A forgotten indigenous legacy emerges from centuries of systematic erasure.
The Tsong Limboo — Indigenous and Invisible
In the emerald valleys of West Sikkim, where the sacred Khangchendzonga range pierces the Himalayan sky, dwells an ancient truth that challenges every narrative about the founding of this mystical land. The Limboo people—known to the Lepchas and Bhutias as Tsong—are not migrants or later arrivals to these mountain valleys.
They are co-founders, Indigenous children whose very heartbeat echoes in the rhythm of these ancient peaks. Their sacred homeland encompasses the spiritual epicenter where gods once walked among mortals, where every stone holds memory and every stream carries ancestral songs.
The recorded history of Sikkim begins with monarchy, but the deeper truth pulses in the living voices of grandparents whose words carried the weight of generations. They spoke of Tsong kingdoms that flourished long before the Lho-Men-Tsong-Sum treaty of 1642—not as distant legends, but as lived memory passed from trembling hands to eager hearts.
There are interconnected records proving that the Tsong (Limboo) and the Rongs (Lepchas) walked these paths together, breathing the same mountain air, worshipping the same sacred peaks, long before any Chogyal kingdom claimed dominion over their ancient bond.
In that pivotal political accord of 1642, the Tsong stood as equal partners—not as subjects seeking favor, but as sovereign people extending their hand in brotherhood to birth the Sikkimese state.
Yet somewhere in the cruel mathematics of power, their place in Sikkim’s story was systematically erased. From equal partners in the founding of a state, they became invisible citizens in its modern democracy. Hard to believe, right? But that is exactly what happened.
For me, the silence around their contributions is not just historical oversight—it is a wound that still bleeds fresh., made deeper by political exclusion and constitutional neglect that cuts to the bone of their identity.
How did the sons become strangers in their own homes? How did equal partners in state formation become constitutionally invisible, their voices lost in the very institutions they helped shape? How did the guardians of sacred knowledge become labeled outsiders in their ancestral lands, their songs dismissed as foreign melodies?
How were they reclassified as Nepali, despite a mythology that burns different fires, theologies that reach different skies, a language that carries different truths, and a culture that breathes with rhythms all its own?
The answers lie buried beneath layers of monastic dominance, colonial classifications, and modern political convenience—each layer another shovel of earth thrown over living memory. Yet the Limboo spirit refuses to be buried.
It endures, sustained by the Mundhums—oral scriptures that pulse with the ethical and spiritual backbone of a civilization that watched empires rise and fall, one that predates both Hindu kingdoms and Buddhist monarchies.
Today, as Sikkim navigates the complexities of democratic representation, the Tsong Limboo find themselves trapped in constitutional limbo—recognized as Scheduled Tribes only in 2003, yet still denied the legislative seats guaranteed by Article 371F.
Their historical marginalization stretches like a shadow into the 21st century, each denied voice another generation silenced.
Let me be clear: I am not writing a boring history here. I am writing about suppressed tears, blood, and the final breath of ancestors who died trying to reclaim their rightful place in the very story they once helped to build.
Identity of the Limboo (Tsong) Communities of Sikkim
Names and Meanings
Language carries the weight of identity, and for the Limboo people, their multiple names tell the story of resistance, adaptation, and survival across centuries of cultural encounters.
To the Bhutias and Lepchas of Sikkim, they are Tsong—a designation rooted in the belief that they originated from the Tsang province of Tibet. This name carries particular significance within the Communities of Sikkim, as it reflects the indigenous recognition of their distinct identity long before external classifications emerged.
The term “Limboo”—by which they are widely known today—came from an entirely different source. When the Gorkha forces encountered these mountain warriors during their expansionist campaigns, they were struck by their prowess with the bow and arrow.
The Gorkhas labeled them “Limboo,” meaning “archer,” a name that speaks to their military resistance against conquest. Some traditions suggest that their ancestral stronghold of Limbuan in Eastern Nepal earned its name because it was “won on the strength of the bow.”
Yet the most meaningful designation comes from within the community itself. The Limboo people call themselves Yakthumba—a term that beautifully encapsulates their relationship with their homeland.
Composed of three Limboo words (Yak meaning hill, thum for place, and ba meaning inhabitants), Yakthumba translates as “Hill People.” This self-identification emphasizes their indigenous connection to the mountainous terrain that has shaped their worldview, spirituality, and cultural practices for millennia.
This linguistic complexity reveals the layered identity of a people who have never been passive subjects of history.
Whether as Tsong in ancient agreements, Limboo in resistance narratives, or Yakthumba in spiritual self-understanding, they have maintained their distinctiveness while adapting to the changing political landscapes of the Himalayas.
Homeland: Limbuwan and the Sacred Geography
The ancestral territory of Limbuwan spans from the Arun River in eastern Nepal to the western districts of Sikkim, embracing both flanks of the mighty Khangchendzonga range.
This vast domain, with its traditional stronghold known as Pallo Kirat, represents far more than geographical boundaries—it embodies a cosmological landscape where divine intervention shaped human destiny.
Limbuwan reaches its spiritual crescendo at the phenomenal architecture of Mount Kumbhakarna, known globally as Jannu, but revered by the Limboo as Phoktanglungma. This eastern extremity of the Khangchendzonga range commands an imposing presence not merely as a geographical landmark, but as the sacred theater where creation myths unfold.
The Limboo cosmology centers entirely on this landscape, with Phoktanglungma serving as the axis mundi—the cosmic center where earth touches heaven.
Every significant event in Limboo mythology radiates from this sacred geography. Creation stories begin here, scripts are divinely revealed in its caves, and the spiritual ecology of Yuma Samyo draws its power from the rivers, forests, and peaks of this blessed terrain.
The valleys of Limbuwan are consecrated ground where the footprints of gods remain embedded in stone and stream.
This deep spiritual connection to Limbuwan explains why political boundaries have never truly contained the Limboo identity. Whether divided between Nepal and Sikkim by Gorkha conquests or colonial administrative convenience, the Tsong communities remain bound by their shared reverence for this sacred landscape.
The mountains know no borders, and neither does the Limboo soul that draws sustenance from Phoktanglungma’s eternal presence.
Uba Hang: A Sacred Legacy in Limboo Mythology
Long before the ink dried on the historic Lho-Men-Tsong-Sum treaty of 1642, and centuries before the Limboo script was carefully etched into stone, the story of Limboo civilization had already begun to unfold. It was rooted in the powerful legend of Uba Hang, an ancestral figure whose epic journey in the 9th century helped shape the cultural imagination of the entire Limboo people.
The saga begins in the year 841 CE, when Langdarma, the last emperor of the unified Tibetan Empire, was assassinated. His opposition to Buddhism and support for the indigenous Bon faith had shaken the foundations of Tibetan monastic rule. His death marked the collapse of the central Tibetan state and scattered his descendants across the Himalayas.
Among those descendants was Uba Hang—a son of Langdarma, known in Limboo oral tradition as Lasa Hang. Cut off from his royal succession and guided by divine dreams sent by Yumasam, the great mother deity, Uba Hang turned his exile into a journey of spiritual renewal.
Between 846 and 849 CE, he led a migration from the Kham region of eastern Tibet into the forested, fertile lands that would later be known as Limbuwan. At that time, Limbuwan was not part of present-day Nepal but existed within a broader cultural and territorial landscape that included parts of ancient Sikkim. It was only much later, during the 18th-century military campaigns of Prithvi Narayan Shah, that Limbuwan was annexed into the expanding Gorkha kingdom.
This context makes it historically evident that the Limboo communities—known as Tsongs within Sikkim—were already established in the region long before the Lho-Men-Tsong-Sum agreement of 1642. Uba Hang’s story forms part of a shared ancestral memory, but it does not define the separate and autochthonous development of the Tsong identity in Sikkim.
Uba Hang’s arrival was not a conquest in the typical sense. He did not seek to build an empire through war, but to restore sacred order through ancestral values. Instead of armies, he brought the ancient laws of the forebears—principles rooted in harmony, justice, and kinship with the natural world. In the highlands of Pallo Kirat and the valleys beneath Phoktanglungma, he unified diverse hill tribes under shared ethical codes.
Oral traditions remember him not only as a king but as a Yehang—a moral teacher and cultural guide. His rule introduced one of the earliest known political frameworks among the ancient Limboo people, grounded not in feudal decree but in the oral codes later preserved through the Mundhums.
From Uba Hang’s time onward, the Limboo—also referred to as Yakthung, Subba, or Limbu in various contexts—were more than a collection of clans. They became a people united by memory, ritual, and language. His descendants, remembered as the Lhasa Gotra, carried forward both royal lineage and spiritual purpose.
The legacy of Uba Hang is still honored in Limboo homes and ceremonies. The great feast he held after the unification of his people is echoed in the Tong-Sum-Tong-Nam festival, celebrated in some regions of eastern Nepal. However, this festival is not practiced broadly today, and its mention remain geographically contextualized.
In Limboo mythology, Uba Hang remains more than a historical figure. He is a cultural ancestor whose journey reflects the spiritual and ethical compass of a people rooted in the land. His story is not the origin of Tsong political identity, but a deeper affirmation of Limboo continuity—a civilization that predates maps, treaties, and dynasties, enduring through sacred knowledge, ancestral law, and the memory of who they have always been.
Sukhim: The Limboo Etymology of Sikkim
A Name Not Born of Conquest, But of Reverence
In the naming of nations, history often leaves its fingerprints in language. The very name Sikkim—a term now uttered in diplomatic chambers, inscribed on legal documents, and celebrated in popular imagination—emerged not from the tongues of conquerors or the pens of colonial cartographers, but from the soft, reverent exclamation of a Limboo queen: “Sukhim”—a word in her native tongue meaning “New House.”
The Queen Who Named a Kingdom
This sacred syllabic legacy originates from the 17th century, during the reign of the second Chogyal, Tensung Namgyal (1644–1700). Among his three royal consorts, the most culturally significant was Queen Thungwamukma, a princess from the Arun Valley of Limbuan.
When she first beheld the newly constructed royal residence at Rabdentse—the capital he had shifted from Yuksom—she called it “Sukhim” in Limboo, signifying her awe at the new palace. That utterance, grounded in indigenous expression and royal privilege, would become immortalized as the name of the nation itself.
Linguistic Precision and Historical Records
Linguistically, the etymology is precise and documented. In Limboo language:
- Su = new
- Khim (or Khyim) = house or palace
Together forming Sukhim—”new house”
British administrator H. H. Risley, in the Gazetteer of Sikkim (1894, p. 40), affirmed this origin: he noted that “Sukhim,” the Limboo designation for the palace, eventually morphed through natural phonetic evolution into Sik-kim, via forms like Sukkhim and Sikkom.
Further, A. Campbell, in his seminal 1840 paper “Note on the Limboos and Other Hill Tribes” (Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal, Vol. 9), records the use of such linguistic forms among the Tsong people and their usage across political geography.
Even Sinha (1975) calls the etymology of the state’s name “the greatest contribution of Limboos to Sikkim,” a rare acknowledgment of indigenous naming power in the broader framework of state formation.
Naming as a Right of Sovereignty
This naming was not merely symbolic. In traditional Himalayan polities, the right to name was a sacred authority—reserved for those whose voice held political legitimacy.
The act of naming the new royal seat by a Limboo queen was thus a public recognition of the Tsong community’s integral status in Sikkim’s political imagination. It is a moment that exposes the irony of their subsequent marginalization.
Philosophies in Contrast: House versus Harvest
Comparative analysis reveals a deeper philosophical contrast:
- The Tibetans called Sikkim Drenjong—“Valley of Rice.”
- The Bhutias knew it as Beyul Demazong—“The Hidden Valley of Rice.”
- The Limboos, however, called it Sukhim—“New House.”
This linguistic distinction is not trivial. It reflects how differently these communities conceived of the land.
While Tibetan-Bhutia names locate Sikkim in an agricultural and cosmological frame, the Limboo term reflects human agency, architectural assertion, and political sovereignty.
The Word That Survives as Resistance
Today, while the name “Sikkim” adorns passports and parliaments, Tsong elders still speak of their homeland as “Sukhim.” In doing so, they quietly resist the centuries of erasure.
In each utterance, they reassert the foundational truth that this land bears a name born not in a monastery or imperial court, but in the language of a queen whose people built the very cultural architecture of this Himalayan state.
The Lingering Irony and the Voice of the Land
The irony remains: a state that rose from the utterance of a Limboo woman continues to deny her descendants their rightful representation in its democratic institutions.
Every time the name “Sikkim” is spoken, it unconsciously pays tribute to a people whose contributions remain buried beneath layers of administrative amnesia and political indifference.
But the mountains remember. So do the rivers.
And the word “Sukhim”—still alive on Limboo tongues—awaits its rightful place not only in etymology, but in the conscience of the nation.
Yuma Samyo and the Cultural Soul of the Limboo Communities
The Spiritual Core
At the heart of Limboo civilization beats a faith so ancient and profound that it challenges conventional categorizations of religious expression. Yuma Samyo represents a pure monotheistic vision centered on Tagera Ningwaphuma—the Mother Creator whose divine feminine energy permeates every aspect of existence.
This is not the patriarchal monotheism familiar to Abrahamic traditions, nor the polytheistic complexity of Hindu cosmology, nor the non-theistic philosophy of Buddhism. Yuma Samyo stands alone as a theological system that recognizes the supreme feminine principle as the source and sustainer of all creation.
Tagera Ningwaphuma, according to Limboo belief, has not only created the earth, universe, and all life, but also the subsidiary gods and goddesses who serve as her manifestations and assistants in maintaining cosmic balance. This sophisticated theological framework presents the divine feminine as the ultimate reality—complete, self-sufficient, and eternally creative.
The implications of this worldview extend far beyond religious doctrine into social organization, environmental ethics, and gender relations within Limboo society.
Unlike the world-denying spiritualities that characterize some religious traditions, Yuma Samyo embraces the material world as sacred manifestation. The earth itself is divinity incarnate, not a fallen realm to be transcended. Rivers, mountains, forests, and all living beings carry the imprint of Tagera Ningwaphuma’s creative energy.
This creates a profoundly ecological spirituality where environmental protection becomes religious obligation and where human relationships with nature are governed by reverence rather than exploitation.
The ethical implications of Yuma Samyo also distinguish it from neighboring faith traditions. The concept of biogenesis—that life can only emerge from existing life forms—places Limboo creation narratives in remarkable harmony with modern biological understanding while maintaining deep spiritual significance.
This synthesis of scientific intuition and mystical insight reflects the sophisticated philosophical foundation underlying Limboo spiritual traditions.
Mundhums: The Oral Constitution of the Tsong People
The Mundhums represent one of humanity’s most extraordinary achievements in oral literature—a comprehensive spiritual and cultural encyclopedia transmitted across generations through memory, song, and ritual performance.
The term itself, translating as “the power of great strength,” reveals the Limboo understanding that their sacred literature contains not merely information, but transformative spiritual energy capable of sustaining a civilization across centuries of persecution.
These sacred narratives function simultaneously as creation myths, historical chronicles, ethical guidelines, ritual instructions, and mystical teachings. Unlike written scriptures that become fixed in textual form, the Mundhums possess the living quality of oral tradition—they breathe, evolve, and adapt while maintaining their essential spiritual core.
This dynamic quality has allowed Limboo culture to survive cultural suppression that might have destroyed traditions dependent on written transmission.
The guardians of this sacred knowledge—the Sambas (folk poets), Phedangmas (ritual priests), and Yemas (female spiritual practitioners)—represent more than religious functionaries. They are living libraries, carrying within their minds and hearts the accumulated wisdom of millennia.
When Limboo language and script were banned for 173 years, these spiritual guardians became the sole repositories of Tsong civilization, preserving through memory what could not be committed to writing.
The transmission of Mundhums involves sophisticated mnemonic techniques, musical structures, and ritual contexts that ensure accuracy across generations. Each verse carries multiple layers of meaning—literal, symbolic, and mystical—requiring years of training to master.
The Sambas, in particular, developed extraordinary artistic abilities, weaving together narrative, poetry, music, and performance in presentations that could last for days.
The Four Mundhums and Lepmuhang
The architectural sophistication of Mundhum literature reflects the intellectual achievements of Limboo civilization.
The sacred corpus divides into two primary categories: Thungsap Mundhum (oral tradition) and Peysap Mundhum (written compilation), each serving distinct functions in preserving and transmitting cultural knowledge.
The Thungsap Mundhum represents the original oral form—epic narratives sung by learned Sambas, where “Sam” means song and “Ba” indicates the male practitioner who masters these sacred songs. These performances were not merely entertainment but ritual events that connected communities with their ancestral wisdom, seasonal cycles, and cosmic order.
The oral Mundhums possessed particular power because they emerged directly from the breath and voice of the practitioners, carrying spiritual energy that written texts could not convey.
The Peysap Mundhum, developed after the creation of Limboo script, expanded into four specialized texts: Soksok Mundhum, Yehang Mundhum, Sapji Mundhum, and Sap Mundhum. Each section serves specific functions in the comprehensive spiritual education of the community.
The Soksok Mundhum contains the foundational cosmological narratives—creation stories, the emergence of humanity, the origins of evil forces such as envy, jealousy, and anger, and explanations for childhood mortality. These texts provide the theological framework for understanding existence itself.
The Yehang Mundhum chronicles the emergence of human civilization through the wisdom of early leaders who established laws, marriage customs, seasonal worship patterns, and purification rituals.
The Lepmuhang Mundhum specifically addresses practical spiritual life—language development, seasonal ritual cycles, purification ceremonies for birth and death, and the complex social customs that maintain community harmony.
It also explores the fascinating phenomenon of linguistic diversity among the Kirat peoples and the cosmological significance of seasonal celebrations.
This systematic organization of sacred knowledge demonstrates the intellectual sophistication of Limboo civilization and explains how the Communities of Sikkim once possessed one of the most comprehensive oral literature traditions in the Himalayan region.
Phoktanglungma: Sacred point of Creation
The Divine Origin
Rising 7,710 meters into the crystalline Himalayan sky, Phoktanglungma stands as the 32nd highest mountain in the world, but for the Limboo people, its significance transcends all earthly measurements.
Known to the outside world as Jannu or Mount Kumbhakarna, this majestic peak serves as the cosmic axis where divine creation began and where the eternal dialogue between heaven and earth continues.
The Mundhum chronicles reveal that after Tagera Ningwaphuma created the earth from primordial void, she appointed the Creator God Sigera Yabhundin Mang Porokmi Wambhami Mang to breathe life into the planet.
Wambhami Mang, residing in the sacred realm of ‘Sang Sang Den’—one level below the supreme goddess’s domain—chose Phoktanglungma’s summit as the sacred workshop where life itself would be fashioned.
At the specific location identified as ‘Mangjirima Manglodama’ on the mountain’s peak, Wambhami Mang meditated deeply on the form that humans should take. The Mundhums describe this as more than mere creative contemplation—it was a cosmic engineering project where divine consciousness shaped the fundamental architecture of human existence.
The mountain became both laboratory and temple, where the creative force of the universe concentrated its attention on crafting beings capable of consciousness, love, and spiritual evolution.
The initial attempts at human creation, using precious metals, proved futile—no matter how perfectly crafted, these forms remained lifeless.
Only after divine consultation with Tagera Ningwaphuma did Wambhami Mang understand the principle that would later become central to Yuma Samyo theology: life can only emerge from existing life forms. Descending from the sacred peak, the Creator God gathered bamboo ash, fowl droppings, rainwater, and resin—all products of living systems—and returned to Mangjirima Manglodama to begin anew.
The successful creation of Laikkangsa (the male) and Simbummasa (the female) marked the triumph of biogenetic principles over mere material manipulation.
Simbummasa awakened on the eighth day, Laikkangsa on the ninth—numbers that continue to hold sacred significance in Limboo ritual cycles.
This creation narrative establishes Phoktanglungma not merely as a geographic landmark, but as the birthplace of conscious life itself.
Riki Bed: The Gift of Script
The second great divine drama enacted on Phoktanglungma’s sacred slopes involved the transmission of written knowledge to humanity—an event that forever linked the Limboo people to the cosmic library contained within their mountain sanctuary.
When Sirijonga Hang, the legendary 10th-century king, sought to provide his people with a script that could preserve their cultural wisdom, he turned to the goddess Nisammang Ningwaphuma, the divine patroness of wisdom and learning.
Through intensive meditation and spiritual discipline, Sirijonga received a vision directing him toward Phoktanglungma, the mountain lying to the right of Khangchendzonga when viewed from Sikkim. Following divine guidance, he journeyed to the sacred peak where Nisammang Ningwaphuma revealed herself and led him to a hidden cave at the mountain’s base.
In the deepest chambers of this subterranean temple, she showed him a stone tablet bearing the Riki Bed—the divine script that would become the foundation of Limboo literacy.
This sacred narrative establishes several crucial elements of Tsong spiritual identity. First, it confirms Phoktanglungma as the eternal repository of divine knowledge, a cosmic library accessible to those prepared through spiritual discipline.
Second, it reveals the Limboo understanding that writing itself is a sacred gift, not a human invention—each character carries divine energy and connects the practitioner to cosmic wisdom. Third, it demonstrates the Limboo belief that their cultural traditions emerge from direct divine revelation rather than borrowing from neighboring civilizations.
The three months Sirijonga spent mastering the script in the cave represent more than educational study—they symbolize the shamanic initiation required to become a bridge between divine knowledge and human understanding.
When he emerged to unveil the Limboo script and compose the foundational texts “Kirat Kahun Sapla” (instructions for conduct) and “Kirat Samlo Sampla” (the written Mundhum), he brought forth more than literacy. He delivered a technology for preserving and transmitting the sacred wisdom that would sustain Limboo civilization through centuries of persecution.
Perhaps the most mystically significant aspect of Phoktanglungma lies in its uncanny resemblance to a hermit seated in profound meditation. This visual metaphor, recognized by Limboo spiritual practitioners across generations, transforms the mountain from mere geological formation into living embodiment of cosmic consciousness.
The peak’s distinctive silhouette—with its steep faces rising to a pointed summit—naturally evokes the image of a robed figure in contemplative posture, gazing eternally across the Himalayan vastness.
This resemblance carries profound theological implications within Yuma Samyo spirituality. If the mountain itself appears as a meditating hermit, then the entire Khangchendzonga range becomes a cosmic mandala—a three-dimensional meditation on the relationship between consciousness and cosmos.
The Limboo understanding positions Phoktanglungma as the central figure in this mountain mandala, the cosmic consciousness from which all wisdom flows.
The hermit symbolism also connects Phoktanglungma to the broader Limboo tradition of spiritual seeking. Just as individual practitioners retreat to mountain caves and forest hermitages for intensive meditation, the mountain itself models the ultimate spiritual goal—complete absorption in cosmic consciousness.
The peak’s eternal stillness, its distance from worldly concerns, and its direct communion with sky and star embody the ideal of spiritual realization that Tsong practitioners aspire to achieve.
Furthermore, the hermit mountain serves as a perpetual reminder that true wisdom requires withdrawal from mundane preoccupations.
In a culture where mountain peaks are revered as dwelling places of enlightened beings, Phoktanglungma stands as the supreme example—not just harboring wise hermits, but actually embodying the hermit ideal in its very geological structure.
This mystical understanding explains why Phoktanglungma continues to draw Limboo pilgrims and practitioners seeking direct spiritual transmission.
The mountain is not merely a place where divine events occurred in mythical time—it remains an active spiritual presence, a cosmic hermit whose meditation sustains the universe and whose wisdom remains accessible to those prepared to receive it.
Sirijonga Hang: Heroism, Revival, and Martyrdom
The reign of Sirijonga Hang (880-915 CE) represents the golden age of Limboo civilization—a period when political unity, cultural achievement, and spiritual renewal combined to create one of the most sophisticated societies in medieval Himalaya.
Rising to power as the feudal conflicts of the 9th century drew to a close, Sirijonga unified the warring clans of Limbuan and was elected Kirat king, establishing a realm that would serve as the foundation for Tsong identity across subsequent centuries.
Sirijonga’s genius lay in recognizing that political unity required more than military conquest—it demanded cultural coherence and spiritual purpose.
The consolidation of Limbuan under his rule was accompanied by the systematic revival of Yuma Samyo to its full glory and the revolutionary gift of a written script that would allow the Mundhums to be preserved in permanent form.
The creation of the Limboo script represents one of the great intellectual achievements of medieval Asia. Unlike scripts borrowed or adapted from neighboring civilizations, the Limboo writing system emerged from direct spiritual revelation, as chronicled in the sacred narratives of Sirijonga’s mystical journey to Phoktanglungma.
The divine origin of the script gave it special authority within Tsong culture and connected literacy itself to spiritual practice.
With this new technology of written communication, Sirijonga composed the foundational texts of Limboo political and ethical life: “Kirat Samlo Sampla,” which codified the Mundhums in written form, and “Kirat Kahun Sapla,” which established legal and ethical guidelines for the conduct of individuals and communities.
These texts represent the world’s earliest systematic literature in the Limboo language and the constitutional foundation for a distinctly Tsong approach to governance.
The kingdom Sirijonga established was remarkable for its integration of spiritual and temporal authority. As both political ruler and religious reformer, he embodied the Limboo ideal of leadership that serves both earthly welfare and cosmic harmony.
His reign demonstrated that indigenous wisdom traditions could create sophisticated political institutions without borrowing from external models of kingship or governance.
The Second Sirijonga – A Martyr for Identity
Eight centuries after the golden age of Sirijonga Hang, Limboo civilization faced its greatest crisis. By the early 18th century, the Yuma Samyo faith was under relentless pressure from Hindu influence in Nepal and Buddhist conversion efforts in Sikkim.
The written script had largely disappeared, surviving only in fragmentary Mundhums possessed by scattered households. The political autonomy guaranteed by Lho-Men-Tsong-Sum was eroding under increasing Bhutia centralization and Tibetan monastic influence.
Into this desperate situation stepped Sirijonga Teyongsi, born in 1704 in Yangwarok—the same region that had produced the original Sirijonga.
Trained as a ‘Muhigum Ongsi,’ a celibate priest devoted to Yuma Samyo teachings and service to the needy, Teyongsi claimed to be the reincarnation of the legendary king and dedicated his life to reviving Tsong culture and faith.
Working first in Limbuan territories of Nepal, Teyongsi systematically reconstructed the Limboo script, trained eight disciples in the ancient Mundhum traditions, and launched a comprehensive cultural revival movement.
His success in weaning Limboo communities away from both Hindu and Buddhist influence represented a direct challenge to the religious and political establishments of both Nepal and Sikkim.
When Teyongsi arrived in Sikkim in 1734, he entered a realm torn by succession crises and increasing Tibetan intervention. The powerful Pemayangtse monastery, staffed by monks of pure Tibetan bloodline (‘Tasang’), viewed the Limboo revival as a direct threat to their project of Buddhist consolidation.
The timing was particularly sensitive—Sikkimese rulers were actively promoting Buddhist conversion through the Sangacholing monastery, specifically targeting Lepcha and Limboo subjects.
Teyongsi’s work in the Hee-Martam area of West Sikkim proved extraordinarily effective. The Mundhums record that he succeeded in reviving Limboo culture and faith, pulling entire communities back from Buddhist conversion and reigniting pride in Tsong identity.
This success, however, sealed his fate. The Pemayangtse monks, working with the Tibetan general Rabden Sharpa, conspired to eliminate the threat to their religious supremacy.
The assassination of Sirijonga Teyongsi in 1741 at Kalej Khola in Hee-Martam stands as one of the great martyrdoms in Limboo history. The murder, Limboo historians record, was carried out by the monks of Pemayangtse themselves at a place called Kalej Khola in Hee-Martam in the year 1741.
Imam Singh Chemjong adds that Sirijonga Teyongsi was put under arrest, bound to a tree and shot to death with poisoned arrows. All his eight disciples were also murdered along with him.
The immediate aftermath of Teyongsi’s martyrdom witnessed the implementation of one of history’s most systematic attempts at cultural genocide.
The 1741 Sikkimese court order that banned Limboo literature and rituals under threat of death represented more than religious persecution—it was an attempt to erase an entire civilization from existence.
JR Subba, in his book “History and Development of Limboo Language,” (2002, published by Sukhim Yakthung Mundhum Saplopa, Gangtok), mentions a Court decree communicated to the Limboos shortly after Sirijonga Teyongsi’s assassination. This message, he translates as:
“Fowls are tamed with fowl-cages, pigs are tames with pig-neck yoke, Sirijonga is a teacher of Limboo language and literature should not be discussed, otherwise the Administration will award capital punishment.”
This chilling proclamation reveals the systematic nature of the cultural suppression. The comparison of Limboo intellectual leaders to barnyard animals demonstrates the dehumanizing ideology underlying the persecution.
The explicit threat of capital punishment for even discussing Limboo language and literature created a climate of terror that forced Tsong culture completely underground.
The ban extended far beyond religious practice to encompass every aspect of Limboo cultural expression. Written materials were confiscated and destroyed, cultural gatherings were forbidden, traditional festivals were suppressed, and even private instruction in Limboo script became a capital offense.
The monasteries that had orchestrated Teyongsi’s murder now supervised the methodical destruction of centuries of accumulated cultural achievements.
The psychological impact of this suppression cannot be overstated. For a people whose identity was intimately connected to their sacred literature, the forced abandonment of the Mundhums represented spiritual death.
Parents could no longer transmit their traditional wisdom to children, priests could no longer perform ancient rituals, and the entire apparatus of Tsong cultural reproduction was shattered.
What followed was 173 years of enforced silence—nearly two centuries during which Limboo culture survived only in the most secretive domestic settings, passed down through whispered fragments and hidden memories.
This period of cultural darkness would not end until 1914, when the British colonial administration finally permitted the revival of Limboo language study. The damage inflicted during this period of systematic suppression continues to reverberate through Tsong communities today, as generations of cultural knowledge were forever lost to the apparatus of religious persecution.
The Lho-Men-Tsong-Sum Pact: A Brotherhood Broken
The year 1642 stands as both triumph and tragedy in Limboo historical memory—the moment when their political equality was formally recognized and the beginning of their systematic marginalization.
The Tripartite Agreement of Lho?Men?Tsong?Sum, rooted in the oath of unity taken at Norbugang in Yuksom and formally concluded at Denjong Phuntsok Khangsar, represented one of the most progressive political arrangements in 17th-century Asia: three distinct ethnic communities voluntarily forming a unified kingdom, grounded in cultural autonomy and a shared role in governance.
The signing ceremony itself reflected the demographic and political realities of pre-modern Sikkim.
As per Tsong, ‘LHO-MEN-TSONG SUM’ has 24 leaders signing—12 Limbus, 8 Bhutias, and 4 Lepchas, proving that Limbus had a majority presence and representation in Sikkim since ancient times. This numerical arrangement was not arbitrary—it reflected the actual population and territorial control of the Communities of Sikkim at the time of state formation.
Through the council, called ‘Lho-Men-Tsong-Sum’ the kingdom of Sikkim was to be ruled. They all equally had to be represented in the council. They were not supposed to fight among themselves.
If one tribe thinks ill of any other tribes, the culprit was to be vexed by the promise. The agreement established more than political alliance—it created a sacred kinship where Bhutias served as fathers, Lepchas as mothers, and Limboos as sons, bound by spiritual oaths that forbade internecine warfare.
Yet this remarkable experiment in multi-ethnic democracy contained the seeds of its own destruction. The Bhutia rulers, increasingly influenced by Tibetan monasticism and political models, began to view the federal structure as an obstacle to centralized control.
The successive Chogyals, rather than honoring the treaty’s spirit of equality, systematically worked to reduce Limboo and Lepcha autonomy while concentrating power in the hands of the Bhutia nobility and their Tibetan advisors.
The erosion was gradual but relentless. What began as equal participation in governance transformed into token representation, then into outright exclusion.
The Tsong found themselves redefined from co-founders to subjects, from equal partners to ethnic minorities requiring protection rather than power. The sacred bond of Lho-Men-Tsong-Sum became a historical memory invoked only when convenient for those who had betrayed its fundamental principles.
Reclassification: From Indigenous Tsong to ‘Nepali’
The eighteenth century marked a turning point in the political and cultural status of the Tsong Limboos of Sikkim. Across both Nepal and Sikkim, indigenous Limboo communities were systematically reclassified and stripped of their historical identity through state-driven mechanisms. While this erasure took different forms in each region, the outcome was the same: the marginalisation of a people who were once sovereign participants in Himalayan statecraft.
Nepal: Limbuwan Annexation and Identity Rewriting
Between 1743 and 1774, King Prithvinarayan Shah launched military campaigns to annex the independent principalities of Limbuwan. Among the most significant losses was Morang, ruled by Buddhi Karna Raya Khebang Limbu. Though early treaties promised autonomy to Limbu rulers, these guarantees were gradually broken.
The Gorkha regime introduced the caste-based model of a “garden of four varnas and thirty-six jats”, which served to culturally and administratively absorb Limboos into a homogenised “Nepali” identity. This reclassification erased their aboriginal status.
- Limboo chiefs were reduced to the role of state-appointed Subbas.
- The traditional Kipat land tenure system was undermined through revenue reforms.
- Limboo language and Yuma Samyo religion were excluded from public life.
- Government records and censuses labelled Limboos simply as “Nepali.”
Sikkim: From Recognition to Political Removal
In Sikkim, the Limboos were known locally as Tsongs. While initially recognised as one of the kingdom’s founding communities, their cultural practices came under pressure from Tibetan Buddhist orthodoxy. A royal decree in 1741 formally restricted Tsong rituals, under influence from institutions like the Pemayangtse Monastery.
Political erasure became more explicit in the twentieth century. In 1966, the Chogyal granted Tsongs a reserved seat in the Sikkim State Council. But this representation was short-lived.
Following the 1973 Tripartite Agreement, the Tsong seat was abolished without consultation, and Tsongs were administratively merged into the broader “Nepali” category. The implications were immediate and long-lasting.
- 23 May 1973: Tsong leaders formed the Akhil Sikkim Kirat Limboo Chumlung.
- 15 June 1976: A formal memorandum was submitted, demanding restoration of their seat and recognition.
- 1978: Bhutia–Lepchas were granted ST status; Tsongs were excluded.
Parallel Methods of Cultural and Political Erasure
Though governed by different regimes, both Nepal and Sikkim used strikingly similar strategies to marginalise Limboo identity:
- Suppression of Religion: Yuma Samyo rituals were banned or discouraged in both states.
- Language Marginalisation: Limboo language was excluded from schools and state institutions.
- Loss of Political Voice: Nepal reduced indigenous rulers to Subbas; Sikkim removed the Tsong legislative seat in 1973.
- Identity Reclassification: Both states administratively labelled Limboos as “Nepali,” denying their indigenous status.
These measures did not rely on violence, but rather on state machinery: laws, censuses, education, and religious institutions. The effect was the same—erasure of indigenous Tsong identity and silencing of their historical contributions to the region.
Denial of LT Seats in the Sikkim Legislative Assembly
The recognition of Limboos and Tamangs as Scheduled Tribes in 2003 marked a watershed moment in the struggle for constitutional equality, yet it also revealed the persistence of structural discrimination within India’s democratic framework. The Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes Order (Amendment) Act 2002 (No. 10 of 2003), published on 8 January 2003, should have automatically triggered the reservation of legislative seats under Article 332 of the Constitution. Yet more than two decades later, the Limboo and Tamang communities remain constitutionally invisible in the Sikkim Legislative Assembly.
The Constitutional Framework and Its Failures
According to the Constitution, Article 332 makes it clear that Scheduled Tribes must be given seats in state assemblies. For Sikkim, Article 371F(f) adds another layer—it gives Parliament the power to make special laws to protect the rights of communities like the Limboos. Yet, even with both of these legal tools in place, their rightful place in the Assembly remains empty.
The refusal to grant reserved seats to the Limboo and Tamang communities is not just a delay—it is a continuation of their long history of being pushed aside, this time through legal loopholes and official silence.
The Roy Burman Commission: A Political Mirage
In 2011, the Government of Sikkim passed a resolution seeking increase in the number of seats in the Sikkim Legislative Assembly from 32 to 40 based on the recommendation of the Roy Burman Commission. The proposed breakup included: 12 for Bhutia-Lepcha, 2 for Scheduled Caste, 2 for Sangha, 20 for Scheduled Tribes, and 4 for General seats.
However, this formula represents nothing more than political theater—a snake charmer’s act designed to mesmerize rather than deliver real change. The Roy Burman Commission’s approach to creating 40 seats is fundamentally flawed when viewed against Sikkim’s demographic realities. With Sikkim’s small population, further delimitation based on this formula would create constituencies that fail to meet even the minimum voting criteria, undermining the very foundation of democratic representation.
The mathematics of democracy cannot be bent to accommodate political convenience. Creating artificially small constituencies merely to appear progressive while knowing they would be constitutionally untenable is political hogwash—a deliberate distraction from implementing genuine solutions.
The Political Economy of Tokenism
The harsh reality is that no political party can honestly deliver justice to the LT communities because they view them merely as a vote bank rather than equal citizens deserving representation. This is the fundamental problem with minority politics in India—communities are courted during elections but abandoned when it comes to substantive action.
The LT issue is essentially about minority rights, and minorities face an inherent disadvantage in electoral politics. The community’s own internal divisions further weaken their collective strength, making them vulnerable to political manipulation. Traditional political parties exploit these fractures, offering symbolic gestures while avoiding meaningful change.
The Supreme Court Verdict and New Possibilities
Recent developments following the Supreme Court’s January 2025 verdict have opened new avenues for resolution. As LTVC president Yehang Tsong stated, “The verdict says, before election assembly seat reservation can be given from the existing 32 Assembly seats. The verdict also says that delimitation for Sikkim assembly seats can happen now under Article 371F.”
This legal clarity eliminates the excuse of constitutional barriers that politicians have long used to justify inaction.
The Need for Collective Resistance
The path forward requires acknowledging an uncomfortable truth: unless minorities unite and create meaningful resistance, politics will continue to ignore their legitimate demands. The LT communities cannot rely on the benevolence of mainstream political parties who have already demonstrated their willingness to string along these communities for over two decades.
Real change requires organized, sustained pressure that makes the political cost of inaction higher than the cost of granting genuine representation. This means moving beyond fragmented appeals to different parties and building a unified movement that cannot be dismissed or divided.
Towards Constitutional Completion
The constitutional recognition achieved in 2003 remains incomplete without the political representation that would allow Limboo and Tamang voices to participate directly in the democratic governance of their homeland. The ongoing struggle represents not just a fight for legislative seats, but a broader battle for the principle that constitutional promises must be honored, not indefinitely deferred.
The question is no longer whether the LT communities deserve representation—the Constitution has already answered that. The question is whether India’s democratic institutions will honor their own legal framework or continue to perpetuate the historical marginalization of these communities through bureaucratic inertia and political calculation.
Cultural Continuity Across Borders
Modern political boundaries have not erased the enduring cultural unity of the Limboo people, whose communities stretch across eastern Nepal, Sikkim, and parts of the greater Himalayan region. However, it is important to clarify terminology: the term “Tsong” is historically specific to the Limboo people of Sikkim, a name that emerged through local usage and political agreements such as the seventeenth-century Lho-Men-Tsong-Sum treaty. Outside Sikkim, these communities are known primarily as Limboo or Limbu, and they do not identify with the “Tsong” label.
Despite being divided by national borders, the broader Limboo identity has not fragmented. In fact, the division of Limbuan—the ancestral Limboo homeland—between different states has fostered diverse centers of cultural resilience, preservation, and revival.
Nepal: Cultural Assertion Through Federalism
In Nepal, Limboo communities of traditional Limbuwan territories have emerged as prominent voices in the struggle for indigenous rights and local autonomy. Following Nepal’s 2006 political transformation, Limboos gained new space to express their identity, which had long been suppressed under the centralized Hindu monarchy.
The constitutional recognition of Nepal as a federal democratic republic has allowed Limboo communities to advocate for self-governance, promote the Yuma Samyo religion, and revive the Sirijunga script and Mundhum oral literature through formal education and civic activism.
Sikkim: The Tsong Narrative within Statehood
In Sikkim, the Tsong identity carries a unique historical and political weight. As one of the three founding communities of the Sikkimese state—alongside the Bhutia and Lepcha—Tsongs emphasize their ancestral contribution to the kingdom’s formation. The Lho-Men-Tsong-Sum agreement is often invoked as a moral and political foundation for equal representation and recognition.
Rather than seeking autonomy outside the state framework, Sikkimese Tsongs assert their rightful place within the existing system, drawing legitimacy from their indigenous status and historical presence.
Shared Culture Beyond Borders
Regardless of differing political strategies, the cultural and spiritual connections among Limboo communities remain robust and unbroken.
- Yuma Samyo religious practices, Mundhum oral traditions, agricultural festivals, and kinship networks follow remarkably similar patterns across borders.
- Phoktanglungma (Kanchenjunga) is revered as a sacred mountain by Limboo people in both Nepal and Sikkim, anchoring their shared cosmology.
- Language preservation efforts in Nepal, including new literature, textbooks, and digital resources, have found eager readers and adopters in Sikkim, reinforcing a shared transnational cultural space.
Digital Bridges and Cultural Revival
In recent years, the internet and social media have helped connect geographically scattered Limboo populations. Diaspora communities in India, Nepal, Bhutan, and abroad now participate in virtual gatherings, language classes, and cultural celebrations. These platforms have enabled a pan-Limboo renaissance, where ideas, stories, and identity symbols circulate freely, enriching each node in the wider cultural network.
Modern Efforts of Reclaiming Tsong Identity
The gradual lifting of cultural prohibitions began in the early 20th century, driven partly by British colonial administrative needs and partly by the persistence of Limboo cultural activists who had maintained underground networks throughout the period of suppression.
The ban was relaxed in Sikkim in 1914, a full 173 years later, Limboo scholars from Limbuwan and Sikkim did well to revive the script and education.
This revival movement represented one of the most remarkable cultural resurrections in modern history. Working from fragmentary manuscripts, elderly memories, and scattered oral traditions, Limboo scholars systematically reconstructed their written language and began the process of cultural renewal that continues today.
The revival was led by figures like Iman Singh Chemjong, who in 1925 named the script after Sirijonga, honoring the martyred saint who had given his life for its preservation.
The political dimensions of the revival movement proved equally significant. The Government of Sikkim through the Sikkim Official Language Act, 1977 recognized Nepali, Bhutia, Lepcha Language as the Official languages of Sikkim, the Limboo language got status of state official language only in 1981.
Educational developments accelerated in the late 20th century. The Graduate level classes were started in the year 2000, under NBU, and the Sikkim University formally started the classes from 2008 respectively.
Now, in this current stage the Ph. D Courses has also been started from the year 2022. The expansion of Limboo language education to the doctoral level represents a remarkable achievement for a community whose very existence was denied for centuries.
The most symbolically significant development was the construction of a 56-foot statue of Sirijonga Teyongsi at Hee Bermiok, at the very site where he was martyred.
This monument, inaugurated through the initiative of former Chief Minister Pawan Chamling, serves both as memorial to Tsong resistance and as catalyst for cultural tourism that brings broader awareness to Limboo history.
The statue has become a powerful symbol of Limboo cultural assertion and historical vindication, transforming a place of historical trauma into a center of cultural celebration and spiritual renewal.
The survival and revival of Tsong culture within the modern democratic framework of India represents one of the most successful indigenous cultural preservation movements in contemporary South Asia.
Despite centuries of systematic suppression, Limboo communities have not merely survived but have achieved remarkable cultural renaissance that demonstrates the resilience of indigenous knowledge systems.
The annual Teyongsi Sirijunga Sawan Tongnam celebration has been declared a State Holiday in Sikkim, representing official recognition of Tsong contributions to Sikkimese heritage.
Educational developments have provided crucial infrastructure for cultural transmission.
The expansion of Limboo language education from elementary levels to doctoral studies has created a new generation of Tsong intellectuals equipped with both traditional knowledge and contemporary academic training. This synthesis has produced a remarkable flowering of Limboo scholarship, literature, and cultural analysis that enriches both the community and the broader academic understanding of Himalayan civilizations.
Youth initiatives represent perhaps the most encouraging development in contemporary Tsong cultural life. Young Limboo professionals, students, and artists are creating innovative syntheses of traditional and modern cultural expressions.
Digital platforms, cultural festivals, academic conferences, and artistic collaborations are creating new spaces for Limboo cultural expression that reach far beyond the traditional geographic boundaries of Limbuan.
The persistence of Yuma Samyo spirituality within contemporary Limboo communities demonstrates the continued relevance of indigenous theological and philosophical systems. Rather than becoming museum pieces or tourist attractions, Mundhum teachings continue to provide ethical guidance, spiritual comfort, and intellectual stimulation for contemporary Tsong practitioners.
The ecological wisdom embedded within Yuma Samyo traditions has found new relevance in an era of environmental crisis, positioning Limboo communities as guardians of crucial traditional knowledge about sustainable relationships with mountain ecosystems.
Recognizing the Limboo as Foundational Communities of Sikkim
The story of the Tsong Limboo transcends the dry language of constitutional amendments and political negotiations. It is written in tears that have fallen on sacred soil for generations—of mothers who sang in whispers so their children’s language would not be stolen again.
These are not a people seeking entry into someone else’s house. They are the original architects, their fingerprints still on the foundation stones, their ancestors’ blood mixed with the earth when Sikkim took its first breath. They stood as equals in 1642, when the covenant at Norbugang bound three communities to one promise. Yet for centuries, they have watched that promise decay, their hands still extended in hope.
In the shadow of Phoktanglungma, where gods once walked among mortals, an entire civilization learned to survive by becoming invisible. For 173 years, their language was banned. Their scriptures were labeled dangerous. Elders died with stories sealed inside them, too sacred or too risky to share. Children were raised as strangers to their own ancestry.
But mountains remember what governments forget. Khangchendzonga still bears silent witness. The rivers carry forbidden songs. The wind still whispers erased names. Nature has never stopped recognizing them, even when official records did.
When Sirijonga Teyongsi was bound to a tree and killed for reviving his people’s voice, his enemies thought they were ending a story. Instead, they began its most powerful chapter. His blood became ink. His death, a scripture. His sacrifice, the lifeblood of a culture they could not kill.
Today, his statue stands not only in stone—but in every Limboo child who learns the script he died protecting. Each letter written is a defiance. Each verse remembered is survival.
And yet, in the halls of modern democracy, where Article 371F promises representation to indigenous communities, the Tsong voice still echoes unanswered. Two decades after being recognized as Scheduled Tribes, their legislative seats remain empty. Each election becomes a ritual of exclusion. Each delay, another dream deferred. I wish I were wrong. But twenty years is not a delay—it is a negligence. It simply means devalued.
This is not about ambition or ethnic rivalry. I am tired of hearing that. It is about sacred obligation—the debt a nation owes to its own foundation. The Limboo are not asking to be included in Sikkim’s story; they are demanding recognition as its co-authors. Not charity, but justice. Not favor, but restoration.
From the mist-wrapped valleys where Yuma Samyo still guides her children, to the chambers where promises lie unfulfilled, the Tsong Limboo carry forward the dream of authentic democracy—not majority rule that silences minorities, but a covenant of equality that once gave birth to this land.
Their Mundhums still pulse with wisdom older than kingdoms. Their ceremonies still bind earth and sky. Their knowledge still offers healing where modern systems fail. And their voice—once silenced—now rises with clarity.
The sacred mountain continues its eternal meditation, watching over a people who refused to disappear. In every child who speaks Limboo, in every elder who remembers, in every youth who demands representation, the prophecy of Sirijonga Teyongsi lives on.
This is not just a moment for the Limboo people—it is a reckoning for Sikkim itself. Will it honor the founding vision of cooperative governance, or continue a legacy of marginalization? Will democracy speak for all, or only some?
The Tsong Limboo have waited long enough. Their silence has ended. Their voice is clear. The door to justice now stands open—not asking for permission, but insisting on return.
I have carried this story like a burden for years. Maybe writing this is the only way I know how to carry it forward.
Let the mountains bear witness: their story will not end in exclusion. It will end in triumph—when their voices echo through the halls they helped build, when the name “Sikkim” remembers the queen who first uttered “Sukhim,” when the founding covenant is not just remembered, but finally fulfilled.
Otherwise, I will still carry one last burden—the question from a child tugging at my sleeve, eyes wide with innocence and confusion: “You said we are Lho-Men-Tsong-Sum. Then tell me… where is our seat?”
