Tengnoupal, Manipur: Thangminsiam Vaiphei, 46, didn’t know he had it in him. On 4 May, as soon as he heard that a mob armed with petrol bombs was approaching Sallom Patton, a village in Manipur’s Kangpokpi district, he hastily picked up his 17-year-old specially-abled son and began to run.
Soon, he realised that carrying his son, who was by then getting impatient and aggressive, for long distances would be challenging, but stopping midway wasn’t an option. Gathering every ounce of his strength, he resumed his sprint until they reached a wooded area, where they finally paused to rest.
On 3 May, ethnic clashes broke out between the non-tribal Meiteis and tribal Kukis in Manipur. In the violence that continue to be reported since, over 150 people have been killed and several thousands displaced.
As mob violence continued, Thangminsiam Vaiphei, his wife Tingngaipak Vaiphei and son couldn’t keep up with other fleeing villagers despite their best efforts, and soon found themselves left behind. But Thangminsiam was determined to put as much distance between himself and rampaging mobs. “I climbed for seven kilometers with my son in my arms, his mother beside me. He was wailing, trying to set himself free, but I could not leave him,” he said, speaking now from a Kuki relief camp at St. Peter’s school, Tengnoupal.
For two nights, Thangminsiam and his family carried on this way, covering as much distance as possible at one time, hiding in forests, foraging for food from there and getting water from nearby villages. That is, until they reached a Naga village, where they finally found shelter.
Reflecting on his extraordinary feat, Thangminsiam tells ThePrint: “I don’t know how I did it. Those three days were like a bad dream.”
But Thangminsiam’s story isn’t singular — as Manipur continues to burn in the fires of an ethnic Meitei-Kuki conflict, his is one of the several such tales waiting to be told at the Tengnoupal relief camp, where the displaced have come together, bound together by their shared trauma.
For people like Thangminsiam, the camp is becoming family — children have found new playmates, the elderly got companions to accompany them to church, and the women solace in each other’s stories. In times such as this, they have found strength in one another.
As the inhabitants of the camp recount their harrowing tales of escape, a newborn baby’s laughter echoes through the corridors, momentarily interrupting the somber atmosphere. The sound brings a smile to many a tired face — it comes from Thangminchung, a 20-day-old boy who was born in the camp.
His mother, Lhingthiannei Vaithei, was eight-and-a half months pregnant when she had to flee with her family. She didn’t think they would survive. “I was sweating, I could not breathe. I thought I would lose my child and my family. I am just grateful to God that we all survived,” she says.
The arrival of Thangminchung has led the camp’s residents to momentarily set aside their sorrows — they had a small celebration, making a toast with apple juice. Thangminchung means “popular” in their native tongue, his mother Lhingthiannei tells us as people gather around to play with the baby.
On a bench in one corner of the camp’s corridor sits Joshua, a young man in his early 20s. His fingers danced on the strings of a guitar, his gaze fixed on the rain outside the window as the whispered words of a love song played on his lips. A little girl dances to the tune.
“At a time when we’re surrounded with hate, this is what gives me solace,” he tells ThePrint.
In this gallery, ThePrint’s national photo editor Praveen Jain gives a peek into the lives of people from the Kuki community who were displaced from their village in Kangpokpi.
