ancestral roots to a distant past in China.

However, these historically oriented reconstructions stand in contrast to the oral narratives that consistently locate the origins of the Mizos within or close to their present homeland. This divergence between written historical accounts and oral traditions underscores the complex relationship between history and myth. A possible explanation for the difficulty in identifying the geographical location of Chhinlung or Sinlung lies in the esoteric nature of place names within certain cultural traditions. For instance, in one recorded instance, a group of researchers exploring the Indo-Myanmar border came upon an ancient cave. When they inquired about its name, the local people informed them that while the cave was commonly referred to as Haosapi Cave, its esoteric or sacred name was Senlung, a name considered taboo to utter in casual conversation (Khiangte 2014, p. 5). Such practices of naming indicate the layered meanings and sacred codes that are often embedded in Indigenous oral traditions, complicating efforts to map them neatly onto modern geographical references.

Furthermore, many myths and legends are intricately tied to particular places which are held as sacred by the communities and considered integral to their collective identity. One such example is the story of Lalruong and its connection to Rounglevaisuo (also known as Tipaimukh) in present-day Manipur. According to Mizo folk narratives, Lalruong or Lalruanga was a powerful magician believed to have descended from a line of water spirits. Rounglevaisuo, the confluence of the Tuiruong (Barak River) from the Nagaland–Manipur border and the Tuivai River from Mizoram, is believed to have been his abode. Folk traditions identify various physical landmarks in the area as testaments to Lalruong’s magical abilities—“a pierced stone by his arrow; the spot where he burnt clouds to remove a spell… footprints on rocks… secret waterholes” (Keivom 2011, p. 3). For the Hmar people, one of the Mizo groups, this location is sacred not only due to its mythological significance, but also because it is regarded as the historical homeland from which their ancestors dispersed into various ethnic groups, such as the Biate, Chothe, and Anal (Keivom 2011, p. 4).

Similarly, places such as Khezakenoma, Makhel, and Khonoma hold great significance for the Angami Nagas, similar to the significance Rounglevaisuo holds for the Mizos. These sites are not only remembered in oral traditions, but are also deeply embedded in the lived memories of the people as ancestral places tied to their origins and identities. The reverence accorded to these places illustrates how spatial memory plays a vital role in the construction of Indigenous historiographies.

In Chin-Kuki myths and legends, the Gun River is another prominent reference point. Gȗn is the native name for what is now known as the Imphal River in Manipur (Shaw 1929). According to tradition, the mythical place of origin, ‘Khul’ is believed to be located at the source of the Gȗn River. Although these stories are often categorized as myths, they account for the people’s worldview, belief systems, and cultural practices that continue to be observed today.

What becomes evident through these narratives is that the distinction between myth and history is far from rigid in the cultural memory of the Mizos and Nagas. It is more productive to understand them as repositories of historical consciousness expressed in culturally resonant forms rather than dismissing myths as ahistorical or fictional. These oral traditions, passed down through generations and anchored in specific landscapes, serve as living histories that shape communal identity and continuity. By acknowledging the historical dimensions embedded in myth, we move toward a more inclusive and culturally sensitive understanding of Indigenous pasts.

6. Cultural Geography as Memory

According to the Mizo ancient belief, the dead are believed to cross the Rih Dîl (Rih Lake) on their way to Mitthi Khua (the land of the dead). Rih Dîl is located at the border between Mizoram and Myanmar. There are narratives built around each place—mountains, rivers, lakes, streams, ridges, and gorges all have stories attached to them. These places are not merely physical features, but are imbued with spiritual and cultural significance. When the spirits are invoked in rituals, they are called by the names of the places they are believed to inhabit. For instance, in a ritual performed to appease the Lasi (mythical animal guardians) spirit called Hnuaite, the priest chants:

• Muchhip tlanga Lasi khâlin
• Ka zeltluang lo chhang ang che,
• Buannela Lasi Khalin
• ………………
• Lurhpui leh Tanhala Lasi Khâlin
• Ka zeltluang lo chhang ang che…
• The Lasi spirit of Muchhip Hill
• Accept my offering
• The Lasi spirit of Buannel
• ………
• Lurhpui and Tanhal mountain spirits
• Accept my offer…5
(Authors’ translation)

The places that are named in these rituals are part of the geographical landscape that forms the homeland of the Mizos in their cultural imagination. These places are either in present-day Mizoram, one of the Indian states inhabited by the Mizos, or in Myanmar, which the Mizos regard as a part of their ancestral homeland. Such invocations show that spatial memory and sacred geography are integral to their cultural worldview. For the Mizo and the Angami alike, identity is deeply bound to the land—no other place holds greater meaning than the soil where their ancestors are buried. Easterine Kire, an Angami writer, aptly captures this sentiment: “This is our home … We cannot abandon it and try to live in another place. Our umbilical cords are buried here…” (Kire 2014, p. 91).

In the context of postcolonial and Indigenous studies, these place-based lores serve not only as spiritual and cultural expressions, but also as acts of resistance. They assert a continued connection to ancestral land in the face of displacement, marginalization, and historical erasure brought on by colonial and postcolonial state narratives. By embedding memory, identity, and meaning into the physical landscape, these narratives challenge dominant historiographies and function as vital tools for cultural preservation and the reassertion of Indigenous sovereignty.

The connection between place, memory, and identity is further exemplified during festivals such as Chapchar Kut, where young men and women perform the chai lâm (lâm meaning dance). These performances are often accompanied by songs that function as oral repositories of history. Lianthanga, in his book Hmanlai Mizo Nun (History of the Mizo), categorizes some of these as “historical songs” because they recount significant events and cultural mappings through place names and narratives:

“Tlawng hnara mi an ri khum khum e, Sanglawn Zopui ka kai lo ding maw e…Tiauva dungzawh pui ang e…”.

(Lianthanga 1999, p. 115–16)

This particular song refers to Tlawng, Zopui, and Tiau—names of rivers and villages found in the present state of Mizoram. Through these performances, oral traditions actively preserve and transmit cultural knowledge, attaching historical value to geographical sites.

Similarly, among the Nagas, places such as Ongterok or Longterok, Saramati Mountain, Makhel, and Khezhakenoma—all situated within or near their current habitation—hold immense cultural and historical significance. These place-based narratives serve as cultural anchors for tracing the past and articulating community identity.

At this point, it is essential to transition from oral traditions to how these narratives have been interpreted—or, at times, reinterpreted—within academic historical frameworks. Some modern historians, relying on comparative linguistic studies, colonial records, and migration theories, suggest that the Mizo and Naga peoples migrated from China or Mongolia through regions such as Myanmar, Tibet, or Thailand. These theories aim to situate the communities within broader migration patterns, supported by archaeological and historical evidence.

However, such accounts do not always align with Indigenous understandings of history, as many communities, such as the Mizos and Nagas, define history not by the written archive but by memory, storytelling, and place-based knowledge. From the native perspective, history is essentially what has been passed down by elders—their stories, songs, rituals, and lived experiences form the core of historical consciousness. The divergence between academic and Indigenous approaches to history is succinctly highlighted by Clyde David Dollar, a noted anthropologist and historian who worked extensively with Native American communities. He observes:

“Indeed, among the high Plains people, there is little interest in the subject matter of history per se beyond the repeating of stories, and a deeply searching pursuit of data and facts on which to build veracity in history is frequently considered pointless, perhaps ludicrous, decidedly nosy, and an occupation closely associated with eccentric white men”.

(Qtd. in Krupat 2002, p. 50)

This view underscores that for many Indigenous societies, the meaning and function of history lie not in empirical verification but in cultural continuity, communal memory, and the reaffirmation of identity. Therefore, what is dismissed as a “myth” from a Eurocentric historical standpoint may serve as vital historical knowledge for these communities. The need to engage with such narratives on their terms becomes not just a methodological choice, but also an ethical imperative in decolonizing historical inquiry. Indigenous scholars such as Linda T Smith challenged the “notion of history which the Western academy understands” (Smith 1999, p. 29) and points out, after Frantz Fanon, the need for creating ‘a new literature’ and a new methodology that does not negate “Indigenous views of history” contained in the “numerous oral stories” (Smith 1999, p. 29). To Smith, the dismissal of Indigenous understanding of history as ‘primitive’ and ‘incorrect’—and therefore, not ‘authentic’—history was a critical part of asserting the colonial ideology, which was founded upon the Hegelian concept of the self-actualizing, historically civilized human Self versus the prehistoric, uncivilized Other.

7. History as Hegemonic Discourse

The history of the Indigenous peoples in Northeast India has been constructed and imposed by dominant forces, shaped and reshaped by hegemonic historical narratives. According to David V. Zou, neither the nationalist nor the subaltern anti-colonial historiography in India showed much interest in the Northeast because of the region’s “perceived apathy to Indian nationalism against British rule” (Zou 2018, p. 138). The question of history as an apolitical and innocent discipline engaged in factual research and recording raises Jan Vansina’s provocative question, “Whose past is history?” (Vansina 1985). This question challenges the very foundations of historiography, sparking critical debates about the politics of history and the authority of those who produce it. Vansina demonstrates how historical traditions are shaped by the prevailing political structures within a society. For instance, in monarchic systems, history is often synonymous with the history of the ruling dynasty:

“In many African or Polynesian kingdoms, it was held that the only true general history was dynastic. Kingship was the expression of the whole country and the past of the royal house was that of the nation. This is explicitly stated by the people of the kingdom of Kazembe (Zambia)”.

(Vansina 1985, p. 107)

This perspective raises a significant concern: if history has traditionally been constructed by and for the dominant ruling classes, does that imply the absence of alternative pasts—those of groups whose experiences were never formally recorded, or as Toni Morrison terms it, were “disremembered and unaccounted for” (Morrison 1987, p. 274). This concern leads to a deeper examination of historiography as an exclusionary practice. In other words, when the narratives of dominant actors frame history, it often marginalizes or silences the stories of those who remain “hidden from history”—a phrase famously used by Sheila Rowbotham.

It is precisely in this context that oral narratives become invaluable. For those excluded from written historical traditions, oral traditions serve as alternative archives—sources through which collective memory and identity are preserved and passed down. The oral traditions stored within genealogies, woven textiles, monoliths, songs, and even personal names can be read as contested histories. Unlike history, which relies on literacy, these traditions depend on the ‘oral ways of knowing’ (Smith 1999, p. 33). These narratives may not conform to the expectations of academic history in terms of chronology or empirical verifiability, and they often contain imaginative elements or mythic embellishments. However, as Danielson rightly points out:

“To dismiss oral traditional narrative because it cannot be used in the reconstruction of objective history is to ignore the community’s perception of its past and to disregard the complex interaction between human psychology, narrative function, and historicity in oral history research”.

(Danielson 1980, pp. 70–71)

Thus, the transition from myth to history cannot be understood as a simple shift from fiction to fact. Instead, it demands a re-evaluation of what constitutes valid historical knowledge. For communities such as the Angamis and Mizos of Northeast India, oral traditional narratives are not merely cultural artifacts; they are foundational to their sense of historical identity. The stone carving at Makhel village (See Figure 3), for instance, serves as a historical monument that validates the origin myth of the Nagas as a historical truth that is accepted by the community. However, it may not be accepted as ‘historical’ from the lens of conventional historical methods. The monolith also serves as a validation of the people’s indigeneity to the land, as the land of their ancestors. The problem with history as a hegemonic project is that histories are constructed through the interpretations of those in power, written by historians who write for them, and, as such, shaped by their own biases. Thus, recognizing the epistemological value of oral traditions is essential for a more inclusive and representative understanding of the past—one that honors not just the dominant versions of history, but also the lived experiences of those outside the bounds of mainstream historiography.

8. Conclusions

Since the now available written histories of the Mizo and the Naga rely heavily on oral narratives to reconstruct the past in the absence of earlier written records, it is essential to acknowledge the limitations of historical “accuracy” in such contexts. The conventional understanding of history as a collection of “known facts,” as described by William Cronon, becomes challenging to uphold when dealing with communities whose pasts have been primarily transmitted through oral means. In such cases, written histories—rather than being definitive accounts—must be regarded as interpretative reconstructions. They are often no more reliable than the oral narratives they draw upon. Indeed, they may be viewed at best as hypothetical and at worst as speculative. However, it is crucial to recognize that both written history and oral traditions are shaped by the cultural, political, and social contexts in which they are produced and preserved. As Paul Thompson noted in his influential essay The Voice of the Past, “All history depends ultimately upon its social purpose” (Thompson 2016, p. 1).

To better understand the role and value of traditional oral narratives within historical discourse, it is necessary to approach them not as myths in opposition to fact but as expressions of collective memory. This conceptual shift helps reposition oral narratives within the realm of legitimate historical inquiry. The French sociologist Maurice Halbwachs (1992) was among the first to articulate the idea that memory is not simply an individual or personal phenomenon but is socially constructed through the frameworks of community and group identity. As Burke observes in his discussion of Halbwachs’ theory, “It is individuals who remember, in the literal, physical sense, but it is social groups who determine what is ‘memorable’ and also how it will be remembered” (Burke 1997, p. 44).

When Halbwachs’ theory is applied to the oral historical traditions of the Mizo and the Angami, it provides a deeper understanding of how these narratives function as repositories of group memory. They are not simply retellings of the past, but living expressions of cultural identity that are collectively shaped and continually reaffirmed. Oral traditions endure precisely because they serve as the memory of a social group and are vital to the construction and reinforcement of cultural identity. These traditions are maintained and transmitted through communal rituals, storytelling practices, and performances—each reaffirming a shared sense of belonging. As Jan Vansina aptly observes, “In every society, each role or status is modeled after an ideal to which holders must conform. The ideal is common to a whole community and often is preserved in its oral traditions” (Vansina 1985, pp. 105–6).

In conclusion, the oral narratives of the Mizo and Angami communities must be understood not merely as cultural expressions, but as foundational sources of historical consciousness. These stories sustain Indigenous identity, communicate communal memory, and assert sovereignty over historical interpretation. Far from being peripheral to history, oral traditions demand recognition as valid archives—particularly in postcolonial regions where written documentation is entangled with colonial erasure. A decolonial approach to history affirms that Indigenous knowledge systems carry their own methods of validating truth and memory, often through performance, ritual, and place-based storytelling. These narratives function not only as cultural expressions, but also as custodians of the past, preserving what the community deems significant and worthy of remembrance. While written history is often seen as more reliable due to its claim to factuality and permanence, its application to pre-modern oral societies must be approached with caution. In such contexts, oral tradition is not merely an alternative to written history—it is a vital historical source in its own right. With writing introduced only in the latter part of the 19th century, the sources of Mizo and Naga history are pre-eminently in the oral traditions. As such, engaging in historical discourse in the context of Indigenous communities of Northeast India must take cognizance of the fact that what now passes as the history of the region is, after all, a colonial legacy. The written records of colonial ethnographers and missionaries, with all their biases, misnomers, and misconceptions, shape and inform the discourse of the region, which are not surprisingly internalized by the peoples themselves, given the power of the written text to systematically organize a structured knowledge which is consumed as ‘the authentic’ records of the past.