I am happy. I have finished writing The Maharaja’s Household, my memoir about my father. There is no more to write. When I had writing however, I had some misgivings that I had boldly written the story of my sovereign father’s life as recalled by a daughter, or from whatever little I had heard from other people. I was afraid of no one while I was writing. My work was made up of stories about my father that I wrote as the urge came upon me. Now that I have finished, I realize that what I have written is only a daughter’s memories of her father. But what is to be done if I have gone overboard in my writing at times? What if I have missed out something? I fretted and obsessed over this anxiously. But quite unexpectedly one day, I came across a few words that Gurudev Rabindranath Tagore had said about his own autobiography. It was written in English. He said, ‘… But as I opened the door, I discovered that memories are not history but original creations by the unseen artist.’
I was ecstatic. I wanted to shout out, I have found it! I have found it! I had found the answer to a question I had sought all this time. The answer was also to Gurudev Rabindranath Tagore’s question. After I had read these few words from a poet of such genius, I ceased to have any misgivings about anything in the memoir I had written about my sovereign father. How true! Memoir is not history. Nor are these the lofty thoughts that scholars seek. These are merely some intimate strings of words, some beauty that was felt in the heart of an ordinary artist. And so after hearing these words of Gurudev, I feared no one.
Truth to tell, I had not intended to write my memoir called The Maharaja’s Household. It was only because all of a sudden, I saw a photograph of Tampak, Maid of Chongtham, and the fourth queen among the wives my sovereign father married. And so I thought I would dedicate these essays to my beautiful mother Tampak, Maid of Chongtham. There was a time when people who loved me never failed to tell me, ‘Come on, why don’t you write at least one biography of your sovereign father?’ But I was afraid. I did not write. A long time ago, Memchoubi, daughter-in-law of the House of Arambam surprised me by saying, ‘Imasi, write a biography; I will help you.’ Even so I did not acquiesce or think about writing one until unexpectedly one day I saw the photograph of my beautiful mother Tampak. It was then that I started writing these essays. And so now I believe that life is very surprising; what will happen, what will not, one never knows.
What pleased me was that when I started publishing this memoir in the paper Poknapham, many people appreciated it. On one occasion, the grandson of the legendary head scholar known as the Ogre of Moirang during the time of my sovereign father wrote me a letter. Apparently I had included in my memoir that Babu, a grandson of the scholar the Ogre of Moirang, had taken him by the hand to meet with the British. So Babu wrote to me expressing his happiness.
There were so many incidents, so many people who had gathered around my sovereign father’s palace in this way. I wrote about many of them as I remembered them. Today, as I think I have finished writing my father’s biography, many people I have left out in my writing appear before me. The thought comes to me, what is to be done? I have left them behind.
But I have to finish writing this book. Many people sent me messages after reading my series in Poknapham. You have left this out. Put this in too, and so on, they recounted entertaining incidents and beautiful stories about my father. But I could not put them all in. Nor will I be able to do so. Of course, I have finished now; I think there is not much more for me to write. But what if I begin to want to write again…?
There are many other stories about my sovereign father that I would have liked to include. The respected Chongtham Samarendra, who helped me a great deal at the time, had always said, ‘Put in as much as possible. There won’t be any others later who can write about Maharaja Churachand like you and you won’t be able to write again.’ There were many others who gave advice like this and told me stories. But I am not able to put them all in. I do not know where the children and grandchildren of my beloved Ta’ Mukta, the man who looked after the ceremonial uniforms of Sovereign Father, might be. If there exist descendants of Ta’ Mukta, whom Sovereign Father ordered around, beat, yet loved so much, I wish to tell them, the story of Ta’ Mukta, your grandfather, has come to an end.
Many people will never know the stories about my father’s staff or the oddball sepoys whom I see vividly in my mind’s eye today. They appear before my eyes and stand before me. But I am happy with the stories I have been able to include. I think I will end this story here.
I will never forget the many people who helped me in trying to make it possible. Above all, I wish to remember my friend, the famous Elangbam Dinamani, also a writer in his own right, who patiently corrected my long essays. My young friend Yumlembam Ibomcha also pointed out and corrected many mistakes. Not only that, among the many people who helped me, it would not be right for me to forget my grandniece, Kamala, daughter-in-law of the House of Chongtham, young Mutum Debola, Thoibisana and young Tarunkumari, my niece Ragini and my respected cousin Ayekpam Ibopishak Singh. There were many others who helped me as well. I will never forget them. And also respected Mangi of Lamyanba Printers, publisher of most of my books [in Manipuri], who helped me greatly, as he does every time I publish a book as if he were publishing his own. He still helps me today. Respected Deben, also known as the respected Jiri Deben, even offered, without my ever asking, to publish my book The Maharaja’s Household. And Sanatombi, my younger cousin and wife of respected Deben, helped me by contributing her own money towards the publication of the book [in Manipuri] about the man who was also her sovereign father, Maharaja Churachand. I cannot forget my cousin Sanatombi.
On behalf of my sovereign father I thank those close staff, retinue, relatives and friends whose names I do not remember but who inspired me.
I wish to add this at the end – my story is not a history. It does not contain scholarly research. May readers take this as simply written excitedly, lovingly, admiringly by a daughter born to Sovereign Father late in his life. I believe today that my father is among the best and greatest of our kings who cared deeply about Manipur.
When I had finished writing all I needed to, Saratchand Thiyam gave me some unexpected news, saying one morning. ‘Imasi, some sad news. Oja Khaidem Pramodini96 died last night.’ I was startled. I could not believe my ears. I did not want to believe this news. I felt as if Pramodini’s death did not become her. Pramodini and I knew each other at the start of a long journey, at a time of budding adulthood. We believed her to be someone who is, and who would always be, one of the closest members of Maharaja Churachand’s household. In truth, it would be appropriate to write separately about her, but I will not do so. Only this I wish to say at the end – in my life today, and in the beginning of my life in letters, when I became a writer and took up writing, nothing may have been possible had Pramodini not been by my side. It was she, Pramodini, who picked up and kept so many pages of my literary writings that I, a careless writer, had indifferently discarded as scraps of paper. I had said (we called her ‘Babu’97 in jest), ‘Babu, if you had not existed, my abandoned pages of literary works would have been lost, never to be found.’ I celebrate Pramodini today, who unknown and hidden in Maharaja Churachand’s family, sacrificed everything for me. My only regret is that Pramodini will not be there at the publication of this memoir The Maharaja’s Household. But I will always remember her in my journey of memories.