The “Jungle Lord” and the Natural Order: Adi Narratives About the Epom

Abstract

Among the Adi in the Siang districts of Arunachal Pradesh, India, in the far eastern Himalayan foothills, fear of the Epom—a dangerous, tree-dwelling, non-human entity—impacts human navigation of the wilderness. The Epom inhabits the peripheral corners of Adi society and polices his environment, kidnapping or killing those who violate it in continuation of an ancestral feud, functioning as a sinister regulator of the natural order. This article examines the relationships among the Epom, the Adi, and the foreign in contemporary Arunachal Pradesh.

Introduction ¹

The Adi Epom ² is blamed for human disappearances in the jungle, particularly those of children. Sometimes these children are returned, but sometimes the Epom have enslaved their young captives, or killed them. Certain rituals performed by specialists may recover the abductee, though on other occasions may not, thus necessitating revenge by the Adi through the cutting down of trees associated with the Epom. The Epom is also a central figure in Adi cosmology: the first Epom was the brother of the first human, sparking centuries of quarrels between the siblings. Mythology describes how disagreements between the two determined wildlife characteristics and relegated the Adi to the plains and the Epom to the jungle. Multiple stories in circulation today describe hunters who have disappeared or fallen deathly ill after returning from the forest—misfortunes that are believed to have been caused by the Epom in response to the human’s violation of the sacred jungle regulations. Mysterious deaths—such as that of a man recently found dead and naked at the top of a tree—are also attributed to Epom. ³ But as globalization has reached Arunachal Pradesh, narratives increasingly recount abductions of foreigners by Epom and include references to technology: one recent high-profile disappearance blamed on the Epom occurred while the victim was watching television.

The Adi tribe ⁴ are one of the Tani group, which also comprise the Apatani, the Galo, the Mising, the Nyishi, and the Tagin. This network traces their shared heritage to Abo-Tani (lit., Father-Man [Adi]) and have historically practiced tribe- and community-specific variations of the indigenous religion of Donyipolo (Sun–Moon). Adi cosmology is vast and nuanced, but Donyipolo can be broadly characterized by the exaltation of a divine creator force as represented by the Sun (Donyi [Adi], female energy) and Moon (Polo [Adi], male energy). ⁵ A number of benevolent tutelary deities (e.g., Doying Bote, the deity of humans, stories, and wisdom; Dadi Bote, the deity of animals; Kine Nane, the deity of agriculture; Gumin Soyin, the deity of the home) function as manifestations of the power of Donyipolo and thus inspire multi-faceted levels of worship, serving as vehicles through which one connects with Donyipolo—and, thus, the creator force. This unknown creator ⁶ brought life from the nothingness of keyum, yet remains unknowable, a force that is Supreme but intellectually unfathomable. Adi ontology—governed as it is by continual negotiation with all varieties of non-human entities, called uyu—paints the world as a place where man, blessed with the gifts of Sedi, the creator of the Earth, all around him, must yet approach nature as he might an unpredictable brother.

While contemporary influences and Christian and Hindu missionary activity have had different impacts within each tribe, over the past quarter-century the Tani as a whole have enacted an unprecedented religious renovation, beginning in the 1980s with the founding of the Adi Donyipolo Yelam Kebang, an organization that has restructured indigenous Donyipolo through a series of processes that could be considered “formalization” or “institutionalization” (Scheid 2015a). ⁷ However, the categorical umbrella of “Donyipolo” is large and the faith is articulated in different ways by each Tani tribe, sub-tribe, and even household. Each tribe additionally has a distinct Tibeto-Burman language. ⁸ Thus the Adi Epom ⁹ has rough ideological and linguistic equivalents in each Tani tribe (i.e., the Yapun/Yapung among the Apatani, the Yapom among the Galo, the Yapam among the Nyishi), each with a vast number of tribe- and site-specific narratives and rituals.

Previous scholarship has begun to draw a descriptive portrait of this jungle lord. The Epom has been mentioned in literature from within the Tani community, as in publications by Ering (n.d.) and Nabam (2014), as well as in writings about Arunachal Pradesh including the works of Marak and Kalita (2013), Chaudhuri (2008), Joshi (2005), Ramirez (2005), Roy (2005), Regunathan (2001), and Elwin (1970, 1958). Verrier Elwin (1902–1964), the eminent anthropologist, recorded many narratives about the Epom, tales that depict the Epom as a skilled fisherman, a cunning antagonist, and an entity of great power that can assume at will the physical form of man (Elwin, 1970, p. 31):

Their most sinister attribute is the habit of carrying off human beings alive. An Epom Wiyu [uyu] makes a noise like a child crying at the top of a tree. The unwary traveller goes to the place and, instead of a child, finds the headless body of a wild cat. As he stands gazing at it, the Wiyu [uyu] kidnaps him and he is never heard of again. The Epoms also make men cut themselves with daos [knives] as they work in the forest.

Marak and Kalita define the Epom as the “invisible [spirit] dwelling in the jungle…[a lord] of the animals [who causes] harm to human beings” (Marak & Kalita, 2013, p. 312). Roy writes that “it would be more plausible to treat the term [Epom] as the name of an undefined spirit of the wilderness, that assumes shapes at will and causes death by accidents” (Roy, 2005, pp. 237–238), acknowledging “different manifestations…[with] special names attached”. He postulates that these multiple “Epom forms” have given rise to the concept of “Epom families” among the Adi (Roy, 2005, p. 238)—a belief that remains widespread in contemporary Adi societies ¹⁰ —yet he also makes a distinction between the “accident-inflicting Epom” and what he categorizes separately as “spirits that cause diseases and deal death through them…[who] have no name as a group” (Roy, 2005). ¹¹ Joshi, who also references Roy’s description, writes (2005, p. 101):

Sometimes, [an Epom] is likened to the wind…Man may, however, only see its dis- guises, for as a familiar figure it attracts its victim to destruction. Sometimes a mere laugh draws a curious man to his doom. In innumerable other ways, it may bring about death and destruction [to] human kind. From all these descriptions of its nature and ways, it will appear that the unsubstantiality of its whole being is particularly stressed.

The jungle is considered to be the Epom’s domain, and thus the Adi refrain from cutting certain trees out of fear of incurring the Epom’s wrath: today, these include the sirot (also known as hirot and often referred to as sirot ane—or the shortened version of sirot ane, “rotne” ¹² ); the silok (banyan); and the hollock. ¹³ It is widely understood that the felling of such trees will cause illness or death to one’s family or animals. ¹⁴ A large number of Epom stories describe the misfortunes that come to those who use even dead “Epom trees” for firewood. ¹⁵ Additionally, folklore about certain sirot trees depicts them as supernaturally strong and impossible for humans to cut. ¹⁶ The Epom is additionally blamed for landslides and road blocks, both at specific sites and generally. Fears about Epom also impact jungle hunting: certain mithun ¹⁷ roaming in the jungle without earmarkers tying them to a particular clan ¹⁸ are considered to be the mithun of the Epom, particularly if their coloring is unusual. The Adi will not claim these mithun out of fear that they will upset the Epom. ¹⁹ Rituals intended to pre-emptively propitiate the Epom are widespread and routinely carried out prior to hunting and fishing trips.

“Epom are basically the unseen deities who take care of all the life forms in the jungle,” explains a Minyong Adi from Bogne Village, West Siang. “They are the overall caretakers of the spirits of the forest and animals.” A teacher from Bari Village describes that the Epom travel down from the mountain to fish during the night. They can be heard calling out “ho, ho’ on their way. Occasionally, humans going to fish early in the morning stumble upon them, then retreat. This man has himself encountered Epom while sleeping in a small hunting hut constructed in the jungle. The Epom caused him trouble in the night, paralyzing him temporarily. He saw the Epom leaving; the Epom resembled a large man.

Current tales in the area around Aalo town describe similar “Epom sightings” in which the Epom is “seven feet tall and hairy”; however, near Yingkiong, it is currently said the Epom have no skin. Living an existence that is parallel to that of humans, the Epom are said to dress similarly to the Adi, wearing the same ornaments that humans do. But equally often it is said that the Epom is invisible to humans, although they show their presence by leaving signs that indicate they are there. There is, for instance, a specific jungle location where it is thought one can travel to see the footprints that the Epom have left behind. Lights that appear in the jungle—resembling the fire that Adi carry on bamboo torches (mure) to navigate in the dark—are thought to be indications that the Epom are moving through the trees when no human traveler can be identified. Trees that have unusual cut marks in their bark—particularly those that seem to have been cut from the center itself and split in many parts, appearing “burst”—are also understood to be evidence of Epom habitation; such “burst” trees are believed to be messages from the Epom that humans have erred or that humans have accumulated ajing (debt) toward the Epom that needs to be paid—if it is not, the Epom may kidnap or injure one’s family, even generations later. ²⁰

Categorizing the Epom: An Uyu Ontology

The Epom is usually considered a type of uyu, a non-human entity. A “common Adi” language dictionary ²¹ defines Epom in English as “a spirit which stays in big trees, superman” (Pertin, 2009, p. 23). It is tempting to use this English term “spirit” to describe the Epom—and all uyu—in scholarship. However, such a word is problematic, as it suggests certain ephemeral manifestations that do not accurately represent the Adi uyu. Attention to the dangers of describing indigenous cultures using only external concepts and etic terminology follows what has been called the “ontological turn” in anthropology (e.g., Descola, 1992, 2013; Holbraad & Pederson, 2017; Viveiros de Castro, 1998) and reflects the struggles of contemporary scholars contemplating new academic approaches to the subject (e.g., Kraft et al., 2020; Tafjord, 2016, 2013). This line of thought urges researchers to devise new, context-specific, and non-hegemonic methods of articulating the conceptual nuances extant in indigenous “beliefs” without reverting to dated anthropological categories. In this way, the term “spirt” is imprecise for both the Epom and the category of uyu. Rather than being considered “less than” human due to their “othered” status, uyu are at least as central to Adi interaction with the world as are humans and are inextricable from it. Certain uyu may be perhaps called “spirit-like,” but the Epom exists and has always existed as a “never-human” entity descended from a different, but equal, mythological forefather. For these reasons, “spirit” does not exactly suffice, nor does “creature,” or “monster”; yet it is similarly not enough to define uyu in merely by their being “non-human.” ²²

Some Adi Donyipolo practitioners believe that the identity and fate of a person has been predetermined by the superhuman couple Kongki Komang and the creator of the Earth, Sedi. However, human life is undeniably thought to be influenced by the actions of the uyu, who can affect human life in neutral, positive, or negative ways. ²³ Though their goals in doing so are sometimes opaque, the majority of uyu cause harm to humans; as Ramirez puts it, “the men hunt the animals, the wiyu [uyu] hunt the men” (Ramirez, 2005, p. 4). Much effort is therefore put into respecting the uyu by not disturbing nature, and, thus, avoiding the uyu’s wrath. Should an uyu attack a human, sacrifices to and communication with the uyu in question are primarily the work of specific ritual specialists, those of the shaman strata uyu-miri, also known as ait-miri (ait roughly corresponding to the Adi idea of “soul”). ²⁴

Uyu among the Adi can be tentatively classified into four main groups: genealogical, natural, companion, and “post-human.” Genealogical uyu are those non-human entities descended from an ancestor different from that of man, whose origins are preserved in oral narratives; natural uyu are those associated with particular plants, foods, or natural forces (e.g., fire—or even fireplace) and usually negatively impact humans who come in contact with them; companion uyu are those that are attached to individual humans and influence their lives from other realms, such as “uyu-wives and uyu-husbands”; ²⁵ “post-human” ²⁶ uyu are the manifestations of recently ²⁷ deceased community members. There is additionally a fifth, fluid class of uyu, whose origins are unknown. These uyu appear often in folktales having taken the guise of a person, animal, or hybrid (e.g., man walking on four legs), are generally of neutral or positive intention, and seem to emulate the desires of humans for family, marriage, and other life events. Certain uyu, particularly those of the “companion” sub-set, also can benefit the humans with whom they associate through manipulating the humans’ emotions and surroundings positively, by providing wealth or situations of opportunity. But all these sub-types can theoretically manifest through possession and inflict illness, cause accidents, or kill.

Epom are genealogical uyu, descended from Robo, the brother of the first human, Tani. They can also be viewed as natural uyu due to their affiliation with hollock, sirot, and silok trees. Occasionally, it has been said that the urum—the post-human uyu of the fourth category—might join with the Epom to fight against mankind, but this does not seem to be a widespread belief. Epom additionally present behavior of the fifth class, in some instances marrying and even reproducing with humans.

A Minyong Adi described categories particular to the Epom, further separating the Epom into strong and weak—Epom pomro ²⁸ (strong Epom) and Epom pompak (weak Epom). A different West Siang man described Epom poktong and Epom poling, categorizations that seem similar to the categories of pomro and pompak. Epom poktong are of a “higher class” than Epom poling and travel through the jungle saying “poktong, poktong, poktong”; Epom poling are smaller and bird-like, ²⁹ saying “ko-ko-koi.” Many times Epom abductees are returned covered in pinch marks, understood by some to be indications that the Epom had been eating small pieces of their abductee’s flesh. Such pinch marks are thought to be the work only of Epom pompak, the weak Epom. If man kills either of these Epom, it follows that a member of his family will similarly die. All Epom, if disturbed, might cause physical or mental harm to humans or might kill them.

In certain Adi areas around Aalo and Yingkiong, distinctions are sometimes made between male and female Epom (Epom, male; Nipong, female), though the Nipong is not consistently categorized as the female Epom and many Adi do not make this association. In common usage, Nipong refers to a malevolent female uyu and Epom refers to a male genealogical uyu, without connections directly drawn between them in this way.

While Epom are usually decidedly male ³⁰ and associated with the large jungle trees, Nipong are more commonly associated with the areas around “small gorges and streams in the jungle”—kobung-korang. In his works, Elwin identifies the Nipong as a “water spirit” (Elwin, 1970, pp. 31–32) with no reference to her relation to the Epom, and Roy makes a distinction between the realm of Epom and the realm of Nipong, writing that “souls of the women go to the realm of Nipong; those killed in forests become subject of Epom” (Roy, 2005, p. 252).

The Nipong is usually described as an uyu who attacks women, sometimes possessing them, and often causing excessive menstruation, stomach pains, and the deaths of mothers during childbirth. Elwin connects the Nipong to taboos that prohibit women from approaching isolated plantain trees and gathering nettles, actions which he says expose them to Nipong (Elwin, 1970, p. 46). He suggests additionally that Nipong can shape-shift into birds (Elwin, 1970, p. 31), which may reveal a possible classification of Epom poling. Contemporary taboos associate throwing stones, making noise, and cutting down plants—especially wild bananas—with the anger of the Nipong. Unlike the Epom, the Nipong is portrayed primarily as a natural uyu residing in waters, marshes, and kobung-korang. Some narratives that depict the Nipong as a manifestation of a human who has died (e.g., Ramirez, 2005, p. 6, as the “spirits of the women who died in delivery”) would suggest a potential categorical overlap with the post-human uyu, which is absent in the case of the Epom, consistently described in a manner warranting genealogical classification. However, it is my impression that there are actually two separate types of Nipong: first there is Nipong (“Nita Nipong” or “Niji Nipong”), who is a genealogical uyu, as she—like the first human and the first Epom—is the child of Pedong Nane; ³¹ this Nipong is also a “natural” uyu. Second, there is a different “post-human” variety of Nipong: the human women who die from Nipong (in childbirth, and others) become Nipong urum (uyu of the “post-human” category, but not of the “genealogical” or “natural” categories).

The Epom is not directly equivalent to the Western idea of the “yeti,” which among the Adi is associated with a different uyu called Dimo Taying who lives in the cold, snowy places. ³² I additionally encountered an English-speaking Adi who referred to Epom using the Western word and concept of “Bigfoot.” However, as emphasized in the beginning of this section, Adi conceptions of the uyu—and, thus, of Epom and Dimo Taying—are best viewed as one part of an integrated, nuanced system through which the human lives alongside the non-human. In attempts to represent Adi ontology, it would be misleading to draw parallels between the Adi uyu and these foreign concepts of “folkloristic phenomena,” such as the “yeti” and “Bigfoot,” that have been introduced from the West.

Epom as Genealogical Uyu: Tani’s Elder Brother

Creation narratives depict the first Epom (Robo or Taro) as the forefather of all malevolent non-human entities and the brother to the first human (Tani or Nibo), himself the forefather of all human beings. ³³ The basic structure of these legends describes Tani and Robo as being born to the same mother, Pedong Nane, ³⁴ before she “retired into her celestial abode leaving behind all her children…to face the challenge of material life” (Ering, n.d., p. 50). According to Regunathan, Pedong Nane had 13 children, the first 11 of whom were governing entities such Jimu Tayang (synonymous with Dimo Taying), the lord of the mountain, and Lada Layo, the lord of the Siang river. The last two children were the first Epom and the first human (here, Tani). Regunathan—who uses “wiyu [uyu]” interchangeably with “spirit”—draws a distinction between the first 11 children, whom he describes as “spirits”, and Tani and Robo, whom he implies are the only children of Pedong Nane who are not “spirits” (Regunathan, 2001, p. 43). Nabam writes that Tani (Abo-Tani) was the youngest child of Niya Tani and Pedong Nane; he describes the relationship between Tani and Robo thus (Nabam, 2014, pp. 10–11):

If Tani was wise then Robo was the source to make Tani wiser, Tani was clever and Robo was simple. Robo had a heavy voice and Tani had a sharp voice. Both were complete human beings. They were natural, independent … and both were complementary to each other.

Ering also comments that Robo was strong but Tani appeared physically fragile, especially as he was the youngest of Pedong Nane’s children (Ering, n.d., p. 50).

An administrative religious leader in Pasighat describes the filial ties between the human and non-human (Interview, 2014):

Tani [the first human] and Epom, they were brothers. Tani is younger brother, Epom is elder brother. There were so many challenges, but Tani was always respecting of God, believing God, taking the help of God. But Epom would never take—he said, “No, if there is God, I am also God.” The Epom had that type of belief. Then there was a lot of conflict—who will be the owner of this land, who will be the owner of this ornament, who will be owner of this space. Abo-Tani took the help of Doying Bote, Dadi Bote, and Donyipolo. …Many challenges were there, but Abotani [Tani] won all the challenges.

Narratives about Tani and Robo are chronicled in the Doni-Dongor Abang ³⁵ and are described by Ering as tales depicting the human struggle for supremacy over the supernatural (Ering, n.d., pp. 50–60). Different stories in circulation depict the various quarrels that drove the brothers apart, after which the younger, human brother moved to the fields and the older, non-human to the trees: thus the elder son Robo [Epom] became “lord of the jungle.” Epom is often described as an envious and devious character, waging war to attain the material things that he desires—yet Tani is as well, frequently acting as the instigator of discord due to his own greed and lack of foresight. Elwin points out that in pan-Tani chronicles of human and non-human conflict, humans often triumph through deception, winning the property of the non-human but only by cheating: “men are generally described as the more intelligent and certainly the more deceitful” (Elwin, 1958, p. 155).

It is due to these arguments between Tani and Robo that man was birthed from Tani and the non-human from Robo. Roy describes a battle in which malevolent non-human entities sided with the primordial Epom: because the first human, Nibo, cheated Robo in hunting and fishing, Robo’s descendants have haunted Nibo’s descendants in perpetuity (Roy, 2005, p. 237). Regunathan traces the origin of the quarrel to Misum Minyang, an uyu that Tani once looked after. When Misum Minyang died, Tani and Robo inherited his belongings, as per the late uyu’s desire. It was Robo’s lust for the entirety of Misum Minyang’s bequest that inspired him to kill Tani, shutting Tani in a cane box and throwing the box into the Siang river. By the time that Tani had escaped with the help of Donyi, the sun, Robo had married Tani’s wife. Tani, incensed, chased Robo into the jungle, where he remains today in Epom form (Regunathan, 2001, p. 44).

Roy (2005, p. 177) traces the origins of the mosup, the Adi “town hall” comparable to the (male) dormitory system in Adivasi societies, to attempts by Tani’s parents, Pedong Nane and Idum Bote, to protect Doni ³⁶ [Tani] from Robo. A large governance meeting (kebang) had been held to divide the wealth of the world. Doni and Robo had both emerged in prosperity. But Robo envied Doni’s share, creating clashes in the community and aligning Robo with “all the evil spirits and wicked beings” (Roy, 2005). Pedong Nane and Idum Bote constructed a shelter where Doni could learn the art of war, surrounded by positive entities and safely away from his brother (Roy, 2005).

In many of the origin tales, animals are the source of problems between the brothers. Often the animals of one brother wander onto the land of the other, which prompts conflicts of ownership and eventually leads to arguments. In one narrative, Tani envies the fine twig attire made of tai, tachap, and taso trees that Yasam [Epom] had been offered by the bride-to-be of Jimu Tayang (Dimo Taying), the mountain uyu. Yasam had distributed these fineries to make the hooves and antlers of his forest animals. Tani convinced Yasam to share some of the beautiful creatures, and Yasam agreed, contingent on ongoing propitiation by Tani’s descendants whenever they enter Yasam’s jungle land (Simon, Tani Folk Tale Collection, n.d., p. 27). Recounting a Galo ³⁷ creation story, Elwin (1958, pp. 177–178) describes how Yapom [Epom] and his younger brother Abo-Tani (born to Sichi-Chitu-Tuni, the Galo equivalent of Pedong Nane) were neighbors on a hill. Yapom kept wild animals, such as deer, porcupines, bears, and tigers; Tani kept domestic creatures, looking after dogs, fowl, and pigs that Yapom had given to him. The domestic animals, however, continued to cross onto the property of Yapom, which angered Yapom and caused him to scold Tani for not properly watching his flock. A fight ensued and the brothers decided they could no longer live near one another. Yapom decided to go to the hills. The brothers shared a mithun (a domesticated type of gaur cattle often sacrificed in ceremonies) before parting, but Abo-Tani struggled to carry his heavy piece of meat alone. He enlisted the help of a bat, Tapeng, but Tapeng stole the mithun and took it to his cave, erecting its horns above the entryway. Tani sought out Tapeng to kill him in revenge, but the bat convinced him instead “to tie bits of wood to his wings and set fire to them” (Elwin, 1958, p. 177). Tani did so—this is why the bat is black. Tapeng survived and went on to attack the stores and home of Yapom, killing his family and his wife and sparking a great battle between Tani and Yapom. A white uyu—Dige—was born from the union of earth and heaven ³⁸ to intervene and make peace between the brothers. Dige drew land boundaries and recorded his new rules on skin for Tani and on stone for Yapom. (Tani later burned these commandments and ate the skin to quell his hunger, which is presented as the cause of illiteracy among the Tani.) Dige’s orders were: “From Abo-Tani will come the race of men, from Yapom the race of Wiyu [uyu]” (Elwin, 1958, pp. 177–178).

In a variation of this tale, both brothers lay animal traps: Tani in the ground, and Epom in the tree. A bird is caught in Tani’s ground trap and a deer is caught in Epom’s tree trap. But Tani switched the yields, trapping the deer on the ground and the bird ³⁹ in the tree, where they remain today. “That is why the men can hunt the deer and other animals in the forest and Epom has to reluctantly allow this” (Simon, n.d., p. 5). ⁴⁰ Conflicts over animals also appear in the creation story of the mithun: After Koli and Kotang created the mithun by planting the atkap (gland near the pelvis) of Dine—Tani’s brother—and then combining it with various plants, Tani successfully navigates the creature through “Epom land”—a triumph, as the Epom wanted to take possession of the mithun (Simon, n.d., pp. 35–37).

The idea that the relationship between human and non-human beings is a dark sibling rivalry is not unique to the Tani groups; it holds loose parallels in the cosmology of other indigenous communities in Arunachal Pradesh and the greater Himalayas (e.g., the Lepcha in Sikkim). But it is nonetheless central to the comprehension of contemporary Adi perception of the Epom, as it illuminates that, within the Adi worldview, the non-human are equally as powerful as the human, though their intentions toward each other are, at best, ambiguous. The two are locked in a mutual power struggle that is often agitated and never resolved. This manifests in mythology through disputes between the two over land, property, and animals. Ramirez has made similar observations, describing “man and spirit” in Tani ontology as “true economic competitors, exploiting the same resources, in particular wild animals” (Ramirez, 2005, pp. 10–11). The Epom brings much misery to the contemporary Adi, but the Epom has been equally violated by the ancestral man.

Thus, in spite of contemporary narratives depicting the Epom’s menace, casting the Epom in the role of the mythological villain is not entirely justifiable. Elwin (1970, p. 155) categorizes the first human in Tani mythology as a “trickster,” writing:

The NEFA ⁴¹ Trickster is thus something more than a mere buffoon, a sadistic adventurer, a sexual athlete. He is on the side of mankind against the unseen world. Irresponsible and cruel he may be, yet he is at the mercy of forces far stronger than himself and in spite of this brings many blessings to mankind.

The same description can be applied to the first Epom. The following section explores the Epom’s morality and intentions as they are depicted in folk narratives.

Mopin, Marriage, and Malaria: Epom’s Moral Ambiguity

In a narrative recorded by Elwin (1970, pp. 115–116), the daughter of an Epom assists and later marries a rat-catcher. The Epom-daughter warns the man that “when the dogs and fowls in your village see me, the dogs will bark and the fowls will cackle, for I am a spirit” (Elwin, 1970, p. 116). The Epom family of the Epom-daughter helps the new couple, clearing the land so that they can plant and harvest; they do so by summoning a large storm cloud ⁴² above it while the bride’s brothers cut the trees. In return the Epom-daughter asks the rat-catcher to offer sacrifice to Epom, requesting a banquet of mithun, pig, and beer. The Epom-bride bore a son to the man. Upon her death soon after, “[t]he Epoms came to take away her body but her husband followed them and tried to bring it back. During the quarrel the body disappeared and turned into the plantain tree which bears one fruitful stalk and ends” (Elwin, 1970). This narrative depicts the Epom in a manner that warrants classification of the “fifth” uyu, articulating human aspirations. The Epom in this tale are not menacing or unreasonable. They allow the Epom-daughter to wed a human and reproduce; they assist the human couple by clearing land for cultivation, in return receiving a feast provided by the human. This tale is also interesting in light of taboos that associate plantains with the Nipong, sometimes considered the female Epom.

The idea that some humans in Adi communities are descended from Epom is widespread in the Siang districts. Rumors circulate that a prominent Arunachal Pradesh political figure has himself claimed such a descent. Clan-specific narratives also recount these supernatural lineages: ⁴³ one such narrative, as it was told by a friend of a modern-day clan believed to have Epom heritage, is reproduced below (Interview, Pasighat, 2015):

[A forefather in the clan] used to go to his field. One day he found that after working, everything was cooked for him, ready. So he was very amazed—what is going on?… And after two, three, four, five days, the same thing [kept] happening repeatedly. So, later on, he cried, “If you are somebody, please come.” So one day he found that a woman [Epom-daughter] was there, cooking for him. He married her and they have got descendants.

A second man from Upper Siang elaborated on the Epom history of this same clan, explaining that after the marriage, the Epom-daughter’s brother told the human husband that he would bring one eso (mithun) the next day. Instead, he brought a sibe—a “wild” mithun, considered to be the mithun that belong to the Epom. (Adi make a distinction between eso and sibe and thus would not describe a normal mithun as “sibe”.) The Epom relatives helped the family with jhum cultivation (slash-and-burn agriculture), swiftly clearing trees from the whole area so that the human husband would have agricultural land. The Epom family also took the human husband hunting with them—but in the same manner that the Epom used the term eso to describe sibe, they used the term sibe to describe a particular big lizard that the Adi call sarkot. ⁴⁴ When the human husband ran in the forest, he cut his leg. One of the Epom brothers-in-law licked the blood off his wound. When the human husband then came back to the house, he told the Epom-daughter, “I was so scared that one of your family licked my blood.” The next day, his wife took kekur (black ginger) and rubbed it on her husband’s body. When he went out again with the Epom family, they could smell the kekur and, because of this, it was ensured that the Epom would no longer lick him. In a manner reminiscent of the narrative recorded by Elwin, in this tale the Epom-daughter told her husband, “you will never bury me; I will go back when my time has come.” When she was going to die, she went to a sirot ane tree and simply disappeared.

A Minyong man told me a different “Epom origin” tale that describes his family’s historical relationship to Epom. Two brothers from a past generation once caught a mithun in the jungle—but a black cloud appeared and took the smaller of the brothers away with it. Many years later, a different man from the same family went hunting in the forest. He set down his bag, but when he returned later in the day, his lunch had been eaten. This continued to happen, so the man mixed some foreign substance in with his anyat (grain) to show the thief that he knew he would come. When the man returned, the foreign substance had been picked out of the anyat and placed to the side, and the anyat eaten. The man decided that he must catch the bandit. He hid and secretly watched his sack the next day. He saw one person approach and watched from behind as the stranger counted the anyat. Because of the thief’s long hair, he believed it to be a girl. He ran and caught the person from behind. Suddenly, the jungle (told literally as “asi among rutum”—“water/earth owner”) shouted, “who is doing harm to my [clan name]?”. In this way the jungle had assigned a title to the thief, claiming him as one of his own. The man took the thief to the village, where the thief’s hair was cut, revealing that instead of a girl the bandit was in fact the long-lost hunter who had been taken by the cloud. He was washed in mithun blood. From this point forward, the brother who had lived years in the jungle adopted the title assigned to him by the jungle, creating a lineage that carries the name. To this day, it is thought that all carrying this title share some heritage with Epom. ⁴⁵

These stories suggest that an uneasy alliance between man and Epom is possible in certain circumstances, and the key to such a collaboration is reciprocity and respect. In many narratives (such as the Epom-daughter story recorded by Elwin), Epom–human collaborations are possible with the establishment of a system: cultivation rights in exchange for offerings. In the history of the Galo Mopin festival, the Epom is depicted as submitting to the higher rule of the world and again exchanging agricultural privileges for sacrifices by humans. Mopin—deriving from Mo (earth [Galo]) and Aapin (pollen [Galo]) and referring to the flourishing, flowering earth—is a major festival celebrated by the Galo in the spring to give thanks for the ability to cultivate the land and hope for a successful and peaceful year. In the tale of how humankind learned to harvest, Tani—having attempted to steal the mithun of a nearby wedding, ending up imprisoned, then freed—is very hungry. He had been instructed by Mopin to sow seeds, but the birds ate them. He was next told to take a knife and cut down plants in the jungle so that he can grow food. However, Yapom-Yiji [Epom] stopped him. Tani appealed to Mopin for help. Mopin told Tani and Yapom-Yiji that there would be a large fire in the forest, and the brother who could survive its burn would become the master of the forest. But she warned Abo-Tani beforehand that he should dig a pit in which he could hide and escape the flame. Mopin’s daughter Diyi Tami lit the fire and Tani hid in the pit. Yapom-Yiji retreated. Thus, Tani earned the right to cultivate in the forest (and later married Diyi Tami). Epom accepted Tani’s cultivation, requesting only that Tani continue to honor Mopin through rituals (Bagra, n.d., pp. 2–3). Again the themes of marriage, mithun, and alliances emerge; again we see the exchange of property rights for offerings between man and Epom. ⁴⁶ The Epom, therefore, is not heartlessly “evil.” Within the Mopin origin story, Mopin helps Tani, but without this extra assistance, Epom is unable to withstand the flames, ultimately losing the rights to his land because of his own, quite “human,” response. This structure presents Tani as the trouble-making but favored son and Epom as the collateral damage for the progress of mankind. Having lost a contest that was tipped against him to begin with, Epom is a gracious loser, asking only for man’s worship of Mopin, the entity who—unbeknownst to him—has manipulated him out of his property.

The Epom is also endowed in some narratives with the potential for mercy. Epom are sometimes known to be able to cure the malaria of humans (as Elwin (1970, p. 123) notes about the Simong Adi). This is a notable association in light of contemporary outsider explanations for the stories told by those who claim to have experienced Epom kidnappings. It is often suggested that the victim is suffering from high fevers that have caused him to hallucinate; the Arunachal Times made such a suggestion to explain the tale of Riya Niting, discussed in the following section (Arunachal Times, 2010). A Komkar Adi explained to me that Epom illness is often misdiagnosed as malaria, though no medicines will cure the illness, only the appropriate ritual conducted by a miri. ⁴⁷ The connection between the Epom and malaria is also found in mythology: Tani’s envy led him to poach mithun from Epom’s herds and to deny this when confronted. In response, Epom tied a vine to a tree, saying that if Tani swung on it and it did not break, Tani could have the animals, but if it broke, all the animals remained with Epom. Tani secretly replaced the vine with a cane-rope, winning the ownership of the herds. Epom issued another challenge, to see which of them could stay underwater the longest in the river. Tani remained in the water longer, but when he arose the Epom was gone, and Tani soon fell sick with fever. “This is how malaria came into the world. But Tani-Abu’s victory gave human beings the right to hunt wild animals” (Elwin, 1970, pp. 122–123). Epom in this tale is perhaps vengeful—causing Tani to become ill through his river trick—yet Tani himself is deceitful, stealing his brother’s animals, lying, switching the rope. That humans in the present-day appeal to Epom to lift the illness of malaria seems a hearkening back to this myth, and, perhaps, an admission of culpability on the part of man.

The Epom, in some narratives, does “complain” directly about human behavior as well. A Milang Adi shared an experience that epitomizes the reciprocal relationship between Epom and mankind: When this man was 12 or 13 years old, he put an etku (trap) in a sirot tree near a storehouse (kumsum, kumsung) on the outskirts of the village, hoping to catch birds. All the birds were flying to the top of the tree, but he could only position his traps in the middle of the tree. While he was waiting, he sat for some time in the tree, cutting some branches with his dao (knife). He also urinated in the tree. He trapped three birds and a fourth was caught only by its tail. Watching from beneath the storehouse, he was clapping his hands and singing about how, if the fourth bird was secured, he might have caught two pairs of birds to loop with bamboo wire. The fourth bird did come back and was also caught. Delighted, he took the birds and returned to the home of his kaki (maternal uncle) where he was staying. Immediately when he arrived, his family asked him, “Where is that bird who lost its tail, but after that you caught that bird? You caught two pair of birds.” While he had been trapping, his kaki’s daughter (the daughter of his maternal uncle), who was then aged 16 or 17, had been possessed by the Epom, narrating his actions in the tree as they were happening from where she sat in her father’s house. The Epom had spoken to the family through the teenage girl, saying that he was a “bad boy” and asking, “why did you urinate in my home and why did you cut down my tungu (veranda)?” The girl’s possession by Epom continued for some time: when the Milang boy would come inside the house, the Epom would stop possessing the girl, but whenever he left the house, the Epom would again come into her body.

It is a possibility that within Adi ontology, it is not that man is scared of Epom because Epom is cruel, but that man is scared of Epom because man has wronged Epom in the past. The long history of violations by Tani against Epom in genealogical narratives leaves this possibility open. In a number of these early stories, Tani is portrayed as a trespasser, crossing physical boundaries and desiring that which his brother owns. While Tani is active and developing upward mobility in the world, Epom is left to protect his possessions and keep his eye on his scheming younger sibling. This is epitomized in the explanation of the net and the ekkam, perhaps the most often repeated Epom anecdote in present-day Pasighat: due to ancestral competition, or simply because they disliked each other, Tani covered his eyes with the ekkam, an opaque leaf. But Epom covered his eyes with a net. A Minyong Adi in Pasighat continues: “And from that, we cannot see Epom. But Epom can see us! Epom always can see. Because in the jungle, they can see, he [man] is going out, he is going in. Epom can come…This way, Epom kidnaps Abo-Tani.” ⁴⁸ This quote brings us to the current chapter of this ancient battle: wherever the fault may lie between man and Epom in the past—today, the Epom steal children.

Epom Child Abduction: An Example

This section documents narratives describing one particular Epom kidnapping that occurred approximately 40 years ago in Komkar Village, Upper Siang. Based on interviews (2015) with villagers who remember the event, the family of the abducted man (including his twin brother), and the abducted man himself, it attempts to draw a narrative portrait of the abductee’s experience and the village’s reaction. This Epom abduction narrative is tragic: the victim never recovered from the event and thus did not fully regain his mental or physical fitness after the episode. It is also unusual because following his kidnapping, the man developed the anatomical features of a woman, which he has still today ⁴⁹ —physical changes that are attributed to the Epom.

The Epom victim, then aged 15 or 16, had gone to the jhum cultivation field to collect vegetables. The road he traveled on twisted and turned and there were no other people nearby. Suddenly he noticed that there was a looped trap in the road; it was not made from cane wire like Adi traps but instead had been made from a creeping wildflower plant called nana porang. He realized that he was traveling on the Epom’s road. Dark clouds appeared in the sky. He tried to walk around the trap to avoid being caught in it, but the trap moved wherever he stepped and soon engulfed his legs and arms. The Epom then came; they did not appear to him in the form of human beings. As they walked, leaves swirled and branches fell. After catching the man, the Epom flew him to the river Yamne; he could see it from the sky. He crossed from one mountain to another, traveling through the air, again crossing Yamne river in the Simong area.

Meanwhile, the residents of Komkar had realized that the young man had gone missing. A kebang (meeting) decided that a search must be done. People of all ages were looking for the lost man’s tracks; some were trying to trace footprint patterns in the dew. All the poyuk (small huts in the fields) were searched. Soon a woman who had gone to her own field—who had not been intentionally looking for the abductee—came across his kiro (or egin; woven basket) and botok (woven umbrella). A man and his brother crossed paths with this woman as she traveled back to the village: she walked with the corner of her gale (Adi woven skirt) held between her teeth, in her mouth, out of anxiety. (It is widely understood that being the person to locate the belongings of an Epom abductee—or to discover the abductee himself—brings very bad luck to the finder. As a Komkar man told me: “If I find something like that, I will eat my own dotkang”—referring to the animals sacrificed on the occasion of death or death anniversary.)

The woman told of her discovery and the man and his brother ran to see the umbrella and basket. They also found one pinpu (local lunchbox made from ekkam leaf) and another leaf with salt and chili that belonged to the missing man. The man’s brother gave a pedung (curse) to the Epom. The woman, along with the man and his brother, returned to Komkar and shared the news. The community realized that the missing man had been taken by Epom. On the advice of a miri (ritual specialist), the villagers commenced the ritual of cutting down a large sirot tree. They threw three chickens to the tree as a sacrifice and shot a gun three times into the air. They used a yoksa (sword) to begin to cut. The tree made a cracking noise, as if it would fall down. However, at this exact time, news arrived from the nearby area of Simong that the abductee had been found.

A Simong villager had located the missing man—who had, at this time, been gone for a day and a half—on a slope near to Simong Village. The villager had heard a noise like a tiger roaring his last breath while being killed. He thought, “What noise is that, an animal or what?” The Simong man then saw the Epom victim and realized it was a human making the noise. The villager asked him, “Who are you? What type of man are you?” The Epom victim replied, “Haram monying” ⁵⁰ —“the deepest jungle of Haram mountain.” He could not say anything else for a time but eventually regained some awareness and told that he was from Komkar. The Simong man took him to Simong Village, directly to the mosup (town hall/male dormitory) and all the village leaders were called to kebang (meeting). The Simong villagers did not themselves see any Epom but there was a massive wind; all the leaves were blowing in an unnatural, orderly fashion. The Simong community then brought the abductee to the Komkar mosup, arriving at the same moment that the Komkar villagers had begun to cut down the sirot tree. An elder Komkar man remembers running up the hill and telling the villagers to stop cutting the tree as the man had been found. (The tree, despite its creaking, fell only some years later.) Within days, the Komkar woman who had discovered the missing man’s basket and umbrella died. Sometime after, the man’s brother who had first run to see this discovery and had cursed the Epom also died.

The Epom abductee remained ill, despite his family’s attempts to help. His twin brother gave local ornaments to the Simong man who had found him, as per ritual. He also tied small ornaments in the abductee’s hair. The family consulted with miri (ritual specialists) and made the necessary sacrifices of many eggs, chickens, mithun, and pigs, some at the relevant site to his brother’s abduction. Despite the rituals intended to stop the Epom from doing harm, the abductee did not get better. He gained weight and his physical structure changed; he developed feminine features. It is today believed that this happened because the Epom had been determined to kill and eat the man: the traps that the Epom laid were to catch their human food, and, since they had decided on the missing man, they have continued to make him ill in the decades following his abduction. As of 2015, the abductee still lived in Komkar with his twin brother; he never married or began a family of his own. The community clearly recalls his ordeal and his is considered to be the most recent serious Epom abduction in the Komkar area.

While narratives about this Komkar man are particularly tragic because of the devastating impact his abduction had on the people involved, many such stories circulate in the Siang districts. A contemporary narrative in Bari Village, West Siang, describes a girl who was stolen then returned; upon her reappearance, she carried leaves with her from the Epom. It is understood that the Epom will sometimes send back their captives carrying leaves of various plants, seashells, or even animals. Each has its own prophetical meaning for the family of the abductee: Certain “Epom-gifts” promise specific good fortunes, others the opposite. (Banana leaves and teg [fan-leaves], for instance, foretell misfortune. Those sent back with pengupakar—a black-and-white bird—also can expect difficulty. Snakes are a good omen, as are ekkam leaves, tan leaves, cane saplings, and seashells. Red-breasted squirrels (lipo) also foretell a happy life. One Komkar Adi man who was kidnapped as a child returned with seashells, ⁵¹ and today he has great luck breeding animals, “even ducks.” Following the abduction of twin girls from Mobuk, the Epom returned one girl with tan or ekkam and the other with teg. The girl who had returned with teg died after some time. ⁵² ) Those who do return following abduction by the Epom do not always re-emerge of their free will; sometimes the missing are found “deep in the jungle near a tree”. Often they have grown attached to Epom and their loyalty has shifted away from humans, claiming that they “love” Epom. ⁵³ Many Epom abductees, upon their rescue, additionally have difficulty remembering their experiences. ⁵⁴

A Milang Adi in Pasighat recounted a tale wherein a boy had been kidnapped from Pasighat bazaar. His family searched for him but he could not be located. Eventually, he was found in Borguli, a village near Pasighat which, at that time, could only be reached by crossing the Siang river by ferry. When he was asked who brought him there, he said his abuapang—meaning his father’s brother or an “uncle” figure ⁵⁵ —though this had not been the case, since the whole family had been searching for him. It was generally assumed that the Epom had abducted him by appearing to him in the physical form of his uncle and guiding him away. ⁵⁶

An Adi religious specialist in Pasighat recounts the kidnapping of his classmate (Interview, 2014):

In my school time—I was in class three—in our place also one lady’s child was kidnapped by Epom. Again he was released. So many stories. Epom are now back to the hill areas; they see us, but we cannot see them. But they cannot hamper us. If we do not provoke them or do any harm to them, they don’t do [this].

One man in Upper Siang told me (2015) of a time he had asked his uncle, who, as a child, had been taken by Epom, what the experience had been like. Similar to the other narratives of child abduction, his uncle said that he often felt like he was at the top of a tree, looking down at a village. ⁵⁷ Then, he would lose consciousness and later reawaken at the top of a different tree, looking upon a different village. His uncle told him that the Epom were both good and bad, just like humans: he remembered that some Epom would say, “let’s eat him now,” but others would instead say, “let’s wait and see if he has a kaki ⁵⁸ [maternal uncle responsible for one’s spiritual well-being], let’s wait and see what they [humans] offer us.”

Abduction Narratives: The Introduction of the Foreign

On July 24, 2010, 10-year-old Riya Niting disappeared ⁵⁹ in Sotom Village, near Koloriang, Kurung Kumey District. ⁶⁰ He had been watching the Hindi film Koyla with 12 of his friends, and, after stepping into his backyard to relieve himself, he vanished. When search parties were unable to find him and the police could offer no explanation, fears set in that he had been taken by the Epom, and a ritual specialist was recruited. After carrying out chicken liver divination particular to Epom kidnappings—discussed in more depth later in this article—the specialist announced that the boy was alive and that he would return in time. Two pigs, 12 chickens, and many eggs were offered. Six days later, the boy did return, naked and covered in wounds and scratch marks. He described that two large, hairy, dark creatures had kidnapped him. These creatures flew the boy through the sky from place to place, deep into the nearby jungles to Sangma stream, 3 km away. The weather was stormy and his captors held him in a cave there. Calling the experience dream-like, he felt outside of his normal mind and ate only tatok roots that he dug himself. He climbed a tree and recognized that he was near the village of Tayeng, eventually escaping and soon hearing the sounds of an army helicopter that brought him out of his trance. The Arunachal Times—from which this account is drawn—closed their reporting by asking (Arunachal Times, 2010):

Who were the abductors—criminals or some unknown evil spirit? If the guardians of the boy or other members of society or the priest are to be believed, the boy was abducted by what is locally called Yapam [sic]—an evil spirit or ghost with supernatural power [who] often indulge in lifting human beings from their habitation.

It must first be noted that the victim in this narrative disappeared immediately after watching television, not while traveling in the dense forest; in this case, man was not trespassing into the Epom’s domain. It should also be registered that there are 13 children involved, the same number born to Pedong Nane, thus echoing the mythological framework employed in Adi genealogical narratives of the supernatural and the human. That the Arunachal Times suggests that the possible culprits may be Epom reflects a deep-set, widespread cultural commitment to the idea that the Epom is a contemporary threat.

A Minyong Adi in Pasighat shared the following narrative (Interview, 2014):

Nowadays—last year it also happened in [that] house. One Nepali [worker child] was there. He was kidnapped by Epom. He went for latrine—the toilet was just near—from that, all of a sudden, he managed to disappear. He disappeared for four days. November or so, a child. Then later, I was called in, from Donyipolo [Yelam Kebang], to come and just pray. We prayed [to] get him out. Just, we prayed. Next days, one instant, for one instant he was there! But then he was taken back. When he was taken back, he was afraid of human beings. He loved Epom. Then he was taken again. But later he was at the house there [a prominent Kebang official’s house]. And there he told, he had been taken to the top of the hill, and from there he was just flown, flown by the side of the residence—only for a moment, he appeared there, his missus just saw him, but again disappeared—again he was flown to that river. From that mountain, he was taken to that mountain. From that mountain he was released. Then he came back all [indicating marks on the skin]. So, in our days, when Epom is not pleased or is provoked, the Epom kidnaps.

This tale, describing an event that occurred three years after the kidnapping of Riya Niting, is reminiscent of Riya’s ordeal. This child stepped outside of the house and was taken by entities that flew him around from place to place, stopping by a river, as well as a mountain-top and twice by his residence again, where he was spotted by the lady of the house (his employer) very briefly before again disappearing. ⁶¹

The narrator of this story was himself called in by the family of the missing child to help, which he did by leading prayer; as a participant in the Donyipolo reformation, this particular specialist eschewed animal sacrifice, employing appeals to Donyipolo instead. He draws a direct connection between these prayers and the first, brief reappearance of the boy. As in the case of Riya Niting, the child does eventually come back with physical marks but remains mentally confused and unsure of his allegiance: “he was afraid of human beings; he loved Epom.” This narrative is unusual as well because its victim was a foreigner, a Nepali.

An elder in Aalo, West Siang, also described an Epom abduction of a foreigner, in this case during the 1970s. The following transcription is of a translation narrated by a family member as he spoke (2014):

During the seventies, he remembers, from the medical department, some people came to collect blood and inject people [inoculate] for their health. So, they were going to Mechuka [in the North]. That time, they didn’t have transportation; they had to walk. So they were walking from the forest. The roads were not constructed at that time. There were many people. Six of them; they were Bengalis from the medical faculty. They were walking. After some time, they saw that one of their friends was missing. He was not there. Even we [today] have heard that the forest that leads to Mechuka is haunted by these Epom. So, after that, they came back here [to Aalo] and he went with his friends to search but they couldn’t find him. They believe that the Epom took him….There are many cases like this. He [the family member] hasn’t witnessed any himself, but he knows.

The tales above, recounting the ordeals of the two children and the disappearance of a medical worker, are remarkable and tragic, whatever the objective events surrounding them may be. They are notable also for their references to symbols of globalization: television, immigration, Western medicine. The Epom, as a folk figure, is not static. His actions shift in tandem with the times. ⁶²

Rituals: Avoiding, Propitiating, and Attacking the Epom

Much Adi habitus and ritual center around attempts to avoid, propitiate, and, if necessary, retaliate against the Epom. Preventative measures to ward off the Epom in the jungle include carrying ginger (particularly kekur, a “black ginger” meant to repel uyu ⁶³ ), which is often tied with the protective plant ridin around the wrist and which mothers today give their children as a means of deterring the Epom. ⁶⁴ Within the Adi Donyipolo Yelam Kebang community (“formalized” Donyipolo) ornaments called emul can be hung to the same effect. One must also maintain diligence while traveling in the dense forest, remaining quiet and on guard. General practices that are meant to protect the Adi from all uyu also protect against Epom, such as the wearing of biying ⁶⁵ thread by children and the practice of naming a newborn baby soon after birth before the Epom—or other uyu—have their own chance to do so.

Minyong Adi entering the jungle with the intent to fish, lay animal traps, clear jungle areas, or prepare farmland perform the following ritual, an offering known as Pitgong. A small plot of land is cleared, and two bamboo cups of apong (rice alcohol), an egg, and a handful of rice is offered. ⁶⁶ (The bamboo cups must be chopped in a manner similar to the natural growth of bamboo; usually Adi bamboo mugs used by humans are chopped against the growth of the bamboo. This is reminiscent of the manner in which when Adi fish in a river, they move upstream, whereas the Epom fish in a downstream pattern. ⁶⁷ ) They recite the following Pitgong prayer (collected 2014):

Ngo higing tuhin anih em neya dak—Here I am, giving back to you/ Mongko rodong em, roding abing em bingang niya dak—Seeking your benevolence and acceptance/ Ngome Tani Ta-or em, aato kemma-nem—An innocent man I am, with no impure intentions/ Kapu tare ma peka, yummang-manying moma peka—Please be kind to me, don’t let me have bad dreams.

This jungle protection prayer ⁶⁸ is an appeal to the Epom, highlighting the “innocent” and “pure” intentions of the human and urging the Epom to accept his offering and allow him to travel through. Again a sacrifice is made in exchange for the human right to utilize the land for resources. This ritual is a continuation of the genealogical narratives that reflect issues of boundaries, ownership, and reciprocal permission.

In events such as those described in the previous section, in which someone has been kidnapped by the Epom, a ritual specialist (in this case, an uyu miri) is consulted. The miri conducts the Ayin kanam, chick liver divination. Through this ritual, the diviner determines whether it will be possible for the humans to appease the Epom in question and secure the return of the child. The miri is also able to communicate with the Epom and determine, in some cases, what has led to the kidnapping (e.g., improper rituals, human violation of the jungle, and others) Epom pomro (strong Epom) are cognizant of these Adi ritual responses to kidnappings and will wait for the relatives of the missing to come in search of them, saying “Nine-Mane em Toya laju, Tani Ta-or em Gomang toya laju”—this chant in the ritual Adi language is the human’s attempt to discover any signs that the Epom want to return the human. Epom pompak (weak Epom), however, do not care about these rites and instead might immediately kill their abductee. If it is determined that the Epom can, indeed, be appeased, the next step is the ritual of Epom gobin-nam, which literally translates as “building a bridge for appeasement [to the] Epom.” In this procedure, apong (rice alcohol), eggs, and rice are given to the Epom and a mithun slaughtered as well. Should this ritual fail to bring the missing person back, the final step is the Epom pompat, which is the cutting down of the Epom tree. ⁶⁹ This is done by the kaki, the maternal uncle of the missing, the family member responsible for the abductee’s spiritual well-being. In this ritual, only a white chicken is sacrificed. ⁷⁰

Attacks by Nipong, who some define as female Epom, manifest differently than those of the Epom. ⁷¹ They impact women only and are identified through the onset of stomach pains, menstrual problems, or difficulties during birthing. Elwin describes that women possessed by the Nipong

have the habit of keeping their fingers clenched close together. When a woman is attacked by a Nippong [sic], she raises both her hands to her hair and clutches it. You cannot drive the Nippong [sic], away with a dao [knife] or stick; the only thing to do is to put a dish of burning coals on the women’s head (Elwin, 1970, p. 32).

Burial rituals for those believed to have been killed by Nipong are graphic and violent and include the mutilation of the corpse. In contemporary West Siang, deaths following such a possession are known as Nipong-sinam and require a particular ritual in which the eyes of the deceased are either covered by pehak (a metallic lid to cover rice) or smeared with siye (yeast used to ferment apong, rice alcohol). Burial rituals for Nipong among the Milang Adi include covering the deceased eyes with a piece of iron as well as applying siye to the face. ⁷² The body is also bound in a constricting way with thread. The intent of covering the deceased’s eyes is to impair the Nipong’s sight so that the uyu will not continue to cause harm following the death of the human they have possessed. Some accounts describe the gouging of the women’s eyes with thorns and the breaking of many of their bones. ⁷³ The body will not be allowed to be brought into the home or be buried in the central graveyard; instead, as in the case of any unnatural death, the corpse will be buried in isolation or on the outskirts of the village.

In examining Adi ritual that concerns the Epom, it is perhaps significant that the strength of an Epom’s power correlates with his cognizance of this human ritual, as in the case of Epom pomro. Epom pomro, who will wait for humans to come search for the missing, thus necessitates direct communication and interaction between Tani and Epom. This implies that within the realm of Epom kidnappings, particular cycles of behavior are being enacted between the human and the non-human; Epom takes something of Tani’s, and Tani will seek him out to retrieve it or exact revenge. In mythology we have seen this: it is shown when Epom steals Tani’s wife and Tani subsequently wages war. It is as a result of these events of theft and violence that the natural world has been shaped: bats became black due to Tapeng’s treachery, but this occurred almost on the periphery of the central story, that of human–Epom battle.

There is an underlying theme in Epom mythology that as long as Tani and Epom are in contact, the world around them continues to be shaped and fine-tuned: their interactions indirectly determine the characteristics of animals. The Supreme supports human progress even when it is detrimental to the Epom, as in the case of Mopin’s forest fire ruse. Epom, in myth and in the modern day, is fallible—yet Epom, too, can trick man, and the results of his ploys can be long-lasting, as in the case of the introduction of malaria to humans. But nevertheless, it is this ongoing interplay between the human and non-human that keeps nature evolving.

The “Jungle Lord”: Regulator of the Natural Order

In 2014 in Parong Village, West Siang, a large Epom propitiation ritual (a form of Erang Ipak ⁷⁴ ) was carried out. A family had visited a miri to determine an explanation for their troubles. Through reviewing their familial history with this specialist, they came to realize that the source of their woes was the failure of previous generations to make offerings to Epom. They had thus accumulated ajing (debt). Four or five generations back—“grandfather’s father’s father”—but unbeknownst to the family, the Epom had attempted to communicate with them. The Epom required offerings and acknowledgement from the family that he was not receiving. To let this family know, the Epom sent a sign: Epom split a tree down the middle with lightning. ⁷⁵ But this earlier generation had not understood the message and had instead used the bark as firewood for cooking rice-cakes. The Epom put a curse on them. Strange events followed their lineage: a man in the community murdered a schoolmate in one generation; mental disturbances and psychological problems plagued the next. The miri (ritual specialist) in Parong Village pieced together decades of the family’s misfortune and informed them that the root cause was the failure of their ancestors to recognize the Epom sign of the burnt tree. The ritual in 2014 was organized as an overdue Epom offering so that the family might be freed from Epom’s torment. The historical tale of neglect, constructed in the present-day by the miri, highlights that, in spite of globalization, a cultural need to recognize and honor the Epom persists. It also suggests that the actions of one’s ancestors are important: Epom do not forget the trespasses of man.

A prevalent narrative in central Arunachal Pradesh concerns the death of a group of tourists. This story recounts how a jeep full of travelers from England, America, or Canada—depending on the version—was navigating the dangerous roads in Upper Siang toward Mechuka or the Tibet–India border. The driver lost control of the car and it fell over a cliff, killing everyone inside. Upon their deaths, these tourists generated “post-human” uyu (urum), who subsequently possessed a group of Adi in a remote village. The narrative continues with the speaker describing this mass possession of Adi villagers, often exclaiming that “suddenly they all spoke English!” This closing is meant to add validity to the “post-human” uyu manifestations—the implication being that a population in an internal town must have truly been possessed, as they would have no other means by which to know the English language, and thus their sudden ability to speak it must reflect something supernatural.

But what this narrative might additionally reveal is cultural surprise and confusion at the appearance of foreign capabilities in the interior of a state that has remained, and remains, quite sealed from the outside world. In cities such as Pasighat and Aalo, life has been drastically altered in the past decades, with internet increasingly available and technology more easily connecting the Adi with the outside. In the case of the post-human tourists, we see that the Adi view their ontology as non-specific, applicable to all humans: thus post-human uyu can be generated by the deaths of those originating outside of the community. We see also that the speaker anticipates that excellent knowledge of English in remote areas will be considered a phenomenon by the listener. Yet in this narrative the two are connected: when the foreigners appear, English is suddenly spoken in unexpected places, and—be it through possession or through technology—the impacts of globalization are felt even in the remotest of villages.

In narratives detailing the Epom’s kidnapping of a medical worker, an immigrant, and a child who had been watching television place the Epom in conversation with the foreign. The Epom’s claiming of symbols of globalization could be viewed as a manifestation of his primordial desire to own the same things as his brother. Conversely, it could be seen as an attempt to maintain the natural order by condemning these things by taking them out of the environment of man. This is perhaps supported by the Epom’s new-found aggression, apparent in his infringement into the land of the human, kidnapping on private grounds. Abductions by Epom pomro—strong Epom—could be understood as attempts to coerce humans into interaction; as conversion initiatives in Arunachal Pradesh have lessened the number of Donyipolo practitioners, it follows that the Epom might, in response, demand sacrifice and attention, as they did in the case of the family in Parong Village through the split tree. By marrying mythological doctrines with contemporary tales of Epom kidnappings, it is possible to view these Adi descriptions of the Epom’s behavior as articulations of varied concerns, otherwise unspoken, about globalization and cultural dispersion.

In Adi mythology, the human views the non-human like an image of himself reflected in a dangerous mirror, born from the same source, perpetually the manifestation of contentious kin and unpredictable, capricious neighbor. Epom is subject to the rules of the Supreme, as are men, but he is also the regulator of his own domain—the jungle—the natural world with which the Adi have historically been required to negotiate in order to progress agriculturally and to ensure their sustenance. Epom is the personification of wild but necessary things that cannot always be controlled. They are one piece of a larger ontology that requires humans to approach nature with respect—or risk repercussions from the uyu. Contemporary folk narratives that place the Epom in contact with the foreign reflect the internal struggles of the modern Adi human —who, faced with rapid changes in his environment, seeks to determine his place in a shifting world by creating new tales about an ancient companion, narratives that enable him to locate himself in counterpoint to his older brother, the “lord of the jungle.”