Moirang (Bishnupur district, Manipur): This is the first time I am using this name to identify myself. Kamala Leima is not my real name; it is a name I am using here only to identify myself to the world as a Meitei woman; only to tell my story.
I am married in Waikhurok village in Torbung. Our district is Bisenpur (Bishnupur) that touches Churachandpur district. Torbung was the place where things began to go wrong after the Tribal Solidarity March held by All Tribal Students Union of Manipur (ATSUM) of May 3 ended.
In my village, we have about 30 Meitei families. Though it is a Kuki-majority village but we never felt unsafe. We lived next to each other as good neighbours.
However, on May 3, after the solidarity march was over, we began to hear about tribals attacking Meiteis in the district. Fear began to rule our minds. Will we be safe at night was a question we Meitei families had. My immediate neighbour, a Meitei family, decided to leave for Imphal. It aggravated my fear but I have three little children; my husband was still not back from the farm which was some distance away; I decided to stick to the house.
Sometime later, my husband rang me up to say there was trouble brewing and he, therefore, would not be able to come at once but we should remain inside the house for safety and he would reach them somehow.
Also read: My Family and I Lost Our Home – and Our Sense of Belonging – in the Manipur Violence
After sundown, I locked up the main door of my two-room house and stayed hidden in the kitchen with my three little children. At around 8 pm, we heard a sharp knock on the door; my eldest kid ran to open it, hoping it was his father. No sooner did he open the door, a crowd of people rushed in; maybe about 30 of them. Some of them were women. I couldn’t identify anyone. It dawned on me that I was in the middle of trouble.
Just at the door, there were some more people among whom were a few of my Kuki neighbours.
I began to plead to those people who were already inside the house not to harm us. On hearing my pleading, a Kuki neighbour walked in. He told me that if I don’t leave the house at once, they could kill me and he would not be able to do anything to stop them. So I better leave the house with him. He was fairly new to our village; he stays just behind my house. I had no option but to listen to him.
I wanted to pick up some things from the house but the mob didn’t allow it.
As we were walking towards my Kuki neighbour’s house, my eldest kid, all of four and studying in nursery, suddenly began to cry; he just realised that he had left behind his schoolbag. Before I could react, he ran back to the house. I ran after him, dragging my two toddlers along. The mob by then was preparing to set my house on fire. The kid shouted at them, crying, “Give me my school bag; I have maths homework to finish or else my teacher will beat me up tomorrow.”
Except one, nobody understood the language he spoke – Manipuri – which seemed a bit odd to me. I have not come across any Kuki man who can’t understand Manipuri. It is a language often used by most people in the state to communicate. I now wonder where they were from.
The man who understood what my child was saying, asked, “Where is the bag?” After all, he was also a human being, so he told him, “Go pick it up.”
He ran inside and brought it out in no time. I held his hand and scooted towards the Kuki neighbour’s house.
We stayed the night at his house; my heart was in my mouth; I couldn’t sleep a wink. There was no sign of my husband.
Next morning, on May 4, a few members of a local Kuki youth club got to know that I am still in the village with three little kids and were worried about our safety. One youth offered to drive me and the children to the deputy commissioner’s office in Churachandpur town because it might be safer for us. I agreed and got on to his Bolero.
Also read: ‘My Brother Was Beaten to Death on May 3. I Blame CM Biren Singh for the Manipur Violence’
By the time I reached the DC office, there were several Meitei people assembled there. They had run away from the villages around Churachandpur. There, I also heard of some Meitei families from the district crossing over to Myanmar through the open border for safety.
Soon, a team of paramilitary personnel arrived at the DC office. Some people got on to their armoured vehicle to be able to get out of the tribal-majority district. By then, two of my children were hungry and began crying. The security forces noticed them and asked us to board the vehicle too. They would drop us at Kaukta, where there are Meitei families and also Meitei Pangals (Muslims) and we would hopefully be safe. I hopped on and felt lucky, even as some others from my community looked on the moving vehicle.
On the way, the security forces’ vehicle was stoned by miscreants but we managed to reach Kaukta. A few villagers there, thereafter, dropped us at a relief camp in Moirang. Since then, I have been staying at the camp. My husband has found us at the camp finally but the struggle has begun now for a home. Where do we go if the relief camp is closed?
Two days ago, some men from my community went back to our village to check what was left of our houses; all 30 of them are gone; only a burnt down wall or two stands there as a reminder of what was once our home.
A day ago, the MLA from our constituency, Kumbi, visited the relief camp. He promised to help us with relief. Today (May 13), some volunteers came to fill forms of people residing in the camp to be able to get compensation for the property we have lost.
If promises are kept by the state government and the MLA, we may get some money to rebuild our house, but our worry is bigger than getting just a roof over our head. It is the fear of living as a minority in the village. The mutual trust is gone. Though there is a paramilitary post nearby but that night, they didn’t come to protect us and my little children. Only the Kuki neighbour offered us shelter that night. Without proper security and a feeling of safety, it is no more my home.
(As told to Sangeeta Barooah Pisharoty)