A file picture of the insurgent leader

Khonoma (Nagaland), Sept. 15: The ravages of history outwardly do not seem to have scarred Khonoma.

Hemmed in by mountains and surrounded by lush fields, this hub of Naga nationalism wears a peaceful look, one that shields its bloody history of battle after battle waged against the enemy from outside and within. But the wounds run deep and the spirit of Naga nationalism, though splintered, continues to be the guiding force in Khonoma.

This is the village that was home to A.Z.Phizo, acknowledged as the father of Naga nationalism. This is the village that fought the British, then resisted and endured repeated onslaughts by the army and, till recently, bled at the hands of its own underground activists.

It is here that Niruyau has spent over 40 years of her life. Today, she is 80 years old, but memories of the day when the army raided Khonoma, set the village on fire and forced its inhabitants to flee, continue to haunt her. Her husband was one of those who were killed in the attack.

“It was in 1956. The army set fire to the entire village. Those of us who refused to give in had to escape. I had five children. Only two of them could walk,” recalls Niruyau.

Of the three khels (divisions) of Khonoma, one decided to remain loyal to the army. The remaining two perished. “I left all my belongings. The army surrounded the jungle in which they were hiding and shot dead my husband. We lived in the village for over a year,” says Niruyau.

They did return to Khonoma, but Niruyau’s life had been destroyed by then. “None of my children could go to school. We worked in the fields and got by with the villagers’ help,” she says.

Two generations later, Nguriaono, Niruyau’s granddaughter, has picked up from where her grandmother left. The 19-year-old now supports her six brothers and sisters on a monthly salary of Rs 16,000 from a teaching job in the nearby Don Bosco School.

“I studied only till Class XII; so I can teach only at the primary level. I want to study again, perhaps pursue a degree in English literature,” says Nguriaono.

Apei, the chairperson of the village, is unaware of any fellowships for those who are eager to continue their education.

Nguriaono, for one, wants to put the past behind her. “My parents want us to be free from prejudice,” she says. But stories of the alleged injustice done to the people of Khonoma by the army make it difficult for the villagers to be rational.

Twenty-three-year-old Asabu’s mother was “mistakenly” shot by the army while she was fishing. “They shot her from the side of the river, thinking she was someone from the underground (the popular term for insurgents),” she recalls.

Since that tragedy, Asabu has been providing for her entire family. “I manage the household. I have completed my graduation and I now want to specialise in agriculture.”

Apei remembers the time when he had to seek permission from the army to even go to school. “Those were hard times. I remember that our parents were not allowed to work in the fields. And we had to seek the army’s consent to go to school,” he says.

At twilight, the village elders gather to exchange stories of the past. Indeed, Khonoma teeters on the boundary between the past and the present. But the yearning for peace is overriding. The young, though fiercely committed to the cause of Naga nationalism, want to get on with their lives.

“Since the ceasefire took effect, it has been peaceful. There have been no killings,” says Apei. And, like the rest, he is keeping his fingers crossed that peace will endure.