Inside the Heart of Darkness – VI

11 October 2007 : We left Aizawl for Tipaimukh a little later than expected. There were two reasons: One, the “religious team” said they took a good while trying to wake up L Keivom who, I know, slept later than usual. Aizawl hills must have faintly seen the early morning light when he hit the bed. The religious team was indeed waking the sleeping mortals, just like the miraculous act of waking the dead to life again. Sometimes I wonder if waking the dead to another life is Christian at all, despite the act that saved many teardrops. I somehow felt that the mortal flesh, which will inevitably turn into dust again, was given abundant importance. I sometimes wonder if at all it was inculcated and challenged by another inevitable provocation, which must be frequent for the Son of Man. But the life that Lazarus got for the second time did not last like salvation, as the act was committed before He was crucified for the sins of mankind. Anyway, Keivom was woken as we still have miles to go. The second reason was that the sumo jeep that we were travelling in ran out of fuel in the middle of Aizawl city. The driver was all red with wordless uncomfort for causing the inconvenience. He ran to the nearest gas station with an empty bottle to fetch diesel to make the wheel box run again. The unexpected dry fuel tank in the middle of the street caused severe inconvenience for everyone. At one point of time the traffic came to a standstill as our lifeless wheel was blocking the entire life that has to pass through the congested road, which Aizawl is popular for. It was geography blocking science. I stood wondering what the future holds for Aizawl road, as they seem to be getting clogged with each passing day in the face of unquenchable materialistic race that multiplied wheels and engines. There cannot be many options left for the State to widen the road. Otherwise, it would have to put a ban on all the multiplying private vehicles. Something like the “Total Prohibition”. The people did not seem to like the total ban imposed on alcohol. But majority might celebrate the total prohibition on private wheels, which has almost become a show of might and power in the “most peaceful state” that is awaiting for another unfortunate tag, “disaster zone”. Introducing flyover or underground road will not also work out. That would forever label Mizoram as the “Disaster State”. The other alternatives would be to be like good Roman in Rome and become a good Christian in the “Christian State” by giving and helping the uncounted poor and needy instead of buying more for a future chaos. The materialistic race has to be negated to save Mizoram roads. Otherwise, the State would standstill with big oiled wheels. That would still be mistaken as signs and evidences of progress and development in this blind vested race. If not, the city has to be shifted somewhere. The concentration of everything possible in Aizawl is already making the city vulnerable.

We halted at a place called “zero mile” in Seling for lunch. A couple of rice hotel stood by the roadside. The modest hotel was airy with big pane- less windows. Big black pots stood by the fireside. The sight was like homecoming. They were reminders of beautiful things that I fondly recall in quite sigh. They were not merely pot. They represent memories for which they stood like a clear milestone. The table was set with all the foods they have in their unprinted menus. Not many, but enough. After the meal, thin bamboo sticks that were dried for agarbati sticks served as toothpicks. I was told that Mizoram produces agarbati sticks in plenty. The house besides the hotel played music continuously, a little louder than usual. Loud enough for many to hear undisturbed. Pu Hrangthangvung told me it was RTC Lalduhawmi’s house. RTC Lalduhawmi is a popular Gospel singer, whose songs I have listened to when I was in high school. I went to Chibai (greet) her. She was sweeping the house then. Another bright and airy house again. I told her I used to listen to her songs in my bad but improving Lushai. She told me she is working on her Christmas album, which she hopes to release sometimes before Christmas. It is always a joy meeting artiste. Life on earth would be too lonely without them.

Our jeep was covering the endless snaking miles like the hungriest machine that science has invented. The long run across the hills and mountain was hardly interrupted. The sights and scenes changes with all its nude beauty. It was like running across the longest chain of the biggest beauty pageant ever held. We passed through many sleepy villages. Some of the smaller ones seems like they were actually sleeping. The sights stirred in me revival-like feelings. But not like those wild and noisy ones they had in those houses of worship. I said to myself, “How great thou art.” That’s my testimony. It is easier to see nature and realised His greatness, than deriving from man. Atheist should travel more. Even if they did not change, they will see a change.

We reached Vervek before sunset. Vervek is one of the last villages before reaching river Tuivai. It situates in Mizoram’s Sinlung Hills Development Council. We met one Independent Church of India’s (ICI) elder who volunteered to show us direction till Tuivai. After the brief introduction, he discovers to his utmost surprise, that he was sitting with the worshipped Zoram Khawvel author, L Keivom. He could not believe himself. He shook Keivom hands again for the second time. If the first one was the sweetest, the second seems to be sweeter. If the elder was Columbus, he would, vainly, but still, say that he discovers Keivom. The spirit suddenly soars for him and spill over all of us. He shared many things about New Vervek. He told us that he was one of the pioneers who erected ICI at Vervek. He also told us that the bamboo flowering severely affected their village. He became more energetic than ever as we discuss several issues. I enquired him about Laltuoklien, King of Sinlung rock, folk and blues, as his village that sits on the top of a mountain could be seen from Vervek. He knew the king, which was no surprise. In this beautiful part of the country, everyone knows everyone. The level of acquaintance resembles the biblical sin, something that cannot be hidden. No one can take a hide. They would still know even if you hide.

The road after Luok, a deserted place, reveals the tip of abject neglect by the governments of Mizoram as well as Manipur. The road is National Highway 150. On the side of Mizoram the road that is actually in its deteriorating mess is a short stretch. On Manipur’s side, the deterioration worsened, which seems endless. The church elder told us that the Government of Mizoram finds it useless on its part to work and repair the neglected highway unless Manipur government does its part, which is much longer. Our driver, who is from Mizoram, was also shocked to discover the state of the poor road. He told me that he has been driving everywhere, but have not seen such a bad one. Almost after every three minutes good run our jeep ran into deep pool of mud. Everyone has to get down to push and pull the jeep from its deepening pool. If one is in it, one cannot just sit and watch. In most part of the road, it has deepen alarmingly where the wheels run so that the engine sometimes stand on the protruding ground while the wheels make a vain attempt to find a hard ground as it slips. I told the driver that he has to bring along a spade, shovel and big rope next time he travel to this forsaken place. Many a times the driver said that the jeep won’t be able to make any inch forward again. Many times he dip his right leg into the pool of mud and water and find them too deep to give any test-drive again. He even suggested that we walk with our baggage, which was impossible in that middle, a part of the heart of darkness. We actually have to challenge him to make all those attempts that were fortunately not in vain. The National Highway was travelled with faith and by deeds. Many deeds actually. Before reaching Tuivai bridge our jeep got stuck in another trap like deep pool again. After desperate attempts we did not want to give up. So L Keivom, the Church elder and I walked more than 5 kilometers to reach river Tuivai to ask for help from friends who were waiting for us. During the long walk, we were surprise not to hear any birds chirping. We did not spot any birds too. The little raindrops moved the leaves to life. Otherwise, it was like a sad mourning day. The deep jungle was silently alive. They walked back with spade and shovel while Keivom and I sip many cups of sweet, milk tea flavoured with Tipaimukh grown tea leaves in the hotel besides the flooded river that was running wild yellow. Keivom’s words still lingers as he said, “Home again, at last.”