Aizwal Blues - The Bombing of One's Own People
I visited Aizwal a few years ago with the pent up excitement of a teen whose life long wish was about to come true. It was infact that, as I had been keen to visit parts of the North-East as soon as my geography got a concrete sense of direction.
So, off I went to Aizwal, taking a bus from Guwahathi to Silchar (Another dusty town that seems to seamlessly replicate what the rest of the country is going through, a rapid urbanization with an absolute zero sense of planning), and finally from Silchar to Aizwal in a packed up jeep full of betel chewing locals. Ah, I loved the betel smell and the fact that I had to use an inner line permit to visit my own country.
But there was something jarring as soon as we entered Aizwal through the highly porous border where the inner line permit seemed to be useful only for me and me only as the rest of the world continued jaunting. But the feeling did not subside as we started climbing towards Aizwal and I felt that somehow something was wrong. Was it the continuous military or para-military presence. Was it the over-friendliness of the locals accompanied with the subtle writing-me-off that my co-travelers exhibited. Was it the fact that the entire highway was full of villages that seemed to exist on cliff-hangers that somehow subsisted along the highway. I mean, why was the entire state living next to the highway or was it just a response to heightened tourism. I was confused.
But what I was not confused about is the extreme discipline of the Mizos when it came to road sense. They just did not break the rules and were willing to wait out the impermeable traffic jams which seemed to last forever. And keeping that discipline in mind, we did reach Aizwal in time and I did manage to reach my hostel in time as well.
Ahhhhhhhh, Aizwal seemed so beautiful. Like some child-like cousin of the mighty Himalayas, these hills were even more mesmerizing and perhaps without a trace of pollution that many Himalayan towns now suffer from. And I fell in love with Mizoram again and again.
Till, my friends took us on a tour. And a tour to the Marytr's graveyard.
My first sense was "It must be related to the Japanese Invasion". But that was not to be. The graveyard was a nationalist monument of the sacrifices that the Mizo people made fighting against the Indian Government. AND MORE THAN THE SACRIFICES, IT WAS A REMINDER OF THE RAREST OF RARE INDIAN ATROCITY WHERE WE BOMBED OUR OWN PEOPLE USING IAF JETS.
Yes, It is true. This is what the collective memories of all Mizos is all about. They seem to remember this all right while the rest of us are not even aware. In what I heard from many Mizos and in the words of an online news magazines, the Scroll, they say "On February 28, 1966, the fighting volunteers of the Mizo National Front launched Operation Jericho to throw out Indian forces stationed in Mizoram – launching simultaneous attacks on Assam Rifles garrisons in Aizawl and Lunglei. The next day, the Mizo National Front declared independence from India.
Operation Jericho shocked the security forces stationed in the Mizo Hills – the insurgents swiftly managed to capture significant installations including the government treasury in Aizawl, and Army installations in Champhai and Lunglei districts.
The central government led by Indira Gandhi may have been taken by surprise, but the reprisal was swift. On March 5, four fighter jets of the Indian Air Force – French-built Dassault Ouragan fighters (nicknamed Toofanis), and British Hunters – were deployed to bomb Aizawl. Taking off from Tezpur, Kumbigram and Jorhat in Assam, the planes first used machine guns to fire at the town. They returned the next day to drop incendiary bombs. The strafing of Aizawl and other areas continued till March 13 even as the town’s panicked civilian population fled to the hills. The rebels were forced to retreat into the jungles of Myanmar and Bangladesh, which was then East Pakistan. The bombing caused colossal destruction with some reports saying Aizawl town had caught fire. Fortunately, only 13 civilians were killed."
While I walked around the graveyard, eulogizing martyrs who fought against India, I was confused whether to feel proud of them or feel ashamed of myself as I belong, atleast till I am not bombed, to the mainstream. And, the mainstream in India is the majority and the majority is what is always under threat all the time.
I did manage to spend ten more days in Mizoram and basked in the extraordinary warmth that surpassed the normal hospitality of hill-wallas such as the Himachalis, Uttaranchalis and even Arunachalis. The Mizos took the cake in being absolutely made of butter. They loved me and I loved them back and I came back with a hundred friends. But the confusion never left me. Did we really bomb our own people. Did we really create war. And if we did, why have we not yet apologized for it.
So, off I went to Aizwal, taking a bus from Guwahathi to Silchar (Another dusty town that seems to seamlessly replicate what the rest of the country is going through, a rapid urbanization with an absolute zero sense of planning), and finally from Silchar to Aizwal in a packed up jeep full of betel chewing locals. Ah, I loved the betel smell and the fact that I had to use an inner line permit to visit my own country.
But there was something jarring as soon as we entered Aizwal through the highly porous border where the inner line permit seemed to be useful only for me and me only as the rest of the world continued jaunting. But the feeling did not subside as we started climbing towards Aizwal and I felt that somehow something was wrong. Was it the continuous military or para-military presence. Was it the over-friendliness of the locals accompanied with the subtle writing-me-off that my co-travelers exhibited. Was it the fact that the entire highway was full of villages that seemed to exist on cliff-hangers that somehow subsisted along the highway. I mean, why was the entire state living next to the highway or was it just a response to heightened tourism. I was confused.
But what I was not confused about is the extreme discipline of the Mizos when it came to road sense. They just did not break the rules and were willing to wait out the impermeable traffic jams which seemed to last forever. And keeping that discipline in mind, we did reach Aizwal in time and I did manage to reach my hostel in time as well.
Ahhhhhhhh, Aizwal seemed so beautiful. Like some child-like cousin of the mighty Himalayas, these hills were even more mesmerizing and perhaps without a trace of pollution that many Himalayan towns now suffer from. And I fell in love with Mizoram again and again.
Till, my friends took us on a tour. And a tour to the Marytr's graveyard.
My first sense was "It must be related to the Japanese Invasion". But that was not to be. The graveyard was a nationalist monument of the sacrifices that the Mizo people made fighting against the Indian Government. AND MORE THAN THE SACRIFICES, IT WAS A REMINDER OF THE RAREST OF RARE INDIAN ATROCITY WHERE WE BOMBED OUR OWN PEOPLE USING IAF JETS.
Yes, It is true. This is what the collective memories of all Mizos is all about. They seem to remember this all right while the rest of us are not even aware. In what I heard from many Mizos and in the words of an online news magazines, the Scroll, they say "On February 28, 1966, the fighting volunteers of the Mizo National Front launched Operation Jericho to throw out Indian forces stationed in Mizoram – launching simultaneous attacks on Assam Rifles garrisons in Aizawl and Lunglei. The next day, the Mizo National Front declared independence from India.
Operation Jericho shocked the security forces stationed in the Mizo Hills – the insurgents swiftly managed to capture significant installations including the government treasury in Aizawl, and Army installations in Champhai and Lunglei districts.
The central government led by Indira Gandhi may have been taken by surprise, but the reprisal was swift. On March 5, four fighter jets of the Indian Air Force – French-built Dassault Ouragan fighters (nicknamed Toofanis), and British Hunters – were deployed to bomb Aizawl. Taking off from Tezpur, Kumbigram and Jorhat in Assam, the planes first used machine guns to fire at the town. They returned the next day to drop incendiary bombs. The strafing of Aizawl and other areas continued till March 13 even as the town’s panicked civilian population fled to the hills. The rebels were forced to retreat into the jungles of Myanmar and Bangladesh, which was then East Pakistan. The bombing caused colossal destruction with some reports saying Aizawl town had caught fire. Fortunately, only 13 civilians were killed."
While I walked around the graveyard, eulogizing martyrs who fought against India, I was confused whether to feel proud of them or feel ashamed of myself as I belong, atleast till I am not bombed, to the mainstream. And, the mainstream in India is the majority and the majority is what is always under threat all the time.
I did manage to spend ten more days in Mizoram and basked in the extraordinary warmth that surpassed the normal hospitality of hill-wallas such as the Himachalis, Uttaranchalis and even Arunachalis. The Mizos took the cake in being absolutely made of butter. They loved me and I loved them back and I came back with a hundred friends. But the confusion never left me. Did we really bomb our own people. Did we really create war. And if we did, why have we not yet apologized for it.
