Loose Memoirs of a Drunkard
- Part 5 -
June 18, 2001: News of a Death

By Homen Thangjam *

June 18, 2001: News of a Death

I told you, I was on the culvert to witness one of the greatest human movements in the history of Manipur.

I was waiting for a willing companion to laugh at 'violence' and in the ways of the world. Surchandra came along with some friends. Aged around 19 years, a fine and healthy young adult, nephew to former World Champion (Arm Wrestling), Sagolsem Biren Singh, son to two hard working peasants, Surchandra was a handsome young man.

He was popular in our village as a helpful lad and someone very good with scissors. I tried to stop him, fervently asked his group of friends the reason why they wanted to prevent the possible breakdown of Manipur's territory and why they were participating in the protest. They replied:
'Just so!'

At around noon, Memcha, a young lass in our village, ran back to our village. Carpenter and I were still on the culvert, lighting bidis after bidis, trying to find an answer to what propels people to face violence at their own cost and participate in the protest movement.

Memcha: You drunken trashes, scum of Kongpal, are laughing here, Surchandra is dead. They shot him. Many people are killed and injured. CRPF fired upon us; people are running helter and scatter.

Our sleepy village woke up to the shouts of the young lady. More than scared, we surged out in thousands, tears in our eyes, and attacked the nearest police station.

Late at Night

It was late when I returned from JN Hospital, Porompat. The 14 dead bodies and the thousands gathered around them, reminded me of many issues which I could not comprehend, yet, at the same time, answered many of my misgivings.

I presume, like me, they did not know why they had to defend the territorial integrity of Manipur. If you asked them, they will not have the answer. If you ask them, why they participated in the protest movement, they cannot answer you. 'Perhaps', they love Manipur.

My wife (a Tangkhul) was waiting for my safe return along with my old mother. She was the reason, I was afraid to speak out.

I am no longer, now. Silently, we had dinner. I saw the tiredness in their eyes and the hopelessness they saw in me.

Day-long participation in the protest movement must have exhausted them. My old mother, my Tangkhul wife, and the Memchas of Manipur, have for so long shouldered the responsibility of making Manipur a better place. For the first time, I realized how worthless we the patriarchs were when compared to them.

Then, late at night, I remembered my old friend from Kakching, my friends in my village, the 14 dead bodies, the faceless thousands injured and the innocent participants of the protest movement.

I realized each one of them has an 'idea' of Manipur which is very different from each other. But certain 'things' keep us connected and together at the same time.

I guess, sociologists refer to it as root metaphor – the smell and taste of food we eat, sense of humor which 'we' can only enjoy and understand, the sense of rhythm, the idea of fear and loss, value we assign to certain feelings and entities or in the way we welcome a new born or mourn at the death of someone we love and so on.

This, in my own understanding, is the basis of collectiveness and nationalism. I concluded, patriotism cannot be grounded in logical facts or constructed.

There need not be a 'rationale'. One cannot be taught how to be patriotic but one will always cling to its root metaphor.

I deduced, this propelled the people to come out in the street and protest against the 'possible' disintegration of Manipur.

For the first time I smiled before a peaceful sleep and muttered incoherently, 'The greatest weapon of a nation is the 'people' who love their motherland'.

to be continued ...