by Binodini
Today he was a bumbling, shallow soldier-guardian of the British government. He knew that the British government would be able to recognize him as an able, loyal officer but it would not be able to forgive him as an ordinary man. Arrogant England would not lend an ear to the story of this tiny colony. He must leave. Even if he were to return, he would be surrounded by suspicious eyes. It broke his heart to be torn from Manipur in this way. But he thought—I will go first. Who knows, sated, overflowing England may deign to forget him. But this he wanted to say out loud openly, ‘Sanatombi, I love your Manipur; even if Manipur does not love me, I will not be able to stop loving it. The ties you have bound me with are not only the bond of happiness, but also the bonds of defeat.’
But he left without saying anything. Only this did he personally request his replacement Saheb Shakespear: ‘Please do not oppress the Meiteis. Please cancel the order I gave to rebuild the house.’
Many memories came back anew to him before he left, many new thoughts came to him. The deposed queen of this little land had said to him one day, ‘You must conduct yourself knowing the Meiteis.’ She seemed to have said, ‘You may be from a civilized land but we do not fear you. You may be a powerful race but your avaricious ways disgust us.’
Today he felt shame that he was the first man to have planted the Union Jack in Manipur. Let the Union Jack fly up to the sky—there was nothing that he coveted any more. He did not feel any pride today. But as a last word he said to Sanatombi, ‘I will come back, Sanatombi, I will surely come back.’
CHAPTER 24
It is time. The awning spreads out over the courtyard. Prayers are being held. The Brahmin was sent by the palace. Little Majesty has been staying over. There are many others too. Little Majesty had received a letter from Maxwell asking how Sanatombi is. Sanatombi missed getting the message in the letter. Sanatombi is intermittently awake, staring vacantly, and it is uncertain if she understands when the news is given to her—whether she hears the distant, distressed voice from across the far-off seas. She lies there looking into the distance. A woman is singing in front of her bed—
When will I get to live in Vrindavan
With my Lord, Resident of Vrindavan
Sanatombi is dreaming … … … The boat is drifting on the Loktak Maxwell and she are in it the rower of the boat heads home towards Thangga over the sounds of the women’s oars ‘splash splash’ is heard a sound in the distance it is Not Guilty singing his song he often sang—
Oh, my precious,
My mother-in-law’s daughter!
I search and search today
For the trace of your footprints,
But I never see you any more
Oh, desired one.
The bed she is sleeping in is her Grand Queen Mother’s she is lying with her Grand Queen Mother her mother Jasumati is holding her Jasumati weeps—I am lost I am lost—Maxwell and she are on the Irang River they are going to eat fish on the Irang people spread white clothes to dry—how tiring it is to climb the hill—from the top of the hill the song is heard—
Oh, my precious one,
My mother-in-law’s daughter!
Have you left us here
To fetch the fire for the hearth?
How tall are the beasts of Kangla they grow taller and taller she plays at their feet she looks up at them and is suddenly afraid their faces are all torn … … … two teardrops fall on her forehead cold as ice she is running from the war how dark is the riverbed there are many fireflies Koireng gallops ahead on his horse she rides after him crying Uncle Uncle she is weeping I cannot come my Sovereign Father the woman calls out harshly Native Wife of the Big Saheb you come on out on the day when the lights of the ras performance shone brightly she holds Maxwell’s hand and walks down the steps one by one in the chaos many people are running around the lights suddenly go out someone is singing—
Are you washing your hair
With gathered fragrant herbs
By the sands of your fathers’ river dock?
Are you caressing your hair
As you comb your tresses
Inside your father’s great house?
Oh, my precious one,
My mother-in-law’s daughter!
Have you left us here
To join your maiden friends,
To adorn the swains yonder
Who teach you at play?
Oh, my precious one,
My mother-in-law’s daughter!
I never see you any more
Oh, desired one.
It is the lunar month of Sajibu. The royal bier cleaves through the curious throngs along the road in Sagolband. Five or ten mourners walk behind it quietly. No one weeps loudly. The bier is taken to the banks of the Nambul River coursing by Nepram Menjor Leirak. The low waters of the Nambul River flow slowly. The two or three foreigners among the mourners stand around for a little while and then they go back quietly. The people who have come bathe and hasten away. No one is there to even bite the cremation bamboo tie and toss it in the fire. No relative or close of kin carries the pot of water around the funeral pyre. A stranger lights the pyre as but routine work. She had wanted to be cremated. Everyone has left. Only four men remain, sitting with towels wrapped around their knees, their heads bowed. Whether they are weeping, or waiting for the body to be consumed, one cannot say.
The sacred white canopy over the blazing firewood flutters and flaps for a little while above the flames, then turns to ash. The story of the piteous cremation becomes one with the sands of the Nambul River. Her ashes, however, are forgiven by the flames.
Epilogue
MAXWELL
About Maxwell. I was not able to find out about his personal life properly. But this much I know—he was a man with a wife and two children. I might have been able to find out more if I looked, but let Maxwell be the Maxwell I know. And so, I have finished my book.
My mother had mentioned, when she told me the stories, that someone from England who was coming newly transferred to Manipur had told her that he had met Maxwell in England. At the time, he was busy getting news back and forth of Sanatombi’s illness; he had seemed very agitated. I have not mentioned this in the book. But as I was getting ready to send the book to press a friend I had not met in a long time came running to me and said, ‘I am glad to hear you are writing a book about Sanatombi. Maxwell came back to India again. When he heard that Sanatombi had passed away he turned back from Silchar without entering Manipur. My elders told me this … … … .’
I felt a desire to include this lovely episode in my book but that too I did not put in. Even though I wanted to believe it I had a misgiving … Was this possible? But in my eyes, I saw a weary Maxwell looking at Manipur for the last time from the top of Laimaton Hill before he turned his horse around and went back.
Would he really have come? I do not know.
Sanatombi died on the 27 April 1906. Maxwell left Manipur in the February of 1905. There was not much of a gap. Sanatombi did not live without Maxwell for long. Thinking about this made me happy, and it also made me sad. The elders said, ‘The Big Saheb gave her medicine to cut her life short and left.’ They also said, ‘The Big Saheb cast a spell on her, he made her go mad … … … .’ We have always elevated Sanatombi. But Sanatombi did not live long after Maxwell’s departure. Her burial stone poked up a mere span high above the ground at her cremation site on the banks of the Nambul River near Nepram Menjor Leirak. It had shouted out all these long years—I lived. Today, that bit of stone was a stepping stone for children at play. Around it the washerwomen dried their laundry, they tied their cows. How often I went to look at this stone. I had thought, I would take a photograph of it and request the Raj Bhavan to take this stone and keep it. It was in this place, it was in this house that Maxwell and she had lived. But I dawdled and could not do it. When I went back again, someone had removed the stone. I am sure, it was around here. I looked all around for it but it was gone! Yes, it was on that rise, right over there … … �
� . It is all right.
I was afraid to finish the book. Something unknowable had pushed me to want to write this book. One by one, I had searched for the beads from a broken-off liklu-pumhei string, fallen scattered among the grass. I had asked at many points—How would it have been? And I always found the answer right away. Time and time again, a mere word, a single word, would come to my aid to build my story.
After the book was well into its printing at the press, there came news that there were some documents about the two, Sanatombi and Maxwell, in the house of someone who lived in Keisamthong. I ran over without delay. And I found the answer to an enormous question. It confirmed the answer to a question I had asked before. At one point in the book, Maxwell says, ‘… … … Fate has brought me here again to suffer and to see suffering.’ When I let Arambam Samarendra, Sanatombi’s nearest of kin, read my manuscript he had said, ‘Would they have believed in fate?’ But I did not remove these words from my book because Maxwell had to say the word ‘fate’. But I got my answer. I was overjoyed.
Mr Takhellambam Prafullo’s grandfather Mr Kirti Singh had been a member of the village council in Manipur. It was during the time of Maxwell. Among the papers that Mr Prafullo had kept for a long time, there was a letter that Maxwell had written. It was written to Mr Kirti on 27 May 1906, after Sanatombi was no more. He said at one point: ‘… … … However, fate has ordained otherwise, she has left many sad hearts behind.’ I had written that in my book—that it broke Maxwell’s heart to be torn from Manipur in this manner. Maxwell had said in his letter—‘I greatly regret leaving Manipur … … … .’
Maxwell had taught Sanatombi how to read and write. The proof was in a letter that she herself had written to Mr Kirti Singh. She wrote—
My dear brother,
I have received your letter and understood … … … .
11, 10, 98
Sanatombi Rajkumari
Bleak House
Shillong.
Maxwell never interfered with Sanatombi’s beliefs. He let her go to Vrindavan accompanied by Mr Kirti Singh. He was happy when he heard that Sanatombi had been cremated.
Maxwell loved Sanatombi; he loved the Meiteis. After he had left, an order issued by his successor Political Agent Shakespear said, ‘In accordance with the wishes of my predecessor Political Agent Maxwell, I hereby revoke the order upon the Meiteis to rebuild the bungalow of the Junior Saheb.’ And what is today Thanggal Bazar was also named ‘Maxwell Bazar’ during Shakespear’s time. I am truly afraid to bring this book to an end. I don’t know, I was made to feel misgivings that someone might suddenly come running to me with new information. But the book is finished. And I had received the answer to the enormous question that I had about Maxwell. I do not have doubts about him any more.
Binodini
THE BEGINNING
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This collection published 2020
Copyright © L. Somi Roy 2020
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This digital edition published in 2020.
e-ISBN: 978-9-353-05823-4
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