My birthmother the Lady Ngangbam had much that she desired. Among these desires was her wish to give her daughters an education. So she employed English ladies who could teach them English. She retained other teachers to instruct them in Bengali and Hindi. Tombiyaima in particular became very accomplished. Later, I came upon two short stories she had written – she gave them to me to read. She was an astonishing woman, given the age she lived in. When Leikol57 published an anthology of short stories, at my request, they included the stories she had written during the war. She was also the one I was closest to; the one I admired most of all. But she too did not live for very long. Tombiyaima died at the age of 28 after a long bout of tuberculosis. As she lay dying, she took my hand, wanting to say something. I could not tell what. She got angry. She was beautiful and she was beautiful even when she was angry; it became her. So I wrote an essay about her called ‘Tombiyaima, My Sister’. My sovereign father established the Tombisana Ward at her behest. Tombisana High School was founded but for some reason, I’m told they are planning to change the name.58 Not only this, she liked to do many progressive things as a young woman, like becoming a life member of the Red Cross. She dreamed as she lay in bed. I appreciate it that My sovereign father encouraged my mother the Lady Ngangbam when she strove to educate her daughters. Around the time I was a little older and had started going to school, my mother used to talk about how she wanted her daughters to get an education.
I got to learn later that the daughter my father most trusted and sought advice from was my sister Tombiyaima. The English surgeon who treated her now and then – I think his name was Dr. Canning – was on very friendly terms with her, and whenever my sovereign father had complications and disagreements with the British government, they say Tombiyaima would try to smooth things over with them, using the good offices of the surgeon.
Tamphasana, on the other hand, lived on another plane, as a genuine artist and a very religious woman. This I saw: every morning she would don ritually pure clothes, wear shoes of red velvet and set out to offer holy basil leaves at the temple of Lord Govinda. Every eleventh of the lunar month, she would kowtow before Sovereign Father and anoint the soles of his feet with holy water. My sovereign father would wait at the appointed time for his daughter, the chastely clad Tamphasana, to arrive. She was a good person, a divine being.
And what about children like us who were born later? We did not get to study with English lady-tutors. We three children – my sister Angousana who was a little older, Ibungo Joysingh and I – had a special tutor retained for our education. I can still remember that tutor today. He was a really good teacher; his name was Waikhom Selungba. It could be said quite rightly that he was our first teacher. He was a teacher who taught us very conscientiously. But my unruly sister Angousana used to bribe him with tins of cigarettes she took from the supply kept for Sovereign Father’s consumption and then run off to play. He treated me very well: this child will turn out well, he used to say. But one day an unfortunate incident took place. I was so embarrassed when this matter came to light but my sisters laughed about it. What happened was that when our tutor was instructing Ibungo, I do not know at what point this happened or what I was thinking, the little girl that I was, I chewed a corner of the tutor’s lovely fine pheijom to little pieces. It is said that when word reached her, my mother replaced it with a brand new pheijom.59 They laughed at the incident but I cried from shame.
Once, way back, it must have been perhaps before I was born, George V, the King of England, made a visit to India. They say Queen Mary also accompanied him. The event was called the Delhi Durbar60. The preparations were staggering and the event magnificent – all the kings of India who had been part of the history of the British rule in India, were invited along with their respective maharanis, to meet the Emperor. Our tiny state Manipur also received an invitation. So a trip had to be made to Delhi, with all the very best there was. My mother, Maharani Dhanamanjuri also went. She was to meet Queen Mary along with the other maharanis. The maharanis waited in the beautiful and grand reception room and got only a few minutes to meet Queen Mary. They included my mother. It was said my mother, the simple Ibemcha, Maid of Ngangbam, was taught back in Manipur, in our sovereign father’s presence, what to say, how to shake hands and so on.
Among the multitude of maharanis, I do not remember from which state, sat an elderly stately maharani, her head covered and bedecked in all the glory of an Indian noblewoman. She had only one attendant, as too many people could not be brought into the reception room. No men could enter either. My birthmother said, ‘This young woman was lovely, I could not take my eyes off her. And she took great care of the maharani.’ They say my mother loved how her delicate, painted lips moved as she spoke to the others in English. I am told that at the time she thought how nice it would be if she’d had a daughter like her. My mother met the queen in her turn. I asked her, ‘What did you wear? Did you wear a sari?’ She replied, ‘Why would I wear that? Your sovereign father told me to wear a phanek61, with shoes and stockings on my feet, and so on. And the jewellery? I was laden to breaking point with Manipuri necklaces.’ She even took along hairdressers who could do her hair in a chignon. I regret that there are no photographs. If one searched, I am sure there would be some in England.
She also told me that the crown prince of England, Edward, Prince of Wales visited once too. On this occasion, she said, Sovereign Father sent a Raas troupe, with Kumari the Brahmin, a renowned singer of the time. She always took part when the maharani offered Raas to Lord Govinda, in the women’s choir and the like. I remember meeting her as the Mother Brahmin lived to a very old age. She was the daughter; I am told, of the elder sister of Learned Treasure Tombapu Sharma the Brahmin. The Mother Brahmin also explained to me that she went as a singer. I do not quite recall but I heard that the famous singer, Iche Khetritombi, led the dance. The crown prince saw the dance and I heard he was very pleased. The Mother Brahmin also told me that she had never seen a more handsome man in her life. I asked, Who danced the role of Krishna? The father of Aheibam Budha, the well-known singer of Roop Raag, played the part, I was told. In this way, sending Manipur’s Raas abroad started a long time ago. But I think that the Raas could not have been the Raas offered to Lord Govinda, such as Kunja Raas, Maha Raas and Basanta Raas, since it was forbidden by tradition. It must have been the Nitya Raas I think.