In Manipur, Even Gods Are Barred from Their Ancestral Homes

While the state rolls out the red carpet for tourist-oriented spectacles like the upcoming Shirui Lily Festival in Ukhrul from 20th to 24th May 2025, the gods of Manipur and their devotees are barred from their ancestral homes. 

This raises a piercing question: why are the Meitei’s sacred traditions, and the gods they revere, being denied their rightful place in the land they have protected for centuries?

In the verdant hills and valleys of Manipur, where the rhythms of ancient traditions pulse as strongly as the heartbeat of its people, a silent yet seismic shift is taking place. The Meitei community, custodians of the Sanamahi faith, are witnessing the gradual erosion of their sacred rituals—practices that have defined their identity for centuries. The state, in its pursuit of security and peace, has imposed buffer zones that sever access to hallowed sites, disrupting not only the Lai Lam Thokpa but also a constellation of other vital Lai Haraoba festivals. Among these are the Ima Kondong Lairembi Haraoba, once a unifying celebration involving every community but now absent, and revered rituals like the Ima Panthoibi Haraoba of Kwatha, and Ibudhou Maikei Ngakpa in Churachandpur, all now trapped by the restricted zones. As these divine connections fray, the Meitei are left to grapple with a haunting question: why must their gods, and the traditions that sustain them, be exiled from the land they have guarded since time immemorial?

The Lai Lam Thokpa is far more than a ceremonial procession for the Meitei—it is a sacred covenant with the Umang Lais, the ancestral deities believed to protect the land and its people. Embedded within the Lai Haraoba festival, this ritual sees the gods carried in ornate palanquins to sacred sites—rivers, groves, and hilltops imbued with centuries of reverence. It is a collective act of devotion, a bridge between the human and the divine that maintains cosmic harmony and reinforces the Meitei’s unbreakable bond with their heritage. To disrupt it is to dim the vibrancy of the Lai Haraoba, a celebration of creation and connection, leaving behind a spiritual emptiness that echoes across the community.

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Central to this ritual is the Lai Ekou Khatpa, where priests and priestesses invoke the deity’s essence from a sacred water body, animating the shrine with its presence. This is not mere tradition—it is a profound responsibility. For the Meitei, neglecting this duty risks more than cultural loss; it invites cosmic imbalance and communal hardship, a breach in the delicate equilibrium between the earthly and the divine.

The hills amplify the festival’s spiritual essence. In Waikhong Loi village of the Kakching district, the ancestral tradition of Laisha Tanba—a ritual where animals are hunted for the deity—is still practiced in the deep forests of Mamang ching and Maning ching. Moreover, the Lai Lam thokpa is also performed at Thenga ching, a small hillock revered as the village’s Laifamlen, symbolizing how sacred energies can permeate even the most secluded parts of the landscape. During the Lai Haraoba festival of Ibudhou Apokpa, villagers search the hills and forests for Thangtup fruits, Kongyam and Chumnang flowers, and Kombirei blossoms—gifts offered to honor the deities.

Since the attack on Meitei by Kuki-Zo terrorist begins on 3rd May of 2023, the state has delineated buffer zones to maintain order. While the intention may be peacekeeping, the execution has been a blunt instrument, slashing through the Meitei’s spiritual lifeline. These zones have become formidable barriers, rendering sacred sites inaccessible and halting rituals in their tracks. On 3 May 2025, security forces blocked the road to Pallel in Kakching District, abruptly disrupting the Lai Lam Thokpa and leaving the Lai Haraoba incomplete. At Thangjing Hill, home to Ibudhou Thangjing, tensions boiled over on 14 April 2025 as Meitei sit-ins clashed with Kuki-Zo demands to stay out, a poignant symbol of the divisions now etched into Manipur’s territorial integrity.

The reach of these buffer zones extends far beyond the Lai Lam Thokpa, ensnaring other cherished Lai Haraoba festivals that are the bedrock of Meitei cultural and spiritual life. The Ima Kondong Lairembi Haraoba, for example, once stood as a testament to communal harmony and unity, drawing participation from every corner of Manipur’s diverse tapestry. This festival was more than a religious observance—it was a celebration of shared identity among the Meitei, Tamils Muslims and Kukis, where differences dissolved in the collective act of honoring the deity. Today, it is missing, erased from the cultural calendar by the impenetrable restrictions of the buffer zones. Its absence is a wound to the social fabric, a stark illustration of how security measures are not merely inconveniences but forces that fracture the harmony that once defined Manipur.

Unfortunately, around 393 temples and sacred Umang Lais were destroyed and abolished by the Kuki Zo terrorists, leaving an irreparable wound in the spiritual and cultural heritage of the community. Among these lost sanctuaries were Ibudhou Maikei Ngakpa of Khumujamba Leikai in Churachandpur, Ema Panthoibi of Torbung Govinpur, Ibudhou Pakhangba of Torbung Bangla, Ema Panthoibi of Napat Awang Leikai, Ema Hiyai Leima of Napat Makha Leikai, and Lokningthou of Tangjeng Ahallup, as well as Ema Ireima of Ekou Keithel, Ema Ireima of Yengkhuman, Haoreima Sampubi of Gwaltabi, Ema Leimakhong Lairembi of Leimakhong, Lainingthou Koubru of Koubru Leikha, Lainingthou Koubru of Kangpokpi, Nongpok Ningthou of Leimakhong, and Ema Panthoibi of Heinou Makhong in Moreh etc.

The destruction of these revered sites represents not only a physical loss but also an assault on the collective memory and identity of the indigenous people, erasing centuries of tradition, spirituality, and cultural continuity. These sacred sites, once alive with the footsteps of devotees, are now silent, their rituals suspended as access is denied. The Ima Panthoibi Haraoba, dedicated to the goddess of fertility and courage, was a vibrant expression of devotion that strengthened community bonds. The Ibudhou Maikei Ngakpa and Haoreima Sampubi, tied to protective deities, were pillars of spiritual resilience for the Meitei. Their enclosure within buffer zones is not just a logistical barrier—it is a profound loss, stripping the community of the means to fulfill their religious obligations. The state’s refusal to offer alternatives—temporary access, supervised visits, or relocated ceremonies—signals a troubling indifference to the indigenous faith and its practices.

Security is a legitimate concern, but the state’s inflexible approach reveals a lack of imagination and empathy. If the Meitei cannot perform these brief, peaceful rituals, what does that say about the priority given to their spiritual heritage? The buffer zones, intended as shields, have instead become shackles, binding the gods to their isolation and the people to their grief.

The state’s skewed priorities come into sharp focus when juxtaposed with its fervor for tourism. The upcoming Shirui Lily Festival in Ukhrul exemplifies this disparity: helicopter rides, special transport, and safe passage through buffer zones are rolled out to entice visitors to Manipur’s scenic wonders. Tourists are ushered into the hills for ephemeral pleasures, while the Meitei gods are barred from the sacred sites that anchor their existence. The contrast is galling—a state that bends over backwards for tourists yet turns a blind eye to the spiritual needs of its own people. This double standard cuts deep. Manipur’s heritage is being commodified for fleeting economic gain, while the living traditions that give it meaning are left to wither.

The consequences ripple beyond the spiritual into the cultural realm. The Meitei, long admired for their tolerance and respect for communal boundaries, are watching their traditions crumble under the weight of state apathy. Without the Lai Lam Thokpa and the constellation of Lai haraoba festivals like the Ima Kondong Lairembi Haraoba, the Lai Haraoba risks losing its soul, reduced to a hollow echo of its former glory. The loss of the Ima Panthoibi Haraoba of Kwatha, Ibudhou Meikai Ngakpa in Churachandpur, and Nongpok Ningthou of Leimakhong compounds this erosion, silencing rituals that once wove the community together. These are not isolated events but threads in a broader tapestry—one that, if unraveled, threatens the disintegration of Manipur’s rich multicultural identity.

The path forward demands more than passive regret—it requires action. The state must recognize the Meitei’s rituals as non-negotiable pillars of their identity and well-being, not as obstacles to security. Buffer zones may serve a purpose, but they need not be absolute. The same logistical creativity that ensures tourists reach the Shirui Lily Festival can be harnessed to reconnect devotees with their sacred sites—temporary exemptions, escorted access, or even designated ritual days could strike a balance between safety and faith.

This is a matter of justice as much as practicality. Meaningful dialogue between the Meitei, Kuki-Zo, and state authorities could forge a solution that honors cultural rights alongside peacekeeping efforts. The United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples affirms that preserving indigenous traditions is a fundamental right, not a privilege to be granted or withheld at whim. Manipur’s leaders must rise to this call, ensuring that the gods and their devotees are not permanent exiles in their own land.

The gods of Manipur, carried in palanquins to their ancestral homes, are more than symbols—they are the embodiment of the Meitei’s history, resilience, and connection to the land. To bar them from their sacred sites, particularly through the arbitrary enforcement of buffer zones, is to deny the very soul of the community. The Lai Lam Thokpa completes the Lai Haraoba, giving it spiritual meaning and cultural depth. Without it, the festival is a shadow of itself, and the Meitei are left grappling with a profound sense of loss.

Manipur’s administration has a choice: it can continue to prioritize external interests over the spiritual needs of its people, or it can honor the indigenous faith that has shaped the state’s identity. Facilitating the Lai Lam Thokpa, even in the face of logistical challenges, is a step toward justice and reconciliation. The gods of Manipur and their devotees deserve to return to their ancestral homes. Anything less is a failure of governance and a wound to the heart of Manipur’s cultural legacy!