One of the best ways to recollect the past is through remembering how we have been constructing the past before the past. I remember doing it about eight years back when I wrote a small piece for a fortnightly news magazine. What I shall be doing now is to re-run the story of a ‘historic road’ all over again albeit ornamented with a sense of recovering and re-discovering. Ask any fifty plus resident of Lamangdong or Bishnupur, 27 km drive south of Imphal whether or not they are familiar with the tale of the aged white tiger that refuses to attack travellers along the Old Cachar Road or the Tong-jei Marin (narrow cane hole/passage). Legend has it that while a powerful Meitei king was on his way to Cachar, the old tiger attacked his royal convoy and escorts. The king was infuriated by the tiger’s swift assault. Instead of giving an order to hunt and capture, the king cast a curse on the tiger that he would never again posses the sharp slicer-teeth to tear apart his prey. The tiger survived swallowing wild fowls and fruits only. This is one version of the tale narrated to me when I was a school boy by my great grandaunt, an octogenarian, who frequented the route during the 1940s. She passed away over a decade back.
The Old Cachar Road or Tong-jei Marin begins from Bishnupur in Manipur valley and cuts through the Tamenglong district. The district has the distinction of having the first Sub Divisional office/HQs in Manipur Hills from the time of British India since 1919. The Tong-jei Marin connected Manipur with the outside world to its west before the British charted another alternative route via Dimapur in Nagaland. The building of the new link route between Assam and Burma was prompted by British trade compulsions. It is said that said that during the days when the Manipuri kings first encountered Vaisnavite spiritualism, the Old Cachar Road became not only a trade passage but also a regular pilgrimage route. The route is also associated with the history of fraternal feuds and treachery between the royal family members and political exiles. It was the same route that many kings took to escape possible assassinations. During British paramountcy, many political agents had come to Manipur via this route. Apart from its historical significance, Tong-jei Marin or the Old Cachar Road continues to be the life-line of the valley dwellers in Bishnupur district as well as the tribes in the surrounding hills.
A narrow motorable road from Lamangdong leads to Chingning Khun, a Rongmei (Kabui) village. Till the mid nineties, one had to cross a vintage hanging bridge built by the British to further proceed on to the Old Cachar Road. For a new entrant to the Manipuri terrain, the road would seem unsafe to travel. The situation becomes all the more difficult during monsoon, when the roads are muddy and slippery. But to get the best out of the adventure in the area is to travel on a 100 cc bike. Do not get me wrong! I had done it in the mid eighties and early nineties in between my summer and winter vacations. The first was not as half enjoyable as the one I had in 1991. Nostalgia from that year would be ideal to recall.
That bike trip through almost the quarter length of the Old Cachar Road that leads to Cachar and Silchar via Nungba is still etched in my mind. I had been to Silchar when I was just a little kid. My grandfather, grandmother and I flew on a small passenger aircraft from Imphal in 1975. So, despite my young age, I did not want to miss the adventure described by my old relatives at home. My grandfather's association with the road was legendary. Some of his close friends would tell me that he made a fortune using the Old Cachar Road. My late octogenarian grandaunt would tell me how our family prospered using the Old Cachar Road as a trade route between Manipur and Assam. She was the oldest woman trader I had known in my home town. She gave me every bit of information, facts as well as fiction associated with the route. It was perhaps only natural that I should become infatuated with the road. Recalling my synchronic experience on the road also has to do a lot with my childhood days in Lamangdong.
I spent my primary school days at Chinging UJB School on the Old Cachar Road. Though it was hardly twenty minutes walk from my home, on our way to the school, many of us would walk with our eyes transfixed not on our destination but on the innumerable stones, pebbles and an assortment of objects on the ‘road’ specially on a rainy day. Any stranger to the place would have wondered why the school children walked looking down. We would scratch our picks so as to ascertain whether the real objects of our desire all along our way — treasure hunting for LEAD. As we grew up, we were told that the small pieces of lead we picked up from the road were the scattered remnants of ammunition that were used during World War II. My cousins and I would pick up those small pieces of lead and iron. After collecting them, we would give them to neighbours who used to melt and use them for metal-craft and repair works. Sometimes, we were lucky to find used bullets and shells as we go further. They were indeed prized discoveries during those days.
As we reached school, I would take a long gaze at the spectacular sight of the Old Cachar Road. The serpentine route that leads to the towering Lai Maton peak (not to be confused with another hill by the same name in Manipur) was clearly visible from our school. Those days, we could also see old Willy jeeps and Manipur State Road Transport Corporation or MSRTC buses plying up and down the first few kilometres of Cachar Road. Most frequently, it was the old jeeps that carried passengers as well as forest produce, mainly fruits, bamboo shoots and yong chaak (botanical name: parkia javanica), a delicacy in Manipur. I derived immense pleasure watching stream of Naga and Kuki hill-dwellers coming down the valley to dispose off their agro-products on their shams (cane baskets) slung on their backs. These products included ripe oranges, local apples (heitup) and others varieties of fruits from wild orchards and jungles.
It was only during the 1990 trip, I had a chance to visit one of the orange orchards on the Old Cachar Road. It was Christmas season, my friend and I biked up and down towards Tubung, a small village. Approaching the village from the east after crossing the Lai Maton peak, we faced dark green mountains ahead. Biking against the wintry breeze, came the sound of peaceful Noel hymns from a distant hill-top village. From nowhere, we could also hear latest Hindi film songs blaring out of a funnel speaker down below the ravines. It was indeed a festive season. On reaching Tubung, we headed straight for a common friend who was a resident of the village. On her persistence, we spent three days in that village participating in the community celebration. In the night, the only thing I remembered was the white tiger. I wanted an encounter with the animal. But my wishes faded like the dreams I had that night.
Reality raced against me. And I woke up to the sound of chirping birds, chill weather and softly played Jim Reev's Christmas songs. After a quick breakfast of black tea, rice and meat, we proceeded towards another village, diverting from the Old Cachar Road. After participating in a local festive sport, we went to the house of the village chief. I had attended many festivals in and around my home town. But this was different. For the first time, I had my lunch in the pure Rongmei tradition. What an irony, it was Christmas. And there were no Christmas cakes and nothing of the urban ambience you find in metropolitan cities in India. At this nondescript village, I was having lunch and traditionally brewed rice beer in the old customary style or to those of conservative Christian critics, celebrating the “pagan way”. The inhabitants of this village were all Christians. As we approached back to Tubung, we had to cross Leimatak river. We parked our bikes near an isolated security check post and plunged into the river. We swam to our delight in the ice cold water. Some onlookers seemed to acknowledge that we were indeed a crazy bunch.
Khoupam valley, in Tamenglong district, is well known in Manipur because of its scenic beauty and a mini-dam constructed during the 1970s. Khoupum's fame reached its pinnacle when late playwright , director and film maker G.C. Tongbra captured its breath-taking beauty in his film Khuthang Lamjel. The film miserably failed at the box-office. That's a different story altogether. Khoupum is significant to any wayfarers who frequent the Old Cachar Road. Those who were involved in the construction of the dam at Khoupum would recall tales of hardship and adventure. It was during the construction phase that the Old Chachar Road's bumpy route was recharted and tarred. They say, while taking engineering and construction materials for the dam, they would often clear big boulders in some of the landslide prone areas which obstructed the road. On our trip, we too encountered one such experience which will remain forever etched in my mind. It was a sloppy down ride in a wet and depressed curve. The bikes just slid down the road despite applying full brakes. At a point, we could not stop and slipped. Suddenly we bumped into a boulder right in front of us and all of us landed onto a muddy pool of water. Surprisingly, no one got injured. Instead we washed ourselves and headed further on. And we were three carefree individuals on two 100 cc motorbikes. On our way back home from the village, we were joined by a team of Manipur Mountaineering Association trekkers dressed in white. They were all walking in a line and proceeded further westward. They gradually disappeared amongst thick bushes in the jungle on the road-side. After reaching a nondescript spot, the senior most rider amongst us suddenly stopped and said that we should return. Due to his insistence of an impending danger on the way, we returned. Being superstitious, he had his own reason and said that his instincts would not permit him to proceed. Whether his instincts were correct or not, we followed suit and returned home. Thus, we came back missing the adventure of a full length journey.
Another trip I made was with a team of stone-craft persons from Lamangdong in 1993. The gap of almost two years with the first journey made all the difference. And also unlike my primary school days, this time round, we were on the Old Cachar Road searching for sandstone for making stone-wares. We went up Cachar Road on foot, testing every likely raw-material on our way. These craft-persons were a talented lot. They would determine the grain structure of sandstones by just tapping it with a hammer or a wooden stick. We collected as many roughly chipped stones that we could carry back. After reaching a Kuki village, we returned. While returning, we took a route which was supposedly a secret ancient route of the Meitei kings for a long time. To the local residents of Lamangdong, it was known as Ningthou Dolan or the King's Stairs. Walking up non-stop on this route is a rare feat for a novice. The logic of development gives you varieties but it can also destroy natural beauty. Since the re-charting was done for better transportation, people gradually stopped walking on the King’s Stairs’ route or the Ningthou-Dolan which splits the Laimaton Peak virtually into halves, right in the middle of the highest spot.
On reaching the highest spot on the Old Cachar Road, we decided to have lunch there. We unpacked the canned fish and started a fire for cooking rice. There is a traditional believe in the area that food cooked on mountain tops are always delicious. Incidentally, I had the most memorable lunch there. From the spot, we rolled down the valley triple the pace we had maintained while going up. The sight of Loktak Lake and the green patches that dotted the valley on long stretches of paddy fields is sure to ignite the imagination of any poet. The natural ambience which can be felt by anyone has for some time been out of bound for the citizens. Not that access to the areas is restricted but it is the unpredictability of the adventure, especially after the route has been less frequented in the post Naga-Kuki bloody conflict and increasing political violence that has dogged the region. The seemingly tranquil route at times hits the headlines of the local dailies whenever there are sporadic clashes and counter-clashes between the two communities in the mid nineties. Now, for anyone who would love to experience the natural surrounding of the place is burdened with the fear of untoward violent incidents, imaginary or real. Very few people now would think of making a trip along the Old Cachar Road for the trepidation caused by the political, social and economic uncertainties that Manipur have witnesses over the past years. We can at the most revisit the experience and feel good about it but there is hope for the bravehearts willing to risk such experience.
The Old Cachar Road or Tong-jei Marin begins from Bishnupur in Manipur valley and cuts through the Tamenglong district. The district has the distinction of having the first Sub Divisional office/HQs in Manipur Hills from the time of British India since 1919. The Tong-jei Marin connected Manipur with the outside world to its west before the British charted another alternative route via Dimapur in Nagaland. The building of the new link route between Assam and Burma was prompted by British trade compulsions. It is said that said that during the days when the Manipuri kings first encountered Vaisnavite spiritualism, the Old Cachar Road became not only a trade passage but also a regular pilgrimage route. The route is also associated with the history of fraternal feuds and treachery between the royal family members and political exiles. It was the same route that many kings took to escape possible assassinations. During British paramountcy, many political agents had come to Manipur via this route. Apart from its historical significance, Tong-jei Marin or the Old Cachar Road continues to be the life-line of the valley dwellers in Bishnupur district as well as the tribes in the surrounding hills.
A narrow motorable road from Lamangdong leads to Chingning Khun, a Rongmei (Kabui) village. Till the mid nineties, one had to cross a vintage hanging bridge built by the British to further proceed on to the Old Cachar Road. For a new entrant to the Manipuri terrain, the road would seem unsafe to travel. The situation becomes all the more difficult during monsoon, when the roads are muddy and slippery. But to get the best out of the adventure in the area is to travel on a 100 cc bike. Do not get me wrong! I had done it in the mid eighties and early nineties in between my summer and winter vacations. The first was not as half enjoyable as the one I had in 1991. Nostalgia from that year would be ideal to recall.
That bike trip through almost the quarter length of the Old Cachar Road that leads to Cachar and Silchar via Nungba is still etched in my mind. I had been to Silchar when I was just a little kid. My grandfather, grandmother and I flew on a small passenger aircraft from Imphal in 1975. So, despite my young age, I did not want to miss the adventure described by my old relatives at home. My grandfather's association with the road was legendary. Some of his close friends would tell me that he made a fortune using the Old Cachar Road. My late octogenarian grandaunt would tell me how our family prospered using the Old Cachar Road as a trade route between Manipur and Assam. She was the oldest woman trader I had known in my home town. She gave me every bit of information, facts as well as fiction associated with the route. It was perhaps only natural that I should become infatuated with the road. Recalling my synchronic experience on the road also has to do a lot with my childhood days in Lamangdong.
I spent my primary school days at Chinging UJB School on the Old Cachar Road. Though it was hardly twenty minutes walk from my home, on our way to the school, many of us would walk with our eyes transfixed not on our destination but on the innumerable stones, pebbles and an assortment of objects on the ‘road’ specially on a rainy day. Any stranger to the place would have wondered why the school children walked looking down. We would scratch our picks so as to ascertain whether the real objects of our desire all along our way — treasure hunting for LEAD. As we grew up, we were told that the small pieces of lead we picked up from the road were the scattered remnants of ammunition that were used during World War II. My cousins and I would pick up those small pieces of lead and iron. After collecting them, we would give them to neighbours who used to melt and use them for metal-craft and repair works. Sometimes, we were lucky to find used bullets and shells as we go further. They were indeed prized discoveries during those days.
As we reached school, I would take a long gaze at the spectacular sight of the Old Cachar Road. The serpentine route that leads to the towering Lai Maton peak (not to be confused with another hill by the same name in Manipur) was clearly visible from our school. Those days, we could also see old Willy jeeps and Manipur State Road Transport Corporation or MSRTC buses plying up and down the first few kilometres of Cachar Road. Most frequently, it was the old jeeps that carried passengers as well as forest produce, mainly fruits, bamboo shoots and yong chaak (botanical name: parkia javanica), a delicacy in Manipur. I derived immense pleasure watching stream of Naga and Kuki hill-dwellers coming down the valley to dispose off their agro-products on their shams (cane baskets) slung on their backs. These products included ripe oranges, local apples (heitup) and others varieties of fruits from wild orchards and jungles.
It was only during the 1990 trip, I had a chance to visit one of the orange orchards on the Old Cachar Road. It was Christmas season, my friend and I biked up and down towards Tubung, a small village. Approaching the village from the east after crossing the Lai Maton peak, we faced dark green mountains ahead. Biking against the wintry breeze, came the sound of peaceful Noel hymns from a distant hill-top village. From nowhere, we could also hear latest Hindi film songs blaring out of a funnel speaker down below the ravines. It was indeed a festive season. On reaching Tubung, we headed straight for a common friend who was a resident of the village. On her persistence, we spent three days in that village participating in the community celebration. In the night, the only thing I remembered was the white tiger. I wanted an encounter with the animal. But my wishes faded like the dreams I had that night.
Reality raced against me. And I woke up to the sound of chirping birds, chill weather and softly played Jim Reev's Christmas songs. After a quick breakfast of black tea, rice and meat, we proceeded towards another village, diverting from the Old Cachar Road. After participating in a local festive sport, we went to the house of the village chief. I had attended many festivals in and around my home town. But this was different. For the first time, I had my lunch in the pure Rongmei tradition. What an irony, it was Christmas. And there were no Christmas cakes and nothing of the urban ambience you find in metropolitan cities in India. At this nondescript village, I was having lunch and traditionally brewed rice beer in the old customary style or to those of conservative Christian critics, celebrating the “pagan way”. The inhabitants of this village were all Christians. As we approached back to Tubung, we had to cross Leimatak river. We parked our bikes near an isolated security check post and plunged into the river. We swam to our delight in the ice cold water. Some onlookers seemed to acknowledge that we were indeed a crazy bunch.
Khoupam valley, in Tamenglong district, is well known in Manipur because of its scenic beauty and a mini-dam constructed during the 1970s. Khoupum's fame reached its pinnacle when late playwright , director and film maker G.C. Tongbra captured its breath-taking beauty in his film Khuthang Lamjel. The film miserably failed at the box-office. That's a different story altogether. Khoupum is significant to any wayfarers who frequent the Old Cachar Road. Those who were involved in the construction of the dam at Khoupum would recall tales of hardship and adventure. It was during the construction phase that the Old Chachar Road's bumpy route was recharted and tarred. They say, while taking engineering and construction materials for the dam, they would often clear big boulders in some of the landslide prone areas which obstructed the road. On our trip, we too encountered one such experience which will remain forever etched in my mind. It was a sloppy down ride in a wet and depressed curve. The bikes just slid down the road despite applying full brakes. At a point, we could not stop and slipped. Suddenly we bumped into a boulder right in front of us and all of us landed onto a muddy pool of water. Surprisingly, no one got injured. Instead we washed ourselves and headed further on. And we were three carefree individuals on two 100 cc motorbikes. On our way back home from the village, we were joined by a team of Manipur Mountaineering Association trekkers dressed in white. They were all walking in a line and proceeded further westward. They gradually disappeared amongst thick bushes in the jungle on the road-side. After reaching a nondescript spot, the senior most rider amongst us suddenly stopped and said that we should return. Due to his insistence of an impending danger on the way, we returned. Being superstitious, he had his own reason and said that his instincts would not permit him to proceed. Whether his instincts were correct or not, we followed suit and returned home. Thus, we came back missing the adventure of a full length journey.
Another trip I made was with a team of stone-craft persons from Lamangdong in 1993. The gap of almost two years with the first journey made all the difference. And also unlike my primary school days, this time round, we were on the Old Cachar Road searching for sandstone for making stone-wares. We went up Cachar Road on foot, testing every likely raw-material on our way. These craft-persons were a talented lot. They would determine the grain structure of sandstones by just tapping it with a hammer or a wooden stick. We collected as many roughly chipped stones that we could carry back. After reaching a Kuki village, we returned. While returning, we took a route which was supposedly a secret ancient route of the Meitei kings for a long time. To the local residents of Lamangdong, it was known as Ningthou Dolan or the King's Stairs. Walking up non-stop on this route is a rare feat for a novice. The logic of development gives you varieties but it can also destroy natural beauty. Since the re-charting was done for better transportation, people gradually stopped walking on the King’s Stairs’ route or the Ningthou-Dolan which splits the Laimaton Peak virtually into halves, right in the middle of the highest spot.
On reaching the highest spot on the Old Cachar Road, we decided to have lunch there. We unpacked the canned fish and started a fire for cooking rice. There is a traditional believe in the area that food cooked on mountain tops are always delicious. Incidentally, I had the most memorable lunch there. From the spot, we rolled down the valley triple the pace we had maintained while going up. The sight of Loktak Lake and the green patches that dotted the valley on long stretches of paddy fields is sure to ignite the imagination of any poet. The natural ambience which can be felt by anyone has for some time been out of bound for the citizens. Not that access to the areas is restricted but it is the unpredictability of the adventure, especially after the route has been less frequented in the post Naga-Kuki bloody conflict and increasing political violence that has dogged the region. The seemingly tranquil route at times hits the headlines of the local dailies whenever there are sporadic clashes and counter-clashes between the two communities in the mid nineties. Now, for anyone who would love to experience the natural surrounding of the place is burdened with the fear of untoward violent incidents, imaginary or real. Very few people now would think of making a trip along the Old Cachar Road for the trepidation caused by the political, social and economic uncertainties that Manipur have witnesses over the past years. We can at the most revisit the experience and feel good about it but there is hope for the bravehearts willing to risk such experience.
