Misidak - The Bell of Terror

By Lalpi Guite *

It's been said 'emotions are deceptive'. But it is also a known fact that they are real nevertheless.

Each of us has emotions and feelings that we associate to our senses or to an incident from the past.

A child that has grown up in an abusive home for instance, may as a grown up just freeze or lash out every time voices get raised around him even when those voices may be directed towards someone else.

Such is the impact of an experience triggered by a mere raise of the decibel. Hence, it is in our effort to associate or dissociate that we struggle to hang on or let go of memories so dear and perhaps at times painfully haunting.

I grew up in a little town called Lamka located in the hilly North-East corner of India. It is a small town inhabited by tribes and land locked by hills from every side; making it a pretty little valley.

As a tradition in Lamka, bells were used at almost every occasion. There were bells for church, bells for weddings, for fire emergencies, school bells and bells even for choir practices.

But there was one particular bell that was rung when someone from the community died, called the Misidak.

Till today the Misidak is by far the deadliest of them all in many respects.

It is the remnant of a bomb, a super heavy cylindrical metal which was used in the neighborhood during the World War II. It is hung on top of the hill beside the chief's house, the highest point in the village.

Whenever there was a death, strong men took turns hammering the bell with all their might as a means to communicate the loss. Because of its tone and the message conveyed, the Misidak had a way of seeping into your very being on a dark rainy night.

The sound echoed and reverberated from one hill to the other each time the bell was hammered breaking the silence of the night. It made little boys cringe and dive deeper into the blanket like an ostrich running for shelter in the sand.

But never did I imagine as a kid that the same bell would someday be rung for one of my dearly loved ones. It was on May 23, 2007 approximately 5:00 PM when the Misidak rang for my beloved father Dr. K. Hilkham.

I arrived home from Christian Medical College, Vellore with my father's lifeless body in a coffin after a failed lung cancer treatment. We had a convoy of family and well wishers who drove home with us the two hour bumpy and semi-winding road from the Imphal airport.

As we snaked into town at dusk after passing through fields with chirping crickets, familiar sights and memories, I heard the eerie sound of the inevitable.

One stroke every ten seconds and then silence.

Only this time it did not make me want to dive into my blanket and hide, but instead I screamed inwardly wishing from the bottom of my heart that this wasn't so. If only it were a dream…

The bell, it remains to be a curse as it continues to bring fear and panic like in its days during the World War II.

There has never been anything said or written in its praise. Legacy has been made and legacy has been kept.

And now, I strongly believe the people of Lamka have done a wise thing in maintaining the legacy of the bell.

They show the world what a deadly bomb from the previous millennium can still do to the nameless unknown tribesmen in a global world.

Terrorize.