Cyfansoddad gwreiddiol wed'i ysbrydoli gan y chwedl Khasi, Ka Likai.

An original composition inspired by the Khasi folk tale, Ka Likai.

Benedict Hynñiewta is a musician and visual artist based in Shillong. I first met Benedict at North Eastern Hill University (NEHU) where he teaches art and music. Benedict studied at the prestigious Visva-Bharati University in Shantiniketan, the seat of culture and learning established by Rabindranath Tagore. Due to his training and immense skill on the Besli – a type of bamboo flute – Benedict is able to improvise immediately and in a variety of styles and genres. Indeed, I was delighted to discover he has a deep affinity for traditional Irish fiddle tunes, which he plays beautifully. During my visits to Shillong, I’d call on Benedict when he was free and we would enjoy swapping stories, sharing songs and improvising. However, during my visit in April 2018 we hadn’t managed to meet up at all, but made a final attempt one rainy evening in Laitumkhrah. So as not to disturb Benedict’s sleeping son, we rehearsed in an unfinished building across the road from his house. There were no windows and only one light bulb working so it was cold and dark, but the acoustics in the bare room were perfect for folk music. After jamming some Khasi rhythms on Duitara, I picked up the guitar and began playing a new instrumental that I felt sure would go beautifully with Benedict’s flute. I explained my thinking behind the piece, which is now called Hediad Ka Likai (English: Ka Likai’s Flight). The piece tells the tragic story of Ka Likai, a folk tale that every Khasi knows. I won’t retell the tale here – for that I can recommend Kynpham Sing Nongkynrih’s wonderful book Around the Hearth: Khasi Folk Tales, which coincidentally features Benedict’s amazing artwork on the cover. Suffice to say, Ka Likai is horribly mistreated by her evil second husband and the tale builds to a tragic ending. According to legend, the village of Rangjyrteh where the tale is said to have taken place was cursed and subsequently abandoned by all the inhabitants. The instrumental narrates the final moments of the story and Benedict grasped the mood immediately. We sat in the dark, playing with the music, trying to find ways to tell the story with our fingers and our breath. A recording I made on the night, complete with the sound of engines and car horns from the busy street outside became the basis for the version we eventually recorded at Merliham Arrangements in November later that year.