My three years in Manipur

by Ethel St. Clair Grimwood

One day he came out to our camp at Mori Thana and helped me to make a cake, which turned out afterwards, I am bound honestly to say, burnt to a cinder. My husband made some cutting allusions to it, and told me that it would save our having to invest in charcoal for some days to come, and added many other remarks of the same kind; but, nothing daunted, Mr. Grant and I set to work and carved up that cake, discovering as a reward a certain amount in the middle which was quite eatable and altogether excellent, which my husband also condescended to try after some persuasion, and pronounced fair.

We were all very keen about orchids, and these grew abundantly on the trees round about Tummu, so we went for long rambles, and returned always with armfuls of them.

We were very sorry to bid good-bye to Mr. Grant at the end of our stay in Burmah, and we tried to persuade him to get leave and come up to us for a time for some duck-shooting on the Logtak Lake.

On the way back we got the news that we were to have two visitors, Mr. Melville, the superintendent of the telegraph department in Assam; and Lieutenant Simpson, of the 43rd Ghoorka Rifles, who had been ordered down to Manipur from Kohima to inspect some military stores which had been left behind at the Langthabal cantonment, when the troops went away. We were very pleased at hearing they were coming, as even the ordinary two or three visitors who had come every winter on duty in previous years had failed us. Mr. Melville arrived about ten days after we returned to Manipur from Tummu, but Mr. Simpson came almost at once. I had known him well in Shillong, and we had always been great friends. He was very clever, and a wonderful musician, and nothing pleased him better than to be allowed to play the piano for hours, whatever he liked, without interruption. My husband and he soon became good friends. Their tastes were congenial, and Mr. Simpson was always delighted to shoot with him, and he got on very well with the princes, especially the Jubraj, who liked looking at his guns and talking military ‘shop’ with him. Several shooting-parties were organized by the prince, and the Shikaris always returned with good bags.

Mr. Melville stayed only three days with us, but he promised to return for another two on his way back from Tummu, where he was going to inspect his office. On Sunday, February 21 (the day Mr. Simpson arrived), in the evening we were surprised by getting a telegram from the Chief Commissioner, the gist of which was as follows:

‘I propose to visit Manipur shortly. Have roads and rest-houses put in order. Further directions and dates to follow.’

We were electrified! Why was the Chief coming like this suddenly? The telegram gave no details, and the one and only cause for his unexpected visit that we could think of was that it had something to do with the ex-Maharajah. This individual had been, during these months, in Calcutta, from which place he had concocted and despatched more than one letter to Government, begging for a reconsideration of his case, and help to regain the kingdom which he had been unjustly deprived of by the Jubraj, assisted by my husband’s influence.

Curiosity had naturally been rife at Manipur as to whether the exiled monarch would be restored by our Government, and the Jubraj and Tongal General had never ceased asking my husband his opinion about it. We knew full well that if such a step were contemplated, the fulfilment of it would be a difficult operation, as we were aware of the bitter feeling which existed against the ex-Maharajah, and more especially against his brother, the Pucca Senna. From private sources we had heard that arms, ammunition, and food were being collected by order of the Jubraj inside the palace.

This information came to me quite casually one day. We used to employ a Manipuri Shikari[14] to shoot wild duck for us during the cold weather, when my husband was not able to get them himself, and I sent for this man one day, and told him what I wanted him to get for us. He said he was not able to shoot, as the Jubraj had ordered him, as well as all the other men in his village, to bring their guns into the palace arsenal, and that all the villages in the neighbourhood had received similar commands. I let the man go, and went and repeated the story to my husband, who remarked that it looked as though preparations were being made to resist the ex-Maharajah, should he return to Manipur. Of course, on the receipt of the telegram from the Chief Commissioner, my husband had to inform the durbar of his approaching visit. Curiosity reached an overwhelming pitch, and the efforts of the Jubraj and his colleagues to find out what was going to happen were unceasing. They never quite believed that my husband was as ignorant as they were themselves about things, and invariably went away much disturbed. We ourselves were just as curious and longing to know what was really coming to pass.