The Sacred Hills Denied: Meitei’s Fight for Their Ancestral Gods

The reopening of the Kailash Mansarovar Yatra in 2025, after a five-year halt due to India-China tensions, brings joy to Hindus across the nation. Yet, in Manipur, the Meitei followers of Sanamahism face a bitter contrast. Their sacred peaks—Mount Koubru and Thangjing—lie beyond reach, veiled by ethnic strife and restricted access. While one faith rejoices in restored pilgrimage, another mourns the loss of its spiritual core. This disparity cuts deep, and Manipur’s fractured state demands we face this injustice—not just for the Meitei, but for the shared soul of a land that belongs to all.

To the Meitei, Koubru and Thangjing are more than mountains; they’re the eternal homes of their gods, the foundation of their Sanamahi faith. These peaks hold a 20,000-year legacy, where the Lai people—ancestors of the Meitei and other indigenous tribes—planted the seeds of civilization. North Koubru, revered as the Lai’s first home, is ruled by Lainingthou Sanamahi, the creator deity and king of gods. Archaeological finds in Kangkhui and Thanlon caves trace this ancient lineage, tying the seven yek salai clans to Koubru’s slopes. Thangjing, alongside deities like Marjing and Wangbren, protects Manipur’s cardinal directions, weaving a cosmology that anchors the Meitei to these hills. For them, Koubru is their Temple Mount, their Ayodhya, their Mecca—a sanctity mirrored by Hindus immersing ashes in the Ganga, as Meiteis honor their dead in Koubru’s embrace.

I still feel Koubru’s pull, a sacred call that drew me up its slopes in the 1980s. That annual ritual was as essential as breathing. The climb from Koubru Leikha wound through quiet foothills, disturbed only by a few buffalo herders. Families trekked together, offering footsteps to the deities who birthed humanity. The peak tested our spirit, split into two realms: the strongest climbed non-stop to the top, their devotion unwavering, while others—like me, sometimes—rested halfway at Amam Lok, where streams flowed, cradling us as we prayed under the stars to Ipa Koubru, whose presence thrummed in the earth. It was a duty, as vital as a Muslim’s Hajj or a Hindu’s Kailash journey. At the summit, history hummed—I could see our ancestors forging life through time. That was our heritage, our link to the divine.

But that link is fraying. Two years have passed since my last climb, and the absence aches. Koubru and Thangjing aren’t just hills—they’re sanctuaries where faith and identity merge. To miss this pilgrimage isn’t a choice; it’s a wound carved by a broken Manipur, where ethnic clashes and encroaching settlements have stolen that sacred simplicity. What was once a vibrant tradition—the relentless ascent or the quiet pause at Amam Lok—fades into memory, a victim of a state that’s lost sight of its own sanctity. We’re not just losing a ritual; we’re losing ourselves.

Since May 3, 2023, violence has severed the Meitei from their shrines. Paths are blocked by tension and new villages, spurred by Naga-Kuki clashes and Suspension of Operation (SoO) camps. Settlers, often backed by Kuki civil society, harass pilgrims, claiming rights where none stood during World War II. Despite Koubru and Thangjing’s protection under the 1976 Manipur Ancient and Historical Monuments Act, the state’s inaction stings—a betrayal of all Manipuris.

This isn’t mere circumstance; it’s law. Article 371C grants the hill districts—90 percent of Manipur—special status for tribal governance. The Manipur Land Revenue and Land Reforms (MLR & LR) Act of 1960 bars non-tribals, including Meiteis, from owning hill land, while the valley—10 percent of the state—remains open to all. Meant to protect tribes like the Kuki and Naga, these rules now exile Meiteis from their gods. Their share of the population dropped from 59 percent in 1951 to 44 percent in 2011, heightening fears of cultural erasure. They seek equality, not dominance, but face a system that favors some and forsakes others—a veiled injustice.

The fight for their gods is a fight for survival. Every Meitei child grows up hearing tales of Koubru’s sanctity, of ancestors who descended its slopes to shape a civilization. To be barred from this sanctuary isn’t just a physical loss—it’s a spiritual amputation. The Meitei don’t climb for conquest; they climb to connect, to whisper prayers that echo through millennia. Yet, today, those prayers are stifled by barricades—both legal and human—that mock their devotion. This denial isn’t abstract; it’s personal, a theft of the very ground where their identity was born.

Kuki leaders see Meitei pleas as a threat to their occupied lands in Manipur, a fear born of history. Yet, when they encroach on Koubru and Thangjing—erecting Christian crosses or planning Anglo-Kuki Rebellion monuments—it’s not defense; it’s aggression. Before missionaries came, these peaks were Sanamahi havens. Rewriting that risks a divide our children won’t forgive. In 2021, the Rongmei Naga Council, Zeme Naga Council, and others called on Kuki groups to drop exclusive claims, recognizing Koubru’s holiness to Meiteis, Kabuis, and Koirengs. The Thadou, strong near Koubru, hint at peace—a fragile hope for harmony.

On April 6, the Koubru Chatsi campaign at Jantar Mantar in Delhi, led by the Delhi Meetei Co-ordinating Committee (DMCC), will rise as a cry for justice and dignity. It’s a bold move, but it needs dialogue, not discord. These hills are a shared legacy, not a trophy. The Meitei ask: Why does one ancestry outweigh another? They’re not outsiders—they’re Koubru’s kin, barred from their birthright. The 2021 Koubru clash and Thangjing friction expose a harsh reality: their religious freedom and constitutional rights are crushed by illegal occupation.

This is a cultural tragedy. Meitei souls face Chingu Lai Pangganba’s question—Did you visit Koubru, Thangjing, Marjing?—but the living can’t respond. Koubru, cradle for Meitei, Kabui, and Koireng, is a treasure for all, not a tribal prize. Thangjing demands reverence, not rivalry. The state must act fairly, probing SoO camps and encroachments. Its failure to uphold its laws betrays us all.

The sanctuary’s denial fuels a broader battle. When Meiteis are told their gods are off-limits, it’s not just land at stake—it’s their right to exist as a people. The hills aren’t a bargaining chip; they’re a lifeline. Every blocked path, every cross planted, chips away at a faith that’s weathered centuries. The Meitei fight not for power, but for the freedom to kneel before their deities, to keep their story alive. Anything less is a slow erasure, a silencing of a culture that deserves to endure.

Church leaders have responsibility too. Before the arrival of Christianity, Koubru and Thangjing were sacred. Encroaching with crosses or revised histories fuels strife. They must respect this ancient sanctity, not exploit division. The Meitei don’t aim to displace—they seek inclusion. Blocking them severs roots older than modern lines.

Manipur teeters on the edge. The Meitei’s exclusion denies their dignity; the hill tribes’ fears, born of vulnerability, are real. Justice builds bridges, not walls. These hills—ecologically, spiritually, historically—belong to all. Article 371C and the MLR & LR Act, vital for tribal safety, must adapt for fairness. Why trap Meiteis in a shrinking valley while others roam free? Their push for Scheduled Tribe status is survival, not greed—a bid to reclaim their gods without upheaval.

The Meitei’s fight is a human cry, raw and urgent. I’ve stood at Amam Lok, felt the streams wash my weariness, and gazed up at Koubru’s peak, knowing my gods were near. Now, that closeness is a memory, and my heart rebels against its loss. To deny us this sanctuary is to deny us our humanity—a wound that festers in every Meitei soul.

We’re not asking for the hills to be ours alone; we’re asking to belong to them again, as we always have.

As Kailash Mansarovar reopens, let it stir us. Koubru and Thangjing stand quiet, their peaks pleading for unity. Manipur must hear the Meitei, the hill tribes, and the land’s shared cry for balance. Only mutual respect can lift these hills from conflict to coexistence. The Meitei deserve their gods. Manipur deserves peace. It’s time to heal.