Around this time I came to know two remarkable men who held important positions in the palace. They were Tailor Ibohal from the Akham family and Tailor Ibohal from the Hijam family. Even though they were called tailors, we never once saw either of them making clothes. They were men respected by all, who could go wherever they pleased without any sort of hindrance. And so we called both of them ‘respected cousins’. We did not see our cousin Tailor Ibohal of Akham at the palace often. But we did see cousin Ibohal of Hijam: he was an amusing conversationalist who laughed all the time and went about the quarters of the queens of the palace and the various royal offices as he pleased. And he was on very friendly terms with our older maiden sisters. Everyone gathered around him whenever he came, laughing uproariously as they chatted with him. I seem to recall thinking that our cousin Ibohal of Hijam was attached to the Office for Tribal Relations88. Come to think of it, he was indeed a member of that office. I saw that he wore ritually pure clothes and arranged events at the palace, such as feasts offered to Lord Govinda, and even the royal hymns. In short, I have now come to know that he was not only someone Sovereign Father was very fond of but was also a relative.
Who was our cousin Tailor Ibohal of Hijam? One day when I met our cousin’s son, Guno of Hijam, today a well known writer, I questioned him further about our cousin and the relationship between him and our father. He said, ‘Tailor Ibohal of Hijam was the son of Thambalsana, a princess born to Prince Pheijaosana, a descendant of the Narasingh lineage.’ His was a touching story: my royal aunt, the Lady Thambalsana, our cousin’s mother, remarried into the Khongbantabam family soon after her divorce89. She also had a son called Khongbantabam Ibetombi. It is said that she wept as she entrusted her son whom she left behind as a little child at the house of Hijam to the child king, ‘Your Highness, it is the sad fate of your sister to marry into two families. Please bring up my child, your nephew Ibohal, to be a man.’
It was for this reason, Ibohal’s son Guno told me, that our sovereign father loved cousin Ibohal dearly. And so in writing my memoirs today I want to give a place of importance to Tailor Ibohal of Hijam. Rare was the man in those days who did not know of him. Wherever I asked, people would say, ‘Oh! You mean Ibohal of Hijam? His stories are unbelievable!’, and they would go on to relate an anecdote. I also saw our cousin Ibohal of Hijam; he lived for a long time. Even though I did not get to know him very closely, I remember him today as a great storyteller and a charming and popular man.
He told me that my sovereign father was quite a dandy in his time and skilfully combined eastern and western attire and wore clothes from England or bought and imported them from White Ways and All Alderson, the large stores the British ran in Calcutta. This was a point over which the two Ibohals grumbled, though not very loudly, ‘Those English tailors are not capable of doing better than us; if only we had been asked to make the ceremonial uniforms for His Highness.’ It was said that word of this reached the royal palace and that when His Highness wore the clothes he had the two of them make for him, he was very pleased with their perfect fit. We heard of this from Hijam Ibohal. It was said that Ibohal of Hijam went as far as to say, ‘I, Tailor Ibohal of Hijam, eventually made it into the Office for Tribal Relations and even got a pension.’ He would add with a chuckle, ‘Has anyone heard of a tailor getting a pension?’ This made everybody laugh.
Among the stories our tailor Ibohal told us, the most beautiful of all was about the time in Delhi when our sovereign father attended the large conference of Indian princes called the Delhi Durbar. This event took place when England’s George V and his consort Queen Mary came to India. I have mentioned earlier that my mother, the Maharani the Lady Ngangbam, used to tell me stories of this Delhi Durbar – this was the same durbar cousin Ibohal told us about. He told us that when His Highness went to the durbar, our cousin Hijam Ibohal the tailor rather than Mukta was put in charge of taking the clothes that he would wear. He said, ‘We took a lot of boxes of the various clothes the maharaja would wear, and as instructed by him, we took many different uniforms appropriate for for him to wear among the many other kings. For even though the country was small, Manipur’s king could not be put in an embarrassing situation. And so as our cousin told us, he would say, “Ibohal, this must be taken, that must be taken,” and shoot off instructions.’
There were many who accompanied them, attendants, sepoys, officers, and even cooks, and this despite the fact that it was not possible to drive automobiles on the Dimapur road in those days.. In Delhi, the kings were to line up and England’s King George V would be greeting them, shaking their hands one after the other. One or two days before this, according to our cousin, Sovereign Father summoned him and consulted with him, ‘Ibohal, what should I wear?’ Ibohal said, ‘Spreading out all the clothes and looking at them over and over again, I brought out the temple choir outfit, dyed yellow and a little stained from a squirt gun, that His Highness had worn at Lord Govinda’s, and I had packed, thinking it might come in handy, and I showed it to His Highness. ‘Heh! How did you bring this?’ he exclaimed. Our cousin Ibohal replied, ‘I brought it along thinking, who knows, it might be useful, Your Highness.’
And so when all the kings lined up in a row, Maharaja Churachand stood among them dressed in his outfit from the Holi festival, a distinctive costume that was uniquely ours, together with a turban tied sideways upon his head and an ivory cane in his hand. Because he stood out so much, George V shook hands with Maharaja Churachand with astonished delight. I do not know who saw that, but our cousin told us about it. I loved this episode when I heard about it, because it is my belief that you can never successfully show your identity by imitating others. And so, I believe our cousin’s tale to be true even if no one else knows about it. I am thinking that, at some point, if I can, it would be nice to write separately about how Maharaja Churachand, the child king, dressed for his public appearances on various occasions.