Combing Operation
Homen Thangjam *
I
The morning looks calm
See sparkling dewdrops lazily sitting on the grasses
Tinges me to remember my land of birth
Of my childhood and the murmuring brooks
The winding mud roads, the wild fields
And the bright rainbow to which we prayed for prosperity
Yes, the innocence of being happy.
My village folks were the happy lot
Come monsoon, you'd see them toiling the fields together
On day one, the corner-most field and so on
Taking turns until each field is ploughed and ready for sowing.
The womenfolk sing as they work
Passing down the song from the first row to the next
Singing about love lost or the drought we had the previous year.
Beneath the starry sky as we wait for supper
Grandma would narrate tales of the ages gone
Sometimes, about a beautiful lady, the youngest of seven brothers
How she tricked the Keibu Keioba[1] until her brothers returned home
Else, of the wise old man and woman, how they outwitted the crazy monkeys[2] , etc
Or trace the Ningtou Turel[3] with her wrinkled finger, which she called the King's River
And proudly declare how the spirits of our ancestors are guarding us.
Passers-by would appreciate aroma of the cooked food
As they return from field and would loudly compliment
And neighbours would humbly pass to each other
A bowl of soup or a special dish
Believing in making everyone equally strong
For there's work to be done
And prepare together to face the worst unknown.
II
The year is not important for nobody cared
Except for the memory it left
There was good harvest and none had married a pair of toads for rain
No plantain trees were hewed for rafts as there was no flood
Old gentry smiled for they could then send their children to schools
Proud mothers eagerly started looking matches for their daughters
The Goddess of fortune has finally smiled upon our village.
Rumours were widespread behind closed doors
People have seen 'red stars' and 'writings' on the walls
Red star-shaped-balloons on treetops, and handbills every evening
Strange looking men, bearded and tired looking, started visiting us
They talked about 'change', 'liberation' and 'revolution'
Showed us the pictures of bearded men or a red sickle or a star
Promised us 'more' land and 'ownership' but we needed to join them.
On a morning as calm as today
We're awoken by shouts in strange tongues
Cattle have not even left the sheds
And we haven't plucked bamboo twigs for toothbrush.
They came like a swarm of hornets in combat fatigues and guns
Surrounded the village in three rows and combed for 'red soldiers'
Every adult was sunned the whole day, beaten and some shot.
In silent fraternity nobody talks about the incident even today
Nine months later many women gave birth
Children of mixed colours
Our folks mourned the birth of the innocents
Clenched fists received their earth coming.
Many husbands killed the newly born
In silence, we vowed retribution for an honour robbed away.
III
Some say, we failed to heed to the signal
The comet that flew over our village a night before the 'Operation'
Very night, Grandma lamented, the spirits seemed troubled
For the Kings' River appeared murky and tense
And sent a messenger in the form of a long trail of fire
We heeded, old folks did spit three times to ward off the impending premonition
But it was too late, the inevitable happened as if destined.
Tamo[4] was the first to leave the village
Sometimes, he returned at dawn or the dusk
Times, when light and darkness pass through each other
He never had time for mother's request for a mouthful of rice
Or share laughter with us
It was a forlorn wait for mother, standing at the corridor
For a son who flew away with the wind of change.
Radio and the print media
Started carrying news of unknown dead bodies, ambushes and curfews
But most important of all the AFSPA[5]
Rows of trees on the roads been replaced by camouflaged State forces
More combing operations, more missing persons and rapes
Not a single day passed without the news of a death
Even working in the fields has become unsafe.
If you visit my village today
You can no more hear the songs of gay abandon
Fields are deserted for many a brother never returned home
You can see high walls around houses and smell airs of suspicion
And at night, you can see rows of torch bearing women
Lamenting in lyrical absurdity of the departed and gone
Giving company to the stars far above, guarding the living together.
Notes:
* Poem written by Homen Thangjam ( a regular contributor to e-pao.net) . The poet can be contacted at homenth(at)gmail(dot)com . This poem was webcasted on September 16, 2008.
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