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Book Review by Rev Keviyiekielie Linyü
On 18th April this year (2022) the children of Thepfurüya (April 18th 1922- 18th March 1971) and Lhusileü Haralu brought out the Story of their father, (I prefer to call it the Story instead of a Book), titled “In No Strange Land” in commemoration of his Centennial Birth Anniversary. There are many things about him, but four things stayed with me.
The first thing was how he located the right spot of the Tri- Junction and put up a R. C. C. pillar on the borders of India and China in September 1962, and how he wrote about it to his wife Lhusileü. Climbing more than 15000 feet above sea level with his team carrying two bags of cement, four bags of sand, 10 lbs of iron rods and planks for shuttering from Tezu to the Tri- Junction, Thepfurüya wrote to his wife that unless he did it, he doubt any other Political Officer would be able to do it because it wasn't just about climbing the spot. And after successfully setting up the pillar, he wrote with unrestrained satisfaction and joy, saying: “I am glad I left this historical mark at the Tri- Jn. which will stand there perhaps forever. Posterity will see adventurous officers and men labouring up the mountain slopes to have a look at my pillar.” That is the sincerest commitment of a man and his purest joy at the fruit of his labour. Like a child, he calls it “My pillar.”
The second thing was how he came to the aid of the widow of Subedar Cheptak Ao of the 2nd Assam Rifles who died the line of duty while defending India's border in Glotongglat, Lohit District, during the Chinese aggression of 1962. That was more than an officer doing his duty was a man with a different heart reaching out to his fellow human beings in need.
The third thing was his wood sculptures. Looking at the photos of his nahor sculptures, and his works with creepers, which were christened as “Agony”, ”Journey”, “Dejected”, or “the woman with her secrets” and so on, one wonders how the administrator is also the artist. They are a joy to look, and they speak to our hearts, because it comes from the heart of the man, not just the skill of his hands. Referring to the last two, he himself said to his wife, “the other two are nice.”
Achievements /Awards and Honours are great as they can be. They also open many doors. But to me these stories of Thepfurüya Haralu, how he put up the Pillar at the Tri-Junction, and how he wrote about it to his wife with such joy, how he came to the aid of the widow of Subedar Cheptak Ao and her children, and his wood sculptures are more of the man and his heart- more than all the achievements, awards, and honours. They are the stuff that makes a man a man.
But more than any other, the story of Thepfurüya mourning the death of his friend and brother- in- law Thinuovicha Tseikhanuo- the husband of his sister Neisevoü, and the story of his father- in- law A. Kevichűsa are the stories of a real man.
We are told that when news of the tragic death of his friend Thinuovicha reached him, he was devastated and wrote “I wept over it” “If he was provided with proper escort as is always required, the poor chap wouldn't have met such a miserable death” “I loved that boy even more than some of my own brothers.” That was how he mourned the death of his friend and brother- in- law Thinuovicha.
We are also told that after his funeral on 20th March 1971, his then eleven years old son Thejangulie Khamba went into his (Khamba’s) grandfather Kevichűsa’s bedside on some errand. He found his grandfather weeping uncontrollably and calling out his father's name ‘Yao’ repeatedly.
When a man, more so- pfüpehümia puo- as we the Angamis would say- could mourn the death of his friend openly without any restrain like that, and when that same man is mourned by his own father- in- law like that without any restrain in uncontrollable grief- that is the real measure of a man. If we want to know a man, see how he mourned the death of his friend and how he was mourned by his own. No other stories will give the measure of a man more than this.
More than any other, the stories of how he mourned the death of his friend, and how his father- in- law mourned for him will perhaps stay with me all throughout my life. When I read these two stories of Thepfurüya, I remembered the story of how King David mourned the death of King Saul and his son Jonathan on Mount Gilboa. When he learned of their deaths, the Bible says, David sang this lament:
On the hills of Israel our leaders are dead!
The bravest of our soldiers have fallen
Do not announce it in Gath
Or in the streets of Ashkelon
Do not make the women of Philistia glad
Do not let the daughters of pagans rejoice.
May no rain or dew fall on Gilboa’s hills;
May its fields be always barren!
For the shields of the brave lie there in disgrace,
The shield of Saul is no longer polished with oil
Jonathan's bow was deadly, the sword
of Saul was merciless,
striking down the mighty, killing the enemy.
Saul and Jonathan, so wonderful and dear;
Together in life, together in death;
Swifter than eagles, stronger than lions.
Women of Israel, mourn for Saul!
He clothed you in rich scarlet dresses
and adorned you with jewels and gold.
The brave soldiers have fallen,
They were killed in battle.
Jonathan lies dead in the hills.
I grieve for you, my brother Jonathan,
how dear you were to me!
How wonderful was your love for me,
better even than the love of women.
The brave soldiers have fallen,
Their weapons abandoned.
2 Samuel 1:19- 27
