There was a time when the night in an Assamese village wasn’t silent. It echoed with the crackling of firewood, the giggles of children, and the hypnotic voice of a grandmother recounting stories that danced between myth and memory.
These weren’t tales you’d find in books. They lived in the mouths of elders, in the chants of Ojapalis, in the rhythm of Dihanaams. They were full of magic, animals that talked, spirits that guarded forests, and wise fools who outsmarted kings.
Tales That Shaped Us
Remember Tejimola? The girl who bloomed into a flower after being wronged. Or Champavati, whose bravery is still sung in the hills. These were more than stories. They were reflections of our fears, hopes, and values—told and retold till they became part of who we are.
But something happened. Somewhere between smartphones and satellite TV, we stopped listening. And the stories? They grew quiet.
Why They Still Matter
Our folk tales teach empathy. They tell us to respect nature, to listen before we judge, to believe in the impossible. They are rooted in our soil, yet echo universal truths. Losing them means losing a part of ourselves.
Can We Bring Them Back?
Yes. But not just through academic collections or museum displays. We need to feel them again. Tell them to our kids before bedtime. Animate them. Podcast them. Let them live in new mediums, but carry the same old soul.
Let’s open the treasure chest buried under dust. There’s gold in there—woven with love, fear, laughter, and wisdom.
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