When these essays started appearing as a series in Poknapham daily, many readers came to me with questions. In particular they were young people eager to know the story of Manipur. They did not seem to realize that the story being told is but a fragment. It is a story narrated by a child with a shaky grasp of the subject and a limited vocabulary.
When people began to know me a little as a writer, some advised me, write about Maharaja Churachand; write about your sovereign father. It was not something that had not occurred to me but I could not do it. I would rather say I did not give it serious thought.
One day, and not so long ago either, a young man came to have an earnest talk with me. The issue was that a traditional feast for an ancient ritual always had to have an elephant. What should he do? Should he rent one from Assam? Or should he look in Silchar? I felt sad. Though I did not voice it, I thought to myself, where would one get elephants of renown today like the Beast of Moirang, Kondumba, or Maharaja Churachand’s Prince of Flowers, the elephant from Takhel? What would be the use of showing elephants borrowed from Assam and Silchar, animals that are used to pull logs and carry loads? Would these worker elephants know how to step to music?
The Meitei homeland has always been a country with a long tradition of elephants. I regret today that there is so much I should know but do not due to my negligence. I did not pay attention to so much I could have asked about. Even during the long time I was at the Dance Academy, I did not realize that Guru Maisnam Amubi was the nephew of Kumudini, the maharani from the House of Maisnam. And so today, I have to grope my way through the old historical manuscripts.
By the time we were old enough to comprehend things around us, Sovereign Father had begun go on elephant hunts. My younger brother Kheda, the Hunt, was called Khedasana as he was born while my father was away on an elephant hunt. We did not know when he started to go on elephant hunts. We did not even know what a kheda was but I saw when I was a child how women would come to sift rice and lentils in the middle of the palace’s large ironwood-ringed performance hall built painstakingly by the maharani the Lady Nganbi. They used to make a lot of noise. All this work was supervised by my birthmother. These women came in great numbers; they did not come merely to work but to visit and enjoy themselves. They were said to be wives of officers of the State Military Police. They used to have a great time. We often used to play in their midst.
I heard that Sovereign Father treated the wives of his policemen with great warmth and affection. When their husbands gambled, smoked marijuana, womanized and so on, the women used to take the matter up directly with Sovereign Father. Furthermore we heard stories later about how he took a keen interest in the courts of justice, even calling on Ipu Member Shyamcharan, also known as the Courtier Tomchou, to settle these cases. I heard these stories from my birthmother and my older sisters. So these policemen often resented these bold women. They used to report them to my birthmother, the Lady Ngangbi. But their wives did not give a damn. After hastily doing their housework they would dress to the nines and come to nibble on hot salads and fritters and sift rice and pulses to send to the king on his elephant hunt. Once Nungshi the Havildar said to his wife as she was primping to go out, ‘My lady, permit me to pin my medals on your sarong. Please go and enjoy yourself. I will look after the children and do the housework’. This was a story that the women used to tell, amid much laughter.
Once, the wife of a high-ranking jamadar of the Manipur Police lodged a complaint against her husband to the Maharaja. I knew the man involved, though his name escapes me. He was a very dignified and gentle person with a small moustache and a burly build. He had an only son called Mani. He was one of the policemen who lived very neatly and cleanly at the palace with his family. His son Mani later became a driver in the Office of Drivers. People were surprised. What wrong had her gentlemanly and dutiful husband done to make his wife complain to the king? Maipakpi has gone too far, they said. I cannot remember the name of the accused policeman, so let me call him Tada Jatrasing the jamadar for now.
The judgment took place in the verandah of Sovereign Father’s smaller building. Jatrasing the accused Jamadar stood at full attention. On the other side was Maipakpi the plaintiff. Both spouses glowed with good health and were pleasing to the look at. The king even called for Ipu Member Tomchou the courtier to take part. People from the palace all stood around curiously, looking forward to the show. Maipakpi was asked what her complaint was. They say she spoke confidently:
‘My husband, your servant, is keeping very bad company. He has been doing what he should not be doing.’
‘Like what?’
‘He has been smoking marijuana and gambling.’
‘Is he also having affairs with other women?’
Maipakpi hesitated a little, but replied –
‘Yes, I think so.’
Jatrasing the jamadar stood at full attention all this while. Everybody waited for the judgment. This story was told to me in great detail by my birthmother. Who knows, perhaps she was also a part of the judgment court. The king announced, Jatrasing, you will be stripped of your medals. Maipakpi panicked. Stripping him of his decoration would mean a demotion in rank. And so she said, ‘I beg you not to do that, my Lord King. Please punish him by giving him a beating’. Jatrasing must surely have felt like beating his own overstepping wife right then. But the judgment had already been passed. Jatrasing was to be demoted. Maipakpi kowtowed to the king and said, ‘Please forgive him this time. Please punish him by giving him any number of lashings you wish.’ Finally Sovereign Father said, ‘Fine, lead your man away from here.’ Maipakpi then held Jatrasing’s hand and led him away.
So it was said this was one entertaining episode among my sovereign father’s many little games. In reality, my father’s trusted his guards from the Manipur Police and was very fond of them. A large contingent of the Manipur Police was sent under Blackie Saheb to take part in World War I. Soldiers from the State Military Police also went to the war. The soldiers were all Meiteis. There were many poignant stories of their women left behind at home. They did not think their men would return from the war. Their wives used to come to the maharani to ask for news or to send letters and the like to them. These soldiers’ wives inspired my short story ‘The Crabapple Candy I Never Got to Send’.50
In was near Burma that my sovereign father used to go hunting for elephants. Since this involved getting troublesome and complicated permits, he took along educated and resourceful people who were knowledgeable about legal matters. So he took Bijoy Babu from Jiri. Though he lived in Jiri, as he was originally from India, Jiri Bijoy was very shrewd, a man who was worth consulting. We knew him well. He married a lady of high-ranking nobility and lived in Manipur.
Once I wanted to hear stories of Sovereign Father’s elephant hunts. It was not necessarily because I wanted to write about or publish them. It was merely for my own interest. It was then that I remembered our Tada Gunamani the Brahmin. Tada Gunamani was the son of the elder sister of the court scholar Atombapu, the Learned Treasure. We often saw his mother Kamini who was very close to the Lady Ngangbam. A small, neat, resourceful woman, she used to come now and then, as she was a Lady-in-Waiting. It seems she looked after the Lady Ngangbam’s attire and hair.
When we were children, we often saw two ladies named Kamini in the quarter of the Maharani the Lady Ngangbam. The two Kaminis had different duties. One was Leimapokpam Kamini. She was the daughter, or was it the younger sister, of the well-known Leimapokpham Keirungba who built the temple in Yaiskul. She was the aunt of Oja Leimapokpam Damudor, the noted scholar. Leimapokpham Kamini was even taller than the Lady Ngangbam, who herself was considered to be tall. So when the Maharani led the Raas, there was no one else who could be the second dancer. For by tradition, the second dancer must be taller than the lead dancer in the Raas’ line-up of gopis51, a custom that is followed to this very day. Since Tada Gunamani was the son of Mother Kamini the Brahmin, he came frequently to the palace and was on equally good terms with both the maharaja and the maharani. It was he who knew a great deal about Maharaja Churachand’s elephant expeditions.