12

My Good Natured Elder Brother,
Crown Prince Bodhchandra

I often heard my mother the say that Bodhchandra and Tamphasana, brother and sister, were very fond of each other. They called each other ‘Bemma Bemma’ and ‘Tamo Tamo’. She used to tell us what a sweet and lovely child Bodhchandra was, and how chubby he was.

When we, the younger children, became aware of things around us, he was already a grown up – I did not know him intimately, but we adored our big brother who always greeted us warmly and kidded us whenever we met. I heard something once. I do not even know from whom I heard it. I must have heard people talking about it in hushed tones. Apparently, my mother, the Lady Ngangbam, tried to kill Bodhchandra by throwing him off the main balcony of the palace, but God saved him since he was of divine birth, and not even a hair on his head was touched, and so on. When I heard this I felt very ashamed; I was very upset. I never asked anyone about it but I did not forget it either. I have not forgotten it even today. One day after I had grown up, I asked my mother, very apprehensively about this story, uncertain whether I should bring it up or not. In those days we used to call our mother Mummy.

‘Mummy, is the story true?’

‘Who told you about it?’

‘I don’t know. People were talking.’

However, my birthmother replied easily and dismissively, ‘What nonsense! How could a person have survived after being thrown from that high building? Would I have survived? I would have been exiled… really, the talk of the palace!

She was so right. There was no lack of whispered conversations, intrigues, enmities and scheming in the palace. There was also widespread factionalism. But no one could speak openly. It was all suppressed, bound by the weight of courtliness and tradition. Only now have I come to know this. The truth was always muzzled. And so I think, the palace I remember is a child’s palace – this story is told by a child. I want to forget the story of that fabulous, frightening prison.

My mother used to tell me often: Bodhchandra, the first of the children at the palace, and Princess Tampha used to be taken by my sovereign father on his tours abroad. I also accompanied him on all his travels. When Maharaja Churachand and the Lady Ngangbam were on their travels, the two children were taken care of by the Lady Ngangbam. And though the servants, attendants and royal wet-nurses looked after the children, they say it was the Lady Ngangbam who really brought them up.

Of the many funny stories about the two children, once while the brother and sister were in bed, the child Bodhachandra heard a sound. Frightened, he said to Tampha,

‘Bemma Bemma – did you hear elephants trumpeting?’

‘No, I did not’, Tampha answered in her high, clear voice.

‘Why, didn’t you hear that eow-eow sound?’

The child had mistaken a peacock’s cry for the trumpeting of an elephant! There used to be many peacocks at the palace, brought in by my sovereign father. We saw most of them perched on top of the Lord Govinda Temple performance hall, which we still see today. But the peacocks disappeared from Manipur after World War II. I do not know whether they were killed or they flew away.

I heard that our Elder Tamo Bodhchandra was a kindhearted person. He had no enemies and was loved by everyone. One day Tada Khelchandra related to me how, after my older brother ascended the throne, Tada Khelchandra, then a young man, was transferred from the secretariat to the Royal Office. He grew to know our brother the maharaja very intimately. So he would say, ‘Your older brother’s manners, etiquette and way of speaking were most extraordinary. Even though he had become king, when I went to him on official matters, he would say, please come in. What may I do for you? And he showed us the highest respect. People like him are very rare.’

Only now have I come to know that Maharaja Churachand’s first son was a poet as well. He published a book of poetry. Pramodini39 once told me that they had read it in class but that she no longer had a copy. I must look for it. He lived his life in another dimension. Now and then I heard people who had known him tell each other many interesting anecdotes about him – they always spoke of him fondly.

We also heard say that the child maharaja Churachand so wanted to groom had always had his own way and refused to take an interest in his studies. He was even sent to England along with his younger brother Sanayaima, also known as PB40, for his studies. But there, too, he had his own way and his father brought him back home from England. PB had to return too since he could not stay back alone. There were so many stories we heard at the palace, stories about our elder Tamo’s aversion to his studies. This too I heard: Bodhchandra was sent to a school for princes in Raipur, or some place like that, but that he was such a poor student that together with the crown prince of some native state, they had to create a separate class just for the two crown princes. There was a time when I was quite grown up, and studying in the tenth grade at Tamphasana School. It was the time of the Saraswati festival. My friends came around and said, ‘Let’s go ask your elder brother the crown prince for a donation.’ We went, with me in the lead. We found elder Tamo sitting outside. How warmly he welcomed us when I told him about the purpose of our visit. Maybe it was because we said we were students from the school founded in memory of the younger sister he loved. I cannot remember accurately, but I think my elder Tamo gave us two hundred rupees. It hurt me that my girlfriends whispered among themselves, ‘He gave us that princely amount of money because we were all young maidens….’ I was a little offended but I pretended to have not heard.

There was another notable incident, and that was when I was studying at St. Mary’s College in Shillong. The family of a friend of mine who was in school with me was very fond of racing and betting on horses. They took me along every now and then. It was not that I did not enjoy the races. Betting money on horses is not a simple thing. It required training; it demanded passion. It was not really for me. For me it was more delightful to watch the society ladies floating around like colorful butterflies. Uncle Dutta, the father of one of my friends and a man in a high position, called me over and said, ‘Come here, let me introduce you to someone’. A very dark and very heavy-set man, chewing a big mouthful of betel leaves, was seated with his attendants. He was said to be the crown prince of some state. I was introduced to him by my uncle as the princess of Manipur. His face lit up.

‘Oh, are you Bodhchandra’s younger sister?’

‘Yes, Your Highness.’

‘How is your brother?’

I tried to answer his questions. At last he said, ‘Do tell your brother that I asked after him. It’s been a long time since we met. What a nice fellow that Bodhchandra was. But what a dimwit your brother was….’ One day, during the holidays, when I’d gone home, I remembered the message and passed it on to my brother. My elder Tamo said, ‘Oh, you met him? He was a guy from Orissa, the crown prince of Dhenkanal. Boy, was he stupid!’

I came to learn later that he was the same man who had been in the special class for the two crown princes. But what was interesting was that when our sovereign father arranged our elder Tamo’s first marriage, our first sister-in-law was princess Rampyari from the small kingdom of Borkhemji in Orissa.

I cannot begin to tell you how fascinated and thrilled we were. Most of the time we children used to gather around to look at our sister-in-law Rampyari. We would not be chased away. But I do not remember if our brother the crown prince ever sent us away. I remember my Indian sister-in-law used to wear beautiful saris and was heavily bejewelled and laden with gold and silver. My sister-in-law was fair and wore a ring in her nose. She was often seen with elder Tamo. That was the first time we ever saw an Indian woman up close. During our sovereign father’s time we saw many British ladies and gentlemen. Mrs. E.M. Jolly was my sisters’ tutor. She was also companion to my mother, Her Highness the Lady Ngangbam. But we never saw any Indian women paying us a visit. My older maiden sisters used to say, ‘Our sister-in-law Rampyari does not even know how to eat with her fingers.’ Sometimes elder Tamo used to feed her with his own fingers or she would sulk and refuse to eat. We did not see that, though. We did hear this, that the dowry sister-in-law Rampyari brought was astonishing. There were even stacks of gold bars. The necklaces were so heavy that it was said wearing even one of them could break one’s neck.

I came to realize only later that Orissa is one of the most advanced lands in art and culture. So today, at this late phase of my life, I have come to know her anew. An unbearable pain scorches me. I feel a love for the Maid of Orissa. She wronged no one. It turns out she hailed from a kingdom in internationally renowned Orissa, so celebrated in the world of art. The Konarak temple to the Sun God and many other monuments still stand in Bhubaneswar and across the land. Thousands of people go there to see them even today. But would the young and innocent Rampyari, bound by the strong chains of tradition, have known this? Would she have seen them? Was she able to absorb the different, alien civilization and customs of Manipur? Was she ever able to adjust? And why did she cry, why did she go hungry, why did she tire her husband with her tantrums? Many different questions come to mind today. At that time I was a little girl and all that I had was the curiosity to know. I used to hide and peek at her, looking secretly from behind the screens. In any case, I do not remember any time when my brother treated her badly, shouted at her or beat the short-tempered Rampyari to discipline her. So, even if I did not know her language, I was very fond of my sister-in-law Rampyari. I do not know where she stayed when she first arrived as a bride. She could not have stayed in the main palace building since Sovereign Father was staying there.

I can remember vividly that in one part of the compound of the maharani the Lady Ngangbam there used to be a tile-roofed building, with many windowpanes, known as the Small Bungalow. It had a beautiful verandah on the eastern side that was covered with flowering vines. This is where they lived. Really, I have not forgotten her even today. And I feel as if I am rediscovering a new Rampyari. Today, that shapely, full-figured, fair and small-statured maiden appears in front of my eyes like the bewitching stone sculpture at Khajuraho of a woman grooming herself in front of a mirror. What was endearing, as I came to learn later, was that she was very religious, and respectful of her elders. She was a vegetarian and never ate without first kow-towing to her royal father-in-law, the divine king Maharaja Churachand. What a perfect woman! Unfortunately there is no photograph of her41. I do not remember coming across a photograph of her at the palace. Today, it seems as if her name has disappeared from Manipur. I will not ask why she has disappeared, why she has been forgotten. Let that be another story. Let her remain with me as my sister-in-law Rampyari, the foreign maiden that I saw and adored when I was little. So my dear sister-in-law, I admire you; I have not forgotten you.