Chhura is represented as a man of immense strength and stature, of an easy-going disposition, but not much blessed with brains. Thus one story tells of how, being on a visit, he was regaled with a crab stew, which he had not tasted before, and liked greatly. He inquired of what animal it was made. On his way home he forgot the name and commenced searching. Someone seeing him looking about asked what he had lost. "Stupid," replied Chhura; "if I knew, would I be looking?" The passer-by remarked that he smelt strongly of crab. "That's it! That's what I was searching for," cried Chhura much pleased, and went on his way. His mallet head, a roughly dressed cylinder of stone, about 30 inches long and 18 in diameter, is pointed out to the curious, lying beside the path between Leng and Lingvum, where it is said to have fallen when it flew off the handle while Chhura was flattening the earth in the Van-lai-phai valley some five miles away. A large spherical stone in the same neighbourhood is pointed out as one of the pellets shot from his pellet bow when he was at Thenzawl, many miles distant. There are many tales of this hero, who is especially honoured by the Khawtlang. Mualsavata is another mythical hero of immense stature. The smoke from his pipe was like that of a jhum burning. His whetstone, some 18 inches long, lies beside the road near Chongthleng, where it fell from his haversack, which his wife had neglected to mend. I have given so many tales in other parts of the monograph that I shall only add one more here. The Tale of Him who Demanded His Sister's Price. He went to the west to demand his sister's price. The debtor gave him a bamboo stirring rod. If you stirred an empty pot with this rod it was at once filled with rice. He returned towards his village. On the way he stayed the night in the house of a widow, and placed his stirring rod on the shelf over the hearth saying, "Granny, please don't stir your pot with my stirring rod." "All right," said she, but, while he was walking about the village, she stirred her pot just to see what sort of a stirring rod it was, and, behold, her pot was full of rice. "It is a very good stirring rod," she said; "I will just exchange mine for it"--which she did secretly. And the owner of the magic rod went on to his village, and on arrival there he called to his children, "Set the water boiling to cook the rice." His children replied, "We have nothing to cook. What is the use of boiling water alone?" "I have got rice, I've got rice," he said. So they boiled the water, and he stirred it hard with his rod, but nothing came. "If we stir more it will come," he said, but nevertheless nothing came.