The Princess and the Political Agent

by Binodini

  It had been a long time since a nobleman of the royal family had refused to pay the tax on a tap that supplied water for the neighbourhood, but neither sending the palanquin handler or intimidating him had worked. Thinking he would go himself and convince him, Maxwell went up to his gate and called out, ‘Sanamatum, Sanamatum.’ The nobleman who was sitting on his front porch pretending not to hear finally answered, ‘I am not your dog, come in and talk to me, do not stand at the gate and yell.’ He knew right away that controlling the Meiteis was going to be hard.

  This time, the Junior Sahib was angry with the Big Saheb Maxwell. He had not taken strong action when his house had been burnt down the first time and so the Meiteis were not afraid of him, and on top of that he had taken a Meitei woman as his native wife. It was to be expected that he himself would side with the Meiteis. The Junior Saheb was not pleased and the other sahebs were also not happy. Even though Maxwell was not aware of what they were saying among themselves, he was worried, and it was evident from his manner that he was thinking about it a great deal. He was seen telegraphing back and forth frequently with the chief commissioner of Assam. There was a lot of activity inside. Sometime after the Junior Saheb’s house had been set on fire, an order was issued by the Big Saheb: The security guard of Imphal would get the populace to haul in teak from Kabaw in Burma and they must rebuild the bungalow of the Junior Saheb. People from abroad and those working in the government were exempt. The hills would not be included, nor the villages. The people from the four boroughs wrote a petition to request that this not to be done. The royal family and the Brahmins, in particular, were very much against it, for this was not in line with their traditional calling. The people were furious. It was thought that, in particular, the noblemen—royal brother Megajin, royal elder brother Kalasana, Prince Thangkokpa, and others of the royal family—had instigated the incident. Suspecting that they might be arrested, these princes went into hiding for a while. But the Junior Saheb constantly reminded Maxwell: ‘You are the head, you must work properly, or else … .’

  The incident blew up. It was not going to be brought to a close quite so easily. Some approached the Dowager Queen—Please talk to the Big Saheb.

  ‘I do not wish to talk to him about this matter at this point,’ answered the Lady of Ngangbam. She thought that if her word was not heeded she would lose face.

  The order for the people to rebuild the house remained in place. Nor did the people follow the order. One day, a man called Senggoi came to see Prince Thangkokpa, son of Maharaja Debendra the Feared and Talismanic, Settler of Dacca. Who knows how he found out where the prince was hiding from being arrested. He said, ‘Your Highness, I will say that I set the house on fire. Why should the people bear the burden of blame?’

  Prince Thangkokpa was surprised when Senggoi showed up, and he was even more taken aback when he heard what he had to say. The reason was that he had had a very unpleasant encounter with Senggoi a few years before. That, too, had been a national scandal.

  Prince Thangkokpa was a nobleman who lived very well; he lacked for nothing. For a long time now, Senggoi, who loved dove fights greatly, would always come to the nobleman to borrow money whenever he went broke. Prince Thangkokpa could not bear to see his state and would give it to him now and then. He would say, ‘This is the last time. Senggoi, do not ask to borrow money again in the future.’ But he always came back, and Prince Thangkokpa always gave it to him. And what a run of bad luck Senggoi was having in those days. Baldy, his much-touted ‘unmatched’ dove, fled in a fight with the striped dove owned by Irom Haochoubi of Leichreng Khongjom. More than just losing money, this completely wrecked Senggoi’s reputation. So, he had to buy another dove. He would have to train a new one. This irresponsible man was treated badly by his wife at home and she had also been stripped bare on his account. It had been a long time since the desperate Senggoi had taken an as yet unembroidered sarong from his mistress and had pawned it to Prince Thangkokpa. As a lot of time had passed, his mistress had begun to pester him to bring it back. As this was his mistress, Senggoi set aside all fear and shame and requested Prince Thangkokpa, ‘Your Highness, may I take back my property, I will pay you back later. It has become a source of embarrassment for me. … Please believe me, as soon as I get some money, I will take care of this first.’ Prince Thangkokpa was annoyed and refused. Senggoi left in a huff. After some time about thirty men came and turned Prince Thangkokpa’s house upside down. They beat up Prince Thangkokpa’s servants and men and taking nothing but the sarong, Senggoi said, ‘Your Highness, I did not come because I was after your things, I came only for this sarong.’

  Saying this, he set the sarong on fire in the middle of the house and left.

  Prince Thangkokpa could have had Senggoi arrested for he did not come hiding his face. Instead, he said, ‘I did not recognize anyone.’

  He had not let Senggoi get arrested. Even though it came as a surprise for a person such as this Senggoi to come forward with an offer to go to prison on behalf of the people, it was not entirely unbelievable.

  He asked, ‘Did you go and set it on fire?’

  ‘I did not myself, Your Highness, but I know who did it. But I was indeed involved in burning the notices. Actually, it has been a long while since we have been waiting to show this Big Nose Saheb. But I did not take part in the burning this time. I did not come back home from the dove fight that night. There was one man among us who had felt hurt and he was the one who went and burnt it down. Now this matter has blown up, may I just say that I did it? I will go to prison for the people.’

  ‘That cannot be, Senggoi. We will step forward tomorrow. We will let the Saheb arrest us. Why should you take the blame when you did not even do it?’

  ‘Why should the people take the blame when one culprit has done it? I am upset that Your Highness is in hiding.’

  ‘Well, you are not the one they are hunting down, are you?’

  The people were very displeased with Maxwell’s orders this time. They also found omens that something terrible was going to happen. It was being said that spirits were heard singing the ominous ougri chants in the evening at the marketplace in Moirangkhom. It was also said that blood ran at the salt wells in Chandranadi. Little Majesty was still a child, he still had not taken the reins of government, so what then was to be done in this interregnum? Who to plead to, who to go to? Sanatombi! No, not this time—she was Sanatombi, the consort of the Big Saheb.

  It did not look like the matter could be taken lightly. The flames would not be put out easily. One saw the people stand up to the might of the sahebs for the first time since they came to power. The people did not approve, and they were not afraid to oppose it however powerful the sahebs were. They first came in groups to submit petitions: ‘Please remove the order.’ Men gathered here and there to discuss with one another. Prince Thangkokpa and other royal men were also present at the large meeting held in the front porch of Hodam Chaoba. Soldiers came and put them to rout, and the fierce noblemen of Manipur were among those who were rounded up that day. Notices were hung: ‘Anyone who identifies the person who set fire to the house will receive a reward of five hundred rupees.’ But no one stepped forward, no one sold himself and put out his hand for five hundred rupees. Notices posted in the market were found torn up during the night. And then the women started. They came in droves and shouted at the Big Saheb: ‘Release our men.’ Sanatombi said, ‘Remove this unreasonable order. This is a wrong order. Look for the man who burnt the house down, surely that can be done.’

  Maxwell also knew it was an unjust order, but it was an order he had had to give. He was no ordinary person: he was the administrator of the land of Manipur, an important representative of the British government. There was no way to rescind it. The Junior Saheb, for one, was saying: ‘You turned the other way when my house was burnt down the first time. You did not investigate it seriously. This time too, you spent your time carousing with the Meiteis, making your woman do a dance.’ It was true, the b
urning of the house the second time came on the eighth day after the presentation of Sanatombi’s ras. This second time the house was set on fire, the Junior Saheb believed, was because Maxwell had coddled the Meiteis. It was because he supported them that they had crossed boundaries this much.

  The people shouted out loud: ‘We do not agree. We should not have to rebuild the house … … … .’

  For the first time, they challenged the might of the British government. Notices were put up in the market, in corners here and there: ‘You are forbidden to congregate. You will be arrested if more than five people gather.’ The market came to a standstill. But the people did not stop raising their voices, their anger did not subside. The police were everywhere, they stood guard in the four boroughs. No one could go out without a pass from the government but the women forced their way in—many angry women. They stood in clusters in front of the Big Saheb’s bungalow; they would not leave, they stood there, shouting: ‘Do not oppress our men.’ They shoved the soldiers in the market; there were injuries.

  Sanatombi said all the time, ‘Why don’t you do something. There is nothing wrong with taking back an unjust order. Do not give people a hard time like this.’ Sanatombi was distressed: on one side were her people, on the other side there was Maxwell. She stopped eating. She paced the rooms of the large residency, at a loss for what to do. The foreigners were meeting in another room; they were discussing important matters. She must not listen in, she must not know. It was the month of Thawan. It was raining. It poured ceaselessly. The waters rose, the markets closed down. The angry women came in the mud, their clothes drenched, and piled up outside the gate of the residency. They shouted, ‘We do not agree. Release our men, expel the Junior Saheb. We do not agree with your order … … … .’

  Maxwell had the gates opened, and said, ‘Let them in, I will see them.’ The women stormed towards the courtyard of the residency. They were tired, they felt hungry, their breast milk ran, but still they did not retreat as they waited for the Big Saheb to come out. They would talk to him today. They waited for a fairly long time but the Big Saheb still did not emerge. An exhausted woman whose husband had been arrested shouted out at the top of her lungs, ‘Sanatombi, what are you doing? You come out. Aren’t these your fathers and uncles who have been arrested? Why do you sleep in the Saheb’s bed forgetting your mothers and your children?’

  Another said, ‘Bring your husband out. Why are you holding your husband back? Are you listening, Native Wife of the Big Saheb Sanatombi … … … Have you no shame?’

  Sanatombi heard these words in the large room of the residency. She sprang to her feet. She came to the realization for the first time—the room she was in belonged to the foreigners. She felt a strange, unknown blow she had not known before, that she had not realized all these days. Today she seemed to know its reason. There had been a void somewhere, everything had come to a standstill. There was nothing to hold on to—she was all alone. The words of the women today woke her up: ‘You are not by yourself, you cannot live on your own, you cannot forget.’ She saw before her eyes—Koireng, Thanggal, her Sovereign Father. The people beyond these walls were her people—the hurt people of her land. She heard in her ears what her uncle Kulachandra had said before he left Manipur, before he was sent in exile to the Black Water penal colony: ‘Mother Manipur, you have become enslaved because of your unfortunate son.’

  Without further delay she opened the door to the room where they were meeting and stood in the doorway. They were talking in their language. They were all foreigners. One of them and Maxwell were in a heated discussion; they did not have time to turn towards her. Only once did the foreigners’ turn their heads and looked at her. Their blue eyes looked at the alien Sanatombi. They turned to each other again shortly—they did not have time, they did not have time to look at her for long. Then she saw—Maxwell. The foreigner Maxwell that she once had fought with in the bungalow. Sanatombi took a few steps forward. Maxwell jumped up and came towards her. When he came near her, she said, ‘Mesin, remove the order immediately. Release them. They did no wrong. Why do not you understand that the Meiteis lie waiting in anger … … … .’

  ‘Please Sanatombi, I will handle it, we are talking about it. Come, let’s go in.’

  Sanatombi brushed off his hand and ran out and she shut herself up in her room.

  The meeting was over. The Big Saheb came out to meet the women. He said, ‘We will make another judgment. We will not remove the order yet. We will not begin the work either … … … .’

  Samujaobi called out, ‘You must make a proper judgment and remove the order. Why did you make the order first …?’

  ‘Keep quiet. He’s saying they will discuss it, isn’t he?’

  ‘He is lying. These people lie a lot.’

  ‘Let us see. Let’s see what he does.’

  After murmuring among themselves, the crowd dispersed. The mud-splattered residency was left silent.

  That evening at dinner time Maxwell sat down alone. Sanatombi’s seat was empty. But he did not try to call her, or persuade her. Sanatombi had not come out since she had locked herself in. There was no use in calling her, she would not come even if he did. In the large drawing room, he leant back on the sofa and closed his eyes. He was resting, he was trying to rest. Later, when he opened his eyes he saw Not Guilty fanning the mosquitoes away from him. They did not let mosquitoes into the residency but Not Guilty was fanning him anyway.

  ‘Go to bed, Not Guilty.’

  Not Guilty said ‘Saheb’ and wept. He said, ‘Saheb, I cannot bear these people speak badly of you. Your servants the Meiteis are innocent—this Big Nose Saheb is very bad, he has made all this happen.’

  The case was judged again. The security guards produced some bamboo and wood and made it look like the matter was settled, but the order was not rescinded. It remained in place. The arrested noblemen were taken to India and they were released once they reached there, free to go anywhere they wished.

  The situation calmed down. It could be said to have calmed down but after this Maxwell felt a great aversion to face the aftermath of the crisis that would plague him. He had been defeated. He was defeated on both sides. He waited anxiously to see what his mistake would cost him. He waited: ‘What is going to happen?’ And then, the moment arrived. He had not thought that action would be taken so swiftly. He had believed that they would discuss his matter in great detail. Within a few months the order arrived: Maxwell the Political Agent of Manipur would have to leave Manipur. He was transferred to another place. He was to be replaced by a man called Colonel Shakespear. He knew right away his time in Manipur had come to an end. This time he would not be assigned to go back to Manipur.

  He had no time to do anything. He had no time to think anything. He had no time to buy the house in Shillong. He had only begun to dream of his house at Thongjaorok. But after this he did not feel like working any more. Maxwell thought about important matters, about weighty matters. Manipur would not call him again—‘Come back’—that much was clear. Shall I just quit my job? Shall I just leave?—He thought. But what about Sanatombi?

  That night Sanatombi and he came back home together after dinner at another saheb’s house. They sat together on the bed without changing out of their clothes. What had to be discussed had been discussed already.

  So many things had been said. The first blows they had endured had subsided, and now it was a time of great weariness. It was a time of an unendurable weariness. The unknown road ahead made him afraid. But where did the road lead?

  Maxwell said, ‘Sanatombi, I have decided that I will take a year’s leave and then retire. I had thought I would go home one more time. It is all right, I will give up my job. You come with me.’

  Sanatombi did not answer.

  To go or to stay, both were difficult for her. She knew the reserved Maxwell held in many hardships. A strong bond tied him to his homeland. A bond she could not break free from also tied her down, but Sanatombi was afraid. She
was afraid to break the cord that tied her to this land. She also could not think of spending her days without Maxwell. She did not feel like thinking about anything. She endured her pain. She had not realized that this stranger foreigner had come to occupy such a large part of her life. Today she was not a child, she was not the princess daughter of Surchandra; she was a woman who must get to know life and live. What would she do now? What would be her decision at this great challenge in her life?

  Maxwell said again, ‘Sanatombi, come with me. Come, say yes.’

  Sanatombi did not answer.

  ‘Sanatombi, orthodox Manipur will never accept you.’

  He also knew his mighty England would not receive her warmly. The weary Maxwell put his arms around Sanatombi and stroked her head slowly, lovingly. In this way, he had once put his arms around a young Sanatombi who had run in recklessly to him one day. It became late. They could not come to a decision. The time of the dawn service at Lord Govinda was approaching. The bell rang, heavy and distant—bong bong bong … … …

  Suddenly Sanatombi embraced Maxwell and wept, ‘I cannot do it.’

  ‘What can’t you do?’

  ‘I cannot leave Manipur.’

  ‘Then why the hell are you crying? Sanatombi, if only you could realize how much I feel for you … … … .’ He said a lot more after that in his language. Sanatombi put her arms around Maxwell and wept. She held him tight as if he might get away.

  But he had decided that he must leave. The long time he had spent here, as like a hardy, desiccated tree buffeted by unruly winds, he had weathered it alone. An enormous pointless void trapped him as in a cage. One day he had been among the first who planted the Union Jack at Manipur’s Kangla Fort. He was a soldier at that time, a mature soldier who had come with a shining vision of the future. He was a loyal soldier of the British government. He had come focused on conquering this land. It was true when he said that Lady Destiny had swept him here, and had beckoned him back here, time and time again. He had thought at the time—How clever of the British, how clever to pick this beautiful land. He had been to many lands in India but there had been none that had intoxicated him like this one. Lady Destiny had tossed him this land and he had caught it with open arms. He had wanted to build up this land with loving care; he did not want to lose anything, he wanted to pick up everything and cherish it. He had come to conquer this land without a thought, but this land had turned around and conquered him. It tied him with a powerful bond, a bond of love. There was no way to break free. He thought—What a tragedy! What use was it to us to trample this garden that exists by itself? What was the point of tearing it off and pasting it on to the Victorian Empire where the sun never set?