Cachar or Silchar—We are fêted there—The hill tribes: Kukis,
Tongkhuls, etc.—Their dress and habits—Rest houses, and
difficulties therein—Manipuri Sepoys: camp on the Makru
River—Logtak Lake—Colonel Samoo Singh—The Senaputti.
Cachar, or rather Silchar, deserves a description, as it has been of such
importance during the recent troubles at Manipur. The town is about one
hundred and thirty miles from the Manipur capital, but only twenty-four
miles from the boundary. The state of Manipur is separated from the
Cachar district by a river called the Jhiri, where we have outposts
garrisoned by troops. Silchar itself is not a very large station, though
it boasts of more Europeans than most Assam districts, there being a
regiment always quartered there besides the usual civil authorities. The
district has a very large planting community, and abounds in tea-gardens;
and as the planters are constantly in and out, there is a very fair
amount of gaiety, especially in the winter months, when there are always
two or three race meets, each lasting for a week, which bring people in
from far and near.
Silchar has seen much trouble during the last year. In September, 1890,
the Lushai disaster occupied everyone’s attention, and troops poured
through the place on their way to the hills about Fort Aïjal to avenge
the treachery of the tribes inhabiting those regions—treachery which
resulted in the loss of two valuable lives. A few weeks later curiosity
was rife to see the ex-Maharajah of Manipur, who had been driven from
his throne by his brother the Senaputti, and was passing through on his
self-imposed pilgrimage to the sacred city of Brindhaban on the Ganges,
accompanied by three of his brothers. Christmas brought the usual round
of races, dances, and dinners with it; but the sound of the Christmas
bells had scarcely ceased when the New Year brought tidings of a disaster
which caused men’s faces to pale, and almost out-rivalled the horrors of
the mutiny. But I am anticipating events, and must return to ourselves
and our experiences three years earlier.
We stayed two or three days in Silchar on our first arrival there and
made some new friends, and were fêted, as is the custom when new-comers
arrive at a station in India. Hospitality is a law, and you have only to
be English to be assured of a welcome from your fellow-countrymen, who
are ready to put themselves, their houses, and possessions all at your
service. There are disadvantages, maybe, to be met with in India which
are many and great, and one loses much by having to live out there;
but one never meets with such true-hearted kindness anywhere else as
in India. The narrow prejudices and questioning doubts as to who you
are, and what your station in life is, which assail you at home, vanish
entirely when you need hospitality out there. The civil list or the
army list will tell your position and income, and for the rest you are
English, you come from the old country, and all are glad to see you and
be kind to you. I am happy to think of the good friends made when I was
out there too—friends who were ready to share their pleasures with me,
and who were still more ready to help me when the dark days of trouble
came and human sympathy was so needed. Their names will ever live in my
heart, and may all good luck be theirs!
Our short stay in Silchar came to an end very soon, and we were on our
way to Manipur in real earnest by the end of the third day. The first two
marches out to the Jhiri were uneventful, and we then found ourselves
on the banks of the river, with a vast expanse of forest jungle before
us to be traversed the following day. Unluckily, it rained all that
night, and when the morning arrived it was still damp and drizzling. We
changed our coolies here, and got Nagas (hillmen) to carry the baggage.
They were fine-looking men, belonging to the various hill tribes about
Manipur. There were Kukis, Tongkhuls, and Kupoës, and they seemed to my
uninitiated eyes very alarming people indeed. They wore very few clothes,
and their necks were adorned with many necklaces made of gaudily-coloured
glass beads. Their ears were split to a hideous extent, and in the loops
thus formed they stuffed all kinds of things—rolls of paper (of which
they are particularly fond), and rings of bamboo, which stretched them
out and made them look enormous.
Their hair was cut in different ways. The Tongkhuls’ heads were shaved
with the exception of a ridge along the top, which extended to the nape
of the neck, and gave them the appearance of cockatoos.
The Kukis’ hair was long, and gathered up into a loose and very untidy
knot at the back of their heads, and the Kupoës had theirs cut so that
it stuck out all round their heads and made them look as though they had
fur hats on. _They_ made no fuss over the Memsahib’s trunks, and I was
much amused at the way they all rushed for the bath, which had a flat
cover to it, and was easy to carry and cool against their backs. It was
a muggy kind of day in the middle of April—a day that invariably brings
out legions of horse-flies and gnats and things of that species to worry
you and your horses. Worry us they most certainly did. They collected in
rows under the brims of our hats and stung our faces, and they settled in
swarms on our horses, and what with the dreadful state of the so-called
road, and the heat and the flies, we were dreadfully tormented. We had a
guard of Manipuri Sepoys with us, who marched along in front of us and
helped to lead our horses through the sea of deep mud which covered the
road. For seven miles we plodded on like this, and then we came to the
first range of high hills and got out of the mud. These hills are the
backbone of Assam, and the Manipur ranges are a continuation of those
known as the Naga Hills. The highest range on the road to Manipur is
about 6,000 feet, but they are all steep, and the road over them is very
rough, making riding difficult in places. They are covered with bamboo
jungle, and here and there you come across villages, but they are not
numerous.
At every five miles the Manipuris had Thanas for the purpose of keeping a
look-out against enemies, and acting as stages for the dak-runners. These
Thanas were not always fortified, but the larger ones were, and they had
been attacked more than once by Lushais out on a head-hunting expedition.
There was great excitement at our advent at all the Thanas, and the
Sepoys on guard at each stage turned out in style and gave us the
‘General’s salute.’ They had a particular fondness for bugling, and they
exercised it on every possible occasion; but I’m afraid they were not
struck with our appearance that day, as we were very tired and hungry,
and covered with mud.
We did not get to the end of our march till late in the evening, and
we then found we had to cross a river, as our camping-place was on the
left bank, and our horses had to be left on the other side. We crossed
by means of a bamboo suspension-bridge—a most alarming-looking erection.
These bridges are really curiosities. They are made of wire twisted into
thick ropes, and stretched from trees on either side of the river at
different heights. Bamboos are hung on to the wires close together to
form a kind of railing on each side, and these are fastened with cane to
the floor of the bridge, which is made of bamboo also, woven into a kind
of coarse matting, and although they look most flimsy and airy erections,
they are really very strong, and can carry any number of men on them
at once, and animals too, if necessary. They are a great height from
the water, which you can see between the chinks of the matting as you
walk across, and they have an unpleasant fashion of swinging violently
when you are in the middle of them, making it very difficult to keep
your footing. I did not like going over it at all, and tumbled down in
the most awkward fashion more than once, much to the amusement of the
Manipuris, who laughed very heartily.
It began to rain shortly after we had arrived at the rest-house, a large
barn-like place built of bamboo also, with one doorway and no windows of
any kind, and a mud floor. Not an atom of furniture graced this abode,
and there was nothing to be done but to sit down on the ground and wait
until our luggage should arrive—very hungry, and generally out of sorts.
Nothing came in until nine at night, when the cook arrived with the
kitchen paraphernalia, and we had a sort of dinner on the floor, and then
had to wait until two in the morning for our heavy baggage and beds,
which were travelling on elephants. It was a dreadful four hours, for in
the meanwhile swarms of mosquitoes and sandflies came out and attacked
us—hands, faces, and, in fact, any part of us that was not covered.
The delay was caused by the road being too steep and slippery for the
elephants, and their having to be unloaded five or six times—a most
tedious operation.
About three in the morning we got our beds put up and turned in, longing
for sleep, but I hadn’t been there an hour before the rain, which had
poured down in torrents ever since dinner, made its appearance through
the roof and descended upon my head. So we had to get up and move
everything, and then were able to sleep in peace for the remainder of
the night. Of course, all idea of going on the next day was out of the
question, as servants, coolies, and elephants were all too tired, and,
to add to this, the rain never ceased, so I made the best of things and
stayed in bed all day, while the coolies busied themselves in making me
a dooly out of bamboos, as we found that my horse had got a sore back
from his long climb the day before, and my husband decided that it would
be better to have me carried the rest of the way. I had time to notice
particularly our escort of Manipuri Sepoys during our halt at this
place. We were supposed to have thirty men altogether, but I never saw
more than twelve. When marching, they had counted themselves over twice
by running on ahead directly they had presented arms once, and going
through the same performance round the corner, fondly imagining that we
should be under the impression that we had double the number with us.
Their uniforms were limited. There were about three complete ones amongst
them, and the remainder adorned themselves in confections of their own.
When halting, we were provided with a sentry to keep guard over us all
day, and he was relieved about every three hours, which gave rise to a
most amusing scene. A dirty-looking individual came up to the Sepoy on
duty, and saluted him with the ordinary native salaam. The sentry then
proceeded to divest himself of his uniform coat, belt, etc., and rifle,
which he threw down on the ground; whereupon the dirty-looking person
picked them up, hastily put them on his own manly form, and, having done
so, came up to where we were sitting and saluted in fine style. The other
man had meanwhile disappeared. At night we had two sentries, and they
frequently asked us whether they might mount guard in the veranda of our
hut. This meant that before very long they would both be fast asleep upon
the floor, snoring so loud that we were awakened.
When marching, each man went as he pleased and whatever route he pleased.
If he were of a lazy turn of mind he slid down all the short cuts,
but we generally had one or two walking in front of us, one of whom
invariably possessed a bugle, which he made the most of by giving us
selections on it from his own imagination. I believe he meant well. Their
rifles were carried over their shoulders, and their worldly possessions
were done up in a cloth and slung on to the end of them in large bundles.
The Manipuri Sepoy was no doubt a very funny animal indeed.
We left our wet camp at the Makru River the next day, very glad to get
out of it, and proceeded on our journey towards Manipur. Every day was
the same: up and down hill all day and a bamboo hut at night; but our
experiences of the first day had taught us wisdom, and we put the things
which we wanted most upon coolies, and the elephants carried the rest, as
they went so slowly. The Nagas used to swarm out of their villages as we
came along to see us, and they were especially interested in me, as many
of them had never seen an English lady before. Seven days in the hills,
and the eighth brought us at last to the topmost ridge of the last range,
and then I had my first glimpse of the valley of Manipur lying beneath
us, looking delightfully calm and peaceful in the afternoon sunshine. It
looked so beautiful to us after the hills of the previous seven days,
stretching away smooth and even as far as the eye could see, and we
stopped on the top of the hill some time for the pleasure of looking at
it. We could distinguish far away in the plain the white walls of the
Maharajah’s palace, and the golden-roofed temple of his favourite god.
Just below us stretched the blue waters of the Logtak Lake, studded with
islands, each one a small mountain in itself. Villages buried in their
own groves of bamboo and plantain-trees dotted the plain, and between
each village there were tracts of rice-fields and other cultivation. The
whole valley looked rich and well cared for, and we longed for the next
day, which was to see us at our journey’s end.
We were met at the foot of the hill by ten elephants and a guard of fifty
Sepoys, under the command of a high officer of state called Colonel Samoo
Singh, who was one of the most hideous old gentlemen I have ever seen.
However, he was politeness itself, presenting us with large baskets of
fowls and vegetables, and escorting us to the rest-house, to which we
all went mounted on elephants gaily rigged out in red cloth. I wanted
to go on the same elephant as my husband, but the interpreter said ‘his
Excellency the Colonel Sahib’ would not like it if we did not make use
of _all_ the elephants brought out for our glorification, so I proceeded
in solemn dignity behind my husband’s quadruped. The old colonel came up
to the house with us, as also did the guard of honour; and then after a
final salute they all departed and left us to our own devices.
Early next morning we were up and ready for the last seventeen miles into
Manipur. We had tried to smarten ourselves up as much as possible, as we
were to be met by some of the princes before we reached our journey’s
end, but, alas! a mischievous rat had busied himself during the night
by eating a large hole in my husband’s hat and all the fingers off my
right-hand glove, and we could not get at our boxes to rummage for
others, so we had to go as we were.
The old colonel rode with us, and seven miles from Manipur we were met
by four princes. They had had a small hut built, which was nicely matted
and arranged with chairs. As we rode up, the four royalties came forward
to meet us, amidst much blowing of trumpets and presenting of arms by
their several guards of honour. This was my first introduction to the
Senaputti of Manipur, and little did we foresee the terrible influence he
was destined to bear on our future! He was not a very striking-looking
personage. I should think he was about five feet eight inches in height,
with a lighter skin than most natives, and rather a pleasing type of
countenance. He had nice eyes and a pleasant smile, but his expression
was rather spoilt by his front teeth, which were very much broken.
We liked what we saw of him on this occasion, and thought him very
good-natured-looking. The other brothers did not strike us at all, and
there were so many people there, including important officers of state,
that I became confused, and ended by shaking hands with a Sepoy, much to
that warrior’s astonishment.
We were escorted to the reception-barn by the princes. The Senaputti was
the only one who could speak Hindostani amongst them, and my husband was
able to talk to him; but the others only knew Manipuri, so contented
themselves with smiling continuously, and I followed suit by smiling
back, and it didn’t tire any of us. They presented us with an enormous
quantity of things, and I do not know how many baskets of fowls, ducks,
and vegetables they didn’t give us, for they seemed unending. At last,
after more hand-shaking, which entirely ruined my already fingerless
glove, some polite speeches from my husband and more amiable smiles from
me, we mounted our horses and, accompanied by our four royal friends and
their retinue, rode into Manipur. A salute of twelve guns was fired on
our arrival, and after we had taken leave of the princes at the entrance
to the Palace we turned into the gates of the Residency, and felt that
our journey was really at an end.