At her home in Yairipok, about 20 km from Imphal, Mumtaz Begum gives her best effort to lead a normal life. She weaves, tends to the garden and also her small poultry farm.
It has been 12 years since her husband died in a fake encounter. Begum’s school teacher husband M.D. Azad Khan and four others from their village were killed by a combined para military forces unit. They were suspected of involvement with an insurgent outfit.
Nobody filed an FIR, recalled Mumtaz Begum. “Everybody was afraid,” she said. The mother of five, who was 36 then, was left with no means of livelihood.
Manipur is littered with stories like that of Begum, ever-since the entire state came under the Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act, 1958. Young men, including boys would disappear, never to return home. Young women—including the pregnant and the mothers—have been raped and assaulted. Families often come to hear the news of death of their son or husband from the media, or through information relayed by neighbours, friends or relatives. The bodies would be left for the families to pick up. There are many more widows and bereaved mothers than officially acknowledged by the State, as numerous cases of killing by security forces go unreported in Manipur.
People are allegedly picked up by paramilitary forces and police commandos on mere suspicion, then tortured, brutalised and shot dead in fake “encounters”.
In 2012, the wives and mothers of fake encounter victims came together to document these atrocities and bring them to the notice of the Supreme Court of India, under a forum called Extra-judicial Execution Victim Families’ Association, now popularly called EEVFAM.
As many as 1,528 cases were filed in the Supreme Court in 2013. Till date, families of just five victims acknowledge they have received cash compensation.
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Much water has flown down Manipur’s emerald-coloured hills since then. “No inquiry has been conducted into the circumstances of my husband’s death till now,” says Begum.
“Justice?” she asked, and paused thoughtfully. “That I don’t know. I don’t think justice will ever be delivered,” she says. Acknowledging that compensation, interim relief, inquiry and trial are necessary processes of natural law, Begum says, “Even these are yet to be carried out.” She insists that only after there is legal closure, can “the next step—the final verdict be carried out, allowing us to accept the existence of justice”.
Echoing her sentiments, Edina Ningthoujam, whose husband did not return home from work in January 2009, says she too waits for the court’s verdict. Her husband Anand Ningthoujam, a construction contractor, was allegedly picked up by a combined unit of Assam Rifles and police. She read the news of his death in a local newspaper. Anand, who was only 29 years old then, was also suspected of involvement with an insurgent group.
About a year ago, Edina was informed that she would receive monetary compensation. “I’m yet to receive it,” she says. But this isn’t what women like Edina want in the first place. She says, “There’s no investigation into the case.” She feels the compensation was announced only to dispose off the case without any inquiry.
What then would justice mean to her and the other families? “What we want and have been demanding is punishment,” she says. For Edina, compensation can’t be allowed to hasten closure of such cases.
Can life imprisonment or capital punishment of the accused be acceptable as punishment? “Yes, something of that sort,” she says, adding, “For me, that would mean closure of the case.”
Parts of Manipur have been under AFSPA since the early 1970s. By the 1980s, the whole state was brought under the act. Numerous protests and demands for its removal have been organised by civil society groups, including unique ones like Irom Sharmila’s 16-year-long fast, demanding repeal of AFSPA, or the sensational 2004 nude protest by 12 bereaved mothers in front of the historic Kangla Fort—then headquarters of Assam Rifles—in the heart of the state capital, Imphal.
That protest was triggered by the alleged gang-rape and killing of Thangjam Manorama, a young woman, by paramilitary forces. Her mutilated body, bearing marks of sexual assault, was recovered about 3 km from her home in Imphal East.
Among the 12 mothers who stripped at the Kangla Fort was Ima Nganbi. She agreed their protest was sparked by Manorama’s brutalisation, but insisted, “We did not come out only for Manorama.” She recalled, “Actually, it was a spontaneous outburst against AFSPA.”
Ngabi, one of the leaders of meira paibi (women torchbearers) has been vocal about removal of AFSPA. She recalled that since the early 1970s, all Manipur residents have been so terrorised under the act that nobody dares to speak out.
Many women have had their izzat (honour) destroyed through rape and sexual assault, Nganbi adds, pointing to the case of Rose, a young lady who committed suicide in 1974 after being raped by two paramilitary officers in Ukhrul. “So many women have been sexually assaulted or raped. We need to speak out, name the guilty,” says Nganbi.
First implemented in the tribal hill areas, AFSPA was eventually enforced across the state by the 1980s. With the random killings, arrests and harassments that followed, daily life in Manipur was turned upside down. “We couldn’t even carry out routine activities. Every movement became suspicious,” she adds.
“The sufferings became unbearable,” she continues, adding that it’s not possible for women, especially mothers to live in peace when daughters are raped and humiliated and sons dragged out of homes and tortured.
Picture of patience Mumtaz Begum at her home
Ever the optimist, Nganbi insists that irrespective of whether the target is a militant or a civilian, all arrests should follow proper legal procedure, and involve transparent questioning and inquiry. “They should be produced before court and punished if found guilty,” she asserts. “Random killings, rape—this is unacceptable,” she insists. The same rule of law should also govern security or paramilitary personnel. “Punish the guilty, jail them,” she says, adding, “There should be a regular court procedure leading up to a verdict in every case.”
Manorama’s case is among the 1,528 filed in the Supreme Court. Reportedly, her family has now been offered some token compensation, which, asserts Nganbi, is not a legal verdict.
“Compensation is a process, a part of the investigation, not a judgment,” she repeats. “Does it mean a case is concluded once compensation is paid? What about fixing responsibility and giving punishment? Have any rape accused ever been held guilty or punished?” she asks.
Nganbi re-affirms that the numerous protests and acts of defiance by civil society are not merely for seeking monetary compensation. “We demand court verdicts,” she says.
Hope sustains the struggles of Ima Nganbi, Mumtaz Begum and Edina Ningthoujam. “We will continue our fight for justice. We’re not done yet,” says Nganbi. “I’m sure one day the judgment will come. It is our right to get justice, and it will happen.”
Oozing patience in her voice, Mumtaz Begum says, “I’m waiting for the court’s judgment.” Edina Ningthoujam still hopes that her husband’s death will be investigated.
The phaneks (Manipuri women’s traditional attire) that the 12 mothers had stripped off from their bodies at the gates of Kangla Fort in 2004, will once again be brought out and worn, once there is a legal verdict. “We’ll wear our phaneks when a judgment comes,” said an emotional Nganbi.
The government may attempt to make the public forget these incidents by diverting or distracting their attention from AFSPA. But the women who have been widowed and bereaved by AFSPA are not forgetting it. They are not ready yet to make a closure.
“We haven’t forgotten anything. We’ll not let them go free,” says Ima Nganbi, emphatically.
(This appeared in the print edition as "Waiting for Judgement Day")
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Ninglun Hanghal is an Imphal-based freelance journalist
