Apology

By TSP Singh

From time immemorial, Sana Leibak Manipur was a kingdom. It is beautifully landscaped by a largest body of fresh water, Loktak Pat, and a wild life sanctuary that is home to Sangaia rare bow-antlered deer. Flocks migrated from Seiberia, and fishes are available in abundance. The romantic myths mirrored Loktak Pat. People have live and enjoyed centuries there; hence, the land has been named Sana Leibak Manipur, golden land.
Colonized by the British when World War II was declared, land became a battlefield, a graveyard of patriots. Netaji hoisted a tricolor flag at Moirang, an independent state under the Republic of India.
Mansingh and Nungshi meet daily in reminiscence of mischief, erotic times, psychosexual times, and infidelity since adolescence, an aftermath of World War II. There are stories in stories.
After the election, the representatives and administrators run the state smoothly, but rampant corruption, dishonesty, and lack of integrity hampered developments. Frustrated youths formed an armed revolution for the status quo of Manipur.
Mansingh spent life happily and honestly, but the epidemic of corruptions affected his morals. He committed infidelity against Nungshi and intensely felt shame when he saw a faithful partnership in Thabal Chongbi, who taught him a lesson. He bowed to Nungshi in apology. She was a faithful wife, an angel, a philosopher, and a guide who changed her life for the enchantment of Sana Leibak Manipur.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing India
• Release date: May 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543701883

TSP Singh

Sri TSP Singh was born on 14th Jan. 1931s, at Moirangkhom Makha Loklaoubung Imphal, Manipur. Aftermath of World War-II, passed matriculation 1952, studied Mechanical and Automobile Engineering at HRH Prince of Wales Institute of Engineering and Technology Jorhat, Assam, awarded Diploma in 1956. He played football and 4 times Badminton champion of the Institution. After getting practical training from South Eastern Railway workshop Kharagpur, Bengal, employed in PWD Manipur as an Overseer in Tools and Plants office. Married Longjam Nungshitombi Devi and blessed one son and five daughters. Joined Ministry of Shipping and Transport, Border Road Development Organization as AEE (Mech) and retired from the government of Manipur in 1993 as an Executive Engineer. As a hobby he started writing biography of his father who was the first medical practitioner in Manipur when 1st World War broke out in 1914. He Joined Lions Club of Imphal, an International Voluntary Organization in 1976. Elected as District Governor of District 322-D in 2006-07 of The Association of Lions Clubs International took pledge of office at Boston USA. He attended 62nd International Convention at Montereal and travelled Toronto, Detroit, Washington, Florida, New York, London, Parish, Switzerland, Miland, Rome, and Nepal. He completed two volumes of fictional biography of his Late father Dr T. Goverdhon Singh in 2010 in Manipuri language and published. His spouse demised in 2014, now a widower, lives alone since then at Haobam Marak Ngangom Leikai Imphal 795001, Manipur. He has completed a novel, Apology a debut in English language, signed agreement with Partridge India for publication when lifes sun is setting behind in the Western mountains.

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CHAPTER 1

F rom time immemorial, ancestors of Mansingh lived in a kingdom called Sana Leibak Manipur, literally meaning ‘golden-land Manipur’. It was a beautiful valley protected and guarded by tribes of different cultures, fortified by dense forests, mountains, hills, and rivers against invasion by enemies from the days of the mythical god and goddess Nongpok Ningthou and Panthoibi of Kangleipak.

Brooks and streams with rich, fertile soil flowed wildly in criss-cross, bending and twisting around mountains, hills, gorges, and forests to lowland. As the inclination gradually diminished, the flow slowed, branching out to a number of smaller rivers—some used for irrigations, others transformed into a number of pats (lakes). The landscape of the valley was so mysteriously designed that people were so overwhelmed by its natural beauty. Unable to describe it, they simply called it Lai Leibak (land of god) or Sana Leibak (golden land) Manipur.

The mountain slopes meandering had a scenic beauty. The mass growth of charot and tumnou, used as thatch, would brush each other, more or less by the wind and breezes of differing strengths and forming differing undulations. One would rub the blades heavily, another piercingly, and another softly along the lemon grass. The breezy wind drifted the pleasant aroma down the valley, generating a healthy climate.

The altitude is approximately 2,500 ft above the sea level. The mild temperate climate was suitable for game and sport as the temperature ranged from 1 to 32 degrees Celsius. Sana Leibak enjoyed monsoons, the seasonal winds and rains of South East Asia, from May to September. Rain and river flowed down towards the southern direction to a natural reservoir, Loktak Pat (200 sq. km) or, metaphorically, Loktak Leirembi or Ima Loktak. It is a historically significant mirror that reflected the myth of the heartfelt, passionate, epic romance of Khamba and Thoibi.

Floating crops, freshwater fish, and habitable floating masses phumdi abounded in this lake. The traditional folklore, songs, dances, and classical ballads all originated from Loktak Pat, Moirang, and the neighbouring villages.

The aquatic birds, edible aquatic vegetables, vertebrate animals are also found around the wetland area. Flocks of birds in the winter season from far-off places, some as far as Siberia, were annual visitors. Wild birds and animals were the games of lords and princes. They were, on the other hand, the sources of livelihood for commoners. Fish in myriad shapes and sizes and for various tastes were available in abundance from one season to another.

Annually, the rhythmic dances, folk songs, and mukna (wrestling) were offered during festivals for the gods, the very popular Thangjing Lai of Moirang and the less famous Umang Lai (gods). Men and women in grand age-old costumes celebrated the anniversary popularly known as Moirang Thangjing Lai Haraoba. Hundreds of people visited Moirang from all places of Sana Leibak as a pilgrimage to the festival. Manipur’s history—in respect of arts and culture, politics, and socio-economics—were narrated by the ballad singers and performed in melodious Khongjom Parba, Pena, and Moirang Parba (a theatrical ballad) based on folk wisdom. It was a significant part of the history of the kingdom of Sana Leibak and Moirang.

Until and unless categorically told by an astrologer or by a Brahman to celebrate one’s birthday, no one celebrated nor invited friends and relatives every year; it was not a traditional practice. But the present trend growing day by day was of educated youths adapting to the Western lifestyle, giving way to celebrations of wedding anniversaries, not just birthdays, which was becoming popular in modern society.

One of Nungshitombi’s families persuaded her to celebrate the golden jubilee of her wedding anniversary. Visual impairment had been added to her life during a delirium caused by another tragic incident. After receiving Mansingh’s consent, the family celebrated pompously at the new Classic Hotel, with a delicious and sumptuous banquet, which was the onus of her family who all came from far and wide.

The age was only a number added to a person, but the mind and the spirit of the couple, as shown by their temperament and dress, revealed youthfulness and jubilation. Many gifts and presents poured in with wishes for them to live another twenty-five years to celebrate their platinum jubilee.

Mansingh and Nungshitombi lived in a geographical location called Locklaw Bung, a highland named after the goddess Loklaw Lairembi, a goddess among hundreds of other goddesses in Sana Leibak. The natives believed that they lived under the aegis of the goddess, who protected them from mishaps and provided ample provisions and wealth.

The entire compound where their residence was constructed was walled by bricks. Its iron gate, facing east, was painted in dark green and would be closed and latched up after Mansingh came back home. Daily both of them would sit in their bedroom—Mansingh on an easy chair facing north and Nungshitombi on a single sofa facing west. He looked at her eyes and felt extreme sadness. The points of dialogue mostly were on reminiscence, a trail of anecdotes about his youthful mischiefs. These were just not sweet memories of grandiose achievements; included were some recent ones told by her colleagues and family members. Mansingh was not in Nungshitombi’s good book.

All activities in the house—receiving visitors, letters, cards, or someone knocking at the door to request a loan of household articles or to return loans and so and so—were done by him. The cataracts in both his eyes had already been removed, and intraocular lenses had been planted, which made him see better than a normal person, thanks to medical sciences; otherwise, both of them could have been labelled a visually impaired couple.

Nungshitombi’s right eye was blind already, the cause of which was unidentified, but the local medical staff had misdiagnosed her condition as glaucoma. Then her left eye vision progressively weakened gradually. She needed him all the time, but he was absent until late at night. He would come back home high, annoyed at her for not opening the gate immediately upon his arrival.

Nungshitombi had never spoken harsh words even to her domestic helpers; she considered this offensive and hurtful. On the other hand, it was in her gifted nature to show sympathy and to tell them outright in a polite manner to rectify the faults or the mistakes they’d committed in order to keep a lasting good relationship.

She didn’t reprimand Mansingh with harsh words for the mischievous days of his youth, but she reluctantly opened the lid of Pandora’s Box one day. He remained silent, embarrassed, mouth slightly opened, pretending to be smiling but feeling pain inwards.

He thought, Silence is golden. When he came home late, and that too boozed up, he didn’t speak but remained calm, quietly searching for his night dress inside the mosquito net, not even uttering a word to counter the storming charges hurled by her against him for coming home late.

Nungshitombi lifted the mosquito net. Eye to eye with him, she politely said, ‘Let us go have supper.’

He said, ‘You eat. I am not hungry.’

‘Come on! Don’t be so cruel to me, and that too to your partner, your lifelong partner, a blind who eagerly waited hours to have a meal together with you. You said, I am not hungry. Tell me, whose soul in this world will be happy to hear those words?’

Mansingh, neglecting her exhortation, said, ‘Please go and have your meal. Swear! I am not hungry.’

‘What do you mean? I’ve never had my dinner alone. If you remember, since our wedding, whenever you are present, we’ve had our meals together. There might be, of course, one or two occasions when you had a meal alone but not me. If you aren’t hungry, then I will also have no food tonight. I will fast.’

Without a word, Mansingh got up and sluggishly went to the dining room. No words were exchanged. Nungshitombi trailed after him. How deeply, sincerely, and faithfully she loved him; as soon as they sat together, she forgot all and started talking about the family matters, her in-laws, and so on.

‘Nungshitooombiiiiii! I understand everything, but I need a little relaxation after the office with friends, cracking jokes with each other, using taboo and nasty words among ourselves, and laughing open-heartedly, reprimanding our bosses, scolding each other harshly, sitting in a snug with a glass of beer, cooking up stories to conceal the facts.

‘The suffix tombi’, he said, ‘is an adornment to a person’s name, expressing love and affection given to the last child, generally after having three or four issues, wishing him or her to be the last offspring of the family. Is tombi the only name available in Sana Leibak? Can’t they find some other loving names in this world, something expressing a little more emotions and love for the newborn here? The word nungshi prefixed to tombi, in your case, intensified the meaning of this mundane name tombi and lift it a little to a higher degree of love affection and emotion.

‘Nungshi is an adjective and can be used as a noun also. Ha! ha! ha! A colourful derivative word born out of love, affection, compassion, tenderness, and romance. It’s a word that connotes love which transcends all other love in the world. There may be more than hundreds or thousands of names that can either be suffixed or prefixed to this great tombi in this land.’

Mansingh had a stern look. ‘Now reject and delete this suffix tombi! I shall call you Nungshi—only Nungshi. Nungshibi [sweetheart]! You understand? Instantly from today.’

She said, ‘But Nungshitombi is my most preferred name among many other names. It is the name of a songstress. My parents adorned me so cutely with that name.’

‘It is a pet name for my most cherished blue-eyed sweetie, not for public or official record.’

He called her Nungshi as a pet name, omitting tombi. By and large, Mansingh was also called by many juniors as tamo, which was a courtesy title to a respectable elderly man of an elite family, in educated communities, where people respected people, showing politeness to each other to establish a peaceful and harmonious relationship as done in other civilized countries of the world. The people of Sana Leibak were endowed with this indelible traditional culture and protocol—thougal-lol, or houna-lonchat in Meitei philosophy. As offensive words invite antagonism, consequences were unimaginably fatal, and hatred and enmity were born in the community.

As there were many other senior persons living in the family, he, being the youngest, was addressed as tamo macha, which meant ‘junior’. Nungshitombi too addressed Mansingh as tamo macha as it was considered lacking regard and against etiquette to address her partner by name. But throughout her life, she neither addressed him as tamo macha nor Mansingh but always referred to him indirectly or in the third person as your pabung or magi pabung (their parent).

Believing Mansingh’s invented lies, Nungshi, being a simple and good-natured woman, excused Mansingh and said, ‘But please come home early so that we can chit-chat and do some planning for the bright future of our family.’

‘Where do I get time, except this time after sunset?’ Mansingh said. ‘All right, I shall try to come back home at the earliest time starting tomorrow, okay? happy now?’

Nungshi smiled, narrowing her eyes, showing victory and triumph over Mansingh. 61422.png

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One day, Nungshi and Mansingh, as usual, were sitting in their room, one facing north and the other west, contemplating over the approaching winter season. Sana Leibak was extremely cold in January. With lips parched and bleeding and fissures on heels, people were confined inside their rooms. The cream on the surface of milk mixed with chuhi (molasses) formed a paste for application on skin to prevent chapped and bleeding skin. This ancient practice to prevent chapping on the part with calluses—heels, palms, and face—still applied. For four hours or so, from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m., the sun shined brightly, but with it being milder, people preferred to bask in it.

The sun set around 5 p.m. A meiphu (charcoal room heater) was lit up, and Nungshi and Mansingh sat on low stools in their sleeping room to keep the room warm. A mosquito net, irrespective of the cold or heat, was an indispensable curtain fixed permanently on the bed throughout the year to keep you warm and protect you from poisonous insects, a precautionary measure taken against malaria and other diseases.

Mansingh’s house was a meitei yumjao (traditional house). Later he modified and improved the mud wall from the floor up to 3 ft by bricks only. The local masons were called for the half brick wall, and the remaining structure was kept as it was. The wall was plastered by cement and fine-sand mortar, roofed by CGI sheets, and ceilinged by planks. There were four living rooms and a separate kitchen with a dining room. This house was the only fashionable meitei yumjao in the locality. The intriguing artistic work, the painting of different shades on the building, is the brainchild of Mansingh, and he is proud to be the owner.

He asked Nungshi’s opinion about the house.

‘I like it very much, but I have a dream of having a flat made out of bricks and concrete with a terrace, as other government employees have.’

‘That, you can have it when the building loan is granted, but I will not apply for a housing loan when we live so comfortably here.’

Nungshi said, ‘All your colleagues have constructed without a loan.’

‘Why do you think that is? Do they draw more salary then me? No! It is not white money, just earnings. I want to live peacefully, doing my duty sincerely and earning money honestly.’

Neighbours watched the shades of the painting. Having appreciated the ingenuity of the painting, some copied it. Several houses with the same painting pattern were visible in the surroundings. One midget ceiling fan (Usha brand) and one 60 W electric bulb with two incandescent tube lights of 40 W were in the house. The fans were seldom used in the summer, though hot and humid, as the temperature inside the house never crossed above twenty-nine degrees Celsius. But in winter, it would go down to negative two degrees Celsius. The metrological department forecasted weather through the All India Radio, but no one bothered about it. According to the morning news, twenty persons were admitted due to a cold wave in Bihar as if winter’s chilly wind and cold wave had never been experienced in their lives before. Environmentalists initiated a campaign on global warming. 61420.png

Mansingh looked at Nungshi and smiled. ‘Poor, wretched old human beings.’ Then he stretched out hands over the meiphu. ‘Almost half of their bodies without warm clothes or wrapped by rags only. You know, their hands and legs look like coal mine workers’., Septic wounds visible on ankles, hair unwashed and infested by lice … Such wretched people below the poverty line and beggars suffered in winter. Not you and me! Ha ha ha! Our blood can never be frozen because of this meiphu.’

Nungshi said, ‘Our relative Tomba was frozen the other day, trembling hysterically, the neck, the mouth, and the legs. He was going to faint at any moment. All family members rushed and covered his body with warm cloth, rubbed his hands and legs as fast as they could, and lit up a meiphu. After twenty or twenty-five minutes, he recovered his senses, thus was saved from unfortunate consequences.’

‘Senseless idiot,’ said Mansingh, reprimanding all his affluent sons. ‘He is illiterate orthodox, aged and fragile. They die in that way. You know nutritious foods—like egg, meat, and fish—keep the body warm. He has brought up his sons and gave them good education, and they are all government employees now. Ungrateful! They have not given back the love and care to their parent.’

Suddenly, the electric lights went off at 7.30p.m. ‘Look! Look! Is this a good government? The chief minister is responsible for all these basic needs. There’s plenty of budget and feasibility for development.’

Nungshi turned away her face, frowning and dissenting upon the comments, and said, ‘He is an elected leader. He represents you. Whom you are blaming, the electors or the elected leader? It is your choice, so the electric light goes off?’

‘Look at the neighbouring states—Nagaland, Tripura, and Mizoram. There the people work in floodlights. They make roads at night. Here we walk in the dark. What do people do in the dark. Do you know? They do secret, unlawful, and unethical works. They make indigenous explosives to be used on 15 August and 26 January or in any other important celebration of the nation, disrupting the peaceful lives of civilians.

‘You know, for quite a long time, I have been thinking of divulging some secrets to you. I know you are an intelligent woman too, reserving a few highly personal matters which are purely private and secret in a man’s life. Talking to you on other matters at this time is very educative, interesting, and thought-provoking.

‘I love independence and liberty. I love to work as a free man in my country and in my state, Sana Leibak. We fought for freedom, and we have it now. As you know, India is the biggest democratic country in the world. Other countries respect us for that. Internal crisis and chaos are there because of the lack of education and good statesmen. The system of democratic government is good, but the governance, bureaucracy, and other agents controlling and preventing crime to maintain public order are all weak. One small example: a traffic controller driving his jeep at a crossing where the red stop signal light was on. Even the civil head who is inside the car knowingly breaks the traffic law, disregarding the red stop light signal. It seemed that rules and orders are only for the commoners, not for the top brass of the state.

‘Is it in order? Masses of students, while filling up the matriculation examination forms for submission to the university, write backdated birthdates. This has become a general practice all over Sana Leibak merely for lying about their age while seeking government jobs.

‘High school students lying about their date of birth, as a matter of fact, have become a habit and a normal practice in Sana Leibak. Some young students have to wait another two years to level up to the minimum eligible age. In games and sports, age plays a great factor in one’s performance, hence unfair competition comes up.

‘A visionary headmaster of a school came up with an initiative for the betterment of those students who lost two years of schooling during World War II, instigating the enrolment of these students with a fake backdated birthdate. It has become a precedent, conjectured as a right judgement. And all the growing children are now rampantly dishonest and unethical, causing parallel judgement in sports persons and genius students.’

He looked at Nungshi, saw her closed eyes, and said, ‘Are you getting bored?’

She nodded but said, ‘No.’

‘The Supreme Court of India proclaimed the deforestation and jhum (slash and burn) cultivation to curb climate change, a law to control the phenomenon of global warming. In order to produce 10 kg of charcoal, twenty tons of logs were used, and ten to twenty trees were cut down. Every one of us has full consciousness about the adverse outcome, but we do not react to those who deal in such illicit activities.

‘Another shocking news is, unqualified candidates are being enticed and appointed as teachers. Their salaries are accumulated in a private deposit scheme, and the mortgage is redeemed in two years. They earn perpetual income without doing an inch of work. The government and the people are of the same feather—they flock together. Is this because of the soil or the climate of Sana Leibak, or is the whole Sana Leibak deprived of the right type of moral education based on honesty, integrity, and justice? Ignorant about the consequences, the people and the government agents are the products of such corrupted schools.

‘Nungshi, you have taken voluntary retirement because of blindness. You can’t read, write, and go to school. Good. You are a faithful government servant and honest teacher. Do you know what others doing? Suffering from a disease—mental deterioration called dementia. An office clerk who has lost his memories and even forgets to take food has been continuously drawing salary for the last fifteen years without doing a single grain of work, lying in bed. The monthly salary is being shared by two accomplices concealing the facts. Money is placed on the palm of a teacher of a fake government school, who draws salary every month for teaching in a fake remote hill area which no one boldly questions. Fraudulence, phishing, and treachery! Is money the end of this beautiful life on this earth?’

Nungshi turned away her face and put her two fingers on her ears, blocking the sound, and said, ‘Please go away. I don’t like to hear it. I know how you are and how you like to blame others. Your own family members and neighbours are, in other words, the whole subject of the state criminal activities. Then to whom will the buck be passed?’ 61418.png

She had known him for the last fifty years of her married life, and in spite of her faithfulness, he was an irreconcilable partner. His superficial character and pretentious smiles were used as tool for maintaining a good relationship; this was a serious impediment in her life.

He said, ‘You know I am not a bad man very much concerned about my nature. I am faithful to my top-secret events of bygone days. Believe me, I have the air of immortal bliss. If I disclose it, it may explode the family and shatter into pieces like a glasshouse. Marriage will be broken. All will be separated, even friends and colleagues too. Then the rest of my life may be spent as an émigré. Therefore, they are so confidential and have latent power capable of traumatizing others. I may even wipe out from their memories those heinous crimes before they came to a climax. I may perform a severe penance to end my own trauma.’

‘All lies. I call you an unfaithful and pretentious person,’ said Nungshi emphatically.

Mansingh’s face slightly blushed because of her remarks, a characteristic of telling the truth fearlessly and reprimanding outright. For the sake of humility, he tolerated it to dilute the severity of the topic and to let her know more about his disposition of early days, which seemed that of someone ignorant and has not a glimpse of his reality.

Mansingh said, ‘I am an aftermath of World War II, known as the Japan War, here. You know war—no law and order, just destruction, disorder, hunger, disease, deceit, and slaying; no court, only arbitrary decisions then punishment. It was a real-life experience—not one country warring against another country, but the whole world against a few countries. No security; eating and drinking whatever was available within your reach; living like a dog; groaning, bowing, and begging for survival. No one knew where you would be tomorrow—either on the pyres near a riverbank for the last rite or in a military cell for questioning. With an arbitrary decision, you could be sentenced for betraying and spying against the British. I was fourteen years old then, an adolescent.

‘Civilian cinema halls, MNB (Manaobi, Nilmani Birmongol) talkies were taken over by the military. The picture house screened only English movies for the regiment’s entertainment. Adult pictures were passionate romance movies shown on the silver screen. There were two days in a week for the civilians to enjoy and divert the agony and hardships of war through censored films, for adults only, which were my favourite pictures. The lips of a loved woman in Western English films are not censored but are an acceptable art on the stage in the Western world. Such films, as you know, give erotic pleasure, a vital chance for imitating it later to some girls when opportunity favours me. Ha ha ha!

‘There was no adequate lavatory for the whole audience. Do wherever you want to release the pressure, not censorable. Some of us did so below our seats. The front most and nearest to the silver screen were the cheapest, third class in talkie hall. At the interval, we’d go out for relieving our bladder. All fell in a line, standing near a drain, and then jet out from our protruded orifices like a public drinking hydrant, shook out the last drops, about-turned, closed the trousers, and dashed to the entrance before the door was closed.

‘Kula and Yaima are my only two closest friends. Whenever we three entered the market, we shoplifted as fun and play, which later became a habit. In one occasion, a shop owner chased and scolded us. Naughty boys! But he said this smilingly. It is socially acceptable during the Yaosang [Holi] festival, considered a petty crime in the eye of the society’s law. Some elderly persons defended us, asking for us not to be seriously censured and scolded, that time would change and cure us. This is the nature of teenagers, a rustic pleasure, as depicted in the teenage life of Lord Krishna.

‘You know, a few days ahead of Yaosang,