Chasing the Hevel
It's May, a month which reminded me of the trees with lights of orange blossoms which lit up with the warm summer rays. Yet this year, it brings a recap of all things dark and red. Dredging up memories I wish wouldn't resurface. My mind is a prison of all those pain-filled memories, added on with highlights from my gallery showcasing the cherished times at home, my beloved pets, and everything that once brought joy before the fateful day of May 04, 2023, and sadness thereafter.
It is said that time heals all wounds, yet a year later, these memories continue to haunt me. 2023, no doubt, proved to be a challenging year, marked with silent tears and nights which never seemed to end. My wristwatch suffered with my constant gaze; it would have willed to give away and shatter as I eagerly waited for another dawn during what seemed a never-ending night.
Although dwelling on the past may seem like chasing after hevel as described in Ecclesiastes, it's hard to shake off the nightmare of thoughts if not for relying on God's word. Many tried comforting with words or prayers, and some advised, "Put it behind you and move on," yet the stark reality weighed so much more than a mountain of regrets. I often pondered what might have happened if I hadn't decided to visit home for vacation last year.
Till today, my dad flinches at the thought of what if I hadn't been home with them during that particular time. Would they even be alive? Me being the one who insisted on taking shelter at the relief camp (like everyone else). Reflecting on it now, that journey home marked the final chapter of my life in the place I once called home since birth. It was the last glimpse of my beloved home, my cherished fur babies, and everything dear to me.
It was nearing Missionary day, as I vaguely remember, our church youth had full swing practice for the choir inspired by Luke 10:2: "The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few. Therefore, ask the Lord of the harvest to send out workers into his harvest field." Little did we know that would be the final choir practice in our EBC church, Lamphelpat, which was tragically and unfortunately set to flames the following day.
On the eve of May 04, reports of attacks on the Zo community in Imphal began to surface. We were tense but remained composed, as we are accustomed to the frequent conflicts in Manipur and thought they would be resolved as soon as possible. The sight of the heavily scorched Langol Hills was clearly visible from where I was, followed by the unsettling sound of continuous strikes on electric posts, accompanied by a voice demanding, "Whoever belongs to the Zo community, come out."
Upon hearing the ominous call targeting the Zo community, we hastily packed our belongings and hid near the pond in our backyard amidst a swarm of mosquitoes and flies. The adrenaline rush was overwhelming, leaving us confused about what to prioritize. Eventually, as it died down that day, we returned home and managed to catch some sleep.
The next day, we left our home and everything behind for the relief camps. Before leaving, I ran inside to grab a mosquito bat, extension cord, and some food supplies with three water containers (20 litres each), which I quickly kept inside the car as they were the basic necessities that came to mind at that moment.
Upon reaching the relief camp, irrespective of age/social status, everyone was cramped up there, filled with fear and agony. Our neighbourhood was quickly engulfed in fumes, with thick black smoke covering the surroundings visible. The only thing we could do was desperately pray.
Later, we were told to shift our cars parked outside the camp to a safer place. My neighbour accompanied me as I went to park our car, but unluckily, we were chased by a group of men wielding logs and other harmful objects in their hands. I sprinted without even looking back.
Later, my neighbour praised me for my quick flight, which was funny yet sad as I ran for my dear life. He recounted how they were throwing wooden logs at us that barely missed us, making me realize how gravely we could have been harmed or maybe even worse.
The next five days and nights that followed echoed with the loud cries of people filled with fear and helplessness. I was trying to solve the thousands of existential questions bombarding my mind inside the camp, which drained me. It's Hevel! It's more deeming to change our perspective and find solace in small and simple things.
I started counting my blessings by being thankful for my life, my family's safety and the shelter-cum-services provided in the relief camp. The narrow hallway where people walked was where we rested our heads; it became a reminder of providence amid survival. Despite occasional break-downs, I remembered always to be thankful for the providence of God.
D-Day: Finally, the day arrived for us to leave for the airport via military bus with escort. Our hearts raced with anticipation- Will we be able to reach the airport safely? The bus passed through our neighbourhood, which was now filled with ashes as we were all bidding our final farewells to the place which was once home. Tears streamed down everyone's faces as we sadly looked out the bus window helplessly. Upon reaching the main city, it felt like we had entered another world, another dimension. The markets were open; people were shopping and going about their lives, starkly contrasting to a relief camp.
This clearly reflects our place in our so-called "Sanaleibak"- we indeed belonged to the oppressed, unheard and neglected community. A year has passed by now, and while the loud shout for solidarity may die down most days, we will still strive for what has called us together. The blood, the tears, the loss- as we learn to rebuild. I truly believe that a new day will dawn, and the sun will rise again as we celebrate together as ONE and not divided by our THOUGHTS!
Dr. Joycy Vungneihchoi completed her doctorate degree from the University of Delhi. She has a keen interest in areas related to tribals and their well-being.
Views expressed are personal.