The land that is so dear to me

Yangsorang Rongreisek*

Hills and Plains of Manipur :: Breath-taking landscape of Manipur taken by Bullu Raj :: 2011

At the backdrop of claims and counter-claims for inclusion in the list of Scheduled Tribes all over the North-East Region of India at this point of time, a thing of the past of some random sketches of the eventful course of one's life for well over 40 yrs now is sweet to recall. It's not at all as if I had taken to writing in my teens.

In my tenth standard in a high school in the Manipur valley, a teacher read out a poem aloud in the MIL class one day 'Thus— Manipura Sana-Leimayol, Chingna Koyna Pansaba, Haona Koyna Panngakpa!

And so on, I came across three lines of its free version from a "FOREWORD" written by a famous Manipuri Poet Shri A.Minaketan Singh in 1958 for the "History of Manipur" authored by revered Prof Jyotirmoy Roy while in my college days.

The free version which has been published time and again in the media reads :
My Manipur, Prime of the mainland of the Land of Gold,
How bulwarked thou art by the ranges of thine hills all round,
And sentinelled by the children of Nature on their round !

Alas! I was completely taken aback by the very word "Hao" in the class room as to how and why it was unnecessarily mentioned in the poem. Yet, it was later discovered to be of an immense weight. I was in the dark in the room overlooking a scenic paddy field on the other side of the school.

Naturally, a sense of insecurity developed in my mind. There was no other way out except for sitting on the shaky bench quietly without even breathing for long. I was a lone ST pupil in the class room of 17. The humble teacher went on explaining every stanza of the poem in rising and falling tones.

In my thinking at that age of mine he was fanciful. At times he looked depressed, too. For me, it was a horrifying moment in the class room that was not without usual school girl gossips also. I was hesitant to attend the class for the subsequent portion of the Rhyme fearing that the same word I felt offensive and awkward would be surely repeated.

In the valley I had a caring Ebok (Granny) who was my mother's permanent guest whenever she visited us in our hill house to sell eatables, and her house was very close to the school. On that day, I thought of running away from the class room to tell her something had happened.

That soft-spoken septuagenarian was a source of inspiration and courage for me as she always admonished me to choose the right path. She also had a liberal view of the village old folks in their manners and food-habits. Besides, she used to tell stories, even late into the night. How lovely ? At long last, I realized from my Ebok that the poem was sung in the form of a song out of affection of the hill people of Manipur, and it was not intended for any ulterior motive though she was ignorant of the poem.

Whatever I was called, I got a facility for it. I never had the idea of the term "Scheduled Tribe" nor had I heard of it before. When I got my pre-Matric scholarship worth Rs.120 once in 1971, l came to know from my high school head master Shri W. Apabi Singh, an M.Com. from Sagoltongba in Imphal West, now settled at lmphal that a tribe that was listed in the Eight Schedule of the Indian Constitution and recommended for special help in education and employment was called Scheduled Tribe.

I was not fully convinced. Still, I was worried being classified as such, not knowing crores of ST populations were there in the country. The reverie so occurred in the childhood world. "Sir, what is poetry?" "Why, Sir, it is much easier to say what is not. We all know what light is; but it is not easy to tell what it is". -Boswell's Life of Johnson.

But it is in my vivid memories how happy I was with a few ten rupee notes in my hands. All the time smiling and kind-hearted head master from whom I got the scholarship of substantial amount for those days is said to be still alive. Hello Sir, I am not forgetful.

Frankly, I don't believe in groupism for it will only ruin the Land of Gold, or sensationalism, a way of getting people's interest by using shocking words or by presenting facts and events as worse or more shocking than they really are. I am also not in a way of infusing a new spirit of controversy in the present mayhem.

My sole purpose is only to suggest that any design for sectarianism shouldn't be drawn any more right now in the State for good. Why shouldn't we pursue a much nobler common cause for the advancement and growth of all the diverge communities of the Land ? The art of "ism" seems to be profitable for a particular community that trades on it.

On the other hand, the unrepresented communities, lots of have-nots and disabled are suffering and in tears in the Land of Gold. Now, it is a warlike situation almost everywhere in the land when no one is to be safe—being weary of threats, intimidation and extortion, and soft-targets are weaker tribal communities of Manipur. In my ultimate analysis, I find that money or love of it is the root of all the evils. Nothing else.

After encountering a great deal of trouble all my life in such a conflict zone, here I quote Booker T. Washington who said "Let no man pull you so low as to make you hate him". And the age of moderate politics had ended with the rise of scores of highly educated politicians from 1980 onward to build an all new Manipur, never-the -less amid forceful politics in which discrimination of every kind is widespread till date.

Painfully, very few of the rest of successful politicians of the hill districts and valley of Manipur have attempted to fill the widening gap between the more advantaged and the less, only remaining content with their own scheme of things. To be conscientious enough for God's sake, modern politicians will be responsible for the rise and downfall of Manipur in which is to ensure that the State is not heading for a break-up.

The concluding part of my tale to trace my root is for saying
"The Land that is so dear to me can never be for aliens and alike.
Manipur, My Native Land that I love is precious beyond measure,
and always great.
Thangjing Hill to Laimanai,
from there to Kumbi Peak,
abandoning the peak for Ngangkha Lawai in Moirang,
from there again to Sadu Waterfall to the west of Nambol in Bishnupur District
and from there further northward to Mihabung in Laimaton Range on Imphal-Jiribam Road—
all bore the footprints of my forefathers".

It is marvelous.