It is late afternoon. Thoibi Laiphrakpam, 39, sits on a metal chair, sewing a jute tote bag inside a 15X15 feet room. The only noise puncturing the silence is the metronomic whirr of the rotating levers of the machine, followed by a gentle thump as she presses down on the foot pedal.
Her two dogs – Coco and Tintin – are dozing next to her. The hypnotic mechanical sound is only interrupted by the sighs of her mother-in-law, sitting a few feet away, as she chops vegetables for dinner.
For the last 16 months, the lives of seven people – Thiobi, her husband, their three children, her sister-in-law, and her mother-in-law – have been confined to just this room.
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Their address – G1-Room 3, Taikhu Water Sports Complex, Bishnupur district, Manipur.
Originally meant to be an administrative office, the room is bare. The family has used whatever soft furnishings they can muster to gently coax out the illusion of space. There is now a kitchen in one corner, a sewing machine in the middle, mattresses strewn across the floor, and three large bed sheets hung on a rope across the room in an attempt to create a semblance of privacy.
Built on a small hill overlooking Manipur’s Loktak Lake, the sports complex houses 241 people from 58 Meitei families – all confined to single-room “homes” – since ethnic clashes broke out in Manipur on May 3, 2023.
Since then, at least 229 people have been killed and more than 50,000 internally displaced. Thoibi and her family are just a speck in this ocean of tragedy.
It was not always this way.
A seven-room two-storey building in the state’s Kuki-dominated hill district of Churachandpur was her home. She ran a restaurant – 3Bs – that had local acclaim and did brisk business. Thoibi was born there. She got married to her Meitei husband, who too was born and lived his entire life in the hills of Churachandpur.
She never thought the state would be riven by clashes. She didn’t imagine that there would be any reason to leave Churachandpur.
“Only a few thousand Meiteis live in Churachandpur as it is a Kuki area. My parents were settled there. Even when I was small, I always told everyone I would marry a man from Churachandpur only. There was no reason to believe we would ever be displaced from there,” she said.
Today, those are the hills she may never return to again. The ethnic clashes have led to communities withdrawing behind their respective strongholds – the Meiteis in the valley and the Kukis in the hills. Thoibi’s family along with many others were rescued by security forces from mobs that gathered outside their home on May 3 last year. That night, her family along with her two dogs, and over 5000 other families were taken out from Churachandpur.
A momentary glimpse of peace
For almost two months this year in June and August, Manipur was relatively peaceful – it was the first time in 56 days that no major instance of violence was reported in the state. Behind closed doors, the Centre was holding peace meetings with leaders of both communities in neutral places far from Manipur.
“After 16 months, we thought people were tired of fighting and killing each other. The peace that lasted for almost two months seemed like the beginning of normalcy returning,” Thoibi said.
But that was not to be. On September 1, the fragile peace was shattered when bombs dropped from drones by militants at a village killed a woman and injured several others.
Since that afternoon, violence has escalated rapidly. Militants have used drone bombs, fired rockets that can travel up to 5-7 km, improvised existing weapons, and modernised old ones. Violent protests have returned, prompting the government to again ban cellular internet services and order a curfew.
At least 10 people died in attacks this month.
Watching the violence unfold, Thoibi and thousands of others are recounting their losses, and seeing hopes of a safe return fade away, once again.
“We are hearing about drones and rockets. The fighting has intensified. Some of my Naga friends in Churachandpur say displaced Kuki families from the valley are also suffering like this. On days when it rains here and I see water entering the complex, I miss our home. I am coming to realise that peace will take time,” she said.
The lives they lived
Thoibi’s eldest son, Rendy, 15, studied in Class 9 at the Assembly of God High School in Churachandpur – a prominent private institution. Now, he has enrolled in the Moirang MultiPurpose Government High School in the Meitei-dominated Bishnupur district.
“I have nothing against government schools. I am glad he is still enrolled in the education system despite everything happening around us, but everyone wants their child to attend a good private school. If normalcy is ever restored, I would ensure he goes back to his school,” Thoibi said.
Over a dozen schools were burnt by mobs in both the valley and hills last year. Teachers too have fled to their respective ethnic strongholds. This has meant that over 8,000 children are now out of school.
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Rendy said he did not just lose his school, but his best friend too – a tribal student.
“We hung out together and spent hours together doing nothing. He lives across the buffer zone now. In the initial days of the clashes, we tried staying in touch over the phone. But we lost touch gradually. There were awkward pauses during our phone call. One day, we spoke for the last time. He hasn’t called. I did not call. There is nothing left to talk about anymore.”
With schools shut, Rendy now spends his time sitting in a corner of the room. On some days, when Rendy and his brothers head to school, Thoibi switches on the sewing machine. This is her only source of living now. She stitches jute bags for the government and gets paid ₹400 as a daily wage.
Before the clashes, she made about ₹3000-4000 a day from her restaurant. With her husband in the civil police and a decent business, it was enough to feed the family and build their house.
“People in relief camps are paid wages when the camp gets orders to make jute bags. The government also cannot keep giving orders. So, this means, we have our good days and bad ones. Good days are when we get work orders. I am fortunate that my husband has a government job. He is with the civil police. Many people in the relief camps have lost everything and are struggling to keep themselves alive,” she said.
According to government data, at least three people have died by suicide in the relief camps due to economic hardships in the past 16 months.
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What they left behind
The people living in displacement camps have little hope of going back. The homes they abandoned have since been set ablaze or bulldozed in both the hills and valleys. Meitei groups allege their houses in the hill districts were ransacked and later razed by Kukis. Kuki groups allege the same was done to their homes in the valley.
Sometime in November last year, a Naga neighbour at Churachandpur called Thoibi to tell her that her house had been razed to the ground.
She could not believe it.
Thobi’s husband, Gandhi L, who works as a civil police personnel with the Manipur government, took the help of security forces to enter Churachandpur in an attempt to visit their house and confirm their fears.
“He wore a mask and covered his face like the security forces do while entering Churachandpur with them. He would have been killed if they found out his identity. That morning, he went to our house and confirmed that it was razed. He took photos as well. Before leaving, he found the two sacred stones outside our house broken by the mob. In our faith, those stones depict Lord Shiva and Parvati. They were too heavy to be carried, so Soibam hid them below a slab in the remains of our home in the hope that the Gods would meet us back there someday when we rebuild our lives,” she said.
Though the clashes in Manipur are not communal, mobs from both sides have burnt temples and churches too. They have even burnt livestock and whatever other property they could find.
On September 17, the Manipur police received a tip-off about 500 trained militants who have crossed from Myanmar and are likely to launch multiple attacks. This has been widely reported by the regional media in the valley. K Ibomcha, caretaker of the relief camp said, “People are worried because a copy of this alert has been circulated in all WhatsApp groups. We are trying our best but people are worried if they have to stay in these camps for years.”
Among the eldest in the camp is Thoibi’s mother-in-law, Bilashini, 65, the woman cutting the vegetables. Much like anyone else her age in the state – ethnic violence is something she has experienced before. She lived through the five-year ethnic clashes between Kuki and the Nagas in the early 90s.
“The Naga-Kuki clashes were similar. Kukis and Nagas killed each other because they had a problem with the other person’s identity. But we knew little because we did not have television. The village chiefs gave us information then. They were the only ones who could read the newspapers. My grandchildren now have photos and videos of the conflict on their phones,” she said.
But in her mind, there is a crucial difference.
“In those six years of Naga-Kuki clashes, we Meiteis were the mediators. Meitei people worked as drivers and transporters delivering medicines and other essential items to the Kukis and Nagas. Even as there was fighting and fear everywhere, Meitei people were the only ones Kuki trusted. But look at how things have changed now.”
On some days, she cannot believe the past has returned in the most horrific way possible. “I don’t even remember if the clashes then were as horrific as they are now. I always told my children that I had seen the worst ethnic violence possible,” she said. “But look where life has brought us now.”
