We flew from Delhi to Calcutta over Bangladesh and into
Mizoram in a small plane that navigated its way through the clouds between
large mountains and finally landed in a small airport – the Lengpui airport, 32
km from the Mizoram capital Aizawl. Lengpui reminded me of other smaller
airports I had seen, boutique airports, in the numerous islands of Thailand or
the Maldives. Except that Mizoram is no island, it is a highland state – the
word Mizo in fact means ‘highlander’ – and Lengpui would not have been built so
small if the Mizos could find a larger area of flat ground to build an airport
in.
In fact, apart from the size of their airport and indeed,
the size of their state, there is nothing small about the Mizos, neither in
their hearts nor in their history. The story of the formation of the state of
Mizoram has been one of a long struggle against a huge dose of neglect and
repression, and the immediate provocation was a large scale famine or mautam
caused by bamboo flowering in the 1950s and 1960s to which the state government
– till 1987, Mizoram was a part of Assam – as well as the government of India
were largely apathetic. So the Mizo National Front (MNF) began its long
insurgent battle for the rights of the Mizo people, in the course of which the
social fabric of Mizo life was totally changed by village regrouping schemes
undertaken by the unsympathetic government, and a large number of people were
killed in military repression and aerial bombings – one of the darkest chapters
in the history of ‘post’-colonial India. We got a glimpse of what Mizo
community life must have been once upon a time when we visited Reiek, the model
Mizo village constructed by the government as a tourist attraction. When we
went there, an 80 km drive from Aizawl, we were the only tourists that day. I
was glad because it gave us the opportunity to soak in the peace of the
environment, a peace that had once been so cruelly shattered amidst bombs and
gunfire. It has been a while now of course since the gunfire has fallen silent,
and a peace accord was signed between the rebels and the government. This
accord proved to be one of the most successful peace initiatives, one that has
worked in such a big way and lasted for so long. Today, the state of Mizoram
has many claims to fame, not the least of which is with regard to its human
resources – Mizoram has one of the largest numbers of literate people in India.
But literate or not, the people of Mizoram also have very big hearts. They are
very hospitable and friendly, and so long as you respect their individuality,
they are always willing to welcome you into their midst.
Take for instance, our friend Pu Sailo, director of
information and public relations of Mizoram, who invited us to the state and
provided us with every form of hospitality we could wish for. Or consider his
colleagues, Tetei and Mina, who have become such good friends, and who also
helped plan our trip and showed us around Aizawl, giving us the insights which
a first-timer like me could never otherwise have acquired. With them we went
bargaining at the many markets of Aizawl with their variety of foreign goods,
or sight-seeing in the late evening – night falls very early in Mizoram, and
the city shuts down pretty early too – to the view point from where you could
see the lights twinkling in the chain of hills that make up the city. Walking
around the city, sometimes in the morning and sometimes in the early evening,
we could feel how fresh the air was and experience the thrill of walking on the
undulating hilly streets. However, whenever travelling in a car, I couldn’t
help but scramble to hold on to whatever I could get a hold of, because the
curves are too sharp and the roads so steep that I felt it was a wonder gravity
didn’t taken its toll on our vehicle and send it, with us in its belly, sliding
downhill, off the cliff and into the deep gorges below.
In the city itself, just opposite the street vendor from
where I bought so many additions to my DVD collection of Korean movies, I saw
the Assam Rifles headquarters. On the boundary wall was inscribed ‘Assam
Rifles: Friends of the Hill People’. Mizoram is one of the few states of the
Northeast where the paramilitary force can now perhaps claim to be friendly.
However, I did also remember the atrocities being committed by the same force
in the neighbouring states, for instance in Assam and Manipur, where the Armed
Forces Special Powers Act 1958 has given it sweeping powers to kill at will,
and it exercises that power indiscriminately killing civilians as well unarmed
or arrested insurgents. In Manipur, the same force actually claims to be the
‘custodian’ of the people. The Mizos have experienced their share of state and
military repression, and today, if they are a proud people, it is because they
have fought for every right they now enjoy. Indeed, the Mizoram government
website proudly proclaims on its homepage:
Mizoram is our homeland
It is not given or gotten as a gift
It is not acquired by privilege
Or potential contracts
It is not bought with gold or held by the force
No, it is made with us the sweat of the brow
It is the historic creation
And the collective enterprise of a people
Bodily, spiritual and moral
Over a span of generations.
Unlike many other states of the Northeast where there are
constant complaints about outsiders – illegal migrants from neighbouring
countries and non-locals from other parts of India – coming in to usurp the
economic activities and livelihood options of the people of the state, the
voices of discontent in Mizoram are relatively muted. For one, many of the
illegal migrants to Mizoram come from nearby Burma, and they are ethnically
allied to the Mizo tribes. Although there are sporadic complaints of
anti-social activities and criminal conduct by these migrants, opposition to
them is yet to reach the fever pitch anti-migrant oppositions have assumed in
Assam or Manipur, where even ethnic cleansing exercises have been known to have
occurred. The number of migrants who come from elsewhere in India is somewhat
checked by the Inner Line Permit system, although in many cases this system has
proved to exist in name alone. But what I found most admirable about the Mizos
is the fierce pride with which they guard their language – anybody who does
business in Mizoram has of necessity to learn the Mizo language. Their second
option is to be able to communicate with the Mizos in English. Those who cannot
communicate in English, have to be at least familiar with that pidgin form of
Hindi which is so prevalent in most parts of the Northeast and is entirely different
from the Hindi spoken in Northern India. Since I did not know much Mizo beyond
a few basic words, I unleashed my Northeastern Hindi wherever English wouldn’t
work, and tried to pick up a few phrases from the book my new found friend –
nay soul sister – Thari gave me. “Chiangnu” she called me, which means
something akin to a soul sister in Mizo and Pu Ruata explained to me that it
was a privilege to be accepted into the close knit Mizo community so
intimately. I was touched.
Commandant John and his wife Thari, and Pu Ruata and his
family all made us feel extremely welcome, and in the dry state of Mizoram, we
could never leave their places till we had drunk all the alcohol they offered
us, or we would be offending their hospitality. And every time we met them, we
would have to shake off their generous offer to spend the rest of our visit
with them. We had to move on as we had decided to go see Champhai, a few
kilometres from the Burma border. Unfortunately, our trip there was a disaster,
with the roads being in a sad state due to continuous heavy rains and by the
time we reached the Champhai tourist lodge, we were too exhausted to go any
further to the border. The lodge itself was lovely but the rains prevented us
from exploring the area around. Exhausting as it was, the highlight of the
journey back and forth remained for us the two plain meals of boiled rice,
green leaves, bamboo shoots and excellent pork – something Mizoram produces in
plenty – at a small homely roadside hotel our driver introduced us to.
When we left Mizoram, we brought back with us a lot of
bamboo shoots and smoked pork. I am crazy about the pork from that place; it is
as fresh and tasty as pork from the Northeast – where it is the staple of many
communities – can get. Little wonder that,because from what I hear, many Mizos love their pigs
so much they feed them cod liver oil to keep them healthy. We also brought back
so many lovely memories with us, but what we did leave behind was a prayer that
the rest of the Northeast should also experience the peace that Mizoram has
earned for itself.
(Source: Muse India, Issue 25)
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