High up in the cloud country of Meghalaya, where mist rolls through bamboo groves and the air smells of wet earth, play has always been serious business. Here, games are not just games — they’re stories of the land, expressions of strength, rhythm, and community.
Across the Khasi, Jaintia, and Garo hills, traditional sports have endured for centuries, handed down like folktales. They mirror the hills themselves — physical, spirited, yet deeply connected to nature.
The Khasi Game of Stones and Skill
Among the Khasi people, one of the most loved games is Mawpoin, a lively contest that feels like the hill version of seven stones. Players form two teams: one piles small stones in a tower while the other tries to knock it down with a ball. What follows is a blur of laughter, dodging, and quick feet as players scramble to rebuild the tower before being hit again. It’s playful chaos — part athletic, part tactical — but it’s also a reminder of the Khasi instinct for teamwork and resilience.
Then there’s Siat Khnam, the traditional form of archery that’s now evolved into Teer, Shillong’s famous betting sport. At its core, though, it remains a graceful act of precision — the drawing of a bamboo bow, the twang of the string, the arrow’s flight cutting through still air. It’s both sport and meditation, shaped by centuries of life lived close to the forest.
Strength in Stone and Spirit in the Jaintia Hills
Travel east to the Jaintia Hills, and you might witness a contest that looks deceptively simple: Rah Mukhrah, where men compete to carry a heavy rock across a field. The rules are straightforward — lift, walk, and finish first — but the feat is formidable. Watching it, you understand why the Jaintia people built their ancient megaliths with bare hands and collective strength.
The event isn’t just about muscle; it’s about spirit. Villagers gather to cheer, sing, and tease, turning competition into celebration. In a place where life depends on cooperation, the game is a way of keeping those bonds alive.
The Garos’ Game of Strength and Strategy
Among the Garo people, play often takes the form of a test of balance and power. One of their traditional games, Wa’pong Sika, involves two teams locked in a contest to push a long bamboo pole toward each other’s goal post. Imagine a tug-of-war turned sideways — all muscle, rhythm, and coordination.
It’s fierce but festive. The players strain and shout, the crowd roars, and the bamboo pole becomes almost symbolic — a living force that swings between sides until one team claims victory. The whole scene feels like a celebration of unity, determination, and joy.
No celebration in the Garo Hills is complete without wrestling. During the harvest-time Wangala Festival, young men lock arms in traditional bouts — Rugala Rugala — cheered on by the entire village. Strength is prized, but so are sportsmanship and grace. The winner doesn’t boast; he bows.
Lifting Stones, Lifting Spirits
At village fairs, games of sheer strength like stone lifting or Thohdieng (tug-of-war) continue to draw crowds. Stone lifting, in particular, carries an echo of history — of ancestors who once raised stone monoliths across the landscape to mark clan identity or honour the dead. Today, lifting those same stones feels like connecting with that lineage, one heave at a time.
Keeping Traditions Alive
In recent years, Meghalaya’s indigenous sports have found new life through cultural festivals and local sports meets. Youngsters who once watched their grandparents play Mawpoin or Rah Mukhrah now take part themselves. It’s a quiet revival — not through big tournaments or sponsorships, but through village pride.
These games don’t need fancy equipment or stadiums. A flat field, a few stones, a bamboo pole — and a crowd that cares. That’s all it takes for the spirit of play to return.
What makes the traditional games of Meghalaya so enduring is that they blur the line between sport and story. Each contest is a way of remembering how people once lived: close to the earth, close to each other. When you watch a match of Wa’pong Sika or see a boy take aim with his bamboo bow, it feels less like a competition and more like an inheritance being passed on — a small, joyful act of continuity in a fast-changing world.