memoirs

Lingering Memories of Home
By: Tanya Sana Rajkumari

Perched on top of the small hillock near my house are the Assam Rifles paramilitary forces. This hillock has been housing many such armed security forces for long. The small hillock was once a part of the sacred ‘Cheirau Ching’ hill, we are told. It is sacred because the Meiteis of Manipur climb the hill to pray on the New Year’s Day celebrated according to the Manipuri Lunar Calendar. The fun we had climbing the hill every year on that particular day is incomparable.

The hillock was separated from ‘Cheirau Ching’ to construct the existing National Highway Number 39. Incidentally this route happened to be the one I traveled the most.

My house is right next to the hillock. A bumpy ‘kachcha’ road runs parallel to the hill. On the eastern side of the hill is the temple of the Goddess Panthoibi. It is situated on a sacred platform shadowed by a majestic Peepul tree.

Number of trees and bamboos grew in our compound especially near the ‘kachcha’ road which connects the eastern with the western parts of the place. Variety of fruit trees grew and playing hide and seek was great fun as there were plenty of places, nooks and crannies to hide. I clearly remember the fruits I relished, plucked from those fruit trees. It ranged from mangoes, jamuns, guavas, berries, jackfruits, olives to papayas. Typical to the Northeastern region of India clusters of bamboo too grew on the side adjoining to the ‘road’. Sometimes hens from neighbors who let them out to be free during daytime would often come and lay eggs amongst the bamboo. I had a memorable twelve years of carefree childhood days filled with laughter albeit the disturbances in the region.

Speaking of disturbances there had been innumerable instances when the situation was pretty hard to deal with. Growing up in the 90s was tough. I feel lucky I attended schools outside the state when I was an adolescent. One incident stands out which was perhaps the most dangerous situation I ever came across. The incident took place in the mid-90s when my milk teeth had started to fall. My parents were out to visit my mother’s maiden home. I stayed back with my brother under the watchful eyes of my aunts and uncles.

I was wearing my pretty red “ghagra” I got as birthday gift and was dancing to my own tunes. Suddenly we were rushed inside the safest room of the house. The room was on side of the bamboo and trees next to the road. It seemed as if we were inside a war bunker hiding from enemies except in our case we were the helpless victims. We were facing the wrath, here the machine gun bullets of the so called ‘our protectors’. Gunshots could be heard firing from the hillock. There wasn’t any doubt who the culprits were. The sound was thundering, giving us all goose-bumps. A Mahar Regiment party was occupying the hillock at the time, we were told. Everyone was flat on the ground, most of us cramped under the two beds in L-shaped position. My father’s grandmother was not under the bed with us instead she was on the bed above us. She was securely tucked inside a huge blanket by my youngest aunt. She laid her head and half her body lightly above her so that if a stray bullet came that way she would be able to protect her grandmother and sacrifice herself.

It sounded like a fierce hailstorm as the “bullets shower” never seemed to stop. I was numb; only two thoughts crossed my mind. First of all I wondered where my parents were. The next thought looming in my mind was that it would be the last day of my life. In my mind’s eye I saw only one scene which was of gunmen breaking the tinned roof and killing us one by one. I don’t know how long the shootout lasted for but it seemed forever. Even a second was difficult to bear let alone a minute. During a ‘recess’ of the shootout, maybe they ran out of ammunitions. Anyway, at that time the phone rang and my uncle went crawling to pick up the phone. My parents had called up. We informed them how dreadful the situation was and warned them not to come back at the same time assuring that all was well. After the recess few sounds could be heard here and there but more or less it ceased. Soon our prayers and pleas to God bore fruit and the sound was not heard any longer. It was dead quiet like a grave for while. After waiting for few minutes we came out of our hiding places and stretched our cramped limbs. Oh! Yes. One of my aunts got stuck under the bed and she had to be pulled out. Moral of the story: Fat people are advised to slim down in places like Manipur. Jokes apart, a machine gun bullet was found inside the wall of the drawing room. It had probably entered through the tin roof and the false ceiling as holes were spotted later.

I never really got to know why the shootout took place. There were rumors here and there. For me it was an experience of a lifetime. It was then that I realized how lucky I was to be able to live after such a terrifying incident. It taught me the value of life and how it feels when my heart is in my mouth! 14th August 1995 will be in my mind all the time.

Though it happened over a decade ago it remains vivid in my mind. I can narrate it as though it happened a while ago. Somewhere in my heart a life long hatred for senseless violence was sealed by this particular incident. Though I know it is not fair to generalize, being a human being and a teenager who has just entered college life I cannot help but hate. Having experienced first hand this kind of spine chilling incident I guess hate is only a natural feeling especially if one cannot do anything to oppose and strike back.