My three years in Manipur

by Ethel St. Clair Grimwood

In the meanwhile I had arranged to leave for England.

For more than three years our one talk had been of furlough and home, and now that the date of sailing had been really fixed, it seemed almost impossible to put it off in order to be at Manipur waiting to see the results of the Chief’s visit. My husband said, however, that he thought it would be more prudent if I arranged to go by an earlier steamer, to be out of danger in the event of anything serious happening, and consequently all the necessary arrangements were made for my departure. I couldn’t help feeling that I would rather stay, however, and, as I said to a friend in writing home, ‘see the fun,’ and my packing did not progress satisfactorily at all.

Mr. Simpson was very keen to remain at Manipur, too; but all his work was done there, and there was really no reason for his stopping. He wired to the colonel of his regiment for permission to remain, and my husband backed the request up, so eventually the necessary leave was granted, and he was delighted at the mere idea of a disturbance which might mean fighting. Of course the sudden alteration in my plans did not escape the notice of the Jubraj, and in fact the durbar itself. It seemed as though the whole State was on the qui vive, to discover any slight clue to the mystery which surrounded the visit of the Chief Commissioner. My sudden determination to depart was looked upon as possessing a very serious meaning indeed. I was flying from danger. This was the prevailing idea, and the Tongal General asked me point blank one day whether it was the case or not, at the same time begging me to put off going till after the Chief had left Manipur. The princes used every persuasion they could to induce me to remain, and they and the old general came more than once with messages from the Maharajah to the same effect. We explained to them that my passage was taken and paid for in the steamer, and that the money would be forfeited if I failed to sail on a certain date; but this had no weight, and they did not seem to like my going away at all, and begged me to stay on. These persuasions, added to my husband’s extreme reluctance to let me go, and my own wish to remain, carried the day.

About ten days before Mr. Quinton arrived we heard for certain that the object of his visit was not the restoration of the ex-Maharajah, and so, after much coaxing from me, my husband, thinking of course that no danger could now be possible, allowed me to stay. I remember so well how lightly we talked over coming events, and my husband saying that if anything did happen, they would make me a nice safe place in one of the cellars under the house. Could we but foresee what is behind the dark veil with which the future is enveloped, and know that sometimes in our idlest moments we are standing as it were on the brink of a grave, is there one of us who would not rather die at once than struggle on into the abyss of desolation and death awaiting us in the near future? And yet it is undoubtedly a merciful Providence that orders our comings and goings from day to day in such a manner that we cannot peer into the mist of approaching years, and discover for ourselves what fate awaits each one of us. ‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.’

CHAPTER XIII.

Preparations for the Chief Commissioner’s visit—Despair over the commissariat—Uncertainty of Mr. Quinton’s intentions—Uneasiness of the Manipuris—They crowd into their citadel—Decision of the Government of India, and their policy against the Jubraj—Death of our dinner and our goat—Arrival of Mr. Quinton and Colonel Skene—Mr. Grimwood ordered to arrest the Jubraj—The Regent and his brother appear at the Residency—The Manipuris suspect hostility—The old Tongal—Last evening of peace.

Of course there were a great many preparations to be made in honour of the Chief Commissioner’s visit. The question which occupied my attention most was how to feed so many. The resources of the country in the way of food were very limited. Beef was an impossibility, as no one was allowed to kill a cow, and mutton was almost equally unprocurable. The Jubraj kept a few sheep for their wool, and once in a way he killed one or two of them to provide a dinner for all the Mussulman officers and servants in the palace; but this occurred very seldom. We lived on ducks and fowls all the year round, and managed fairly well; but having to provide for sixteen people was a different matter altogether. My husband made several valiant attempts to secure some sheep from Cachar, and after much difficulty he got four, and we heard they had commenced their march up to Manipur. But they never arrived alive. The drover was a most conscientious person, and took the trouble to bring the four dead carcases up to the Residency for our inspection, to assure us that the poor animals had died natural deaths, which we thought very touching on his part.

We were in despair over our commissariat, but at last that invaluable domestic, the bearer, came to the rescue, and proposed that as we could not get genuine mutton, we should invest in a goat. One often eats goat in India, deluding one’s self with the idea that it is sheep, because it has cost one as dear, and the native butcher swears that he is giving one the best mutton in the district. But after you have kept house for a year or two, and got to know the wily Oriental, you are able to distinguish truly the sheep from the goats. Be that as it may, when one can’t get one thing, one must content one’s self with the best substitute; and on this occasion I was very grateful to the bearer for his timely suggestion, and commissioned him to search the neighbourhood for the desired goat, which after some days was discovered, and brought to the Residency for inspection. We had a committee of four on it, and came to the conclusion that it was a most estimable animal, and altogether worthy of providing dinner for a Chief Commissioner. So we bought that goat, tethered him in the kitchen-garden, and fed him every day and all day. He grew enormous, and slept a great deal when he was not eating, which was his favourite occupation.

Meanwhile the days went by, and at last only one week remained before the Chief’s arrival, and by that time we knew that he was bringing an escort of four hundred men with him and several officers; but we did not know how long they were going to stay, or why so many were coming, or whether they were going on to Burmah. A telegram had come some days previously, telling my husband to get coolies ready to take the party to Tummu, and he thought from that that it was Mr. Quinton’s intention to pay a visit to that part of the valley; but everything seemed uncertain, and the Manipuris were very curious to find out what it all meant.