People in the North-East are simple, warm-hearted and totally without avarice. The only way to end distrust is to be one with them, heart and soul
Photo for representation only. – File photo
I was in school when the problem in Nagaland erupted. A family acquaintance posted there had been killed in an ambush. The news came, along with stories of Naga head-hunting and other alleged inhuman brutalities. I grew up harbouring a perception of savagery.
My first posting to Nagaland came in 1970. I landed there with considerable trepidation. I took over a post located on a forested hill a kilometre from the village. Many from the village were serving in the outlawed underground army. During the change-over, my predecessor took me to attend the Sunday church service. A section of men accompanied as escort. They took positions all around while we listened to the midday sermons inside. Attending church service was one of the prescribed methods of fraternisation.
After attending the church service a few times, I realised the incongruity. If locals had to be won over, it could not be done looking at them through the rifle foresights. I reduced the escort to just two men, and gradually did away with it altogether. After the service, I would walk into the non-Christian part of the village, incongruously called the ‘Hindu khel’. I would join them in drinking madhu, the rice beer that is made in every household. Having been a commando instructor, I had no difficulty in enjoying the snails that formed their staple snack; you picked one up from a pass-around bowl, sucked out the snail and threw away the shell.
Gradually, a routine was set. After games with the troops every evening, I would go to the village and visit different houses, drinking madhu with them. I played rural games and joined the village folk during their weddings as well as burials.
I returned to Nagaland in 1978 as a Commanding Officer. The battalion was deployed in a remote area of Tuensang district. We held a string of posts, guarding infiltration routes of insurgents from Burma. My headquarters were in Kiphire alongside the office of the Additional DC. His bungalow was just across the fence from our tented complex. Every evening, I would join his family for a game of badminton. He had three grown-up sons and two daughters. In time I became a part of the family. As a high point of her hospitality, the lady even learnt how to make chapatis and desserts that are alien to Naga diet. “I must take you to Changki,” the ADC, Lima Aiyer Ao, would often tell me, adding with a naughty wink while his wife smiled benignly, “The prettiest Naga girls come from that village.”
Lima was a great administrator who handled his charge with a firm hand, rules or no rules. He had a practical approach. I met many others during frequent dinners in his house and the contacts helped me greatly in performing my task.
My third stint in Nagaland was from 1995 to 1997 as a Major General. Having been there twice earlier gave me a running start. My friends, Mrs and Mr Lima, had since passed away but their sons and daughters, now parents themselves, often visited and stayed with us. We also hosted many other friends and my earlier acquaintances. At the end of my two-year tenure, we succeeded in bringing the insurgents to the negotiating table. The ceasefire, effected on August 1, 1997, is still holding. I have also visited the state privately after retirement.
Initially, our methods of dealing with insurgency were based on the US experience in Vietnam. The major difference was that unlike the Americans, we were dealing with our own countrymen. Our people in the North-East are simple, straightforward, warm-hearted, and totally without avarice. They are ever cheerful and live for the day.
One cannot win people over by applying abstract theories. The only way is to be one with them, heart and soul. And the Army has done just that. This non-gun contribution of the Army, with far-reaching consequences, unfortunately remains underrated.