Akangjungla
“the sun refuses to shine
the clouds refuse to move
mother nature hears the cries of the slain
let the echoes resound!
we refuse to bend
we shall not be silent
remove AFSPA!
- Levino Yhoshü
This message showed up on Monday morning with the picture of a town in Nagaland state covered by dark clouds with dim sun ray beneath the tall but silent buildings. The lamentation for the December 4, 2021 Oting saga resounded in the many voices put up on every social media platforms and the uncountable condemnation notes scribed by the church bodies, civil societies, political organizations and others.
In the midst of the cry for justice, the dark and silent sky of Mon district cried the loudest as the many beloveds slain during the alleged firing by security forces in the Oting village under Tizit sub-division on December 4, for the last time called out for their mother... Onyukei!
On the gloomy Monday morning, Nagaland wept as fourteen of its sons were laid in the basket, laden with farewell wreaths and songs of mourning, Onyukei! They should have been home... They should have been home to their father and mother, their wives and children, their friends and community and not laying still.
Nagaland, the ‘Land of Festivals’ was all soaked in the glory of its festivity at the Kisama Heritage Village but Onyukei! the land is once again ‘disturbed.’ Innocent Nagas have lost their lives under the trigger of the security forces in the guise of ‘maintaining order.’ People in home and from foreign land want to know, ‘If Nagaland is a safe place?’ which is just one small implication of a much bigger predicament. Leaders and governments are ensuring compensations and the assembly is already engaged in debates, like any order of the day.
So then, will Nagaland continue to grieve for more souls taken away under the guise of the infamous Armed Forces Special Powers Act (AFSPA), 1958? Or will the Oting saga give birth to a rising chorus to turn the cries of Onyukei! to slogans for peace and safety.
In this time of lamentation, these words speak the spirit of Nagaland:
sometimes
sometimes, when I pass
the faded greens with
guns in their hands,
I forget...
when I’m stuck behind rows
of netted trucks lumbering up
the steep slope,
I forget...
that this land, wrapped
in festivals and songs,
is still tied with
ribbons of barbed wire.
-Emisenla Jamir
(*An expression of crying out to the mother in a state of shock in Konyak Naga language)
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