My three years in Manipur

by Ethel St. Clair Grimwood

The Manipuri specimens were very funny indeed. Their heads were shaved like the back of a poodle, with little tufts of hair left here and there; and their faces were painted with streaks of different-coloured paints, and their eyebrows whitened. They wore very few clothes, but what they had were striped red and green and a variety of shades. They walked up to the tent where we were sitting to watch the sports, all leaning against each other, and carrying on a lively conversation in Manipuri, which seemed to amuse the spectators very much. On reaching the door of the tent they all fell down at our feet, making terrible grimaces by way of greeting, and then they picked each other up and retired a few yards off and commenced the performance. One disguised himself as an old woman, and another as a native doctor, and the third as a sick man, lying on the ground covered with a white sheet. Someone out of the crowd was impressed into the play, and he had to call the doctor to the sick man, who was meanwhile heaving up and down upon the ground in a very extraordinary manner. The doctor came and poked him about, making observations in Manipuri, at which everyone roared with laughter; and then the old woman arrived and dragged the doctor off home. She was supposed to be his wife, and as soon as she appeared a scuffle ensued, in which the old woman’s clothes fell off. We thought best to beat a retreat, as the play was beginning to be rowdy and the dialogue vulgar; but I believe that it went on for some hours afterwards, as we heard shouts of laughter proceeding from the direction of the polo-ground, where the sports were held, late at night; and the princes told us the next day that it had been a very good play, and the only pity was that we had witnessed so little of it.

CHAPTER X.

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.