Bad relations between the Pucca Senna and the Senaputti—Rival
lovers—Quarrels in the Royal Family—Prince Angao Senna—Pigeon
contests—The Manipuris’ fondness for gambling—Departure of the
Ghoorkas—Too much alone.
All was peaceful at Manipur around us until September 11, 1890. As day
after day went by, we seemed to get to know the royal family better.
Rumours of strife amongst the brothers reached us from time to time, and
petty jealousies showed themselves in some of their dealings—jealousies
that the weak will ever have for the strong, in whatever country or
community it may be. But we were good friends with them all, though it
was difficult at times to avoid giving cause for disputes between the
Pucca Senna and his more powerful brother, the Senaputti. If one came
more often than the other, that other would get annoyed, and refuse to
come at all for some time. The Pucca Senna got very angry, because the
Senaputti frequently escorted the young princesses on their visits to
me, and on one occasion he tried to arrest some of their attendants in
the road when they were leaving the Residency, which might have been the
beginning of a very serious disturbance, had not my husband, hearing
privately that something of the kind was meditated, sent an orderly and a
Chupprassie with the girls to see them safely as far as the palace.
The Senaputti had left the Residency on that occasion some time before
the young princesses went away. Poor children! they were very much
alarmed at the attempt to waylay their attendants, and it was a very long
time before they summoned up enough courage to pay us another visit.
We knew that the Pucca Senna and the Senaputti were rivals, too. Both
wished to marry a girl who was supposed to be the most beautiful woman in
Manipur. She rejoiced in the name of Maïpâkbi, but I never thought her as
pretty as some of the young princesses who used to come and see me. She
was not a royalty herself, but was the daughter of a wealthy goldsmith
who lived near the palace; her father was a prominent member of the
Maharajah’s durbar, or council. She was taller, though, than the average
Manipuri, about sixteen years of age, and very fair, with quantities of
long black hair. She was always very well dressed, and had a great many
gold bracelets on her arms, and some necklaces of pure gold which weighed
an enormous amount.
‘Fine feathers make fine birds,’ says an old proverb, and in this case
it was certainly true; but the two princes thought her beautiful, and
were at daggers drawn about her. We had a big nautch one night, to
which Maïpâkbi came as chief dancer. All the princes were there to see
it, and the two rivals for the young lady’s affections sat one on each
side of me. The Senaputti was all cheerfulness and good-humour, but the
Pucca Senna was very gloomy and morose, and at the end of the evening my
husband said we must never ask the two brothers together again. Shortly
afterwards we heard that they had had a terrible quarrel, in which the
Maharajah had taken the part of the Pucca Senna, and that the Senaputti
had sworn never to speak to the latter again, an oath which he kept to
the letter.
Meanwhile I went away to the hills, and all seemed to go on quietly
for two or three months, though a storm was brewing in the meanwhile,
which only needed an opportunity to burst forth and overwhelm the
reigning power in destruction. The eight brothers split up into two
factions—the Maharajah, Pucca Senna, Samoo Hengeba, and the Dooloroi
Hengeba formed one side; whilst the Jubraj, Senaputti, Angao Senna, and
the young Zillah Singh all leagued together. Of the first four named,
the Samoo Hengeba and the Dooloroi Hengeba are the two that have not been
mentioned previously. The first of these was the officer in charge of the
Maharajah’s elephants, numbering about sixty. It was his duty to manage
all the arrangements in connection with them, and on grand occasions,
when the Maharajah rode on an elephant, his brother, the Samoo Hengeba,
acted as Mahout.[10] The name means Chief over elephants, Samoo being the
Manipuri name for an elephant, and Hengeba head or chief.
The Dooloroi Hengeba had command of all the Maharajah’s doolies.[11] This
mode of travelling was confined to the rich, and was considered a mark
of great dignity; not everyone could indulge in this luxury, and those
who did had to get special permission to use them, though sometimes
they were conferred upon ministers of state by the Maharajah as a mark
of recognition for their services. The Maharajah seldom travelled in any
other style, as he was a very stout, apoplectic kind of personage, and it
suited him better to be carried than to ride or go on an elephant. His
dooly was a very magnificent affair, made of wood, with gilt hangings all
round it, and a gilt top, which could be put over it in wet weather.
Prince Angao Senna was in charge of the road between Burmah and Manipur.
He was supposed to travel up and down it to see that it was kept in a
state of repair, but I don’t think he ever did so. He was quite young,
about two or three and twenty, and I never remember seeing him without
his having a large piece of betel-nut in his mouth, which he used to
chew. It gave him the appearance of having a swollen face, as he stuffed
enormous bits of it into his mouth all at once, exactly as a monkey will
do with nuts or anything of the kind, and people said he never cared for
anything but eating and drinking and watching pigeon-fights.
The Manipuris are great gamblers, and they used to make these
pigeon-fights the occasion for betting considerably. A good fighting
pigeon was worth a lot of money—forty or fifty rupees. They were handsome
birds, larger than the ordinary pigeon sold in the market for an anna
apiece, and they had most beautiful plumage. The contests between two of
them were generally held in the middle of one of the principal roads.
Each owner brought his pigeon to the scene of action tied up in a cloth,
and they were then put under a wicker cage, something like a hen-coop,
where they fought until one conquered.
It was very unexciting to watch it, we thought; but the crowd of
spectators used to take a breathless interest in the combatants, and bet
considerably upon them. I never quite understood how they decided which
bird had won, as they simply beat each other with their wings, cooing
loudly the whole time, and sometimes one seemed victorious, and sometimes
the other. However, there were doubtless points in the combat which we
did not understand, and the Manipuris always took the deepest interest in
them.
Latterly, after the expulsion of the Maharajah, his brother, the regent,
put a stop to these pigeon-fights, as the gambling over them was becoming
excessive, and several of the younger princes had been seriously
involved, and the state had had to pay their debts. A heavy punishment
was inflicted upon anyone found encouraging a pigeon-fight, and even the
casual spectators received a beating, whilst the owners of the birds,
and whoever had instigated the proceedings, were hauled up before the
durbar and fined large sums. However, Prince Angao Senna was never caught
red-handed, though we heard that he still continued to encourage and
attend these séances on the quiet.
June, July, and August went by. Day by day came letters from my husband
at Manipur full of all the little details which went to make up his life
there, and never a dream of future trouble arose to disturb our peace of
mind. The only thing that rather worried my husband was the approaching
departure of our only neighbour, an officer in the 44th Ghoorkas,
quartered at that time at Langthabal. Since the regiment had left in the
winter of 1888 for Burmah, we had never had more than a wing of it back
at Langthabal, and in the winter of 1889 it was decided that the troops
should be removed altogether, and our escort increased from sixty to a
hundred men under a native officer. But this decision took some time to
effect. Barracks had to be built in our grounds for the accommodation
of extra men, and these took time in building. So that it was not until
January, 1891, that the garrison at Langthabal departed.