Despite President’s Rule, why normalcy is a far cry in Manipur

Change is rarely sudden, yet for Kh Romita, a 43-year-old Meitei businesswoman, and Hatnu Haokip, a 21-year-old Kuki student, it arrived without warning, shattering their lives in an instant.

Then onward theirs are again stories of continuous resilience that are scripted in the aftermath of every devastation. Nothing is quick-fixed there. More so when the government is apathetic.

There is another remarkable common strain in the stories of these two victims of the mindless violence raging Manipur for over 21 months. In their worst moments, it was the sensible people from the “other community” who stepped in with the much-needed help.

The Mekola relief camp in Imphal West district. Hundreds of people are lodged together in Manipur's relief camps. 

“They are still in touch with us,” both revealed separately talking about their good Samaritans. It is these good Samaritans who have prevented them from being consumed by hate and bitterness, and repose faith in life.

Let’s begin from the beginning.

On the ill-fated morning of May 3, 2023, Romita set out with her three children to visit her uncle in Moirang for a family gathering. Her husband remained behind in Churachandpur, a mere 40-minute drive away, tending to their home and business.

The day broke like any other, except that later in the morning a ‘tribal solidarity march’ was to be taken out in the hill areas of the state to protest against the Meitei community’s demand for Scheduled Tribe (ST) status.

The event did not cause any concern for Romita to change the plan as such rallies and protests were not unusual in Manipur, the land of many mutinies.

Not just Romita, even the government apparently had no inkling of what was about to strike the state—a catastrophe that would alter its demography along communal lines.

Vice president Jagdeep Dhankhar went about with his scheduled one-day tour of the state, reaffirming the sense of normalcy.

Stuck in camps, with little work, parents are finding it difficult to the pay the fees of their children to give them a better future.

But by afternoon, suddenly all-hell started breaking loose. The accounts of what ignited the unprecedented violence varied, shaped by the perspective of those who recounted them. Yet, one truth remained indisputable—the destruction was indiscriminate, leaving devastation in its wake on both sides of the communal divide.

Romita started getting frantic calls from her husband describing the horror that was unfolding in Churachandpur — the town where they were born, built their lives, now unravelling before his eyes.

Her father, a marginal farmer, had moved to Churachandpur from Moirang to eke out a better life. He raised his family tilling the land of a tribal Kuki farmer.

She got married to a Meitei man, who like her was also born and brought up in Churachandpur, in 2003.

“I opened a small grocery shop after our marriage. Slowly, business started looking up,” she fondly recalled. “After a decade of hard work, we were able to build a small one-storey house in 2013. We added another floor to it in 2017. We started further expanding it adding a few more rooms for the children in 2019. By 2022, our house was complete and we started living there happily. The shop was on the ground floor.”

The home that was

The decades of sweat and toil were reduced to ashes when a mob in the evening of that ill-fated day stormed their house and set it on fire.

Romita’s husband could just manage to escape to the safety of a neighbouring Vaiphei house. “From there he could helplessly see our house and shop burning. Our neighbour, whom I used to call brother, tried to stop the mob. He was cautioned against siding with a Kuki family. Sanity could not prevail in the face of madness.”

Almost around the same time that evening in Imphal, Hatnu went for her coaching class to a Meitei teacher.

“It was around 4 pm. The situation was tense and reports of some violence were doing the rounds. But I did not see any reason to be worried going to the coaching. Most of my friends there were Meiteis,” she recollected. “The teacher, however, dismissed the class as the situation started deteriorating. I returned to my hostel at Wangkhei. By then the news of attacks on Kuki localities in Imphal started pouring in. Meanwhile, I got the news that our village, Aihang in Chandel, was also attacked and my parents had fled our home. I spent a sleepless night.”

“Next morning, the warden, who was a Meitei, came to me and said keep all your identity documents ready so that if they (mob) come searching, you can prove your non-Kuki identity. She was shocked and did not know how she would protect me when I told her that I am a Kuki. Until then identity was never an issue, and even my warden was not aware of my ethnicity. It didn’t matter then. She told me it would be unsafe for me to stay there,” Hatnu narrated.

The aunt of one of her Naga friends was staying nearby. The friend took her there. The husband of the aunt was a Meitei, but he did not hesitate in giving shelter to a Kuki girl.

The next day, on May 5, a mob came to search the house to see whether any Kuki-Zo person was given shelter there. “My protectors hid me in a corner. It was a narrow escape,” Hatnu recalled, her voice still trembling, traumatised by the flashback of the horror.

As her stay became unsafe even there, the family on the evening of May 6 drove her to a camp of the Manipur Rifles at great personal risk.

After the population, holed up in the “other territory,” was swapped Romita’s husband and Hatnu could finally reunite with their displaced families.

From homes to camps

Romita now stays with her husband in a 10X10 room at Mekola Gulap Higher Secondary School that doubles as a relief camp. The camp, on the outskirts of Imphal, houses 278 people.

Hatnu is lodged at a relief camp set up at a community hall in Churachandpur’s Tuibong. It has 250 inmates.

In the name of help, the government only provides two meals of rice and dal in a day to inmates in both the camps.

The government is not providing even free medicines in relief camps.

They don’t get anything for breakfast, not even tea, confirmed both Hatnu and Romita. Only occasionally, they were served either egg, fish or meat.

They are however not bitter about the frugal serving.

“I am grateful for what I am getting,” said Hatnu.

Instead of complaining about the difficult situation, they are trying to make the best out of the adversities.

Romita has started making candles while her husband works as a daily-wage earner picking odd jobs to support the education of their children.

Hatnu gives tuition to fund her education.

“I wanted to be a pharmacist. But for that I have to study either in Imphal or Aizawl. Imphal is currently out-of-bounds for us and Aizawl is out of my means. So, I have enrolled myself in Churachandpur College to pursue BSc,” she said.

Funding her education with a meagre tuition-income of Rs 2,000 per month is a tight-rope walk.

“To take admission for the first semester, last year, I had to pay an admission fee of Rs 6,700 and laboratory charge of Rs 2,700. In addition to that, I had to hand out Rs 1,200 per month as monthly college fee. I have not yet been able to enroll for the second semester as I could not manage the admission fee,” she said.

Funding the education of her children is also the biggest worry of Romita back in Imphal.

Her eldest daughter is studying paramedical at a college in Tripura’s Agartala. The second daughter is appearing for her 12th exam while the youngest son is in class 10. Both the siblings have been sent to a hostel in Imphal as there is no environment for studies at the crowded relief camps.

“I earn around Rs 10,000 per month by selling candles that I make in the relief camp. My husband gets a daily wage of Rs 500. With that money, we are somehow meeting their education expenses and hostel fees,” Romita said.

“Our family got a one-time grant of Rs 25,000 from the government last year. That came handy to pay the semester fee of Rs 70,000 of my eldest daughter. Rest of the money we managed by taking loans from my relatives. Time to time, I had to sell our jewellery to send money to the children,” she added.

Not only education, the inmates also have to fend for their medical expenses.

“The government does not even provide free medicines. Around 50 inmates have so far died in the relief camps in Churachandpur area due to lack of proper medical care. One 23-year-old lady, Marcy, died recently because she could not undergo dialysis,” said Kennedy Haokip.

His organisation Kuki Khanglai Lawmpi (Kuki Youth Organisation) runs a free-medicine distribution centre for the inmates.

“As a civil society organisation, we have limited funds. Our intervention alone cannot mitigate this colossal crisis. The administration should ensure that inmates get free medical care and medicines,” he added.

Politically, a lot has changed for Manipur this month with chief minister Biren Singh finally stepping down, President’s Rule being imposed and security forces intensifying curfews and security measures, and launching a large-scale crackdown on militant groups. But for those in the relief camps peace and hope remain evasive.

Lodged in relief camps, with their houses burnt down, they do not know if moving out will ever be possible. And as they count pennies to pay the fees of their children, there is constant fear of running out of money to shape their children’s future.