(The following article is written by Dr. Rochunga Pudaite of Bibles for the World, USA, some years ago. I could not remember the original source where I copied the writings but posted it here without asking permission. If the writer or copyright owner claims and notify me, I should be responsible and delete it immediately. Otherwise, for the shake of information and understanding the works of the Lord among the Hmar clan of Chins in Manipur, it's worth to spare your time. I hope you will be blessed. Lian)
My tribe in southern Manipur did not treat others as untouchables. We were headhunters until two generations ago. No wonder even the British avoided us – let alone other tribes and castes. As a matter of fact my tribe – the Hmars – were 
not even listed as a tribe by the Government of India, until I appealed directly to our Prime Minister, Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru. One consequence of this isolation was that although caste is the defining feature of most of Indian society, I knew nothing of its power until one afternoon of 1952, at the University of Allahabad.
As a student in Jorhat (1946-49) I had swept floors, cleaned toilets, and happily worked in the gardens to pay for my room and board. My parents and Christian mentors had taught me that all work was honourable, better than begging. So I never imagined that a sweeper was different from me or my fellow students . . . that is not until about 4 o’clock that fateful day. A classmate of mine and I were walking home to our hostel. Our hostel sweeper was walking a little ahead of us. The winter evening sun cast his long shadow on us. I didn’t even notice it but my friend did. He suddenly flew into a rage. “You Bhangi!” he screamed at the sweeper, “You scum of the earth! Are you blind? Your shadow fell on me. You have polluted me!"
Until that moment I did not even know that this classmate of mine was a Brahmin! I knew him only as a good student, from a respectable family, embodying our dreams for a new India. But he abused the man, who was bigger than himself, in language that I had never heard. It was too foul to repeat.
Asserting his superior status, the Brahmin young man ordered this much older, trembling and crestfallen sweeper to lie face down. Then he kicked him as he cursed. Since I could not stomach this, I rolled up my shirt sleeves and decided to grab the Brahmin and throw him to the ground. Just then four boys appeared and shouted, “If you touch the Brahmin we will give you a lesson worse than the one he is giving to the sweeper.”
I froze in shock. The Brahmin, enpowered by the support of these (enlightened!) university students, demanded of the poor sweeper, “Pay for my trip to the Ganga for purification.” The sweeper begged for forgiveness and promised to pay whatever the Brahmin wanted.
Deeply troubled, I walked to my room alone. One agonising aspect of this shameful episode was that the sweeper, my classmate and I were a part of a Chistian hostel – Holland Hall! Christianity that I was familiar with in North East India had liberated my tribe from our traditional inhumanity to fellow human beings. But here, in Uttar Pradesh, both the Christian as well as secular institutions of higher learning had clearly failed to humanize Hindus. The Brahmin felt he had been polluted by a sweeper. I felt that his Brahminism had polluted an institution meant to reform India. I bolted my room and poured out my soul to God, “Dear God, if you are a loving God, why do you allow a human being – your child – to be treated as the ‘scum of the earth’? Lord, why, why, why can such a thing happen in this civilized and beautiful country of India? The Bible says that you love that sweeper so much that you sent your Son to die for his salvation. Even our constitution has now declared equality for all citizens. Why Lord, why then do you allow such despicable treatment to be meted out to another citizen?”
I wept before God. I was grateful that I was a Christian. I felt sorry for my Brahmin friend whose eyes had been blinded by Satan and whose conscience was corrupted by his culture. I felt sorry that his self-esteem was so shallow that he would take umbrage at a mere shadow; his purity was so phony that it could be polluted by a passing shadow. But more than that, I was sorry that I was too weak to do anything to help either the sweeper or the Brahmin find liberty from their slavery. I asked God to enable me to someday do something to help my countrymen find the liberty that he had brought to me and my people.
* * *
I grew up in a remote mountain village of Senvon in Manipur. My ancestors worshipped rivers, mountains, rocks, stars, the moon and the sun. Evil spirits constantly troubled and frightened us. Our priests were forever busy sacrificing chickens, goats and pigs to appease the angry spirits. Then one day a mail runner brought a copy of a book for my village chief. The Gospel of John, one of the books of the Bible, was written in the Lushai (Mizo) language using the Roman alphabet. The Chief knew it had a message but he could not read. A traveler who passed through our village could read the words, but could not understand the meaning of the message in the book. On the back page he found the address of the sender, Mr. Watkin R. Roberts.
Chief Kamkhawlun sent messengers to Aizawl (capital of what is now Mizoram State) to bring the sender of the book, Mr. Watkin R. Roberts, to his village and explain the meaning of the message in the book. Mr. Roberts approached Colonel Locke, the Superintendent of the Lushai Hills district, and asked him how to visit Senvon in Manipur. Colonel Locke told him, “The Hmar people are the most savage headhunting people in the world. They will lop off your head and have a great celebration over your dead body. When we go there we take at least 50 soldiers to guard us. I cannot spare even one for you.”
Mr. Roberts, a Christian businessman from Wales, found a few young men in Aizawl to travel with him as his guides. After seven days of trudging the 100 miles over rugged mountain trails they reached Senvon. This was in 1916. Mr. Roberts met with the Chief and the village people. At first no one was interested in his stories. Then on the fifth evening he read to them a verse from the Gospel of John. “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”[1] What finally turned on the lights for my people was his illustration, drawn from their own experience of how their tribal wars were settled. Two tribes had been warring against each other for several years. Then one of the tribes decided that they wanted peace. They sent a message by beating their huge war drum on the mountaintop nearest the enemy camp. The other tribe responded by beating their drum before sundown. The tribe who first beat the drum brought a goat to the boundary of the two tribes. The two Chiefs and their men arrived at the boundary, which had been carefully drawn. They sacrificed the goat and let the blood flow across the boundary line. The two Chiefs then put their hands on the sacrificial animal and the spokesmen from both tribes discussed the terms of the peace. As soon as they reached an agreement the two Chiefs embraced each other over the slain animal. Then spokesmen pronounced peace. The people who had been at war against each other embraced, the peace restored. They were set free from their animosities and insecurities. The illustration had come right out of our tradition. It made great sense.
Mr. Roberts explained to our Chief that man was created in the likeness of God - good, happy and free. Satan deceived and enslaved man. Man ran away from God and lost his likeness to God. Becoming more like Satan he started committing crimes against God and neighbours - oppressing, if not murdering fellowmen, violating women, detroying families, robbing property and indulging in all kinds of greed, envy and immorality. God sent prophets and priests to show them the way to harmonious living, personal happiness and eternal life. But men could not change their ways. Ultimately, God took the form of man and revealed Himself to show His love, His plan of salvation and eternal happiness with Him in heaven. Jesus became the sacrificial “lamb of God” and shed his blood so that we may have peace with God and be reconciled to one another.
My father was a teenager when he heard the story of Jesus, of God’s sacrifice on the cross to make peace with us – his enemies. My father gave his life to Jesus so that Jesus became his Saviour. Four other young men also decided to embrace God's message of salvation. Roberts left Senvon with a promise to return and open a school and a medical clinic to help them. But upon his return to Aizawl, Colonel Locke served him with an expulsion order to leave the Lushai Hills for disobeying orders and for “demeaning the high British culture” by sleeping in tribal homes and eating tribal food. Roberts was never again allowed to return to preach the Gospel to the Hmar people. My father and his friends learned to read the Lushai language, in order to memorize the Gospel of John, and then preached the Good News of salvation to our people.
My grandfather, who was the Chief before Kamkhawlun prior to being deposed by the British, was furious that his son had become a follower of the “white man’s religion.” My father was banished from home. Later he and his friends were arrested, whipped and imprisoned by the British rulers. Most Indians who have been told that the colonial rulers wanted to convert us will find it incredible and incomprehensible, but it is true that the British rulers burnt the bamboo churches my father had built, and banned taking freewill offerings to support pastors. But Jesus, who suffered for our salvation, gave power to my father and his friends to persevere. The story of Christ’s death and resurrection and their personal experience of Christ gave them hope, joy, and peace. The more they were persecuted the faster Christianity grew among the Hmar people. One of their leaders, H. K. Bawichhuaka joined Mahatma Gandhi's freedom movement. He was arrested and jailed in Silchar and Jorhat until India's independence. On the day of India’s independence the Hmar people also gained freedom. They assembled, burned the British edicts and celebrated independence with the dignity of being citizens of a free country.
When I was ten years old, I too accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and my Saviour. My parents sent me to the nearest upper primary school to study – 96 miles away from my home in Churachandpur. Their aim was not so that I may get a good job and provide them with financial security in their old age, but so that “You may translate the Bible for us.” To get to the school I had to walk through dense forest, infested with tigers, bears, and wild elephants. After I finished middle school I went to Jorhat, about 300 miles from home. There I worked as a sweeper, cleaner and gardener in the Mission Compound to pay for my room and board.
After I finished high school I decided to go to Calcutta to study at St. Paul's College. With Rs.150, borrowed from my relatives, I went to Silchar and boarded a train for Calcutta. When I reached the Sealdah station, before the train had fully stopped, a coolie[2] came into our compartment, picked up my luggage and ran out. I chased him through the crowd. I was afraid of all the strangers at the train station. The coolie put my luggage on a tonga[3]. I gave him a few coins and he left. The tongawallah asked me where I was going. He was polite and friendly. I told him, “St. Paul's College in Amherst Street.” The tongawallah drove me out of the train station. The horses ran, and ran, and ran. In the darkness of the night we drove into a dark alley and stopped. The tongawallah pulled out a long sharp dagger and said, “Give me all your money or this dagger will go through your heart.” Even as he pressed the dagger to my chest, I emptied out my moneybag for him. He dumped my luggage on the road and drove away. This, my first experience of mainland India, was more frightening than meeting a tiger in the jungle.
After they left I prayed to God, my heavenly Father, to guide me. I thanked him for sparing my life. I picked up my luggage, put it on my head and walked to the street without knowing where I was going. I was afraid of talking to anybody. About two hours later I saw the signboard, “St. Paul's College.” I asked the darwan[4] to show me the Principal’s house. In the morning I met Principal Eddy and told him my predicament. He was a kind Indian, educated in Oxford. He told me that the Indian Government had recently set up scholarship funds for tribal students and that I should apply for a scholarship. I went to the office and got provisional admission.
I filled out the scholarship form and, with great expectations and a prayer, sent it to Delhi. Two weeks later a letter came from the Ministry of Education saying my tribe, the Hmar, was not included in the Schedule (list) of tribes of northeast India. I was denied the scholarship. My world seemed to crumble before my eyes. I went to my hostel room and cried before God, asking Him for mercy and grace. Then I opened the Bible and read “With God all things are possible.” I took my pen and wrote a long letter to Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, Prime Minister of India, telling him about my encounter with the tongawallah, the denial of my scholarship application by the Ministry of Education, and my need of financial help to begin my college education. I assured him that I belonged to a bonafide tribe called Hmar. Ten days later I received a letter from the Prime Minister’s office that a scholarship had been arranged for me and that the Ministry of Education would send the money to the college. I was overjoyed. I thanked God that I was born in India and pledged to be a loyal and worthy citizen until I died. This was 1949. Thousands of refugees from East Pakistan[5] filled the streets of Calcutta. I volunteered and helped distribute food, medicine, and clothing to the refugees. Helping and comforting people in their hour of such need lifted my own spirit.
After I finished my Intermediate Arts degree course in Calcutta I decided to transfer to Allahabad University in the heartland of India. I was hoping that I might have the opportunity to meet Pandit Nehru at his family home there and also study Hindu philosophy under Professor Kaul, economics under Professor Sanyal and political science under Professor Tewari, whose books I had read in Calcutta with great admiration. By the grace of God, a few months after I arrived in Allahabad, I met Pandit Nehru and his daughter Indira Gandhi at Anand Bhavan. They invited me to come to Delhi and introduced me to Kaka Sahib Kallelkar, Chairman of the Scheduled Castes, Scheduled Tribes and Other Backward Classes Committee. During my visit to Delhi I submitted the name of my Hmar tribe along with the Paite, Gangte, Vaiphei and other tribes in Manipur to be included in the list of tribes. I was so proud of being an Indian, of belonging to a country with leaders big enough to meet with little-known people like me and care enough to meet the needs of the minority people. I could not think of another nation more generous and caring.
In paranthesis I may add, that it was this sense of gratitude and loyalty to India that made me accept without any hesitation a dangerous assignment from Mrs. Indira Gandhi. In 1975, Ambassador T. N. Kaul came to my home in Wheaton, Illinois to ask me to work as an “Un‑named Peace Emissary,” to meet with Mr. Laldenga, leader of the Mizo Revolutionary movement and prepare a “Formula For Peace” in Mizoram. During the two years I spent on the mission I had three close calls. The first was when the Indian Army suspected me of being a member of the MNF guerillas; second, when a monsoon landslide carried me away in a car; and third, when an MNF operative pressed a loaded revolver to my chest, demanding “How can you say you are not a spy for India?” Working for peace was a dangerous and expensive mission. I did not bill a single Rupee of my expenses to the government except for the Air Force helicopter I had to requisition on three occasions. It was my way of saying thank you to the Motherland for her investment in my college education. No sacrifice was too great for my country and my God. I received my reward when in the year 2000 Mizoram was declared “the most peaceful state in the union.”
To continue the story of my journey into liberty and dignity, a few months after my unforgettable encounter in Allahabad, I read a book, Christ's Way To India’s Heart by Bishop J. Waskom Pickett. There he related the story of Dr. Bhimrao Ambedkar’s attraction to Christianity, but eventual decision not to follow Christ.
In 1935, Dr. Amberkar confided to Bishop Pickett, “When I read the Gospels, the Acts of the Apostles, and certain passages of St. Paul’s epistles I feel that I and my people must all be Christians, for in them I find a perfect antidote to the poison Hinduism has injected into our souls and a dynamic strong enough to lift us out of our present degraded position, but when I look at the Church produced by Christian Missions in the districts around Bombay, I have quite a different feeling. Many members of my own caste have become Christians and most of them do not commend Christianity to the remainder of us.”[6]
Dr. Ambedkar’s remark pierced my heart deeper than the dagger the Calcutta tongawallah pressed to my chest. I know the teaching of Jesus Christ is “a perfect antidote to the poison” Satan has injected into human souls of all races: black, brown, yellow and white. It is an indictment of my failure and the failure of other followers of Christ to live a Christ‑like life, as the world expects to see in us, I confessed to God. I asked God to forgive me and to help me to walk closer to him. I knew I was not perfect. I had failed the sweeper and also allowed my Brahmin classmate to continue in his slavery to a system that had so weakened our Motherland by dividing us into warring castes and tribes.
I needed Jesus to invade and rule my soul, so that I too may take up my cross and resist sin and evil even to the point of death. I knew that the Lord Jesus who had conquered death and risen from the grave to save us from our sin would help me serve my country. As I look back over my life, he did answer my prayer. He took me out of the remote mountain village of Manipur and made me a world citizen, able to play a small, yet significant role making a difference in the lives of others in the following ways.
My secular education at the university was not sufficient to equip me to translate the Bible into Hmar. So I prayed and asked God to make it possible for me to study the Bible and theology in the United Kingdom or the United States of America in order to fulfil my commitment to my father. God answered my prayers sooner than I had anticipated. Four months after my graduation from Allahabad University I was in Glasgow, Scotland studying Greek and Hebrew. I began translating the Bible. Soon I was offered a scholarship to go to the United States for further training in Biblical theology.
A few months after I arrived in America I read a book, My India, My America by Krishnalal Shridharani who also wrote a beautiful book War Without Violence, an analysis of Mahatma Gandhi and his techniques. In My India, My America Krishnalal narrated the story of Dr. Ambedkar's brilliant career, his painful humiliation and climactic rejection by upper caste Hindus in Baroda and his decision to become a Sikh or Buddhist. No pain is more excruciating as humiliation and rejection by one’s own society. Again, I said to myself, “When I return to India, God enabling, I will do something for the untouchables.”
I returned to India in 1958, with my newly translated Hmar New Testament. Until then my people had to make do with a “second-hand” translation of the New Testament from the Lushai (Mizo) language. Now, with my education in English and the original languages of the Bible and the help of Hmar elders like “Dr.” Thanglung, I had been able to bring home a Hmar New Testament we could all be proud of. It was published in 1960 and became the Hmar best-seller: The first 5,000 sold out in six months. My father’s dream was finally fulfilled.
After three months at home I decided to travel across the hills of Manipur, Mizoram and Assam and retrace some of my youthful life. I found that there was only one government school among the Hmar villages of the Manipur hills. My people wanted to read the Bible that God had enabled me to translate for them in answer to my parents’ prayers. They needed schools. God helped us to begin nine village schools and a high school. Within 10 years God had enabled us to open 85 schools – this without any help from the government. As a result, now 85% of the Hmar people know the joy of reading and writing. They have been liberated from illiteracy, superstitions and dependence upon others. They have been set on a course where they could develop their potential, serve God and their Motherland. We sought to instill a spirit of self‑reliance and the pursuit of excellence in the hearts of our students. Over the years God rewarded our labours as we saw our graduates become ambassadors of India, Chief Secretaries of the states, a Director General of Police, I.A.S. officers, doctors, lawyers, engineers, professors, pastors, and even evangelists– ambassadors of the King of Kings. Among the Hmar names you might recognize are : N.T. Sangliana, Karnataka State Director General of Police; L. Keivom, High Commissioner to New Zealand; and L.T. Pudaite, ambassador.
My conviction that Jesus is what India needs grows stronger when I consider a district, such as Allahabad, which has been one of the greatest centres of political power in India, having given independent India Prime Ministers like Pandit Nehru, Lal Bahadur Shastri, V. P. Singh, Chandrashekhar and even our present Minister for Human Resource Development, Sri Murli Manohar Joshi. Even such districts are still oppressed by the evil of caste, and have not been able to make 85% of their population literate. That is inexcusable.
Be that as it may, our schools naturally led to a college – Sielmat Christian College. One of my deepest regrets in life is that we had close it down. We made the mistake of accepting a small financial grant from the government. That enslaved us to petty bureaucrats who had no idea of the liberating power of the Bible. They demanded that we stop teaching the Bible to all students. That was a condition that we could not accept. It was the very source of our liberty and dignity. Without the Bible we would be simply another despised Scheduled Tribe. Because of the Bible we became rapidly advancing children of God. Instead of surrendering our liberty to bureaucrats and petty politicians we closed down the school after eight years of outstanding achievements. God-willing, in the near future we hope to launch a world-class national institution of higher learning particularly for India’s Scheduled Tribes and Scheduled Castes.
Looking back, I am extremely grateful for what God has done for me and for others through me. He saved me from the sins that arise from living outside God’s control. He became my Father. I was poor, but I did not have to envy others or beg from them. My Father has showered His love upon me. His care and His provision have been sufficient for all my needs. He has made my life useful not merely for my Motherland but in over one hundred countries. I have flown over 30 lakh[7] miles to serve people all over the world. I have seen greed and grief among the nations which no human being is able to erase. We need the dynamic of the teaching of Jesus Christ which, Dr. Ambedkar observed, is “strong enough to lift us up out of our degraded position.”
[3] Light one-horse two-wheeled buggy or carriage
[6] J. W. Pickett, Christ's Way To India's Heart, ( Lucknow Publishing House, Lucknow,1938 & 1960) p. 22
not even listed as a tribe by the Government of India, until I appealed directly to our Prime Minister, Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru. One consequence of this isolation was that although caste is the defining feature of most of Indian society, I knew nothing of its power until one afternoon of 1952, at the 
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